Tatterdemalion

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Kazelia!

“Now, of course I don’t want to cause a diplomatic incident with the mighty and august Protectorate,” Rita says, so smug that you’re smothered in the purr she’s only barely suppressing. “So I’d be happy to let you and your ‘consort’ go with only a minor concession.” You feel the flustered shiver run through Kyouko from her tail to her head, and intuit the twitch twitch of her fuzzy ears. “So go ahead and admit that cats rule and foxes, in fact, drool.”

“Hrrrrmph,” Kyouko snoots through a mouthful of Rita’s crocheted socks. “Nffff!”

“Don’t they teach you e-heh-low-kyu-shun in the archipelago?” Rita says in her snootiest fox impression. “Speak clearly, your grace! Use your words, not your vixenish wiles!”

Kyouko’s fingers are intertwined with yours, her left hand holding your right, and she gives you an excited squeeze. You squeeze back. You can’t see Rita, being faced away from her, tied back to back with Kyouko, but the energy in the room is electric and exciting and... warm. Because everyone in the room knows that the silly rivalries are silly, that if feelings get hurt there’ll be honest apologies, and that you are safer here than you could possibly have imagined...

And that’s when the door opens.

***

Alina!

Your escape was daring and perilous, the two of you ducking into shadows and crawling past sentries, not to mention doing your best not to attract any attention between Shazari’s mansion (she has a mansion, and a Jedadi tent complex inside its courtyard) and the House of Hospitality.

Rhyza stole a hooded cloak for you, and kept one possessive hand on your shoulder as she guided you through the streets, softly rubbing you through the linen. Only that cloak stood between you and an undignified reveal! Luckily, it seemed like nobody was out on the streets tonight, but you were sure you’d just die of embarrassment if the wind blew the cloak back in the middle of the street.

But no. You clambered into the House of Hospitality using a side window, and crept over to Rita’s room. You’re not going to let your great-grandma see you like this, and borrowing some of your girlfriend’s clothes is much better. Besides, if Rita’s in, you could introduce her to Rhyza, maybe the three of you could hang out and play games tonight, like spin the bottle, or eating Konkon pocky, or “captives’ charades,” the game of muffled explanations...

The lights are on, and you hear Rita inside. Thank goodness! You open the door, dramatically throw back the cloak, and sigh with relief. Then you notice that Kazelia, Kyouko and Rita are all staring at you. Your girlfriend’s eyes are stuck on your top, and she is going as red as an apple, her tail bushing up and her eyes going as big as if she had just seen a mouse.

And that’s when Rhyza prods you forward. “Brought you another prisoner, your highness,” she says. “She’s an excellent dancer, and wonderful at... singing.”

R-Rhyza!!!

***

Adila!

“Once you break something, you can’t go back and unbreak it?” That, from a young goblin bravo, his hair styled upwards and his mustache expertly curled, wearing a suit best described as “pocketwatch chic.”

“Perhaps not,” the Clockmaster of the Golden Hour says, mildly. They’re one of the milder, more mainstream Igniters, the kind of Igniter who tries to help others find enlightenment too. “But you can use the moment of its wholeness inside you to turn the wheel and make it whole once more. You cannot erase the moment in which it shattered, but it may not be broken forever.”

The goblin rebuked, the Clockmaster turns back to you. Their hair is silver and glowing faintly in the moonlight, and the pale, luminous light of the clocks. “I am listening,” they say, softly. “Please share what you have seen.”

And with that invitation, you don’t just have their ear. Every Igniter in the plaza is paying attention to you, waiting to see if you make an insightful observation that they can meditate over for a fashionable period of time or an inane “baby’s first timepiece” commentary on impermanence. But the Clockmaster’s smile is gentle and inviting as they wait and listen.

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

POTENTIAL 2

Sara bows back. She might be a badass, but the most badass thing of all is choosing to share in her friends’ weird little rituals. And... tbh, Locker’s one of the best dance partners she’s got.

“Step one is establishing an alibi. You’re going to need a bot that can cover for you in chat, and also some sort of weird depression hobby. That way, you’ve got someone who can cover for you by spamming typos, and you’ve got an excuse for hiding in your apartment. Second, we start laying hints that you’re Vault, but sloppily, like someone’s trying to shunt suspicion off onto you. Then, just to make sure the lowest common denominator gets it, you’ll get saved by Dominus as Vault. And while that’s happening, I’ll start spamming the butts match, using photoshop and arrows and curves to PROVE YES PROVE that you and Vault are the same.”

She catches the look he gives her and nods solemnly. She was, in fact, controversial and ultimately canceled fic writer S4R4STORM17. Victor can never, ever find out.

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Alina!

One strong and gentle hand runs down the back of your head. She’s so careful with you. That’s why you trust your Queen.

“I might just happen to have a beggar’s key here,” Rhyza says, and a small copper pin tumbles out of her sleeve: a lockpick, a scoundrel’s friend. “So what you will do, little princess,” she purrs, like a tiger sitting neatly before you, idly flexing her claws, “is make anyone passing by believe that I am doing my job of getting you ready for interrogation. Forget the guards at the flap: I need the cooks on the other end of camp to hear you holler as I punish you with feather and whip.”

She reaches up and starts working on the fiendishly clever locks, leaning forward so that her tunic parts ever so slightly at eye level to help inspire you. She’s asking you to toss all of your dignity out the window, so that she isn’t caught and chained up next to you. How much is your dignity worth, Alina?

***

Adila!

Ten, eleven, twelve.

Thirteen.

That is the lesson of the Dragon’s Clock, its method and its means. It was made for you by devils, perhaps not you in the specific, but for the dragon who would be standing here right now. Time and dragons and old stories, clocks and time woven from the hungry void at the beginning of everything, with this moment and this place as its anchoring point.

What came next? What did you do in the moments just beyond this one, this slivering, this fire-on-the-heart?

***

Kazelia!

The smoke bomb wakes you up, but you were ready when you saw that bright, startlingly vivid light suddenly upon you. Your heart knew what was happening before your head caught up.

There’s a fight going on in the room now, only perceptible through eddies of smoke and the startled squeaks from Rita as she tries to defend her territory and her captive from your invading ninja girlfriend. Kyouko is fast, well-armed, and has the element of surprise on her side— but if Rita manages to find her footing after the initial assault, she’s got a decent chance of turning the tables—

And there’s you, too. Traditionally, you’re “out” when you’re captured, not allowed to get involved in fights until you’re rescued, but have you learned that yet? And if you have, are you willing to use your magic to help one of the fighters in the smoke-choked hotel room?

Whether this coin lands (fuzzy) heads or (kitten) tails, whether it’s nudged one way or the other by your interference and magic, it’ll be settled by the time the smoke clears, and someone’s ending up back to back with you.

Fellowship: The Heart

What is the Heart? Assorted Theories, Summarized for the Beginning Student:

• The graveyard of failed cities. Whenever a city of a certain size dies completely, it sinks into the Heart, crushing everything beneath it into even more of a confused mess as it splinters and breaks apart. Because cities are alive, they are all trying to put themselves back together, but each one foils the attempts of the others, like crabs in a bucket. Delvers are vultures and dung beetles, stripping them down to their stony bones.
• It is a prison for dark gods, or the titans who made the gods, and delvers are either foolishly opening the door to let them free, one treasure at a time, or are stripping them of the tools they would use to break free, each stolen treasure sapping more of their power until they become weak and pitiful shadows. If it is not a prison, then it is all the dream of one of these gods, the true god, and woe betide those who awaken them and cause the Heart to fade away like a dream at dawn.
• The Heart is a marvelous world-creating engine from which all creation emanates. If anyone understood how to manipulate it, they would hold in their hands the controls of the world. Because delvers work at cross purposes and act without understanding, the world is a baffling, capricious series of ridiculous nonsense. But if you figured out the pattern, or sat in the Last Throne, or dethroned the Pattern Guardians foolish people think are deep gods, you could make it better. You could make it all better.
• The Heart is a nightmare labyrinth that, in hindsight, we never should have entered. But now that it’s open... good people have to go down there and stop the Angels and the gods and the blood-rats and the parasite words and the goddamn trains from escaping. And the clowns. God. The clowns.

Facts Concerning the Metaphysic of the Heart:

• The Heart has “up” and “down.” Up is closer to the world, more stable, and down is... stranger. The further down you go, the more risk and reward. Nobody knows if there’s a bottom. Nobody who made it back, anyhow.
• The Heart shifts and changes while you’re not looking. Navigation is a matter of intuition and communion, not cartography. You can’t cross the same hungry river twice, as they say; if you find your way back to a place once seen before, it is invariably changed somehow.
• Motifs like the Library and the Forest are not so much places as they are conditions or tilts. The Heart is a jumbled mess of ruin. Machinery and infrastructural motifs are common, but usually corrupted by some other influence.

Gazeteer

ANGELS: actually a taxonomic class; a non-animal denizen of the Heart which is not (barring the theological debates) of mortal origin. Many are faceless; many are winged; many are dangerous. Many work at cross purposes. Some are flickering electric fractals and some are horned moss-drowned hunters and some are skittering vicious librarians.

BEES: up to something. They’re a pale blue, glow faintly in the dark, and are constructing... something. They repurpose the environment around their hives and stick various pieces of junk together with their spittle. Angels fear them. As long as you don’t break anything, you’ll be safe around them. For varying degrees of safe. They’ll start whispering to you if you sleep too close, offering you the chance to be part of the Great Work.

BLOOD-RATS: gorged on the luminous blood of King Dragon, the blood-rats are his eyes and ears and tiny hands throughout the Heart. They are trappers and saboteurs and steal vital supplies, and at the same time, are willing to sell you just what you need when you need it most, at ruinous price. Nobody loves the blood-rats. Nobody except their burning, hateful god.

THE CHIMERAE: known more commonly as “Beasts,” these are non-animal denizens of the Heart, of mortal origin. They drank too deeply of still pools, or were transcribed into words and then translated back again, or offended the king of all these woods, or ate an Angel’s flesh, or in some way invited the Heart inside themselves. Some cling to what normality they have left, offering themselves as guides in Detritus or forming nomadic scavenger caravans. Some even try to leave, but few can, and even fewer don’t come back. The Heart won’t let you go.

THE DARK CARNIVAL: danger in limelight. If you’re very lucky, you might get supplies, strange entertainment, and win your heart’s desire in a claw game. If you’re very foolish, you’ll accept the immortality the Fools’ Mysteries offer. If you’re unlucky, the clowns will begin howling and honking. Run.

DELVERS: professional tomb-raiders, thieves, and swords-for-hire. They carry no maps, but learn the moods and seasons of the Heart— that is, if they survive. Delvers live by an unspoken code: don’t kill (you’ll attract the Angels), share your food and drink when asked (one day you might be the one who needs it), and take whatever you can (tough luck if you can’t hold onto it). If you break the code... better make sure there’s no survivors to spread word around.

DETRITUS: on the “surface” of the Heart, where it brushes against the world, sprawls a wild and dangerous city filled with intrepid or foolish entrepreneurs, criminals and exiles hiding from their past (who usually know better than to descend), several university annexes, cultists and theologians. The city entire is bisected by Nexus Station, a holy cathedral which offers lodgings for hopeful travelers waiting for a train’s attention. Attempts have been made to establish government, but they always fail, leaving behind yet more dilapidated offices and another layer of impotent bureaucracy.

THE FLOOD: she leaks in between tiles and surges down corridors without warning, she lies stagnant and green-choked between you and what you want, she vomits forth pearls and coral twisting like bone, she drags you underneath unless you drown offerings to her, and if she takes you, you may find yourself elsewhere, years later— or earlier— gasping and mottled with her touch.

THE FOREST: up through bookshelves and between the tracks come the brambles, and their berries are black and bitter and cause strange reveries. Ceilings become twining branches, or are they roots? Far off, but never far enough, the hunting-horn sounds. The king of all these woods— you can smell him before you meet him, and the sight of his horns is terrible.

THE LIBRARY: the walls are spines, and the lion’s share of what you see are books yet unwritten, or never written, or from other places you might hope never to see. Mined books serve as currency among many delvers; the Heart detests useless books. And as a last resort, tossing them to a charging Librarian might earn you reprieve while it reshelves them.

OWLS: oh god oh god oh god we disturbed the nest I’ll hold them off as long as I can

THE VERMISSIAN: a terrible mistake made long ago. A dead civilization thought to abuse the liminal nature of the heart, to bore rail-lines through them and facilitate travel on luxury locomotives, cutting travel times from months to days. Now the rail-lines are hissing, echoing labyrinths, twisting all through the Heart, and the trains run themselves through conductor-cults. The Vermissian Knights serve as templars and wardens of the rail-lines, clad in shining armor made from train-moltings and carrying sharpened rails the size of greatswords.

Music

• The Vermissian Line.
• Looking Down.
• The Forest.
• The Dark Carnival.
• Lament for the Lost.
• Angelsong.

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

POTENTIAL 2

"How about the Incredible Nerd?" Suns blossom around him, sharp shards of flare forcing him to dart from foot to foot, grazing them so close he nearly singes the scarf. "Or you could call yourself Eraserhead; you've got that Lynchian vibe to you." Mandalas bloom, spitting lasers that trap him into firing corridors. "Rat Boy, with the skittering and mischief skills of a rat, not to mention the awful little hands, and the jumping ability of a boy!" He backflips over a pulsing shot and lands neatly, letting the follow-through zip perfectly between his arm and his body. "Prince Sparklepants, if you're looking for a new costume--"

And then he taps her forehead. Game over. Right in the space she left open for him. She grins, her eyes bright, and punches him in the arm.

"Or... how about Vault? It's got both the mad moves and the, you know, locker. Because you put things in both vaults and lockers? Don't laugh, you have no idea how hard it is to get a good and marketable name that hasn't already been snapped up, but I can get #Vault trending in 24 hours..."

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Adila!

One of the clocks begins to chime. One, two, three, sharp silvery tones. For a moment, it's the only sound in the whole world. Everyone stops breathing, the dust stops settling, even the night wind stills. Then the hymn begins. Not an Igniter hymn; this is the sound of Palatine piety, rising from nearby roofs, from windows, as one of the new clocks (peeking out from under a budding branch) sings its song. Four, five, six.

The song rises from throats like tongues of fire. Do you join them, Adila? Seven, eight, nine. Each of the old clocks is gone. This new tree of time... it is the ship, each part changed, but still the same. It is the turning point of time. And despite this, despite the overturning of prophecy, the wiping clean of the slate... has the great work changed at all?

That's for you to decide, as it is for everyone in the Bazaar.

***

Alina!

"As I seem to remember," Rhyza says, squatting down to look you in the face, her grin only visible in the delighted squint of her eyes, "you needed me to help look after Jedad. But now that Shazari's back, well, does that mean that your orders are over, or do you need me to follow her orders now more than ever?" She tilts your head up with one (1) finger. She could tie you up right now with a bit of brittle cobweb and you'd still be helpless, wouldn't you? "Maybe what you really need is for me to keep your cover to avoid foiling your brilliant plan, which requires you to pretend to be Shazari's prisoner and soon to be... well, I don't want to spoil the surprise. Let's just say she has plans for you, too."

The finger lowers, and traces its way down your collarbone to the divot in your top, where she puts the gentlest pressure on it. Enough to remind you that she could pull it down. "I know I'm just a simple mercenary," she purrs. "Please explain what you want me to do, your highness~"

She's probably going to free you-- and insist you tie her up so that it looks like you escaped on your own-- but right now? Right now she's luxuriating in the fluorescent blush coming off your face, and the flustered, incoherent noises escaping around the knot.

***

Kazelia!

"I left my kitten lying here,
a-lying here, a-lying here,
I left my kitten lying here
to fetch the wild weed..."

Rita's voice is soft and quavering, a reminder of how small and dainty a princess she is (and isn't Alina lucky for dating one of the few princesses smaller than her?), but it's still soothing. If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine that you're in one of those cozy little Askaian homes, all the way back at the beginning, and there's Askaian chai on the windowsill and the sun is warm and the incense brings strange fancies, and the day's all yours to lose.

"I've found the little otter's track,
the otter's track, the otter's track,
I've found the little otter's track,
but where's my little kitten, o?"

You don't need to worry about anything right now. Rita's in charge, and she'll treat you with all the love and care that a Hyperborean princess deserves. Somewhere deep inside you, your Mother stirs and radiates contentment; here, here is the Truth, wrapped up in the cat princess's lilting lullaby. You don't feel cold at all, and falling stars tickle their way down your back with every brush.

"I found the trail of the mountain mist,
the mountain mist, the mountain mist,
I found the trail of the mountain mist,
but where's my little kitten, o?"

When you drift off to sleep in the puddle of sunshine, what dreams wait for you in your Mother's arms?

"Here's my little kitten found,
my kitten found, my kitten found,
here's my little kitten found,
safe and warm at home~"

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Adila!

The Bazaar might feel all topsy-turvy, but... well, that's just because of how jumbled up you are inside. And the fact that a lot of stalls and shops are closed; people are at home with their families and loved ones tonight, unpacking the strange rooms of the Labyrinth they found themselves trapped in, and what happened to them there. Eupheria and Alina, with their last wish, managed to put almost everything back the way it was before Eupheria made the Labyrinth. That's the awful power of the Caduceus: it could return the Bazaar to the way it was while still allowing the Labyrinth to exist below.

It'll be the biggest new business in town, give it a week. There'll be shops selling spelunking equipment, Caddy-shaped dousing rods, books chronicling the history of Wicked Queen Eupheria, guides who claim to have witnessed the final battle personally, and businesses doing their best to figure out what sells in the new Nightmare Army market. But it'll almost be business as usual.

Almost.

Because the Clocktower is still a tree, grand and terrible, its roots buckling streets and its branches looming over the entire Bazaar. In its slate-grey bark, where one might expect knotholes, there are clocks; there are watches budding by the leaves, their shining faces peeking out; there are shudders that run through it, almost imperceptible, to no immediately apparent rhyme or reason.

Discovering rhyme and reason is the specialty of the Igniters, and so they are assembled in the square where your feet lead you, breaking out sextons and rulers and mathematical formulae and illustrations of the old Clocktower. They are the gnostics, seekers of secrets, and by the time the sun is up they will have published half a dozen competing treatises in code, each one more obtuse than the last, intended to bring only the truly worthy to understanding.

You yourself, Adila, are a Palatine; one who follows, not one who seeks. Did the prophecies of the shoemaker even hint at something like this coming to pass? Or is this a new era, one which requires new revelation?

***

Kazelia!

The drag of the brush through your hair sends pleasant shivers down your spine. Rita is perched on her bedside table, seeing as you're stuck in your chair, and she's got her legs wrapped around you in very feline fashion while she runs both brush and occasionally gentle claw along your scalp. She's even got a bottle of Jedadi perfume lying on the bed to rub into your scalp after she gets your hair nice and neat and glossy.

"I owe you a lot, you know," she says, almost to herself. The morning sun lies lazily on your lap, filtered through faux-Iluminan glass. "For choosing Hyperborea. For being my friend when my home was in danger. For looking after my girlfriend. For figuring out how to get her out of her prison in the Labyrinth. The least I can do is help you feel at home. And that means, right now, you are not allowed to worry about anything. No quests! You have been beaten by a princess of Askaia, and now you have to do whatever I say until your sisters ransom you, and I say that you are getting brushies, and then some more tea, and then... well, I haven't decided. Maybe I'll tickle you until you can tell me to stop~"

The tea, incidentally, is sitting also on the bed in a shallow Askaian drinking bowl. It's perfect for cats, and for making non-cat princesses trying to drink out of them feel silly for having to lap it up with their tongues.

So, a few questions: how does it feel to get pampered and your hair done by an affectionate catgirl? When's the last time you got your hair brushed like this, if ever? What sort of tea did Rita make for your kidnapdate? And how comfy is that Rider scarf over your lips, anyhow?

***

Alina!

The soldier who enters the prisoner closet is big. Very big. Bronze bracers shaped like serpents slither around her impressive biceps, and her tunic stops halfway down her thighs, the perfect size to squish a princess. Ten to one says that she's one of Shazari's interrogators. She's too stuck-up and fancy to question captured princesses herself half the time, and instead relies on specially-trained soldiers like this one to work the truth out of her prisoners.

You would be feeling small and meek in comparison to this soldier if you hadn't been forced into a Jedadi prison uniform: a small bronze bikini and gauzy loincloth, to make sure the prisoner isn't hiding anything up their sleeve. Or, apparently, in their belly button. Your wrists are cuffed above your head, you're sitting on the carpeted floor, and as a final indignity, a flimsy pink veil flutters over the thick, embroidered sash knotted and pulled between your lips.

"Well," the soldier purrs in a hauntingly familiar voice. "Look what we have here." She kneels, her eyes drinking you in, and reaches out to lift your chin, making you look up at her. "If it isn't Alina Cascade..."

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

POTENTIAL 2

Sara takes Locker very, very seriously. Well, correction. As an opponent, she takes him seriously. As a friend, she'll give him grief, but if she pulled a punch or flinched or, God forbid, tried to take it easy on him? It would break his heart. Destroy the bond the two of them had as connoisseurs of hardlight danmaku dueling. She plays fair, too, for the same reason. If she cut it too close, hit him with something impossible to dodge... well, that's cheating. And nobody respects a cheater, not in their circuits. So he moves like oil on metal and Sara flares her vicious lights and they light up the parking garage.

She takes him seriously, and lets his body do the thinking for him. She trusts him. She doesn't have to hold back with him, and he knows it. So go ahead, Locker. Touch her. Prove you know her patterns better than she does. Win the right to make your own decision about this.

[9 on Comfort/Support.]

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Adila!

“Whatever Adila wants to do,” the Captain says, with a shrug. “I came with her this far, after all. And before you get to grousing over whether it’s really her... the Queen took the last spell she ever did and wrung her out of it. So it’s her. And this time...”

The Captain looks off into the distance, an island of pensiveness in the midst of the last hurrah of the Watch. “It’s funny. This time, I’m the one looking after her.”

You are suddenly struck with the near certainty that if you leaned across the table and pulled back her eyepatch, you’d see falling stars and night.

But what kind of weirdo would do that!!!

***

Alina!

The embarrassment knocked you off your groove. That’s why, when Shazari doesn’t go straight up but at a diagonal, driving her shoulder into your tummy, you don’t see it coming. She lifts you like a bull, and now you’ve got a faceful of Shazari’s cloak and her arm clamped around your knees and that shoulder making out with your breakfast.

“Excellent! Now that we are even, we can discuss the location of my mother’s royal jewels with a clear conscience!”

She wouldn’t possibly keep you here, right? She understands how dangerous Oberon is! So, um, really, all you need to do (assuming you can’t figure out a smart way to escape) is to hold out until she has to let you go! You can handle the decadent tortures of the Jedadi court! No matter how you are tickled, you just need to refuse to give in!

But also it would be much better for you if you figured out a way to escape. Especially if it’s before she spirits you away.

***

Kazelia!

“You’re really good at speeches,” Rita says, putting the kettle on. Being gagged is thirsty work, and she is an excellent captor. Her room is a cozy single-bed number on the third floor (and you are very impressed with how she managed to carry both you and the chair up the stairs). She’s got an Askaian sun mat laid out near the window, a scratching toy sitting on the bedside table, and a hairbrush sitting in plain sight on the bed.

“If I weren’t an innocent and law-abiding princess,” she says, her tail twitching happily, “I could only hope to have a big sister like you, you know? Someone who cared about me. Who didn’t give up on me, no matter what.” She looks at you over her shoulder and smiles, before hopping up and sitting on the counter. “But I am the most innocent princess in all of Hyperborea! I am just a simple kitten without a devious bone in my body!”

She dramatically presses her hands to her chest, giving her hypothetical audience a show-stopper of a lip quiver, and then breaks into a devious little giggle and boops your nose with her big toe.

“I’m sure if you disagreed,” she adds, smiling like the cat that got into the cream, “you’d say something, wouldn’t you~?” That’s so very Hyperborean of her! Next thing you expect her to say is—

She hops off the counter and cradles your face in her hands. “Awww. Cat got your tongue?” Aaaaand there it is.

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

POTENTIAL 1

“Oh, so first you didn’t want the jumpsuit, and now you do?” Sara dangles it just out of reach with a grin. “Come on, Locker, make up your mind!”

She’s tapdancing on the razor’s edge of danger, but, really, this is Sara. She can’t not! She has to know what Locker’s going to do! Maybe he’ll make a terrible choice, maybe she’ll push him into making a better one, maybe she’ll push him into the worst choice— but sitting there meekly and trying to be nice? She literally cannot do this thing.