[b]Redana![/b]

The music of Zeus buys you time. It buys you the captivated attention of the crowd. It always does, it always would - Zeus is the Queen of the Gods and when the music of lightning roars even the greatest party will pause to listen. For a moment all the world is lit up by your heavenly glory and all the world stands still in expectation.

But lightning passes, and the dark rushes back in.

It is a dance still but this is no longer the synthetic perfection of a choreographed and harmonized musical. Now it's the flashing crimson lights and overwhelming sound of a mosh pit in a heavy metal concert. Machines come at you from every direction, heads banging in jerky, puppeteer motions, grasping and tearing as they try to wrap their hands around that glorious little thunderbolt. As vast as this arena is, it feels like you are in a tiny, choking space of machines and noise and reaching hands and it is all you can do to evade them. Black lights come on from the projectors of machines, lighting up weaving serpentine tattoos that wrap around the bodies of the machines in neon colours, adding the presence of holographic dragons and tigers to the mad darkness you find yourself in.

Of Alexa, there is no sign. You'd be lucky to find yourself in this.

[b]Alexa![/b]

The crimson light of the Regalia crashes through the crowd. The motion slows to a halt, the confused empty beat of the dance where the DJ fumbles the transition to the next record. For a moment everything is silent and still and dead, lacking in energy. For a moment the world is as you imagined it must be.

And then it comes roaring back into life.

Reality seems to flicker as though making up for that lost moment, and the machines of Baradissar are again moving with uncanny unity. This is a different tune but they know it just as well as the last and are just as eager to make it so. The Empress' words were expertly chosen. There was no friction between call and response, no struggle and no rebellion. It is a command that this world was ready to obey.

And Cavel-4954 lunges at you, Alexa. From her glorious heap of mechanical attendants she lunges at you with a spear in either hand, illuminated by Imperial light. 

You know this make and model. The Cavels were a limited run of light skirmisher machines made for long range reconnaissance and skirmishing. They're light, flimsy, stealthy things not at all suited for font line combat. It should shatter when it strikes you like a glass arrow. Instead you're put on the defensive in a way you've never been before, because when you look into that reflective visor and painted-on eyes you see Athena reflected back at you. 

She moves like you do. She fights like you do. You are the mathematical perfection of war, the avatar of Athena in this mortal realm and there are no others like you. Except she is. You were carved by Imperial hands out of the most perfect marble. Your spear, reflexively thrust, scratches off her cheap metal shoulder with the same ringing sound that you know so well, the sound of a spear glancing off your own shoulder. Instead of shattering she presses forwards and you're sent back, back, back, for the first time ever put the wrong end of this dance.

The underpinnings of your reality come unstuck one by one. You considered these machines to be worthless; here is one of infinite value. You considered your skills unique and won at terrible cost; here they are granted for free to a broken construct. You considered power your heritage and victory your birthright; here a God has granted it to a nobody, a nothing, for reasons beyond your comprehension. Everything you are is mirrored in this gleaming, slender device. For the first time you feel like those practice constructs must have felt when you were set against them.

You are in so much danger.

[Response Level [b]3[/b], triggered by Bella's command and Alexa's failure to uphold this place's customs. The location has obtained a new stat: [b]Carnival of the Gods[/b] - it is impossible to find your way anywhere without the intervention of a god.
Location Stats:
- The Machines
- Bad Weather
- Carnival of the Gods]

[hider=Cavel-4954][b]Cavel-4954[/b]
The High Priest of Dionysus, perfection in madness.
[b]Threat to the World:[/b] You must pay a price to act against her
[b]The Robot:[/b] The construct does not eat, sleep, or breathe. It is tireless in pursuit of its current goal, and nothing in its way will stall it for long.
[b]Just Like You:[/b] The rogue has all the Gear of the Construct player, if one is in the game. They are also made of the same stuff, taking the same What Are You Made Of? Move the Construct has. 
[b]Iron Heart:[/b] The rogue has no mercy. They deal damage as Hard Cuts.
[/hider]

[b]Vasilia![/b]

"You really don't understand the Empire, huh?" said Galnius. "Maybe the Sky Marshal sent them. Maybe they're on their own. Maybe they work for an Assassin Temple, or some King who's in really good with the right god. The Armada is only [i]one[/i] Imperial institution and not even the scariest. Don't let the fact that it's concentrated on Tellus fool you, the Empire has resources beyond what you can [i]imagine[/i] and they'll find us wherever we go. As long as we serve the Princess we'll be under constant attack."

She didn't seem afraid of this at all. On the contrary, he sounded quite chipper. This was [i]literally[/i] what she signed up for, after all, she and all her soldiers - with the expectation that immense glory and power would come to them if they proved themselves reliable and loyal servants of the Throne. Men had been made kings for lesser services. 

"So, you going to join us, or what?" She asked brightly. Her soldiers were already getting ready to charge, and Princess Epistia looked ready to start making corpses, so you'll need to talk fast if you want to sell them on a different plan.

[b]Bella![/b]

You understand Nero desired a higher class of command. You understand that she was not satisfied with ruling a galaxy of machines and slaves, and so instead sought to raise humanity again to perfection so they would be worthy of her rule. You understand that she wields true power and that this, all of this, is a pale shadow in comparison to the breathtaking heights she stands upon...

But oh, your heart must be humble indeed if it can find such wild release in this simple exercise.

They're so [i]responsive[/i]. They're so [i]obedient[/i]. They're so quick to obey and so joyous in servitude - practically falling over each other in their craving to execute your will. You know at least some of that comes from giving them the right commands, though. You know that there's such a world of difference between a good order and a bad one...

The floating chainmail-orb thing that contradicted Cavel-4954 earlier - you can see it has something like the word OMN written along its side, which will serve as a name - floats besides you. It speaks in a deep voice, as deep and reassuring as a bass chord, passing below the crashing chaos of the above arena. Inside of it orange plasma sparks and glows like a guttering fire.

"Praetor," it says, and oh isn't that title a splash of ice water? "I must warn you. Cavel-4954 has an agenda here that does not align with your own - an agenda that comes to her as divine revelation from mighty Dionysus. See, how she embodies their will? See how she stands as peer to the [i]Pallas Rex[/i] despite inferiority in every aspect of construction and nature? Be wary, Praetor, for just as the [i]Pallas Rex[/i] resisted the urge to kneel before your rightful authority I fear it shall be the same with the Cavel unit. I humbly advise that you manufacture plans that rely on your loyal troops as the key components, minimizing reliance on the Cavel where possible."

[hider=Omn][b]Omn[/b]
[i]A loyal advisor, well-informed of your kingdom's status at all times, and with plenty of opinions about it too.[/i]
[b]Consultancy[/b]: The Advisor is always trying to tell you what to do. If your Wisdom is damaged, they sound extremely convincing, and you will always do what they say. [/hider]