[b]Dyssia![/b]

There was a strange ripple in the air. There was a... a sword in your hand. You didn't remember it getting there.

"Of course," said NBX-462. "Indefinite redesignation, it's as you say. Should hold up to Sector Governor level. I'll issue the decree immediately."

He turns to go. He doesn't take the gun. There [i]isn't[/i] a gun. There's only this sword, ethereal and silver, surrounded by drifting threads of wool where it's cut through the heart of the Synnefo. When did this appear?

"Hey!" bounding towards you, a golden ball of fur and ultraviolence, came Gemini, warrior of Ceron. "Hey! That's my sword, you big dumb pool noodle!"

Her tail wags. The wagging of tails like this have been turned towards orbital bombardment as easily as they have to playfights or games of fetch. You don't know how you got her sword or what you did with it, but she's ready to throw the fuck down right now over it if you don't think [i]real [/i]fast.

[b]Dolce![/b]

For all its importance, it is rare for anyone to see the actual [i]work [/i]of Biomancy being done. Everywhere its consequences spiral and unravel but the act itself...

Demeter watches over the work of the Craftsman. She wears a laboratory coat melded with blacksmith's apron, and carries a metal leg as a walking stick which she sometimes idly gnaws on like it's a bone. All about her bloom the fruit of summer, sunflowers opening petals of bones, trees that drop acorn seeds filled with teeth, blood oozing out like rubber from the pierced trunks of trees and rows and rows of intestines growing on a trellis. None of this us ugly, none of this is wet, none of it even looks like the gore that should be inside people. Why should it? That would trigger primitive disgust and self preservation instincts and there was no reason that should be a barrier when it could have been engineered out. Why not make that disembodied nervous system a thing of prismatic coral colours? When that ear of corn is torn open to reveal a deltoid muscle group ready for immediate application, why should it not be the pleasing yellow colour and texture of corn? 

To work in this garden of nightmares is no different to working in the little garden that fed your tavern on Beri. Demeter oversees both the same as Iskarot carries out the long work of regrowing Sanalessa. 

"A strange harvest for you, little chef," said Demeter, measuring the growth of eyefruit with calipers. "And one I am not sure if I should permit you. I am in a generous mood, but nevertheless... tell me, do you remember meeting me once before?"

Memories through the Lethe. Displeasing Demeter beneath a desert sun and storm. This is a dangerous line of questioning.