In which industrialisation finally begins to make sense, a Royal Commission disappears under suspiciously swampy circumstances, Craig undergoes compulsory remedial adventuring, and civilisation advances to the revolutionary concept of putting all the workbenches in one building.
Disclaimer
This night was made possible by extensive use of Google and Craig's screen sharing, because sometimes a video is worth more than 3 hours of discussion.
This represented a significant change in CCF investigative procedure.
Previously, when confronted with an incomprehensible piece of Nightingale machinery, the preferred approach had been to gather around it, stare thoughtfully, move three unrelated objects, accuse somebody else of breaking it, move them back, and then spend the next forty-five minutes debating whether the game was bugged.
Google, it turns out, has another method.
The Royal Commission, having constantly questioned Dave's integrity of reporting, was dismissed; where dismissed = led into the swamp and never seen again.
There will be no further inquiries.
There may, however, eventually be a memorial plaque.
The Redemption Arc
It started like all such stories do, with an early play session, where Myles and Dave logged in 90 minutes earlier to fix the Industrial mayhem.
This was less an additional gaming session and more an emergency meeting of the Department of Infrastructure, convened after several weeks in which CCF's technological advancement had somehow produced more furniture, less understanding, and several mysterious objects apparently placed around the base for decorative purposes.
Myles, whose previous relationship with Augmentations could charitably be described as strained, had returned determined to settle the matter.
By the end of that quick session, Myles had mastered building Augmentations and connecting them to workbenches they boosted, using a simple diagnostic method: running around holding the augmentation to see which benches it threw out the mystic green line of usefulness to, indicating a connection option.
It was elegantly scientific.
Pick up object.
Run around room.
Watch for green line.
This, apparently, was the technological breakthrough CCF had been waiting for.
No spreadsheets.
No architectural diagrams.
No seventeen-page treatise on crafting optimisation.
Just a Victorian gentleman sprinting around a workshop clutching industrial equipment and shouting internally, SHOW MYLES THE GREEN LINE.
We even discovered there are different types of Augments, like science or hunting … many types, and when you make a workbench, it tells you which types will boost it.
This information had apparently been sitting there in the interface the entire time.
Waiting.
Patiently.
Like an instruction manual left unopened in Craig's house.
Science Augments help science things. Hunting Augments help hunting things. Various other Augments help various other things. It was a whole taxonomy of useful information which, once understood, seemed perfectly logical.
This was unfortunate because it meant there was considerably less scope to blame Inflexion.
We also discovered through the robust scientific process of trial and error, more error than scientific trial, that an Augment can boost multiple workbenches if they are within range.
This was important.
Until this point, CCF had largely approached Augmentations as though every workbench required its own dedicated ornamental shrine, presumably watched over by a minor Victorian deity responsible for advanced woodworking.
Instead, one Augment could service several nearby benches.
There was range.
There were categories.
There were connections.
There were green lines.
Civilisation had arrived.
Admittedly, civilisation had arrived roughly ninety minutes before everybody else.
After Craig and Zaph logged off at the end of the session, Dave built a house, and we spent 2 hours moving all our stuff from three different buildings: workbenches, Augments, and chests to our new shack.
It is worth pausing here to appreciate what had happened.
For weeks CCF had been practising a form of architectural colonialism.
Need a workshop?
Find somebody else's workshop.
Need storage?
There's a perfectly good abandoned building over there.
Need somewhere for the saw table?
Perhaps the church.
Why build civilisation when civilisation has already helpfully left buildings lying around?
Dave, however, finally embraced his destiny as Victorian Grand Designs host and constructed an actual purpose-built house.
Then came the moving.
Workbench after workbench.
Augment after Augment.
Chest after chest.
Two hours of four grown men discovering that Nightingale had quietly become Removalists Simulator: Gaslamp Edition.
The great industrial migration eventually consolidated the possessions previously scattered across three different buildings into one magnificent new structure.
The house is carefully placed so Craig and Zaph can never find anything again.
Security through obscurity.
A well-established IT principle.
The Craig Catch-Up Arc
With the Industrial Revolution temporarily under control, attention turned to another piece of ageing infrastructure.
Craig.
We decided to help Craig catch up as the rest of us were several stages along the main quest line.
This was done entirely out of friendship and concern.
There was absolutely no frustration involved in discovering that one member of the party had somehow been wandering around several chapters behind everyone else while still cheerfully attending the same expeditions.
We may or may not have gear-shamed Craig for his low-level gear; however, it turns out the problem wasn’t his gear, he hadn’t completed a mandatory side quest.
This was awkward.
There had been observations.
There had been comments.
There may have been an implied suggestion that Craig had dressed himself from the lost-and-found bin outside a Victorian workhouse.
Yet the equipment wasn't actually the problem.
Craig had simply failed to do something compulsory.
Which, when stated like that, made considerably more sense.
So we made Craig touch the fancy Fae rune, got him through the door, killed the beetle boss for the 3rd time (stay dead already), then took him to the swamp to make him fight the Harpy Queen.
The fancy Fae rune was touched.
The door opened.
Progress occurred.
Then, because Nightingale believes repetition builds character, the beetle boss appeared again.
For the third time.
CCF has now killed this beetle often enough that there should be some sort of loyalty program.
KILL TEN, GET THE ELEVENTH BOSS FREE.
There is something faintly embarrassing about defeating an allegedly significant supernatural creature, only to encounter it again later behaving as though the previous two deaths were administrative misunderstandings.
Still, it died.
Again.
Stay dead already.
Having finally dragged Craig through the mandatory paperwork of heroic progression, there was only one sensible place to take him.
The swamp.
Specifically, to fight the Harpy Queen.
Because nothing says welcome back to the main quest like being marched into poisoned wetlands and introduced to royalty with violence.
The Magwyth Marsh Journey Continues
Before returning to the swamp, we popped back to our home base to upgrade Craig and Zaph’s gear, so we wouldn’t be embarrassed by their low gear scores.
This was not gear-shaming.
This was quality assurance.
There is a distinction.
A professional organisation maintains standards, and CCF was not about to stride into Magwyth Marsh looking as though two members of the expedition had been equipped during a closing-down sale.
Materials were produced.
Benches were consulted.
The new industrial layout was tested.
Numbers went upwards.
Respectability was restored.
Or at least manufactured.
We didn’t spend a lot of time in the swamp as it was making both Zaph and Craig’s pc’s grind to a halt, or maybe they just objected to being knee-deep in poisonous water whilst being munched on by giant frogs.
The exact cause remains under investigation.
On the technical side, Magwyth Marsh appeared to regard Zaph and Craig's computers as optional participants.
Frame rates declined.
Movement became theoretical.
Their PCs began reproducing the swamp experience in hardware, progressing through everything with the enthusiasm of a Victorian cart stuck axle-deep in mud.
On the other hand, it is entirely possible that their complaints were simply a natural response to the local tourism offering.
MAGWYTH MARSH
Come for the poisonous water.
Stay because a giant frog is eating your leg.
Either way, enthusiasm diminished.
We did clear one factory and 2 infestations – well, Dave and Myles did after the naysayers had logged off for the evening.
There are two ways to interpret this.
One is that Dave and Myles showed admirable determination, heroically pressing onward after their companions had retired.
The other is that once Craig and Zaph were gone, progress immediately accelerated.
The Royal Commission would probably have investigated this correlation.
Sadly, it remains missing in the swamp.
Tonight's Campfire Song – Sung by Myles
Tonight's song is about Dave's architectural building style.
It is dedicated to anyone who has ever entered one of Dave's structures and immediately wondered whether the architect was working from blueprints, instinct, or a fever dream involving Bhutan.
Was that Bhutan styling planned from the start,
Or did someone simply fling paint at the wall?
Were measurements taken? Was thought involved?
Did an architect participate at all?
Sometimes Myles pauses before the mirror,
Dreaming of quests that the party might do.
Why is the floor apparently fashioned from clay?
And why is that enormous rock coming through?
Perhaps this is simply the best we can get,
A triumph of stonework, ambition and regret.
One moment you're standing in Sylvan glades,
Making a respectable new suit for town.
Then the Bound arrive carrying mortars and fire,
And enthusiastically burn the whole house down.
Could we perhaps have slightly more space?
Nobody said construction was a race.
Myles doesn't require another whole floor,
But civilisation traditionally includes a door.
So before Dave adds turrets, a balcony and annex,
Or another decorative wall for architectural effect,
There remains one small question, increasingly direct:
Can Myles please speak to the architect?
Did We Learn or Achieve Anything This Week?
Against expectation, yes.
We learnt
Google rules, Dave drools.
A conclusion reached using the same rigorous standards that now govern Augmentation research.
Myles can be redeemed, Craig is a work in progress.
One member of CCF successfully went from Industrial Revolution liability to Augmentation whisperer in approximately ninety minutes.
The other had to be escorted back through a mandatory side quest he'd apparently left beside the road several hours earlier.
These things take time.
If you build your own place, instead of just appropriating other people's houses, churches, workrooms, you can actually fit everything in one area.
This discovery may fundamentally reshape CCF settlement policy.
Historians are already calling it the transition from wandering squatters to people who own a shed.
You can move a storage chest with all its belongings.
This knowledge would have been especially useful before beginning a two-hour relocation exercise.
Naturally, this is when we discovered it.
We achieved
Our first house, built in the Bhutan style.
It contains the workbenches.
It contains the Augments.
It contains the storage.
It may contain a rock.
It probably needs a door.
But it is ours.
Craig achieved – Ad Astra
Complete the Welkins Reach main quest.
After mandatory remedial rune touching, one beetle re-death and a guided tour through the swamp, Craig has officially rejoined the plot.
Mostly.
Dave achieved – Architect
Build a house.
The game has formally recognised Dave as an architect.
CCF is considering an appeal.
Myles achieved – Redeemed
Learn how to use Augments.
Green lines were observed.
Knowledge was acquired.
Industrial mayhem was reduced to industrial confusion, which represents measurable progress.
Zaph achieved – Shiny
Make a fancy rifle with an embossed barrel.
Because while everyone else was wrestling with architecture, quest progression and basic industrial literacy, Zaph quietly made the gun prettier.
Priorities.
And so ended another productive evening in the Realms.
Craig was finally on the correct quest.
Zaph had a shiny rifle.
Dave had become a legally recognised architect.
Myles had stared deeply into the mysteries of Victorian industry and discovered that the answer was, apparently, to pick things up and run around until a green line appeared.
The base was organised.
The swamp remained horrible.
The giant frogs remained hungry.
And somewhere beneath the poisoned waters of Magwyth Marsh, the Royal Commission continued to be unavailable for comment.
