Tatterdemalion

Breathless Dead

“Oh! My! Gosh!!” Redana’s eyes sparkle, and she shoots up out of the crabs with more energy and vigor than she’s shown this entire time, scrabbling back up Alexa. “So of course you killed Molech! He probably knew secret codes that would turn you back into his killer bodyguard! Oh stars, is that why you’re so awkward, because I’m like my mom?”

She leans into two of Alexa’s arms, carefree. “Because all I want is to prove to Mom that it’s time for us all to see the stars again. I’m not looking for a permanent bodyguard. I’m not going to war or anything like that. Do you want me to call you Pallas, or Alexa? Palexa?”

She beams, heedless of crabs, heedless of pain, heedless of anything but the joy of getting to know a friend better. Or make a friend? Perhaps here is a princess worth fighting an army of crabs for, neon green bangs and all.

Sunshards

Rose from the River laughs. She does not seem to watch where she is going, but note how nimbly she steps from rock to rock. Look now, she jumps in the water, up to her ankles, and sends little cold droplets all up and down Scales’ back; she lets a shiver run from her feet all the way up to her trembling braids. Petals retract as if winter had suddenly come to her hair.

“See, this is what I mean. You come so close to getting it right, and yet you stumble at the final... slither?” When she steps out of the water her feet shine like shark fins cutting through the surf. “Unless you mean to say that Qiu has forgiven and forgotten?”

Rose from the River has not met Princess Qiu. The First of the Radiants did, but only in the context of parties, a trophy to be shown off on Yin’s arm. But not since her metamorphosis. No, the reason that Rose from the River has a bounty (now doubtless devalued by the price on the shepherdess Yue) is that when she chose to follow the Way, she aligned herself with the White Doe school, seeking out its sifu and defending its adherents where she found them. The same White Doe school at the heart of the Foxglove Pact that sought to take one (just one) stone from Qiu’s crown, for the good of the land.

An audacious plan, one that saw their entire sect thrown into disarray when Qiu let them almost succeed. For the drama, probably, or to catch as many conspirators as she could. Maybe Rose chose to follow the White Doe because of the romance of standing up to a princess; maybe she really did choose it because its teachings sang to her heart, because they rang with truth. Or maybe it was because they had the best meditative dances, and not even the risk of making an enemy of the Threeshard Princess could keep her from walking that lovely path.

Or maybe it was all three, blended together.

“But we both know she wouldn’t do that without something in it for her, and so you succumb to the desire to misrepresent the world for your own gain. Don’t tell me, don’t tell me the value. I don’t want to know the number. Just don’t make an insect of me, my little Scales! You beautiful buy-and-sell! You wound yourself!”

Rose from the River hops onto a flat stone backward, as much imp as sage-in-training. “No, to truly be the illustrious demoness, the sub-soul of the avaricious Pyre, you must be honest with your evaluation. Let go of those petty grudges. Don’t twist the world to fit your shape. Illuminate it instead.”

Another stream, but here Rose takes her pole and tucks it underneath Scales’ belly, giving her something to push off to keep her from the water. Only many more to go. The sound of her not even mentioning it is deafening.

Her rings almost glow in the low light, looped in ear and set in nose and worn on fingers. Easy to come by, with her skills, and easy to give away. And easiest for her, too, not needing a hot needle when she wished to add more or change their placement, merely time enough for the slow change of her twice-strange flesh.

They are well-sized for a hooked finger, should a demoness be tempted to try and assert herself. What would it be like to hold Rose from the River and know she lets you hold her? Would she let you? What would it mean if she did?

[If Scales of Meaning is appealed to by either service or jewelry, it is her choice as to how to respond, as Rose from the River has rolled a 7. If not, both service and sight are free, regardless.]

Breathless Dead

The complex dimensions of the conversation crumple under the crushing weight of that thought-rail, that awful suggestion. It can no longer be about Bella. If it is about Bella, then... then Alexa would be wrong. Because she wasn’t there. She was there for a little bit but she wasn’t there.

”And guess what? That person’s not on this planet.”

Alexa doesn’t have the context and doesn’t know what she’s talking about and so Redana doesn’t need to think about those words she just said because they’re wrong and also hurt. Alexa wasn’t there when she asked Bella to come. Alexa wasn’t there when Jas’o’s throat was ripped out. And Alexa wasn’t there when Bella promised to take her home in the dark, struggling, friendless...

“You’re not a weapon,” Redana says, instead, sliding slowly down despite returning the hug, squeezing like she wants Alexa to be the one feeling safe. “I needed you to come because I needed a sailor. I can take care of myself,” she says, completely sincere, despite all evidence to the contrary. “I just can’t do it alone, and...” Oh, whoops! Ouch! Don’t think about that! That’s a thing which is not being thought about! “And I was out of options and I’m sorry I pulled you away but I never ever needed a weapon.”

She looks up at Alexa and sniffles. “You’ve seen the giant woman I turn into, right? You’re not just a bodyguard, you’re...” A thought begins hammering at the doors of her perception, and she looks up, even as the crabs begin clambering up her legs.

“Alexa, were you... who did you bodyguard before Mom won your loyalty? It wasn’t... like, it’s silly, we all know it was the Pallas Rex who protected him, but were you, like, assigned to a Minister? Because I think you really did know him back then.”

Breathless Dead

“But you wanted to.” Redana clings to her sulk like a cat Servitor clinging to a life preserver in a swimming pool. “If I didn’t have this stuck in my hand you would have ditched me for the chance to go back home, you would have! And... I understand. You don’t want to be here. But I didn’t want to be there. Can’t you handle being out here for a little while so we don’t have to stay there forever?”

She looks at the command seal on the back of her hand again, even as the crabs surge upwards. “Can’t you trust me?” The comment isn’t really for Alexa. It’s not hard to tell.

“Look,” she adds. “I promise once I figure out how to take it off, I will. You can have it, if you want. Haven’t you ever wanted to give yourself orders? Lexi, focus on your history essay! Lexi, do not eat that cookie! Lexi, be better!” She waves her hand airily and somehow manages to avoid activating the seal on those nebulous commands. Then she stops, struck by a thought.

“Is that it? Will you stop hating me if I set you free?” Her grip on Alexa tightens. “Is that why you’re killing people, because you feel trapped? But I didn’t... I did ask, but... but I still care about you, and...”

A crab grabs her boot and starts trying to tug her down, and she throws her arms around Alexa’s head. It’s almost cuddly.

“And then I won’t be like Molech or my mother! I’ll be myself!!” It’s really something how she continues to come close to understanding. It’s also really something how her biceps are smushed up against Alexa’s face while she clings for dear life against the crab tide.

Sunshards

“Why, brute!” Rose from the River’s tone is easy, flowering into self-satisfaction. “I’m the space inside a bell, resounding; I’m devoted to neither place or possession, which fix one in place like nails. And you’d take my smile away, too? Am I not permitted even that?”

When she looks at the flustered demon of the buy-and-sell, her eyes are for a moment predatory, keen. Sensing weakness, a baring of the throat, an exploit in the system. “Besides,” she purrs, that smirk hooked like the sickle moon, “you might come to miss it once it’s gone, down the road.”

Cruel Thorn Pilgrim! She could have let the demoness gather what remains of her dignity, but instead she invites the serpent to imagine growing to care for her and her shameless smile! She might claim in the moment that she needed to follow up on Scales’ moment off-balance, to place a soft hand on the throat of her heart and threaten to squeeze, but she cannot hide from her deeper self that she was born a huntress. If she shucked the welcome chains of the Way off, she could toy with Scales like the hound plays with a ball, chewing on her proud horns and pinning her to ground, daring her to courage with one hand while grasping her tighter with the other. And when she was done with her toy, she would leave her no recourse but to return to her oversoul in shame or serve her new mistress until she threw them both into a prison neither could escape, having aroused the princesses to stop this dire threat. In that one moment of pressed advantage, the dread queen of monsters roils behind those wet, golden eyes.

It is only with intention that Rose from the River draws back from the temptation, letting the moment pass. She is a vessel for the current that moves the sun and stars. “Jewel of the lotus,” she murmurs to herself, the words as familiar as the path under her feet (and just as able to surprise). “aum shantae aum. Jewel of the lotus, aum shantae aum.” She glitters at the heart of the unfolded lotus, which floats unstained upon the waters as the pilgrim floats unstained upon the world, which lives for a thousand years and lives after its own death, which unfolds to seek the sun as the pilgrim’s own heart unfolds. She is the diamond at the heart of the lotus, which drinks the sun at noon and shines in the dusk, which is the footprint of the lightning which strides across the sky and the echo of the thunder’s call. aum shantae aum. aum shantae nemo padhome aum.

So fortified, the Thorn Pilgrim resolves not to torment the she-demon beyond what she may bear. Merciful pilgrim! How beautiful her devotion! As it is said,

The open hand may hold the world entire,
the closed hand not even a mite of dust.
The bindings of the pious woman
permit passage over the eight heavenly peaks.

Having tamped down the monstrous side of herself (for now; traveling with Scales of Meaning will be a test, but one she knows she can pass), Rose from the River jauntily swings her pole onto her shoulder and keeps pace with the undulations of the demoness. The path beneath her feet is uneven and sparsely coated with grasses. Silver clouds lie stately over the hillsides. The doves sing and the lambs of the valley answer. If Scales looked closely, she might begin to earn the monk’s pay. Which is why Rose from the River now chooses to ask, still impish, “So who is this outlaw you pursue? Yola the Bandit, who steals both flock and shepherdess? Frog-and-Scorpion, demon of the ford? Sairose, the rebel of Sky Castle?” An affected casualness, a quiet glee. “Or one from my orders? Perhaps the Elder of the Black Snake School, that irrepressible evangelist? Or is it the Thorn Pilgrim of the White Doe School, who dares openly defy the Threeshard Princess?”

Being charged with hunting herself? Now that would be a new and delightful game. Unfortunately, she knows already that it isn’t her; it’s the girl. Now to find out what Scales is willing to let slip about her.

Breathless Dead

“What? Maybe? Sure, I guess?” Poor Redana doesn’t know what to do about this. Now Alexa is upset and she’s not angry upset which is what Redana was braced for. Maybe she really does feel guilty about what she did on Baradissar? The affirmation is half-hearted and it doesn’t take an augur to see it.

She doesn’t sit down. She takes the huge spear in both hands and pokes at the crabs, using the spear’s butt, with that same exhausted half-heartedness. Alexa has given her a response she does not know how to use. If Alexa just killed Molech because she’s a broken war machine, then that doesn’t explain Bella at all.

“When I get it off, you’re going to kill me too, right?” A crab takes her moment of distraction to grab at the spear’s butt, and it holds the spear still long enough that its brothers and sisters begin to clamber over its shell to grab at it, too.

The heels of Redana’s overbuckled boots squeak as she is slowly pulled into the crabs, but she’s not really paying attention. “Because I don’t blame you. I’ll figure something out. Really.” Because she has to, doesn’t she? It’s all on her. Can’t fob it off to Bella anymore. Not anymore.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

You’re not used to this. You’re not sure that you should be used to this. This warmth, this opportunity to be vulnerable. You are a stone standing alone. The responsible thing to do is to step aside before you get a taste for being comforted and yielding your strength, or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself, isn’t it? But the words are sluggish and cold, your pride still numbed by the touch of whatever lies beyond the grave, and you are not strong enough to stop yourself from nuzzling closer.

“How dare he?” The words escape you before you can stop them. Your mouth is too hot. “When will he be satisfied? When will he relent?” Unasked: will he? When will Uther Pendragon step back, sated by whatever he is looking for?

And what will you do if he cannot be sated?

“...thank you,” you add. You half-heartedly gesture at the graves, but you mean more than that. But you still know better than to elaborate. To dangle hope in front of Robena. Hope for some unspeakable, unthinkable wonder. That you might be willing to stay. Because you will not. Not forever. You cannot let yourself rest in this warmth, this strength, these fingers on your head. There is too much that you must do, alone, to become... not alone.

Breathless Dead

“I’m not stupid,” Redana says, with surprising acid. “That’s not an answer. You think if you dance around it you can be clever. She is wrong, please! I got the message already. I know what you want to do to me.”

She holds up the Command Seal melded with her miraculous flesh. She figured out how to get it to meld. But she didn’t have time to puzzle out the other half of the instructions. Which left what? Cutting the whole hand off? Getting an Aírgetlam from her Magos to replace the failable flesh? Just so that...

“Molech gave you orders and you killed him.” Her tone’s flat. “I gave you orders, too. That’s it. That’s why Bella wants to hurt me and why you aren’t my friend. It’s because of the orders. And all this time I thought the Father of Theory was wrong. That just because I was a princess and you were servants...”

She clutches the hand close as if she was suddenly burned, eyes wet. “All I wanted was freedom, just like you. Except for you freedom was sitting with a pedestal up your butt looking out at an overpacked planet and not doing anything about it. Well, I don’t care. When I remove this you’ll try to kill me. Whatever, I don’t care,” she says, lying transparently. “But I just want to hear you say it, to not lie to me again. Go ahead and tell me you killed Molech because he gave you orders and there can’t be anything but violence between people who give orders and people who take them.”

Because the alternative is that it’s just her. That she’s bad and broken. That it’s her fault Alexa hates her and Bella hates her and maybe Vasilia and Dolce really are scamming her or something and she’s alone, really alone, and maybe she really was alone all along, that her feeling of safety around Bella was bullshit all this time. So it’s that there’s this rule of human nature. And all that’s still true and she is alone but it’s not her fault, it’s her mother’s fault for wanting a daughter in the first place.

She can’t look Alexa in the eye. Her heart’s loud. Shut up, heart. Stop pounding her head in. Is she feeling woozy? She promised she’d take it easy while walking off the fever. Alexa can’t notice her wobble, right? Stupid! She couldn’t even wait for a better opportunity to get the truth out of her murderous new bodyguard, not that her old one was really any different! “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Did she say that out loud? Will Alexa assume she’s talking about her? Well, well good! Dany’s done caring! Care-free zone! Do you think she cares? Haha, it’s hilarious how wrong you are! She’s tearing up for completely unrelated reasons!! So there!!!

Fellowship: The Heart

Clunk.

That’s the sound of the Very Important Lever being pulled. A knot, undone. The secret promise kept at the bottom of this world in a bubble: as long as the worst thing that could happen was its own self-destruction, it could not create anything worse. Wormwood Station’s speakers blare psychic yowling as everything starts to come undone.

Above, King Dragon narrows his eyes and rips out infrastructure to add to his hoard. He will not be allowed to take the entire station, now falling to pieces, but he will content himself with what he may take. Then he will remove himself from this accursed place and be gone.

Ailee — you can piggyback a way out. A tunnel that even Sasha could travel through, one that will serve as a substantial shortcut. The only problem is that you need to make good on your quest. Someone needs to be punished, but with rats milling about and pushing, shoving, trying to escape, it’s anyone’s guess as to where the Chief Squeaker herself might be.

If you want to ride King Dragon’s tail on the way out, he needs to be placated with vengeful wrath, and quickly.

Coleman — well, here it is. One of the signs of Last Call. Wormwood Station coming undone from its very heart. It’s going to make the lines just that bit more dangerous, and in the long run, it’s a blow to the entire Vermissian. Entropy has a chance to sink its fangs in now, as do Disaster and Sabotage. If there’s a solution, it’s beyond any one kobold right now. Focus on what’s important instead — Lucien running up in a scandalous little number dragging a very huffy Jackdaw along.

Good luck getting out of here, unless you throw yourself at a weak point (having figured out very quickly where the sort of leak that allows for the presence of Angels here might be, which you haven’t done yet) and cross your fingers. You might end up truly anywhere.

But that’s better than the alternative, right? What do you think happens if you stay here, anyhow?

Sunshards

The Conciliatory Ice-Star Blade kisses Scales of Meaning without splitting her scales as Rose from the River deftly retrieves it from her coils. A twirl about her wrist, a sharp strike on the ground, and it is a walking stick once more, one that Rose from the River uses to push aside a writhing tail which stands between her and her pack.

Wordless she passes by, ably hiding the gleeful mischief of the twist of her lips and the dancing of her eyes from the petulant demon. Her underwear is simple, black, snugly-fitting (especially as it clings to her hips); she is shameless in letting Scales stare, if she likes. She pulls her top over her head then, settling straps on shoulders and between fingers. Next her trousers, loose and comfortable, settling free over bare feet. Finally, she pulls her pack onto her shoulders, the sum of her possessions in the world.

This done, she walks past the demoness and makes for the road, only to stop at an appropriate distance and turn back. “Well,” she says, with mock seriousness, “are you not coming, sage-imitating demon? I thought you wanted to catch someone; are they sitting by the river? If they are, or if you set a trap for them, I do apologize for my haste. Or are they elsewhere, and you sit there dawdling like a little girl? The Accountant-Sage of Hell wouldn’t laze around like that, but the scales on your horns are so fine that I was nearly fooled! Some more practice in her mannerisms, perhaps some more training with the blade, and you might pass for the fearful one known as Scales of Meaning, little snake.”

She taps the side of her nose, and her smile slips out of her control. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me, little one. I’ll be the most circumspect of companions.”

(The Way does not technically have any proscriptions about being a little shit, as long as you know how to pull your punches. One does not mock the orphan or the widow about their loss. But Scales is a big girl, isn’t she? She can take it. And honestly, she’s in need of it. Look at that attitude, that huffiness and arrogance! Rose from the River is Activated.)