[b]Alexa![/b]

The holy paper burns from both ends at an equal, dull pace. There is no struggle in the fire, no wrestling between order or chaos, no pattern to how the ash falls. Both Athena and Ares are utterly indifferent to this conflict. They do not favour you nor the crabs. This is indeed the reaction an augury would receive when contemplating the threat posed by a herd of cattle. An obstacle, perhaps, and perhaps a danger. But not a true military, nothing to draw the eye of the martial gods here - not yet at least.

That might be a matter of time, though. Crabs are advancing down the corridor, claws clicking, and their leader carries a flag made from a repurposed curtain. Some of the other crabs are wearing exceedingly basic war paint. There is a definite attempt to draw the eye of Athena in that, and the fire flares as the last few embers fall. These crustaceans do not have divine favour yet but they are, ominously, trying.

[b]Vasilia![/b]

"Define people," buzzed Iskarot. "Define [i]work[/i]. The gods alone know what kind of entities we'll find out here, and we need at least two hundred to properly man and maintain a vessel of this size - and up to five hundred if we expect to endure regular military engagements. We could absorb a full compliment of trained staff at Jorel Kell, but there the problem is as you put it, funds. We could acquire funds from the [i]Yakanov[/i], but that will be difficult while so short-handed. Our greatest asset in recruitment is, of course, the Imperial Princess, but that is an increasingly dangerous card to play."

"Not to say the matter is impossible," he added after a moment's thought. "There are great numbers of souls out there willing to adventure to the stars, and places where entire societies can be absorbed into the crew of a ship. The question that presents itself is would you prefer experienced spacers - footloose, disloyal, and expecting regular payment? Would you prefer planetary locals - provincial, naive, and with entrenched customs? Or would you prefer more... abstract solutions to the issue of crew?"

[b]Bella![/b]

Ships contain secrets. The [i]Anemoi[/i] is no different. 

The menials have amassed in clan-ranks, well over a hundred and more arriving constantly. Each clan-unit is lead by a great warrior-knight, clad in plate, bearing lantern and sword, faces hidden behind visors marked with the icons of Apollo. These figures practically shine with the sun's courage; here in the heart of a ship of terror and darkness they are pillars of safety, as much in the presentation as in the power of them. These are the daring warrior-mice who fear neither owl nor cat.

Around them are their militias - thin and nervous, clutching improvised swords and spears and clustering in nervous and twitching bands. Each clan is marked with some unique heraldry in textiles and metals, different patterns of scales, rough fabric and smooth surfaces. In dark tunnels touch is a dominant sense and light a precious scarcity - and rarely have so many lantern-knights been gathered in one place that all the clans might behold each other like this.

The mouse girl you sent out earlier approaches your side again, and this time she wears a ceremonial-looking collar around her neck with a variety of dangling amulets that seem to match up to the heraldries of the various clans. She scratches at it with extreme discomfort, but takes a deep breath, puffs her mousy heart up with all the courage she possesses, and stands straight before you. "The clans are assembling as you ordered, Praetor. And, um. There weren't any problems or delays. Apollo gave us a prophecy that we would be called, and the Lanterns have sworn to put aside their differences as long as you lead us."

She clearly wars with the impulse to throw herself at your feet and praise you as an avatar of her god's will, but she resists. You can tell how much courage that takes, and how much sense - the Kaeri are accustomed to such servile devotion and it's an act of genuine insight that she's not doing that with you. Perhaps the shirt helps. 

"What is your will, Praetor?"