[b]The Anemoi![/b]

The room shifts uneasily, looking for Mynx. Someone spots her and the crowded bridge rearranges to clear the space around her so people can see. She sits on the cool plastic floor, eyes dark, tracing an invisible line along the back of her hand, up her arm, to her throat and settling into place there, the ghost of a hand around her neck. She looked up at last.

"Ah, I'm not invisible," she said quietly. "Somehow that's worse."

She relaxed her hand, leaned forwards. "You're asking the wrong questions. The Master of Assassins knows better than to try to come up with a [i]plan[/i]," there are shades of bitterness in that word. "She puts her fate in the hands of the Gods. A lifeless dust bowl like this? It's an offense to Aphrodite, Demeter and Artemis. They won't come here."

She took a deep breath. "It's Zeus you should fear. The Master is a king amidst assassins and, at the end, she will kill you as a king."

[b]Beljani![/b]

Convincing someone like this isn't about brute force control; there's not a struggle. It's about extending yourself into them, giving them the gift of your own agenda. And the Order of Hermes, bless them, are primitives. 

You actually know your way around the Order surprisingly well - they were the most likely target for your Temple, right behind internal Imperial threats. And for all their collection of relics and all their mechanical components, the poor dears are ultimately mere guns against the perfected arrows of your will. So you know all the hidden codes in the Hermetic's robes which is very convenient. You know, for instance, that his name is Iskarot, he is an Archmagos - as high a rank as they have, although he is very recently appointed - and an Evoker, which is the branch specialized in direct energy weaponry. It gives you the cue you need to suggest that no explosions should happen without your approval, and the satisfaction of knowing that you probably saved the Kaeri from being reduced to a greasy smear if the machine man self destructed.

His version of the letter is... fine. His handwriting is good, certainly. He has, however, written it in a format of extremely blunt emotions. I AM SAD. I WANT YOU TO LIKE ME. PLEASE BE MY FRIEND. And so on. Surely there has to be a more poetic way of phrasing this?

He does, however, have a treasure. The Order of Hermes always does if you shake them right. But it's not what you expected.

In the quiet thrumming depths of a small workshop run right up against the stellar heat of the Engine, the limping Hermetic reveals a small padded box with a single large egg resting snugly within. It's black, flecked with blue, and you can faintly hear a tap-tapping against the inside of the shell as whatever is inside stirs against the shell, trying to get out.

What a strange old man, willing to take such a beating to protect this little thing.