[center][img]http://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/253784f7-b755-41ef-b248-616664056bb6.png[/img][/center]

From sleeping on her feet to flying in her dreams, Tauga found that her grip on her own consciousness was improving. Just as her flexible black mask slowly repaired its cuts and scratches, subtly reinforcing what had been damaged, her own brain and body were cautiously self-adjusting without her volition.

It let her dull the edge of impatience as she stood listening to the on-paper councillor justify his reluctance. At some interval that appealed to her intuition, Tauga tuned back into the mood of the hall and cut in: [color=antiquewhite]"Convene the council."[/color]

A stark pause in the flow of words. The troll's own frustration momentarily evaporated, driven out by the shock of her audacity. When it returned, he was too aghast to hold it in with condescending diplomacy.

"Council, council, council! Always you mention the [i]council[/i] as though you are the Énas himself, gods-rest-his-name, and the wise men of Xerxes toil to execute your singular will! [i]We are powerful men, Tauga![/i] And it is not by coincidence that this is so!" The troll's hands made sharply measured gesticulations before him, and as he spoke the sunlight flowing through the grand entrance-hall of Cipher glinted from a thin wire of [i]alyum nayam[/i] wrapped on his tusk, expensive import from the mountains where such things were now made.

"We're men of ambition! Of great pride and intellect, of ferocious rivalry! The old council would never yield before an upstart like you, no matter how violent, and neither will we! You can't just create order by obliterating the City's infrastructure, and you never will! Only the unified hearts of the wise in loyalty to a king, [i]an office which no longer exists,[/i] can deliver you your idiotic fantasy, and no amount of threats and murder can win them over! It is crude and childish! I myself hav-"

[i]Boom,[/i] reverberated the stunning tremor as it jolted the councillor's eyes wide open. Small ornaments crashed and clanged their way down elsewhere. His guards recovered quickly and levelled a ready gaze at Tauga.

[colour=antiquewhite]"Convene the council."[/colour]

He raised his palms slowly, held them up low. Considered for a moment and found his words, holding them level with the trained care of a leader. "Tauga, please. Take a moment. Let that rage of yours cool long enough to consider the consequences of what you're doing. I know, I [i]confess[/i] that the City is hurt, it's not what it should be. No- more than that. It's a deep wound, and I know how that must hurt you. I was young too, once."

"But more blood will not heal us. Making ashes won't see our buildings rebuilt. The council must work as one, if it is to work at all. You have a great gift, Tauga, but the ones in power cannot be lifted up on the edge of an axe, only broken on it. For the sake of what is still precious in Xerxes, you must not-"

This time the impact knocked his balance, and he saved himself from falling to his knees only to have the second strike force him to brace himself with a hand on the floor. Another deafening metallic clang, another, another, from left and right, becoming one continuous clamour as the Bludgeons shook the Cipher Pyramid. Its divine architecture held firm even as its foundations quaked.

With low stances, advancing when they could safely take a step, the guards lowered their spears and advanced on Tauga, the only one still upright.

With a final [i]crack[/i] of moon-forged metal on pavestone, a sphere slammed over the huge doors of the palace, severing the sun. Only the bleak white of its orbiting plumes was left to glint on the heads of their spears as the tremors faded.

Tauga slipped her scabbard from her shoulder and unsheathed Help's scalpel. Surrounded by private soldiers at five points, she held the weapon lightly in one hand, point down, with a voice as casual as it had always been. 

[color=antiquewhite]"Keep talking."[/color]

In the pause forced by her calm and the spreading silence, the councillor stood on his feet and tried to see what lay behind the insectile gaze of the mask. And, looking, as invisible snakes seethed horribly around his face and neck, as his guards one by one felt their confidence crack before the demon, he saw nothing but the same flat stare she had held at the beginning.

Heard nothing but the apathetic ease with which he knew in his heart this hain had slaughtered Usgalo and all his cronies and his family with them, and crushed his barracks for good measure.

"I'll do what I can," he whispered, and the barricade vanished, the reaping Bludgeon returning to the skies. Tauga sheathed her weapon and shoved past a bodyguard on her way out.

[center]* * * * *[/center]

Certain things were stirring, late and pitiful, shuffling pieces within the City's ever-flowing body. Markets were filtering open, ruins counted and unbought imports claimed. Bodies buried. It did nothing to fill the empty hearts and bellies of the many, or hold the broken hands of the generation that had built Xerxes. And still, for all the lost promises and cast-aside people, a faint spark of hope was visible. Hope not for themselves, but maybe, just maybe, their children would see the City whole again.

Winds were blowing, and as they strummed the cords of the Bludgeons, they hummed with the sound of Change.

Tauga's gait was relaxed and brisk, and Pumps the sweetheart bobbed eagerly above her shoulders, the tube bouncing at its neck. Alert, she spotted the streetwalkers that spotted her first, recognised several of them as people that had seen her before. It wasn't unusual to see her on the streets, the strong and unknown among the innumerable weak. That was how she lived now. Sleeping lightly at midnight, on the move before dawn.

One huddled cluster of wide-eyed watchers in particular drew her attention and Tauga changed course slightly to meet them at the end of the street. They did their watching piecemeal in fearful glances, longer and longer as she approached until Tauga was receiving two frightened stares.

The moment before she was within speaking range, she heard the sidelong whisper- [i]"It's the blowfly."[/i] Then she was in earshot of ordinary folk, and the three hain were quiet.

Without talking, Tauga pulled back her mask roughly, shedding the face of the monster, and loosened her rucksack, holding it awkwardly on her knee. Her homeless hosts smelled the contents before they saw, and even the hatchling with the unchanging downcast gaze looked up. Small and trembling hands rose to receive the wrapped bundle of rice. Her eyes held only wonder.

The sack was still nearly full. One of the fathers' beak clicked a few times as his dry tongue worked to find words.

[color=antiquewhite]"Free,"[/color] interjected Tauga, choosing to spare him the further humiliation of thanks, no matter how honest. The streets of the City were Death's door. To beg in a place built on the back of greed denied reality. Better to starve quietly. Stay out of everybody's way.

Hain had the worst lot of all. Rovaick could eat masonry until scurvy took over. Female humans could survive if they were young enough, though the risk was terrible. Soft-skinned, hairy, promiscuous animals were the race of Men, just like the apes and the dogs, out for blood with no family but themselves. No room in their heart for stray beakies.

[color=antiquewhite]"There's more. Come with me. I can keep you safe."[/color] She let one of the parents hold the bag and waited as they stood on shaky joints. The other father picked up the child. Tauga felt like it was an appropriate moment to stroke her head, but instead they only shared an indecisive look. Pumps came to her rescue and hooted happy sounds at the hatchling, who screamed at its squishy pinkness and then laughed and then screamed again when she saw it. Her carrier crooned softly.

[color=antiquewhite]"It's not far. Down well street."[/color]

"Wherever you want," assured the other hain hurriedly.

It wasn't far, by Tauga's measure. Tauga, who was tall, and blessed with divine stamina, and had spent much of the last few weeks flying. After a while she saw that the hain with the sack looked weak, offered to carry it. He declined. Of course.

A faint set of notes was wandering out from a distant street as they neared, the wooden clatter of a marimba. Street music, wavering and unpracticed and present all the same.

When they finally slowed, it was clear where Tauga was leading them. Fire had blackened everything, every stone and shard of pottery in the burned district around the House of Jvan. And the soot rose from those ruins in faint clouds as it stained even the skin and clothes of the labourers working there, obscuring the crossed tattoo they all shared. Working, for no clear purpose, to clear the rubble and salvage whatever was worth the time- Who was feeding them? Who had the resources, or the desire? Everything of real value had been stripped long ago.

A glance was shared between the hain. Hauling stone was preferable to famine, no matter the reason, or the benefactor.

But their eerie guide didn't stop. Past the line of workers, to a space already cleared. Here, it seemed, their journey ended. Four men stood armed and ready, wearing no uniform but mercenary armour, their faces hidden behind black scarves and bandannas and still plainly recognisable as soldiers. Between them was a stained pot, several bags of rice, an open strongbox and a line of people much like the ones Tauga had caught on the brink of death. Stragglers. Families. Mostly hain.

Tauga motioned them to join the queue. At its head, a frail woman with hands stained finger to wrist with ink was pulling dead faeries from the pot, using them to inscribe a simple X-shaped tattoo into the left shoulder of each new worker. All but the hain- They, too, received a small spot in the only place where ink would not be shed with the moult, on the tip of the tongue. Several such newcomers were recovering to the side, sipping vinegar to soothe the irritated spot.

One of the armsmen approached Tauga as she drew near. A human, only his eyes visible. She recognised him all the same. Sen, the soldier she had knocked down on the day of her return. Neither of them had the faintest trace of affection for one another, but Sen was good at his job when he had to be. And he had seen, in person, how coldly she could choose to end lives. 

[colour=antiquewhite]"How many so far?"[/colour]

"Five score and sixteen today. More than a thousand on the whole." A small nod without words. It made Sen uneasy. Tauga looked so soulless, if you stared long enough. "If we keep this rate going, we might run out of coins."

[color=antiquewhite]"Coins,"[/color] she repeated dumbly, looking at him.

Sen saw that he'd slipped and moved to recover. "It's what the men have been calling the tokens, sir. We found a coat, sir, salvaged, sir, and decided to bet it on what name the workers would use for them, only, after a few days of banter about [i]coining[/i] the name, they started to think that 'coining' [i]was[/i] the name. Of the ration system. So now everyone calls them 'coins'. ...No one won the bet."

[colour=antiquewhite]"Sounds stupid,"[/colour] said Tauga without interest. Sen was again left in the quiet.

"Some of them have started swapping the coins for other things, sir, without exchanging them for food or clothes first. Should we stop them?"

She thought about it a moment, then shrugged. [color=antiquewhite]"I don't care. It'll happen anyway. Let them get what they want if they can."[/color] The three hain she'd reeled in from the street were still standing there, perhaps scared to leave her side. A whistle and a gesture, and Pumps jetted to the strongbox, came back with two tokens. Small triangles in gleaming copper, stamped with an eye. [colour=antiquewhite]"Here,"[/colour] Tauga said simply as she handed them over. [colour=antiquewhite]"For you and your kid. My men are guarding the granaries, so you can swap them for more food or clothes. Go let Erjang mark you. It means you're mine. Like a tool. You'll work for me and no one else, and I'll keep you safe, as long as you live. You won't get dumped on the street any more. I need you too much."[/colour] Life was cheap in the City. Property had value.

Tauga wondered why she found the idea of slavery so familiar.

The fathers glanced at one another and whispered unsteady thanks, their child asleep on the taller one's back. Sen pointed, and they shuffled into the queue. It was mostly hain.

"You sure don't like seeing beakies starve, do you?"

Tauga shrugged. [colour=antiquewhite]"I've been there."[/colour] Sen said nothing. [colour=antiquewhite]"It annoys me."[/colour]

"Ah."

A marimba melody drifted on the air. Tauga knew why the musicians were playing again. She owned them.

[center]* * * * *[/center]

On her feet in a ruined house was how Tauga normally slept. She wasn't sleeping now, though, and this house was only empty because it had no roof. Other than that it was quite serviceable. A night mouse scuttled in from the room's uncovered doorway. It didn't know that the eyes behind the black goggles were open and watching it idly, the brain behind them focused elsewhere. On a stool, a bundle of blankets was softly breathing as Pumps slept its way through gentle dreams.

She could hear the assassin coming from this distance, pad-footed, like the mouse. Taste him, too, with a single tentacle that rested lightly on his shoulder, as if reeling him in.

Step, step, step. The anticipation grew. Tauga didn't hold her breath as the critical moment neared. He was maybe two steps outside the doorway now.

Split the air- A long scream- Sudden [i]fwoomph[/i]- Bones hitting masonry- A seething hiss- Gagging- Hissing- Hissing- Hissing-

Tauga calmly stepped out of the room and into the darkness that filled the unfinished hall, the shadow under no roof. Brushed away the outer layers of the fiberling with her hand; The hairs writhed away at her touch. The tendrils she was holding its incorporeal cell-form with twisted their grip, forcing it to bend its catch towards her, bringing him to face level with the hain. His eyes were twitching in primal horror and she could smell urine. When he realised who was staring him down in the darkness, he tried to sob through his gag.

She remembered when Help had first showed her a fiberling; She, too, had screamed, even as the Sculptor demonstrated how safely playful the monstrosity was in her presence. Then she'd screamed some more. This fiberling, on the other hand, had been forced into the City, unable to fight the tentacled creature that could wrestle its invisible puppeteer form into submission. It seethed with feral rage, tightening its grip on the assassin with a sound of grinding carpets.

Still no real empathy, though. [color=antiquewhite][i]Damn. I guess.[/i][/color]

The fiberling reluctantly let go of his mouth and the man vomited. [colour=antiquewhite]"So who paid you?"[/colour] It took a while before he could speak again. 

"Don't-know," mumbled. "G-g-gobbo in a hood." 

Hired by proxy, of course. [color=antiquewhite]"Where?"[/color]

"S-south wall gate... Please. Please."

South wall gate. That could mean Yio Hu, or that mine-owning councillor with the forgettable name. A fairly useful hint. Not that it would matter, at this point. A chained fiberling sent a more powerful message than a thousand inept flailings of her scalpel ever would. There would be no more assassins.

"Please. Please! Family- I, I-"

[colour=antiquewhite]"Yeah, I know,"[/colour] said Tauga softly, and he quietened down, lost to despair.

A low, concerned whistle. [i]Toooo, oo?[/i]

[color=antiquewhite]"Pumps, go back to sleep,"[/color] warned the hain, and her sweetheart obligingly tucked itself back in. [i]Hooo-o-oo.[/i] A few seconds, then back to the assassin.

[color=antiquewhite]"Any last words?"[/color]

Tauga very slowly counted to three, with no response but mumbling lips, then reached into the mass of hair, pressing the man's windpipe with her fingertips until she found the jugular veins. She wrapped her hands around the man's neck and used her wrists to apply pressure to the sides until she couldn't feel a pulse any more, and then some.

[i]The throat carries air, but only to the lungs,[/i] Help had once taught her, in the child's voice that knew so much. [i]We breathe with our blood. When we bleed out, we are asphyxiating.[/i] She blinked away the memory.

[color=antiquewhite]"Okay. [i]Now[/i] you can have him."[/color] Tauga turned and walked back to her room, releasing the fiberling as she did. It fled immediately, revealing the mousehole it had been hiding in. Tauga nodded her head and fell asleep to the distant sound of ripping clothes and scalp.

[i][color=antiquewhite]I need to do something with these deaths.[/color][/i] was her last thought. The tube of arksynth was visible in Pumps' blankets and she avoided looking in its direction. Next morning. Next morning she could deal with it. [color=antiquewhite][i]The people are scared. I need to let them know that they don't... Have to be...[/i][/color]

[center]* * * * *[/center]

Two armsmen stood aside, relaxed, attentive, as four slaves waited for instruction. Their presence was unnecessary, at least to the end of supervision. Everyone with Tauga's mark was well aware that the cloth-masked militia guarded their food stores and beat the thieves who came at night. Those and the unruly, but few were unruly. Better not to make trouble. No, the soldiers were here for another.

Besides, a far more dangerous player was on the field today.

At a brisk knock, the door opened. A woman looked, mouth open in greeting, then was silent. It took her a second too long to try and pick up the words again. Tauga jabbed her under the ribs so she buckled, then decked her with a blow to the face.

[colour=antiquewhite]"Sareh, tie her up."[/colour] Tauga hopped over the fallen human and into the back of the house. One of her soldiers followed, the other preoccupied with rope. 

On the surface, everything was in line. Pots, chairs, a loom. Meagre bowls of rice. No suspicious crates or bundles under heavy cloth. The soldier glanced at Tauga. The hain was standing still. When the soldier moved closer to comment on what she saw, something brushed past her, as if by accident. [color=antiquewhite]"There's a false floor under the bed,"[/color] said Tauga abruptly, then turned and stepped off. [color=antiquewhite]"It's in here."[/color]

Together they lifted the simple wooden structure and set it aside; Under her bandanna, the soldier raised her eyebrows slightly at Tauga's strength. The hain was at least as strong as she was. Tauga scraped away the concealing layer of chalk they found below, revealing slats of wood on a floor that was mostly pale earth. Beneath this was a pit, and in that pit were hefty sacks of rice and lentils.

A nod. The soldier called in the slaves and they set about dragging out the contraband. Tauga stepped outside, where the second armsman was watching a fully conscious and defiantly quiet perpetrator. Quiet, at least, until Tauga showed her masked face. "Fuck you," said the woman, and spat in it. Sareh clipped her forehead but Tauga didn't flinch.

"Énas Amartia wouldn't have done this."

Tauga shrugged. [color=antiquewhite]"I'm not the Énas."[/color]

"What's fucking wrong with making sure I can eat for a few months then?"

A subtle shake of Tauga's head as the armsman raised his hand again. [color=antiquewhite]"In a few months we'll be harvesting gram and the famine will have broke,"[/color] she explained, maybe just to herself. [color=antiquewhite]"Just have to keep people from starving until then."[/color] The slaves stepped out of the house, carrying two sacks each on bare peasant muscle. Tauga nodded, the soldier flung the woman over his shoulders and seven figures set off into the street.

By now the recognition was open. [i]"It's the blowfly."

"Hey, look."

"Fuckin' hoarders."

"Is that- Tauga?"

"Blowfly."

"Watch out."

"Who got caught this time?"

"The rotflies are here."[/i]

As they walked, they passed street-sweepers and murals. Fresh murals, joyful murals. Etchings of a single Bludgeon flying like a comet, trailing a splendid plume over the skies of a shining City. Paintings of harvest-time, flowers and fruit and dances, and a Bludgeon in the distance. Xerxes, whole again, was whispered from ear to ear. Fear not the Bludgeons. Fight not the Bludgeons. The Bludgeons protect us. The Bludgeons purge the traitors. The City will rise.

Tauga knew those whispers. Thespians, poets, minstrels- those who trade words can only find food when food is plentiful. Now she owned the finest whisperers in Amestris. Of course, some of the whispers had started on their own. 

Tauga. Blowfly with the dark gloved suit and black-eyed mask. The Jaanite hain. A cultist without faeries. Help's assistant, come back to heal the City in her absence. Peasant girl who pulled out her own heart and all her soul and happiness with it, leaving an empty being. Whose heart could still be seen flying around her head some days as a phylactery. So that she could wear Jaan as a skin and remain uncorrupted. Demon princess who summoned fiberlings and Bludgeons.

The carrot and the stick, the bludgeon and the blowfly. [colour=antiquewhite][i]Or maybe,[/i][/colour] thought she, [colour=antiquewhite][i]it's the other way around.[/i][/colour]

They came to the burned district. Rubble was heaped into a low hill in the roofless skeleton of the House of Jaan. At least two hundred people stood by. Crows were gathering. Burned beams held up hanged bodies.

Sen was waiting, with some twenty other members of Tauga's militia. Ex-soldiers now claimed back into the fold of a leader, youths that had taken clubs and tried to defend themselves in the anarchy. Tauga was choosy about who she fed and trusted with a sword. Only those she could rely on. Here they stood, masked, marked each one by a wirework badge of precious copper, scrubbed in salt and vinegar to form a brown-green patina. The shape and colour of a blowfly.

Atop the mound was death row. Looters and lockpicks, pimps and pushers. Yio Hu the councillor, who paid an assassin. The gathering crowd parted for Tauga and her slaves, and the soldier dumped the hoarder in the row next to a Chipper who had raised her voice against bond labour and led the slaves to riot, even though they were well fed. Now she was muzzled. Tauga didn't take risks like that.

The sacks of food were packed, one by one, at the feet of the hoarder- Evidence of the crime. Similar artefacts were aligned with each of the other convicts. Food. An ingot of giant's bone. A bloody knife. A ragged woman with a clear view of her revenge.

Sen's badge glinted. The slave artist who made it had been told to include garnet chips for eyes. He was in charge. The mask emboldened him.

"Criminals. Anarchists. Profiteers. Look at these men who led you to believe they were your brothers!"  The crowd rustled to his shout. "Traitors to Xerxes! Do you not remember the days of Usgalo? Would you see this famine come again for the greed of the few? Is the City so weak as to let these leeches go? Parasites!"

A rising murmur. Tauga extended her hand to a slave, who passed her the long haft of a stone hammer. Humans were soft, and bled easily- Her khopesh scalpel was enough for them, poor swordsmanship or no. To execute a hain required a different kind of weapon.

"We stamp on the head of the worm and rise again! Under the light of the Bludgeons, [i]we will rise again![/i] See the true Amestrians separated from the chaff! Every tree that does not bear fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire!"

Sen saw Tauga rising to the top of the hill, bearing the sledgehammer. She nodded. He muscled the Chipper to the fore and stepped back.

She looked over the people. Some of them knew her, even before she had moved to the quarries and returned without a soul. All of them had seen her since. All had seen the destruction of the army and of the line of Usgalo. Many were slaves. Resting from a day tending derelict fields. They had seen her working, day night day, always in person, to keep the City stable. Her presence alone silenced them with more awe than Sen could ever stir. Something unseen flowed around her like a hurricane.

[color=antiquewhite]"For the betrayed."[/color]

Tauga raised the hammer and the people roared.

[center]* * * * *[/center]

People stepped aside for her now, shying away from the face, even without her mask. Pumps gave an excited little whistle every time someone looked at them, then a disappointed one when they passed by or turned away. Then without pause the sweetheart would see someone else and the cycle would repeat. It might be annoying, to have such a noisy pet tucked in an open leather rucksack, but, like much else, Tauga found she didn't care.

The only ones who did not inch back a little or avert their gaze were those already far enough to feel safe, those confident souls who whistled or raised a fist or cried [i]'Xerxes lives!'[/i] from rooftops. Those, and the wealthy.

Captains of large ships or small fleets, mostly, or traders dealing in river imports. Most had cronies, well-dressed servants or keen-eyed quartermasters, private bodyguards with hidden knives. They hailed her and Sen, calling wholesome greetings to the small troop of militiamen. Some approached her outright, intending to offer grateful donations or plans for reform, and were promptly ignored. Full-bellied oligarchs, all, who had never in their lives had to eat dirt. Tauga didn't trust a single one.

As they strode briskly through the City's extensive harbour, Tauga flicked her head constantly fore and back, birdlike, looking for prey. Her tentacles sprawled through the surrounding streets, counting the bustling workers by touch. Many of them were hers. Several skippers had died in the fire, as had hundreds of oarsmen. Idle boats had drifted untouched. Fish dwindled the markets. Now, as the slave crews learned, they started to come back.

Tauga recognised the dingy she'd stolen to row to the Siren's Isles. Ears covered and wearing a double blindfold, she'd navigated by tendril-touch and stolen hairs from the sirens themselves as they sang and plucked their violin-like stringed song. Several slave murals had been painted with brushes made from that hair before it faded, though the rumour alone that Tauga had survived setting foot among the sirens without drowning wove perhaps an even stronger aura of mystery.

Towards the end of the docks Tauga saw what she was looking for and made a quick gesture. The troop followed her slowly as she broke into a half-run.

The docker was human, and didn't see Tauga approach until too late. Barking rough and ragged orders to a work-gang as he hauled a barrel with one hand and a stump with a hook, he turned at the sound of footsteps. Shock grew quickly as he saw the unmasked face with a sword at its shoulder. Tauga pointed to the barrel then to the ground. [color=antiquewhite]"Down. You're not in trouble."[/color]

Immediately the barrel was set down, and the docker bowed, though Tauga had no official office. [colour=antiquewhite]"Your workers. Which one do you trust most?"[/colour] The request was quickly processed and the answer didn't stammer.

"My wife, sir." 

So he was used to thinking fast. Good. [colour=antiquewhite]"Call her."[/colour]

A huge, anchor-tattooed woman who was already watching over a stack of amphorae stepped up at her husband's call. Tauga noted her name, Mako. [colour=antiquewhite]"And yours?"[/colour]

"Ruthar. Sir."

[colour=antiquewhite]"Mm. Mako? You're in charge of the gang. If you need more muscle, see-"[/colour] Tauga jabbed the air behind her with a thumb as the troop approached- [color=antiquewhite]"Sen or his officers for slaves. Ruthar?"[/color]

"Yes, s-"

[colour=antiquewhite]"No 'sirs'. Ruthar, I'm leaving. For four days. The Bludgeons are coming with me. I've been getting ready as fast as I can, but even taken by surprise, that's still plenty of time for the Council to make plans. The longer I exist, the weaker they get. Do you understand?"[/colour]

"...Yes. Tauga."

[colour=antiquewhite]"Good. So. For the next four days, and maybe longer, you, Ruthar, and your gang, are going to be me, Tauga, on the docks. What that means is, if anything falls apart, you're going to find out why and who, then help the blowflies move in to hold it together. That's it. That's all. And Sen here is going to make sure [i]you[/i] don't flake on me. Here."[/colour] Two coins and a copper-verdigris badge changed hands, the same wirework blowfly the soldiers wore. The last one in her pocket.

[colour=antiquewhite]"These-"[/colour] Tauga gestured to the two pairs of militiamen behind Sen- [colour=antiquewhite]"Will be patrolling wherever you need them. They know how to break up a rabble. They'll be watching you too. Understand?"[/colour]

"I understand," rasped Ruthar cautiously.

[colour=antiquewhite]"No, you don't. Spit it out."[/colour]

"...Ruthar don't lead no men, don't want no trouble. I just haul. Find a cap'n, maybe they could, uh, take over. I don't know where to even start. Ruthar's just some salty dockrat with a missin' paw."

[colour=antiquewhite]"How long have you been a docker?"[/colour]

"Since 'fore I had a beard."

[colour=antiquewhite]"Then figure it out. Keep your eyes open. I see you shout at the executions, so don't disappoint me if you don't want to end up there yourself. Impress me instead. You have four days. Clear?"[/colour]

A nod. Tauga motioned Sen forwards. [colour=antiquewhite]"Embrace."[/colour] The men butted into each other shoulder-first, gripped, then stepped back. [colour=antiquewhite]"Sen, make sure he gets what he earns. This was the last one."[/colour] A curt nod.

Tauga reached into the air, felt her tendrils wrap around the cords of the waiting Bludgeon, and lifted herself into the sky. As she disappeared, she saw Ruthar's thick brows knit together as he began to discuss a simple plan with her lieutenant. Already adapting, as he had to the missing hand.

The flexibility of desperation was one of the few things Tauga could trust. She'd been poor too, once.

As she left the city behind, the patchwork of rice paddies opened up before her. Those that had been abandoned now shone with water as her slaves began a late sowing season. 

[color=antiquewhite][i]Once.[/i][/color]

[center]* * * * *[/center]

Travelling with four Bludgeon cores is considerably easier than flying with two. Between two spheres, only a single cord can exist. Cords only take the most direct path between spheres, and are thus always rigidly straight lines. To fly with a Bludgeon of only two spheres is thus not unlike being towed behind a god-sized trapeze, albeit one that Tauga could control from hundreds of metres away with tremendous precision.

With four spheres, however, the cords can form any number of configurations, between which they can easily alternate- Square, tetrahedral, chain, or three orbitals around a central sphere. Alternatively, they may separate into two single-cord Bludgeons. In all such cases, the ability to position cords three-dimensionally relative to one another allowed Tauga to easily adjust her orientation and position in the air using the tension of her cord-binding tentacles alone, rather than rely on being dragged and swung by a single cord.

It made it easy to sleep. Strange dreams carried down into her head through her tendrils as Tauga cocooned herself between three humming cords, high above the ground.

She dreamed of earth and coloured glass, and hands, and intricate etchings she didn't understand. She dreamed of golden light streaming from a brilliant storm, through which an entire world sailed like a ship. She dreamed of a restful mountain plateau, where coloured mists drifted on the air, and of an escape to something visceral and satisfying.

These dreams were not silent. When she woke up, Tauga only half-remembered the words, spoken in a hymn-like melodic language with deep intonations. They darted quickly without much connection between sentences. A few were sonorous and soft, like metal. She lost count of how many voices there were. 

One plural came up clearly and often- [i]Ophanim.[/i]

[colour=antiquewhite][i]It's what they call themselves.[/i][/colour] One ophan, four ophanim. And each ophan in turn had many voices. Tauga rotated in the air, accidentally waking Pumps, who whistled like a songbird in her rucksack. White fractal plumes darting restlessly over the surface of the sphere, silent as always.

[color=antiquewhite][i]Huh.[/i][/color] She'd always thought of herself as lonely, up here. [colour=antiquewhite][i]Guess that's not the case.[/i][/colour] The thought of her Bludgeons being whole communities of mute souls was no more unsettling than the number of people she'd killed over the last few weeks, but it was a queer surprise.

Tauga stretched in the air, flexed her tentacles, and holding a cord on either side of her, she completed her journey.

She'd been following the coast north of the Purple Sands, the furthest reaches of the City's fishing fleet, where only the largest whaler-vessels went, disappearing from the docks for weeks on end if not forever. Here, their reports were ultimately confirmed.

Acalya had stripped the grey-green coastline flora of its colour, bleaching everything with a pale blue. Open woodland was reduced to spires of glass reflecting the sun in painful glints that Tauga's dark goggles filtered away. The sprawl continued, a continuous mass of desolated life, right up to the edge of the torched border where the curled mounds of resting Urtelem held watch. That swathe of salted ash looked pitifully thin from above, though its narrowest point must have been at least fifty paces across.

Tauga positioned three of the ophanim into a broad wedge in front of her, the fourth above and behind, supporting her where the three cords converged, and leaned into a dive. Accelerating before impact, the hum of cords became a wail.

Metallic scrapes mingled with the keening, crashing sound of shattered quarts, an ongoing maelstrom of noise as Tauga ploughed through the Acalya forest, the long cords before her scything crystal trees like wheatstalks before the harvest, the spheres between them simply crushing everything in their way. Fragments of crystal hit her and ricocheted from her flight suit. It took ages to reach the far end of the corrupted forest.

Once free of the cacophony, Tauga rose into the continuing sound of toppled trees breaking under their own rigid weight, wondering what to do next.

[colour=antiquewhite][i]Too big to destroy completely.[/i][/colour] It was rare for such a grim story from abroad to be an understatement rather than an exaggeration. [colour=antiquewhite][i]I'll just do the edges. Make sure it doesn't spread any further.[/i][/colour]

Manoeuvring the three ophanim into a staggered line, Tauga circled and started the long task of following the edge of the plague zone, obliterating every crystal thing that Acalya had perverted within a stadion of the ashen border.

It was almost at the end of her onslaught that she found it.

Dashing out from the center of the grove, the only thing with colour and opacity- A fox? No, far, far larger. It only sprinted until it was out of direct danger, then swirled in on itself, completely exposed in the border zone, and lay dead still.

Tauga paused the wrecking and descended, noting that the ophanim were deeply scraped from hours of battering quartz. Hardly an impediment, given their absurd size. Even so they would need some time, and maybe a long bath in the mineral-rich waters of the sea beyond the Purple Sands, in order to restore their gleaming, patterned surface.

It was a fiberling, despite its vast size and vivid colour. Amber, like a vixen, streaked with white and bistre. It didn't flinch at her tendrils, even as she tugged at it like a puppet. Inside its mass of hair, Tauga felt two objects- A stunningly detailed glass eye with an ever-shifting pattern, and a ruined hunk of meat split open, perhaps by a falling crystal tree, perhaps by an Acalya guardian, to reveal bubbles of membranous wings and gagging valves. Tauga dumped the latter and let it keep the former.

[colour=antiquewhite]"Why did you have these?"[/colour] she murmured, as Amber tried lazily to pull back the sack of flesh. At a flick of her tendrils, it let go. [colour=antiquewhite]"Why are you so... Weak?"[/colour]

No answer, of course. None of the usual seething or sprinting, even though Tauga was barely holding it back, had seen how fast it was when threatened.

[colour=antiquewhite]"You're like me, aren't you."[/colour] The tentacles moved, and at the lightest touch the fiberling swished into a long fox's tail that spilled out behind Tauga, flicking lightly in the air, responsive as a lover. [colour=antiquewhite]"Something's missing inside you, isn't it? Some little spark. I wonder who enslaved you."[/colour] 

Probably Jaan. That eye looked startlingly familiar, and aware.

[colour=antiquewhite]"Come,"[/colour] beckoned Tauga, and Amber obediently began to compress itself into an insulated pocket of her suit, where Pumps greeted it warmly. [colour=antiquewhite]"I think we better stick together, you and me."[/colour]

[center]* * * * *[/center]

At the exact moment when the sun disappeared over the mountains, a water-clock was filled; A measured hour later, heavy bronze gongs resounded thrice into the night. Another import. Patrols began and only supervised workers were allowed to stay out after curfew. Vigilate and Scitis shone halves under a vivid river of galaxy, crossed twice by the sparkling pinkish rings of Lex. The four ophanim played in gentle orbits of their own, plumes trailing directly overhead.

All this was easy to see, sitting on the capstone of the Cipher Pyramid.

Pumps was whistling a slow dusk tune, dancing wide circles around Tauga's unmasked head, now fast, now gentle, now upside-down, the tube of arksynth bobbing in its straps, untouched. She looked out and saw the torches and braziers of the rotfly watch. In the moonlight she could make out all the streets she'd known so well, and for so long.

There now was the burned district around the House of Jaan, cleared and marked into plots for new buildings, better slave housing. Over there were the docks, where Ruthar and Mako served tirelessly as inspectors of suspicious goods. Dozens of tents were pitched on the site of the old barracks, where Sen the watch now slept as Sareh went on patrol. In the distance, Lex glimmered in the river, and fields of gram stood ready for harvest, some already emptied.

[colour=antiquewhite]"Hey, Pumps,"[/colour] came a tired voice. [colour=antiquewhite]"Why do they call me the blowfly?"[/colour]

Pumps shrugged a little and made an 'iunno' sound.

[colour=antiquewhite]"Is it because they see me around dead things? Is it because I came out of a dead thing?"[/colour]

In the distance, two boats were candle-fishing, and the sirens, no doubt, tried an opportunistic song.

[colour=antiquewhite]"Is it because no one can catch me? Or because I'm everywhere, and no one can ignore me?"[/colour]

No answer but the breeze.

[colour=antiquewhite]"Is it because I fly around? Is it because they hate me?"[/colour]

Nothing.

[colour=antiquewhite]"I think it's just the way I look."[/colour]

Tauga unfurled her tentacles into the wind and reached down, hooking them into the lids of the closed Eye of Cipher. Something in the organic architecture responded to her touch, and she pulled, straining against the Eye as it struggled to close, until all at once it snapped open, gazing once more over the city of Xerxes.

The City. Her city.

Such a city as could only be built on the back of the many, the myriad selves seeking only to build until they stood at the top, only to become footstools for those who built yet higher. A city of people, for people, controlled by people. A city that refused any rule but itself. Xerxes had become its own beast, under its own crown.

This city had created her, the first generation, and, in time, it might breed many more. Xerxes would be ruled by a Xerxian. It was her city, and it was [i]her[/i] city.

[colour=antiquewhite]"What do you say, Pumps?"[/colour] A cheery whistle echoed her mumble.

Tauga closed her eyes, and slowly, surely, as Galbar revolved in the heavens, the City forgot its need for a King.

[hider=Baby's first dictatorship]
Like... Seven sections, I think? All one story.

[b]First section.[/b] Tauga is shown to have used the Bludgeons to destroy Usgalo, his household, and the barracks of the old military. A councillor tries to reason with her, to no avail, as she uses the threat of the Bludgeons to push the remains of the council to do their job. [b]No points spent.[/b]

[b]Second section.[/b] Tauga takes control of the granaries with the help of Sen, the soldier she met previously, and is now employing among others as a mercenary. She gathers the poorest of Xerxes' many homeless and marks them with tattoos as her property in exchange for assured food and safety, forming a slave population that works the abandoned fields, boats and construction sites she now claims. Bronze tokens are distributed to the slaves, which can be exchanged for rations of food and clothes. [b]2 Khookies to introduce slavery. 2 Khookies to invent coinage.[/b]

[b]Third section.[/b] An assassin tries to kill Tauga and is quickly disposed of. Tauga's ethereal tentacles are shown to be able to touch the ghostly Other body that puppets fiberlings, forcing them to do her will. [b]3 Khookies to level up.[/b]

[b]Fourth section.[/b] A food hoarder is found, arrested, and executed in public, along with various other criminals, including a Chipper with rebellious ideas. A new military, the rotfly watch, begins to form under Tauga's supervision. Murals, rumours and songs begin to circulate in Xerxes, naming the Bludgeons as agents of a new golden age. An aura of mystery and power begins to develop around the image of Tauga, the Blowfly herself. [b]2 Khookies to introduce propaganda. 5 Khookies to assemble the Rotfly Watch, a military organisation temporarily replacing the Ejército Mundo.[/b]

[b]Fifth section.[/b] A lowly dock worker is forcibly recruited by Tauga to help administrate the harbour of Xerxes in order to maintain stability while she leaves. He is one of numerous peasant-class individuals scouted to form a technocratic elite that advises her decisions alongside the council. [b]2 Khookies to introduce a new administrative system to Xerxes that runs alongside the Council, with Tauga making executive decisions as informed by officers selected for loyalty and intimate knowledge of the working class.[/b]

[b]Sixth section.[/b] Flying with the Bludgeons, Tauga travels alone to the Acalya grove on the northwest coast of the White Ocean. She realises that the Bludgeons are actually symbiotic communities of sentient souls that call themselves 'ophanim'. Using the tremendous destructive capacities of the ophanim, Tauga obliterates the outer edge of the entire Acalya forest, further crippling its spread. In the wreckage she finds Amber, the optic fiberling mentally stunted by extended time in the Valley of Peace and possibly the last surviving specimen other than Violet. [b]6 Khookies to level up.[/b]

[b]Seventh section.[/b] Introspection and conclusion as Tauga idly ponders what she's become as Xerxes outgrows its need for a spiritual figurehead to lead it. [b]No points spent.[/b]

[b]Tauga
5 Khookies
Level Four[/b][/hider]