[b]Mosaic![/b] The music is infectious. It spreads from Mosaic's breath to a Lyri sitting atop a blue-tiled rooftop. She catches the beat, scratches her claws against the stone for a moment until she's sure she's got it, and then picks up her accordion. With a huge, stretching breath, her complicated device fills with the divine logos - and erupts the town into music. [i]Dun-dundun-dun! [/i] More Lyri catch the beat and other instruments join in - brass horns, violins, hands who crave nothing more than to keep a rhythm. Ornamental servitors who live spaced apart enough to bracket the entire town in the improvised symphony when the beat took them. Over the past few months they'd been going out of their way to refine and perfect what they considered to be Mosaic's theme music. After all, with all the divine gifts she bought to the town, this was what they had bought for [i]them[/i]. As the music spreads the town lights up. Servitors open their upstairs windows so they can lean out and wave to her. Siobud and Kaasj, feuding roadside chefbreeds, both try to one-up each other with the generosity of their offered breakfast - simple, hearty roasted chestnuts verses the overengineered masterwork titled the Byzantine Cup. Some girls stare at her from the crowd before blushing, stammering, and hiding their faces in their hands. Dolemon the Giant gets up from her bench without saying a word and starts to walk a few steps ahead of Mosaic, parting the crowd with her mass so that she doesn't have to push through the admiring faces. It's not quite a celebration, not quite celebrity worship. It's just a bright and colourful morning where everyone knows your name and everyone is happy to see you. [b]Ember![/b] The task is complicated this time. Not just farmers to prey upon today - today there is a Warsphere above, floating unnaturally still in the air, a moon on the inside of the clouds. A patrol shuttle; company compliment, thirty warriors plus officers. No heraldric markings that might indicate a Knight, thank Zeus. The Endless Azure Skies use a variety of dedicated warrior servitor species to support their Knights - indeed, Waverunner once said that they even had loyalist Ceronian clans, which was why you needed to be trained so extensively in resisting Ceronian influence. On a backwater like Bitemark, though, it was unknowable what dregs might be conscripted to serve in the military. The downside was that they didn't seem to be going anywhere. On one side was the almost sheer cliff face, on the other side were fields and groves and an awful lot of open space. It was a long way to go if you were going to be pursued all the way. [b]Dolce![/b] It's Mayor Kaspar who joins you for breakfast today. He'd need to duck his head to step in even if it wasn't for his magnificent rack of antlers, but the indignity he suffered to fit himself into this space somehow made him even more grand. Not terrifyingly grand like an Azura, but more like an aura of health and charisma that made him as good as a king. His species was called the Sophists, after ancient enemies of the philosophers. His nature was to be convincing and grand but mentally empty and stupid, a leader who needed to be fed ideas in order to function. His eye contact was piercing, his smile was glorious and the sheer compliment of his presence in this humble place made the whole place shine. Dirty? No, rustic. Small? No, cozy. A figure like the Mayor wouldn't be anywhere that couldn't be described in the most flattering words. Two bodyguards come in behind him, scarred brawler avians, tall and slender and with swords chipped from each others' bones. They're slender but they both insist on going through the door at the same time - not impatiently, pushing and shoving, but so profoundly disrespectful of each others' presence that they scarcely acknowledge their rival even as they're almost cheek to cheek. They do not sit, they stand, ominously, sorting the room according to value and fragility. "Please," said the Mayor with the smile of the forest king. "Your finest." [b]Dyssia![/b] "We've already acquired your entire household," said Tidal Specialist, like stealing the entire building you came in was the most obvious move in the world. "But yes, we are based off the original Bowman's Wolf architecture that became the origin for the Ceronian species, though based off vulpine species instead. The underlying instinct set is different but the uplift architecture is similar, if that makes sense? We were originally specialized for civilian influence work and economic interface but," she made a face, "the economy doesn't really [i]exist [/i]any more. So we've got a choice! Carve out a socio-ecological niche in this post-scarcity hellscape, go extinct, or be reconstituted as a species of harem girls. We're currently in the middle of an experiment to see if rededicating around mercenary work would provide a unique service to the galaxy." She was good at talking. She could talk a lot. Many servitors weren't inclined to speak like this, but words flowed from her more smoothly than the water she cut through. "Our origin species was less social and hierarchical than the wolves which affects cohesion," she went on. "Accordingly we have what's called the Open Succession system. If you're wearing the captain's badge, however you came by it, you are the captain and everyone must obey you as such. Same for every other social role right down to maids. If you don't have any badge at all you are an Outlaw and can be punished or bullied by every other Pix until you find a role. The badges emit scents that get tangled if you have multiples, to prevent hoarding, and are manufactured by the biomancers according to the needs of society. Need more warriors, forge more soldier badges. It's honestly still extremely experimental, the idea is to prevent an inclination towards opportunism and betrayal from interfering with institutional structures."