[b]Redana![/b]

"Telling the Captain would make things too," Iskarot buzzed, "[i]organized[/i]. Ares has offered his favour as we are, his approval to your independent thought. Perhaps you have never seen him in this aspect before. He says, be bold! Be spontaneous! Though there may be chaos it shall be blessed chaos, and much can be done in those conditions."

He unravels himself into a standing posture, triskellion legs bringing him to his hunched-but-towering height, clicking across the metal deck.

"Now, the lesson begins and begins with safety. The D-Scythe is a way to focus the Engine into a single point. This implies enormous stress placed upon the device. As you hold it you will feel it vibrate under your fingers with increasing ferocity, until the point you can hear a sound like chiming glass. This is the focusing crystals impacting on each other and means the metal is beginning to warp. It is a bad sound and implies immanent detonation, immediately detether the device using this release catch and retreat twenty paces if you hear it. Following this all the crystals must be checked for fractures and replaced. Next, whenever the device is not in use remove it from the wall tether for strain is placed upon it even when not in use. The vibrations of the scythe can make it unsteady to hold, great strength must be applied to prevent it from shaking out of your hands - dropping a still-active D-Scythe is a perilous endeavour. Do not attempt to catch it if this happens, instead strike with your ELF against it as swiftly as possible which will momentarily interrupt the power flow. While the device is rebellious it is also simple and tends to struggle and fail in predictable ways. Steady authority will be required. Come, show me how you make this first cut - we will sever the internal structural bonds, then seal the floors above and below with omnifoam before cutting the exterior hull..."

Tell us, Redana, of how you come to grips with this strange device.

[b]Dolce![/b]

"Redana is blind to her strength," said Hera, "and Alexa is afraid of hers. Vasilia cannot command her own heart. Their curses are as real as yours. As real as everyone's. It is why Hades has not yet found a crew who can succeed at his foolish quest..."

She looks over at the window where the hulking wreckage of a broken ship drifts amidst red and violet nebulae-dust, like blood spreading in a pool.

"You must hope that they heal you even as you try to heal them." 

[b]Alexa![/b]

"Ah!" Isty takes the spear with surprise and reverence. "Mother had these all destroyed..." she murmurs, tracing it with her fingers. "It feels like I know how to use this already..."

A wolf needs no instructor to teach it how to bite. Instincts of war are hard-coded into Ceronian biology. Medical tyrants throughout the ages have done their utmost to design the ultimate super-soldier - and many of their most brilliant innovations wound their way into the human genome over the ages - but no servitor species has ever dislodged the Ceronians. They aren't perfect soldiers, they aren't born Codexia, but they are optimized like no other war species, from everything from their omnivorous digestion to their ability to operate for weeks without sleep. You could make a better warrior than a Ceronian but no one has yet made a better [i]army[/i].

She doesn't do anything as formal as take a stance. She just reflexively falls into a resting stance that happens to present her with a deadly array of offensive options. The fundamentals of excellence are all there inherently, strength and speed and instinct. All she lacks is strategy. 

[b]Bella![/b]

No chains nor scripture cage the Oratus. This is no aesthetic and no beast. The chambers are lit with steady flame and steady luxury, tasteful and restrained, and centred around a table heavy with maps. The only hint that you have not simply arrived in the quarters of a king is the soft roar of air in the distance, the steady breeze that runs through the room and the overwhelming scent of jasmine. No elaborate mechanisms of security need to be maintained when the assassin can be neutralized by mere air.

She rises to meet you with a brilliant smile and immediately bows with humble respect. She's beautiful. The most well groomed and elegantly appointed of the Ceronians. It's impossible not to like her, not to take an involuntary and reflexive step forwards - into Mynx's outstretched and warning hand. There's a current running underneath the perfume and it itches your nose just barely...

"The Oratus," Mynx said, "possesses a weaponized mutation of Ceronian formation instinct. The Cerons communicate complex information at a distance using a combination of their enhanced sense of smell and pheromone glands in their necks. An Oratus doesn't emanate just scents, but a viral agent that triggers something similar to formation instinct in [i]any [/i]species. It's not mind control but it... makes people think that they're a small part of a larger entity."

"Which is not inaccurate, Praetor," demurred the Oratus politely. "I do not merely issue commands this way, but I can receive information in turn. Of course, my influence can be resisted - providing the subjects have reason to resist."

"Which is harder than it sounds," said Mynx. "This is dangerous stuff, Bel- Praetor. She's a hive-mind who can expand to fill any environment not designed to contain her, and she can control dozens or even hundreds simultaneously this way."

"Not with any finesse, mind you," said the Oratus. "My name is Beljani, Praetor. And fear not. The toxin secreted by my colleague's fangs entirely negates my influence and I am certain she has been very thorough in ensuring all relevant personnel have access to it."