False Hope Session 3: The Chase

Brennan stalked through the cave with a heavy gait, the click of his boots echoing off the stone walls. His cane tapped against the uneven ground, more for show than support, but with each step, his irritation grew. Hours. He’d spent hours wandering this damn cave, convinced he was following a path deeper into its depths—only to realize he’d been reading the map all wrong.

Cash flitted beside him, its crystalline form shimmering with frustrated blinks. It had tried to tell him. He knew that now. The glyphs on the walls weren’t a map of the cave at all—they were a star chart, a guide to something much farther than he’d anticipated. And yet, it hadn’t changed the fact that he’d walked himself in circles before the truth had finally clicked.

By the time Brennan emerged from the depths of the cave, the light had shifted—low and coppery, casting long, angular shadows across the salt flats. Dust clung to his coat. His cane clicked against the stone, louder now in the stillness.

Behind him, the chamber and its robed guardian remained shrouded in secrets. The artifact had slipped through his fingers, and the answers he sought lay elsewhere—somewhere far beyond this hollow place.

Cash hovered nearby, blinking a soft amber glow. Watching.

Brennan paused at the cave’s mouth and drew his rapier. The black iron caught the fading light, a dull gleam rippling across its etched surface. He turned it upright, the point resting gently against the earth. Then, with one hand over the hilt, he closed his eyes.

“I swear on the Iron,” he said quietly, “I’ll find the Monument. Whatever’s broken out there, I’ll see it mended. And if someone’s already staked their claim on it… we’ll just have to renegotiate.”

[Miss- figures -_- first vow... we are really off to a good start ]

The wind shifted slightly, brushing the edge of his coat. Cash blinked twice—neutral, unreadable.

The wind stirred.

And then—a sharp chirp from Cash.

Red blink. Urgent.

The False Hope’s comms flared to life.

A voice. Too familiar. Too smug.
“Didn’t think I’d hear from you again, Rook. Thought you’d buried yourself in ruins, chasing ghosts. But I hear you’re digging around places you shouldn’t be. Again.”

Brennan froze. The voice buzzed like static and bile in his ears. His grip on the rapier tightened.

His rival—the one who stole what was his by right, the one who'd always been two steps ahead.

“You want the Monument?” the voice continued. “Then you’ll have to find it before I do. But don’t worry—I’ll leave pieces of the path behind. Just enough to remind you who’s winning.”

The comms cut.

Cash blinked a warning. Brennan’s jaw tightened.

“Well,” he muttered, sheathing the blade, “that complicates things.”

The vow hung heavy now. A path forward, blocked before it even began.

After swearing the Iron Vow and receiving that taunting message, Brennan marches back to the False Hope, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. The cave had offered him riddles and shadows, not the artifact he was sent to retrieve. And now this—his rival, alive and meddling, and once again ahead of him.

The roar of the beast echoes across the salt flats behind him, distant but unforgettable.

He boards the ship, boots clanking against the ramp, and mutters something about needing stronger tea and fewer ghost cults. Cash flutters into the cockpit, still blinking warning-red but less frantically now. Brennan flops into the pilot’s seat and uploads the glyph-traced map, setting course toward what he believes is the Monument’s location.

The nav system accepts it—though Cash seems unconvinced, flickering a hesitant yellow. Brennan dismisses the concern with a half-hearted wave.

“The E-drive needs to cool down anyway,” he says aloud. “We’ll drift in, stay dark. Won’t even know we’re coming.”

The False Hope slips into the Drift, the engines humming like a whispered promise.

What Brennan doesn’t notice—what the scans don’t pick up—is the tiny subroutine seeded in the ship’s systems. A quiet loop nested in the E-drive's software, implanted by his rival, triggered to activate once Brennan exits the Drift again. Not explosive, not overt. Just… enough.

Enough to stop the engine from recharging.

Undertake an Expedition (edge)
Action: 3 + 3 = 6
Challenge: 7, 4
WEAK HIT

Story Complication
Roll: 87
Urgent message distracts you from your quest
Action: Aquire
Theme: Prophecy

As the False Hope stabilizes from the Drift, a deafening burst of static explodes across the comms. The ship’s auto-filters struggle to contain it, and then—through the crackling interference—comes a voice, strained and desperate:

"This is… [garbled]… we were wrong. It’s waking up. If anyone—" A burst of static swallows the words, then a gasp, ragged and wet, as if the speaker is struggling for breath. "The Black Iron isn’t just… It’s not just a key. It’s a seal. You can’t let them—"_

A violent screech rips through the message, followed by a low, grinding hum—like something massive shifting in the dark. Then, the voice returns, weak, barely a whisper:

"If you find this… gods help you. We didn’t know. We didn’t—"

The transmission cuts. Dead silence follows. Then, after a beat, the message begins to loop.

The False Hope drifted through the dark, its scanners sweeping the void for the source of the distress signal. Brennan leaned forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the readout. The results came in—a ship, dead in the water, its silhouette stark against the endless stars. No engine signatures. No communications beyond the automated distress loop.

"Well… that’s weird," Brennan muttered.

Cash blinked in sharp, rapid pulses of red. Don’t do it.

Brennan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, I’ve gotta let the drive cool down anyway. Might as well check it out."

The sprite’s lights flared in clear protest, but Brennan was already adjusting course, bringing the ship in closer. As he neared, more details surfaced. The vessel’s hull was scarred and battered, as if it had been through a fight—or worse. And yet, no wreckage, no signs of an explosion. Just silence.

He flipped on the external lights, casting long shadows over the ship’s surface. The nameplate was barely legible beneath layers of scorch marks and ice.

"Alright," Brennan muttered, "let’s see what poor soul needs rescuing."

Brennan leaned back in the pilot’s seat, fingers drumming against the console as the False Hope drifted silently through the void. The derelict ship hovered just ahead, backlit by a dying star—its hull a twisted silhouette of forgotten design, flickering occasionally with static ghost-light from a shattered comm array.

He’d already flagged the distress signal, confirmed it wasn’t on any recent registries, and now, just for caution’s sake, he punched up a systems check.

“Let’s make this quick,” he muttered to Cash, who hovered over the nav console, glowing a nervous shade of yellow.

He tapped for the E-drive diagnostics. Just a routine cooldown, then the spin-up. Standard procedure.

The screen flashed.

ERROR – E-DRIVE POWER RETENTION FAILURE
CHARGE INHIBITED.
SYSTEM LOOP DETECTED.
DIAGNOSTIC: TAMPERED.

Brennan blinked. Once. Twice.

“…What?”

He ran it again. Same result.

The smile dropped from his face, replaced by a slow scowl. “That’s not a malfunction,” he said. “That’s a fingerprint.”

Cash blinked once, red. Then again. Then again—faster.

Brennan stared at the code string dancing across the display. The signature was buried deep, subtle—clever work. Too clever for just anyone. But not for—

His knuckles rapped against the console once, twice. “Oh, you smug bastard,” he growled. “You did this before I even left Dykuma.”

His voice quieted to a whisper, edged in respect and rage. “You knew I’d come. You knew I’d chase it.”

Outside, the derelict ship loomed closer—silent, broken, and now necessary. If he didn’t find the parts or a workaround here, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Brennan slid upright in his chair and cracked his neck. “Alright then,” he muttered. “You want to play games? Let’s dance.”

Cash blinked a cautious green.

“Yeah,” he added, grabbing his rapier and pack. “I know. Don’t do it. But we’re doing it anyway.”