[b]Mosaic![/b]

Amidst the brightness of the day, there's trouble. Unfamiliar faces in the crowd - no, not unfamiliar. That glittering crystal scent and taste. Rosedam... the town of Rosedam, it's the next settlement over. Not just a few of them either, there must be more than a score. Normally you'd see some of them on market day, and maybe sometimes one or two will be visiting, but it's not like they can stay. Servitors belong to the land, after all - free migration would cause inefficient pockets of labour.

"There's at least forty of them," Sunflower tells you. She's an old friend from the road and keeps her ear to the ground for things like this. She looks so young in that bright yellow dress it's easy to forget the wrinkles on her face. "They're asking around for accommodation, transport, even [i]hukou[/i]," hukou - residency permits. A stamped document matched to a plastic tag generally worn on the ear like an earring. The law does regular sweeps for people violating their hukou - being caught in the wrong village outside a dedicated market day is like getting a parking ticket. "Rumour is that Rosedam's going to be turned over to the Surveyor."

[b]Ember![/b]

It's a slow day in the Skies. They're all slow days. Slow enough for a wing of Covii to pull you over.

The Covii are relics compared to the Ceronians, unsuited for purpose, overbuilt. They were designed for deep void and zero gravity operations - stocky, hairless, covered in pitch-black radiation absorbent feathers - but the changes went too deep. More modern warrior species can adapt between different biomes on the fly but the Covii are locked in to their single area of mastery. Obsolete on a species level, used to patrol backwaters like this, but still numerous enough to bully an unarmed Ceronian.

Half a dozen of them hover above the road - their grav-rails never turn off. Even just seeing how they turn to look at you from behind their faceless, reflective black masks lets you know that they'll grill you for hours just for something to do. 

[hider=Battle Servitors]
[b]Battle Servitors[/b]
[i]Various obsolete, poorly maintained, or last-generation servitor designs.[/i]
Following Orders: This stat must be damaged twice when the Trooper is in a Group, Gang, or Army.
[/hider]


[b]Dolce![/b]

For all the work put into the food, the Mayor seems to give twice as much attention to the chairs. He circles the entire room, sometimes touching the cushions to check them for softness. In the end he gestures and points and his bodyguards descend on the second-best chair, tearing it into smithereens and piling the stuffing into a heap on top of the best. Only then does the Mayor finally sit. There's a genuine contentment in how he does it, just a moment where he closes his eyes and smiles and is at peace with the world.

Then he gestures and his bodyguards begin clearing the rest of the room.

Tables, chairs, cutlery, everything goes directly out the windows. A space is to be cleared. The Mayor is holding court here today. Already a line of petitioners is forming.

But first enters your double.

All of the servitors of your line look almost identical. Only the red number spray-painted onto the cheek, repeated on the ear tag - 20022 - gives any indication of uniqueness. Where the mayor is grand he is simply dressed, an ill-fitting suit, a plastic folder full of paper, and an atmosphere that is deferential without being cringing or servile. He could be your clone. He bows to the mayor, then takes his place at his left hand.

Your role here is to ensure the mayor's cup is never dry and his plate is never clean while he holds court. 20022 stands by the Mayor's side quietly as they both listen to the petitioners. Each time before the mayor speaks 20022 leans in to whisper into his ear.

"Mayor Kaspar, my daughter wishes to take the trials for uplifting into the glorious ranks of the Covii."
"Your other daughter failed the trials when she made eye contact with the Crystal Knight during inspection. The world of Rosefang will not insult the Skies so a second time. Denied."

"Mayor Kaspar, I represent the Royal Surveyor. We have discovered a vein of titanium crystals under the town of Rosedam but require labour to begin extracting it."
"The town and its population will be offered in perpetuity to the office of the Royal Surveyor."

"Mayor Kaspar, the Princess Redana was overheard arguing with Lady Triden about the aesthetics of the Lyri. The Princess found them charming, the Lady found them annoying."
"Princess Redana is a guest and so her tastes take priority for now. However, arrange for the Lyri to be arrested and shipped to Rosedam as soon as she departs."

On and on it goes, this succession of judgements. Beneath all of them is that same indifferent cruelty that had your furniture tossed aside to make the space more grand for the mayor to sit. The Skies exist for a purpose and Mayor Kaspar, with the perfect memory of 20022 to guide him, never for a moment forgets that purpose.

[b]Dyssia![/b]

"Biomantic ability transfer is profoundly unreliable," said Tidal Specialist. "No, if a Pix steals a job she's unready for then she'll have her badge stripped by her superior once her failures are noticed. In ideal situations this acts as encouragement for everyone to train themselves as hard as possible for the jobs they intend to occupy."

The seafloor is coming up into view quickly as the beach rapidly approaches. Soon afterwards your heads are breaching the water and in the distance the monolithic arrow slab of the Pix Battleship is seen looming in the near horizon above the molten crater where there once was a mountain.

"Which is to say, it's entirely possible to learn enough biomancy to get by," she said with a wink. "And if the topic interests you, how about you give it a study? Maybe it's the path of mastery you've been searching for all this time?"