[b]Chen![/b]

You have stepped into a world of blades.

One Sunshard can rearrange cities and alter the aesthetics of a kingdom. With three reality is frighteningly malleable. Three focusing crystals - the mystic link to the car-sized immense crystal shards hidden in distant vaults - blaze atop Princess Qiu's tiara and you feel their pressure for a moment, like moving through water rather than air. Your coat and scarf burn away into lighter and less concealing silks - the garb you wear when you're at your mother's southern desert palace. You feel lighter, stronger, invigorated, like you've spent time stretching and gently bringing yourself up to optimal physical performance rather than sitting and painting.

And of course your blade is in your hand. Where else could it be? What else could your mind think about other than the press and clash, the subtleties of stance and form? What more relevant data could there be to process other than your opponent and her own blade? You can almost see the equations, the fencing manual diagrams, the years of practice buzzing around you in montages as you consider your opponent.

She wears a tight fitting dress of red, interwoven with elaborate golden [i]Lung[/i] dragons twisting and weaving all about her, shining golden heads resting just above her waist like obedient dogs with their heads in her lap. Her arms are bare to reveal a slightly sunburned right and a cascading waterfall tattoo in spectacular blacks and blues cascading down her left, pale skin making a perfect canvas. Her hair is done up in an intricate bun with three long golden needles holding it firmly in place. Her wealth and taste imposes, but this is not her - her true nature can only be seen in the serpentine eyes, the narrow smile with just a hint of fangs, and the elegantly coiled dragon tail that cups a wine glass just slightly in front of her. 

She stands alone. No guards, no demons, no court or handmaidens or countesses. She is, too, surrounded - the people of the Terraced Lake, the barons of art and the common people to be won over, but these are not loyalists. They're the audience and their eyes is locked on the space between you as it crackles. 

"You want a [i]favour[/i]?" said Princess Qiu. She holds out her hand absently and the world puts a blade in it. "How dare you?" she's smiling a little wider. "Asking me for a trade as though you were an equal? So disrespectful. Wouldn't it feel so much better to do it just because you [i]wanted[/i] to do what I say?"

[Offering a generic string: Take an XP if you do what she wants]

[b]Rose![/b]

Water like this is an ancient element, the lifeblood of subterranean empires. Here in the depths dark things move, darker than mere demons. In this moment you are in harmony with the world, which means that you are not in harmony with what was made of the world. Ancient things stir, drawn to the Way like bees swarm a hornet.

Your vision lights up in the depths with ancient overlays. Corporate brands and autoplaying advertisements for the weapon systems that are being deployed here clutter your mind and ears. Mumbai Light and Magic, those ancient cinematographers who even in death can't resist rising to snatch a demon or a monster to add to their collection. And here are both.

The Autohalagian Binding Circle Mechanism is a huge underwater construct, a bulky cube the size of a house. Its front surface is a flat cube displaying a full alchemical binding circle and from the sides protrude dozens of thick, snapping robotic crab claws. It has a simple process - to grasp a magical entity in its claws and place it within the binding circle so that it may not escape. This prison might even hold you, if you are unlucky.

With a flash of water and scales above you, the Scales of Meaning moves rapidly towards the shoreline. Is this a trap laid for you, or an unhappy accident for her? A question to confront her with, if you are not pulled below to be returned to your box.

[b]Yue![/b]

Magic has a settled place in this world, cozy and familiar. Magic spells sometimes appear next to recipes for strawberry cake or get traded between children in playgrounds. They're fiendishly tricky to get right, like mastering a really complicated yo-yo trick, and so if you want to learn how to make sheep turn pink or make a glass of water freeze to ice you've got to sacrifice a good many summer afternoons to practice. Some people learn a lot, some people don't bother to learn any, but neither kind of person is a [i]magician[/i]. In fact, there's not really a firm definition for when someone stops being kind of ordinary and starts being a [i]magician[/i] - but if there was a line, perhaps it would be knowing how to fly.

Black nails touch your forehead, tracing lines along to your temples, across your nose, to your neck - and then in a motion so sudden you almost feel like you've been thrown to the floor they run all the way down your body to the tips of your feet. Hyra has dropped to her knees in front of you leaving invisible hot lines of fire all down your body, and then finishes it off with swift circles of your ankles. There's a moment of a pink glow and you feel light in addition to light-headed. And then your feet lift off the ground. 

Before you have time to wonder, Hyra throws the window open and pulls the two of you out through it. Her blade flashes twice, causing spiral demons to turn into mist in perfect time with an inaudible music, and then you're out through it together. And the hill below you starts falling away.

And just like that you're flying.

Not far or fast - it's more like walking on the air, or taking a jump in a dream, the kind of jump that just seems to go on forever without landing. And then Hyra comes up behind you, snatching you up into her arms and pulling you against her. Even as your heart goes wild and every sensation and instinct says that you're falling, falling, [i]falling[/i], you're held safe and steady in the jaws of the wolf.

Behind you, spiral demons are in pursuit, blackening the hillside as they run after you. Power begins to build in Hyra's legs and you lower an irrelevant inch towards the ground as she crouches to begin sprinting through the sky.