Searching a Corpse

 is considered a Hidden Quality Enemy Loot in Sunless Skies.

Hidden description
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Obtaining
Hidden Qualities are used to track various things and are invisble to the player.

Quality status
 has different statuses according to your actions, defined by the comment in front of the quality.

Variable Interaction description
These desciptions appear when a specific group is called for text.

CaptivatingResult

 * [ 93 ] An engineer passes you a knife to cut the net. Behind it, items nestle against the fur. An extraordinarily detailed glass finger: perfect down to its fragile fingerprint. A wooden bottle holding clean water. A cube with the chill and edge of metal, but transparent as a window. The etched markings on each side of it are in a language you have never encountered. A dice? Finally, a stone that would make a jeweller's heart stop.
 * [ 95 ] The net is so tightly bound that it takes you several minutes to work items free. The first tears as you pull: it is a letter from London; a young lady rejecting a suitor. There is a thin rod made of dense, malleable metal. Its end is tapered, with a raw edge. It has been torn off something larger. Finally, hanging out of a broken setting, a stone the size of a child's fist, that shatters your lights into rainbows.
 * [ 97 ] The net is taut; as you begin to cut, its cords ping loose. It holds only a large jar. The things inside are dried and withered. Is that a grape? It rolls over to show a blue iris. Beneath it is a gelatinous bubble containing uncannily-stirring smoke. At the bottom is a dried stalk; one end is swollen, the skin thin and transparent. It glows and flickers like a trapped fire fly – if the fly were as bright as a star."

CondemnedResult

 * [ 48 ] The net is fraying and easy to snap. It has been damaged by the contents – unkind things. A carnivore's tooth: thick, long and shaped to rip and gouge. The nameplate of a locomotive, blasted beyond reading, twisted and torn; its edges are raw. A perfect sphere, smooth to the touch and black as guilt. It seems out of place in this array, till you notice that your sky-suit has eroded where you held it.
 * [ 55 ] The cords of the net are stained a dark rust-brown. They part reluctantly under your knife, creaking as you saw at them. There is a stone, the size of your fist and the shape of a tear. An Enfield revolver, engraved with faded initials. A tube long as your arm and thick as your thigh, hollow and smelling of sulphur. A flower with pollen acidic enough to blister steel. A rope.
 * [ 72 ] A maggot squirms free while you are cutting open the net. Beneath the Curator's motley collection is an unhealing wound. Blood and effluvia have encrusted its belongings. You need to wipe them down before they can be identified. There is a cast metal sort (the letter O). There is a sharpened quill, from no bird you've encountered. A pot of dust, which liquefies under pressure. (Your engineer's hands will be stained for weeks.)"

OtherworldlyResult

 * [ 0 ] The net releases a tumult of items: one small cymbal – the size of a large coin, a flower whose petals chafe to produce a crystalline hum, a rock the size of a human skull – carved into a looping shape and pierced with a lattice of tunnels, and, finally, a gourd. The gourd bulges with round-capped fungus which, when depressed, emits a wistful sighing.
 * [ 20 ] The fur around the net is matted and worn; it must be torn free before you can access its contents. Among them is a chitinous foot, possessed of eight articulate toes – it smells like embalming fluid. A small dried five-eyed fish. A human heart, salted. Was this curator notably morbid? Or were these provisions for its vast, windy journeys across the gulfs between stars?
 * [ 35 ] The net bulges, its cords straining against its contents. When cut, the strings fly back, flicking against the glass of your helmet. The contents spew forth. This is a short rod, with a bristle of brass spines at one end. Is it a key? A plaque of adamant, stamped with a blazing sigil. It is too bright to consider directly, and melts several mirrors when you try to examine it more obliquely. Is it a passphrase? A beacon? And finally, a doorknob, as found in a typical middle-class London home. "

SearchBranch

 * [ 0 ] It takes two to pull open one of the giant wings. It is reasonably light, but cumbersome – it threatens to enfold you like an affectionate tent. You pull back the other wing. The Curator's body is still warm, and covered with a fine fur.
 * [ 20 ] The Curator's wings are thin but sturdy, with a texture between sailcloth and supple leather. An engineer helps you pull the wings open and pin them out of the way. He yelps when a claw scratches his helmet – a final spasm from the dead creature.
 * [ 40 ] An engineer offers you a crowbar to assist with the creature's wings. It is easy enough to hook it under one of the forearms, but the bone fractures when you apply force. You are forced to don a second pair of gloves to peel the wings open by the claws.
 * [ 48 ] This creature's wings were thin and battered even before you trained your weapons upon it. They tear when you unfold them. Its body is thin, the ridges of its ribs pressing through the patchy dull fur. An old scar traces the shape of a sigil. \"I can't look at it, Captain. Makes my teeth sing.\" An engineer winces and turns away.
 * [ 68 ] The Curator's wings lift away easily – they are thin, translucent and dull. Beneath them, the creature's torso is marred with a brand. It is a sigil, partially obliterated by a wound from one of your weapons. Even damaged and incomplete, it aches to look upon.
 * [ 88 ] Your weapons have wrenched one wing out of the shoulder. The Curator is covered in a fine, dull fur. Under what could perhaps be described as an armpit is a bald patch, marred with a throbbing sigil. Fortunately, the grime on your visor prevents you from seeing it clearly. Your stoker – ever fastidious – is less lucky. He shrieks as his eyebrows ignite.
 * [ 93 ] The Curator's wings are thick and heavy, like the leather of a London club's best armchair. It takes the combined strength of you and your navigator to reveal the beast's torso – thick with muscle, covered in a glossy fur. This one was a skilled hunter; it ate well.
 * [ 97 ] Even in death, this beast exudes menace. Its fur shines oily black in the light from your locomotive. The leathery wings are scarred, but only from trivial wounds. The creature's teeth are long and serrated. One is broken and jagged, and no less dangerous for it. This sky-stalker sought and won countless battles. Then it met you.

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