[b]Redana![/b]

You have trained with some of the greatest warriors of the Imperium, and part of that was learning to see anything as a weapon. A footstool, a dessert spoon, convenient chandeliers - the expectation being that when violence emerges it will be an unexpected assassination attempt so you must make do with whatever comes to hand. So you are no stranger to strange weapons - but at the end of the day all of those improvised weapons are tools to keep you alive until you can arm yourself with a proper sword or spear. That was how [i]real[/i] fighting was done, after all.

And now you're seeing someone train with a scythe.

It's [i]alien[/i]. Everything you've seen here today is familiar - it's marvelous, but it exists within the Imperial context. But what the princess is doing with that scythe is like nothing you've ever imagined. The motions are methodical and industrial, but then jarring and wild - weight and counterweight, sometimes she's swinging the blade and sometimes she's using it to catapult herself forwards. When one half is still the other is in motion. A sword is an extension of the arm; that scythe is like a dance partner.

"Your grace! You have a guest!" said Assistant Secretary Godal, slithering onto the practice field without even the slightest care about the whirlwind of blades he was moving towards. Epistia barely caught herself before she cut the brainsquid in half, he seemed not to notice and immediately went about fixing her hair - wild and flattened with sweat, oblivious to his interruption. "Princess Redana has come a long way to see you, you know, you should at least make a [i]few[/i] concessions to appearances."

"Princess [i]who[/i]?" said Epistia, trying to slap away the octopus' corrective tentacles as her breath and adrenaline still pounded, deeply disoriented by the sudden interruption.

[b]Alexa![/b]

This is how things are done between warriors.

The phalanx glides up behind you, spears lowered, shields raised. Galnius and his soldiers, for all their misgivings, stand alongside you on the field of war. They can do no less. They can conduct themselves with such pride because when the battle is joined they will hold the line. You are fewer, but you are not lesser.

King Jas'o stands against you across the field, bow held low against the ground. He still has not strung it - cautious, so cautious. If he places a Thunderbolt to that string then he is declaring in the sight of all the gods that he is worthy of wielding the power of Zeus. You cannot simply release your grip and put the arrow back in your quiver after such a statement. You can see the strain it leaves on him, overcoming his own reckless nature - hands shaking, eyes focused with hawklike precision.

The two of you lock eyes across the field as a strange breathlike wind sends the amber waves of grain rippling between you. The phalanxes stamp, stamp, stamp, each crash of heavy armour into the dirt an expression of their valour. Athena stands upon the battlefield, watching as the strange world fades away.

Then King Jas'o looks away. His vision falls on the Ceronians as they make their way out onto the field as a third side. His bloodhound mind sees the true prize and oh, how he [i]wants[/i] to escape from this confrontation and go after the princess.

Roll to Keep Them Busy, Alexa. You're not distracting King Jas'o but rather his soldiers - is your voice strong enough, are your insults sharp enough to prevent the King from sending forth a champion in his place? Can you hold his attention while Vasilia and Dolce sneak away to conduct those negotiations?

(The answer will, of course, be yes - but the results of your roll will tell you how good a shot King Jas'o is with that bow when you pierce the thin film of his patience)

[b]Vasilia![/b]

Your fate is in Alexa's hands as you move through the vineyards and orchards, cutting your way around the staring armies in the greatest traditions of the Starsong. Ahead of you are - ah! Ceronians! You [i]know[/i] them!

The location of Ceron itself is, of course, a secret known only to the Empress and her successor, but you've met more than enough of their roaming mercenary companies in the void of space. As far as soldiers go there are none finer, and as sisters go there are none closer. They fight as though they are telepathic, able to conduct the most complex operations with perfect timing and moving as though they are pushed and pulled by the hand of Athena herself. Were you to convince them to join you the warriors of King Jas'o would not be able to stand against them.

But as you're nearing the lupine warriors you're cut off. A golden shuttle crashes through the orchard in front of you, gilt and gems tumbling from its already damaged ornamentation like Hades' rain. The great ramp slams down, and from the personal shuttle of the Admiral of the Grand Armada emerges...

[b]Bella![/b]

It's hot.

It's wet.

You smell [i]canines[/i]. 

You walk down the ramp into the green hell. You feel the wash of thermal radiation from the malfunctioning engine core above on your face. You feel the moist ground squish under your feet, soft enough to absorb footfalls and making it impossible to tell [i]who[/i] is [i]where[/i]. You look around at the scene of destruction, at the plumes of toxic black smoke in the distance from where the Imperial shuttles were smashed open and left to burn. You see armies, weapons drawn, murder in their eyes. 

You pass under your shuttle, still stained pink and grey from the monsters that threw themselves blindly into your path and died for it. You step out into the most horrifyingly open area you've ever experienced in your life. Your world was the boundaries and dimensions of the Imperial Palace, rooms that while large have nothing on the enormity of this place. It crushes down on you. The fact that there are houses at all makes it all worse because it means you're in the most wasteful, indulgent suburb of all of Tellus.

And in front of you, [i]in your way[/i], stands a lion and a sheep.