[b]Alexa![/b]

There was no friction in Molech taking command of the Plousios. In fact, it feels like a strange relief to the structure of the ship. All questions are resolved. The path is clear.

The Alcedi cannot be faulted, for they are as much the children of Molech as you are. When he reached his hands into their genetic code and wrote the rhythms of war into the tempo of their hearts he left a hole that could only be filled by fealty to legitimate authority. With one breath he announced himself, and with the second he announced their target. And that is all that was needed.

Thunder rumbles down the corridors of the Plousios, as it always does as the Kingfishers prepare for war. The Alcedi are creatures of Zeus even more than they're cogs in Athena's engine. They are the glory of battle from the skies; a thunderstrike of unstoppable destructive force. They are the saviours, reinforcements, the fall of the hammer against the anvil of the machine phalanxes. All across the galaxy, battle cultists lose themselves in emulation of the gods in their most martial aspects: The legendary Azura bridge keepers, the mad cults of Ares, the Codexia of Athena, and many more besides. The Alcedi were unique amongst the battle servitors and their divine traditions for drawing the open favour of Zeus. They seemed to be Molech's masterpiece, displacing their elder sisters, the Kaeri.

(Unstoppable until the howls of the wolves of Ceron drowned out even the crash of thunder. How had Nero beaten him? You still don't understand it.)

The Order of Hermes, likewise, fell into place easily. In their case, though, it seemed less a declaration of loyalty or the fulfilling of a genetic sequence so much as it was carefully placed submission. The Order of Hermes is, from what you've learned about them in your time with Ramses, overwhelmingly aware of what they have to lose. Their society is deeply materialistic and categorically resists displays of noble self-sacrifice. The loss of the [i]Yakanov[/i], one of the flagships of their civilization, to the crossfire unleashed by a single Imperial Assassin was another data point to emphasize just how bad an idea it would be to start raising questions if a human - and an emperor, no less - showed up and started issuing commands. So they fold, having endured enough displays of force in recent days to make another one undesirable.

Your role, then, is to talk to the Assistant Secretary of Fear and Doubt. Molech does not understand or appreciate the organization or relevance of the creatures of Poseidon, but cannot overlook their military potential for the looming battle. And so you are sent into the lower depths of the ship which have begun to look curiously like the mangrove forests of the Eater of Worlds, thick and humming with life and the clack-clack of battlecrabs at every stage of development. The Assistant Secretary's home is in a massive pavillion, red and white striped, surrounded by ranks of crabs holding flags and banners in massive pincers that look one errant twitch away from severing in half. 

[b]Vasilia and Dolce![/b]

There is music. Someone is singing. They've got the voice of an... the voice of a...

You don't have time to listen. You already spilled a quarter of the soup as the music hit you. There are polite coughs and your throat is itchy. But some attention turns from the dance floor and to you - and your meal. Some Azura seem to awaken as if from a deep sleep when the smell of your cooking touches their flickering tongues.

Bella is here. She is dancing with a dark stranger. Thist did not lie when she said the assassins were close.

But that... music. It's getting into everything, infectiously, hypnotizingly good. If you're going to keep bringing this meal out, and potentially distract the Azura from it, you'll need to roll to Overcome.