[b]The Plousios![/b]

The ship breathes in song amidst a gemstone storm.

Which god created these creatures, these nebulae clouds of light and dust? Which god gave them minds without language? Which god gave them music without shape? The Plousios is an arrow of adamant soaring through the void and all about it drift like jellyfish these enormous void clouds, each many times over its size. They reach out with glittering, questing tentacles formed of shining asteroid-ice and brush the side of the ship in flight. Each time they do a deep sigh runs all through the ship, the breath of stars, in time with the gentle glass rain of ice against steel.

The Alcedi pause where they fight. Their ceremonial spears lower and their heads turn to listen. Their society is in great turmoil, the old bonds of tribal elders shattered amidst this great return to the stars. They have formed many dozens of warbands around powerful leaders and engaged each other in constant ritual battle. Their prizes are acclaimed positions aboard the warship - to stand as the bridge crew, plover pilots, boarding champions. For these prizes they have clashed with thrown spears and stomps and martial music and night-raids, all to humiliate, kidnap and demoralize their rivals and achieve such prestige that none will challenge them for their positions. Those who lose these battles will be delegated to duties as deckhands, cleaners and repair crews. But for now they stop and listen to the song of the void. Even Athena, present at the heart of this warlike reorganization, searching for those she will favour as rising kings, turns her head to listen.

([b]Vasilia[/b], the energy of your pistols have run dry but they are still changed from their experience as Zeus' favoured weapons. They retain Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous but now have Recharge instead of ammo. None of the Alcedi have yet challenged you but such a turn is inevitable - the eyes of the gods are upon this ritual conflict and whoever arises will have their support to claim the Captain's chair)

The Hermetics pause where they work. Iskarot's position has not been in doubt since he received direct confirmation from Redana but there are nevertheless doctrinal issues to resolve. Iskarot is from a foreign branch of the Order and his positions are heterodox - but nevertheless he can argue with evidence that his political opponents were all the thralls of Demeter and Cerberus. It is one against many in the whispered, chanting arguments in coded languages but the many have little they can cling to beyond their stubbornness. In some places consensus is reached. In other places, beliefs collapse and are buried by the machinery of church councils. Those who cannot accept these verdicts schism away to seek fresh converts to build their own independent power bases, but even fuming with pious rage they too pause in place. The discussions whisper to a close. The Order of Hermes stands for a while amidst their engine cathedral and then they wordlessly depart to seek the windows and listen to the music of the stars. Politics is all very interesting, but these are priests and their true calling is to witness and learn from the divine. They are people too, and no ensouled people will turn away from this celestial music. 

([b]Redana[/b] - you now have materials, crew and skilled labour all, and Iskarot has come to you seeking your vision. He could make this ship a trireme, bristling with grappling hooks and a mighty beaked ram - or perhaps you would prefer a racing vessel built to race sunbeams, or a luxury liner to travel in Imperial style. Create the Ship as a playbook.)

The ceremonial royal phalanx has not engaged with the Alcedi conflict, nor has it sought to get involved in Hermetic politics. Galnius knows a soldier's politics, and she knows that it is better to present an Imperial princess with a gift than a [i]fait accompli[/i] of one's military success. To this end she stalks the shapechanger. It is going well - the infiltrator is not showing any of the skill or creativity needed to evade warriors like them. They are moving through the ship listless and despondent and that makes them easy to pick from the crowd. This will make a fine gift for the Princess and a demonstration of their invaluable skill when it came to detecting assassins. They pause outside the room where the shapeshifter has locked herself, spears and ropes held - and they wait. They wait as the song of the stars fills the ship, their readiness suspended like a spear frozen in ice. Seeking the approval of the Princess is important, of course, but so too is this cosmic music.

([b]Alexa[/b], you have joined the phalanx on their hunt, though Ares has for better and worse not gifted you with any attention in the course of it. Your head and neck still burn from the comforting embrace you received from Princess Epistia and your heart and gut still churn from the echo of chaos you never knew you were capable of. Athena has not spoken to you, but you know enough from how this hunt has gone to know that it is Mynx you have cornered in this room).

The [i]Plousios[/i] is filled with life, industry, purpose and music. It makes progress amidst the shining stars - chaotic, lively, communal progress. The [i]Yakanov[/i] hangs dead and empty, with a heartbroken girl and a god's golden heart in the ruins of the station's own shattered core. The lights are dim and regret hangs heavy and all the saffron magi have fled.

And all that remains is Apollo. And still he smiles.

He has sat down on the ground legs folded like a lotus, one palm cupped in his lap as though to catch the manna from heaven, the other forming a thumb-forefinger circle above his heart with fingers spread like sunbeams. He is calm, despite the weeping. He is calm, despite the loneliness. He smiles, and though all earlier evidence suggested it was because he was vindictively mocking your misery, his smile has not dimmed or faded even as your tears have gradually trailed away. 

Your skin has tinged green, [b]Bella[/b]. You have been here for a long time and your body has adapted, generating chlorophyll to absorb the soft light emanating from the sitting Sun God. You realize with a start that you are no longer hungry, no longer tired - you are feeling full and rested and nourished with an uncomfortable prickling surplus of energy that makes it difficult to focus on the fact that your life is ruined. A sense of boredom and restlessness ripples through you, and some part of you hates it. How can you still be capable of feeling such drab and mundane feelings after everything that's happened? Why can't you just lie here forever?

But the sun is shining and sleep, fitful or otherwise, refuses to come. Like it or not, you're awake - and you're sick of staring at that mysterious smile.