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| The Hour of Trumpets | |
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| Category | Story Event |
| Type | Story |
| Data ID | 298861 |
The Hour of Trumpets is a Sunless Skies Story Event.
Story description[]
Prisons are forbidden in Pan. Instead, those who aggrieve other citizens too persistently are branded with the Calf-sign. Then, during the Hour of Trumpets, the Brazen Brigade hunt. Their quarry is supposedly only those bearing the Calf-sign, but when the devils' blood is up they don't always discriminate.
Trigger conditions[]
Area: Limbo
Frequency: Always (100%)
Interactions[]
| Actions | Requirements | Effects | Notes |
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| Confine your crew to quarters
Most citizens of Pan stay off the streets when the piping is merry and the devils' trumpets sound.
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Failed event | Advanced alteration value probably needs examination.
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| They never listen
You gather in the galley, but some faces are missing. A few of your crew have defied your order and gone ashore to indulge in Pan's liberties. Outside, you hear the exultant peal of trumpets and the wild laughter of devils. You never see your wayward crew again.
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| Successful event | |||
| Even this shall pass
You huddle in the galley over Murgatroyd's Fungal Crackers and a ration of whisky. Outside, trumpets blare. A scream interrupts your forced conversation. You finish the crackers in silence. Eventually, the Idol's merry piping changes to a lilting lullaby. The Hour of Trumpets is over.
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| Spy on the hunt
Few have witnessed an infernal hunt. Few would want to. Perhaps that's what makes you special.
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Failed event | Advanced alteration value probably needs examination.
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| Hunted
Devils do not hunt with hounds. How then did they catch your scent? Can they – as some say – smell sin?
Their trumpets scream. The hooves of their silver horses hammer like drums. Every door is closed to you, every window barred. You hide behind broken walls and in shadowed groves. Always they find you. By the time you make it back to your engine you are ragged and bleeding. That night, and for many nights after, you hear trumpets.
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| Successful event | |||
| Sport
From your concealment amidst the branches of a red-leafed tree, you catch glimpses of the hunt. The devils carry no weapons. They wear bright waistcoats and happy smiles. They ride silver horses – where in the heavens did they get silver horses from?
One chase culminates in the shadows of a viney ruin. Afterwards, while their quarry gurgles and dies, the hunters sit on the old stones and talk of recent affairs and idle wishes. The hems of their skirts and trousers are speckled with crimson; their horses' hooves are dripping and red.
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Links[]
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