Thanqol

Breathless Dead

Redana!

"It is a miracle we survived," said Iskarot. He is not speaking in generalities - he is acknowledging the Bloody Handed God's influence. "Imagine how much worse this would have been if we had made the mistake of planning this."

Standing shivering in the void[1], watching the severed upper half of your space-ship drift away into the rainbow darkness, the zenlike nature of this statement is difficult to understand. Perhaps it is one of the more advanced mysteries of the Hermetic Cult. Perhaps you should ask Bella to take notes.

"Come," buzzed the Hermetician, making his way back into the ship's interior. "It is cold outside."

[1] It may be questioned by the inexperienced or the alien how such a lackadaisical approach is taken to the void of space. This is no magic of Imperial blood or Hermetic technology; this is a simple truth of this galaxy. All life is so miraculously bio-engineered that stepping out into the void of space without a suit is equivalent to going outside during a blizzard without a coat - unpleasant and potentially bad for you if sustained, but by no means immediately lethal. As to the Hermetic's ability to communicate in a vacuum, this is a product of him signalling the Princess' auspex eye.

*

"It is important to remember when performing feats of engineering in the void that you stand a great chance of angering the Prismatic Lord," Iskarot said as you hauled the massive grav-plates down the corridor. Behind you came the ocean, following you as obediently as the moon flees from Artemis. "Humans are not the only creatures that pray, and Great Poseidon has many children who he cares for. Even if you are directly favoured by him he is fickle and you must be ready for his moods. Having the assistance of Ares Spearbreaker is the greatest guarantor during times of catastrophe. I prefer to pray for the strength to survive the storm rather than pray that the storm never comes."

The engine chamber begins to flood as the grav-plates are set in place, water lapping once again at rusted and coral-scarred walls and pipes. The Hermetician took a moment to rest, and for the first time since you've met him he seems an elderly man instead of a piece of machinery wrapped in robes.

His talk of Ares is alien to you. Though not forbidden in the same way as he was during the era of Molech, the War God is disfavoured in the martial traditions of the Empire. Certainly of your many religious responsibilities as an Imperial Princess vanishingly few had to do with Ares.

"Observe," said the Hermetic. "I will set the reactor to a main sequence transition. This is a technique that can provide an emergency burst of power but makes the engine deck uninhabitable due to the heat bleed. The real art is ensuring that the sequence fails and burns itself out rather than resulting in a Starbreach, observe my actions carefully..."

Dolce!

"There are," Hera agreed. "This ship has known more than a few already."

She tapped the wall. From her expression she probably wasn't thinking of the time last week Redana cut the whole damn thing in half without telling anyone, leaving you spiraling without power in the void for hours. It would be hard not for that to be one of the first few things that comes to your mind.

"Why not take a walk?" she suggests. "The Princess has cleared the lower decks, and there are so many stories and lessons these walls conceal."

Alexa!

Isty's blows start to shift as she fights. She begins with excellent, if generic, thrust work. Warfare to be proud of. A spear is a weapon for concentrating power into a single tiny point, a precision device - a weapon of organized co-operative warfare, as you demonstrate again, and again, and again. You're better at this style of battle than her, able to disassemble the Ceronian's invisible phalanx while still holding the princess at bay.

Then she swings the weapon at you like an enormous club.

It's terrible, atrocious form - a snapped reaction of frustration and confusion. And would that warfare were fair, the frustrated and confused and hot-headedly blunderous side should be at a disadvantage. But that is not how it goes, and you are forced defensive, parrying with the haft through hammering blows bang, bang, bang until at last crack.

It is her spear not yours that has shattered in half but that does not even slow the princess whose crimson hair swirls like the bloody handprint of Ares. She fights you now with a broken half-spear in either hand, whirling like a dervish, clattering against your defenses and pushing you back. She seeks to drag this battle down into a state of anarchy and raw physicality, to get inside your guard where weapons are useless and pull you down with raw muscle.

Does she? Can she? Or are you yet able to bend this wolf to your will?

Bella!

"Oh, trivial to accomplish," Beljani said smoothly, charmingly, helpfully. No hesitation or fear as she discussed her own extinction. "Remove from me my comforts. Torment me, abuse me, treat me like an animal. Or just issue me an impossible mission and leave me in the field alone for long enough. Soon enough I'll stop identifying myself with my body and start identifying myself with the virus. When that happens there are no limits to what I might accomplish for you, Praetor."

"Praetor," said Mynx, trying to keep her voice professional, but there was a waver in it. It had been there when discussing the Rampancy of the other assassins, but it was particularly pronounced here. "Be careful. This is like a drug for her - for them. The Oratus Temple has been destroyed before for letting it get out of hand."

"Dear Mynx is just being protective," said Beljani with so much warmth in her voice that you envy Mynx that affection. "We trained together you know, before our Ascendancies? She was always prepared to do anything for the people she loved, it's what made the Grandmaster choose her as bodyguard to begin with."

Beljani, Oratus Adept

Beljani, Oratus Adept
A voice as sweet as opium
Voice of the Divine: An Oratus can convert any individual or group of people into a Threat under her command.
Self Sacrifice: While this stat is undamaged, anyone within reach of the Oratus or any of her subjects cannot bring themselves to harm the Oratus directly.
Rampancy: When a Temple Assassin has reached the stage of Rampancy, it becomes a Threat to the World. It also has the ability to instantly destroy any other threats contained within the Environment.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Ah. That scent.

This is not something to joust. This is something to rescue... or something to hunt.

She has seen horrors before. In the savage land of the Balkans the woods shivered at the passage of bats that walked like men. In the valleys of the Alps princesses grew fur and took up the aspects of beasts. In the holy land itself she had encountered one who had perhaps been the Prosecutor of God. A curse ran through the world that made the human form fall away, making the exterior as bestial as the interior. A nightmare that echoed time and again saw her indistinguishable from her cloak. She wore it regardless, even as half-memories of ursine talons overlaid her hands.

What quest or trial had gone so awry for this knight that she would emanate that scent of magic? What truth that couldn't be concealed within flesh was now being concealed within metal? Was this the destiny of knights? Scales and fur and savage instinct?

The words didn't come easily. Despite the music of her voice she could go days without speaking on the road. But this was different. This was her home, this was her peer. She would not go through this bout as some silent and landless vagabond. She would be known, and she would be known by any rising monster or fallen knight for her skill in defending this home.

"You ride against Robena Coilleghille," she declared, striking her lance against her shield. "Who fights for the honour of lady Constance Nim. You ride against one who has seen both horror and temptation and emerged scarred but victorious. You ride against one who can smell the curse that weighs upon it and would lift it from you. You may not know me as a hero and saviour, but I vow before the River and the Bloodless One that I shall not rest until you can once again show your face in the light. I shall unhorse you in the joust, overcome you in the melee, and best you in the contest of hearts until you are worthy of that kerchief you wear and bring no more suffering to the one who granted it to you. You who know nothing shall be made to know me, such I vow."

She lowered her visor and set her lance. Come then. Set your strength against the giantess. Test your curse against her heart and see which emerges the stronger.

[Single Combat: 7. I spend two on position and one on defending myself, striking with 4 harm and 5armour]

Fellowship: The Heart

Ailee is fascinated. This... could this be a pure manifestation of the Heart, a vector from which its influence has spread? Could this be melted? Smelted? Recast? What properties could be hammered into it, what will might this strange bloody vector of knowledge attain with proper machining? She fetched her glasses from her pocket and crouched down in front of the spike, in front of the pages.

Soft lavender light ran along her tattoos. The Vice burned within her like a furnace. Could she read this? Could she touch this? How deep did this go? What secrets did it hide - and whose secrets might it reveal by implication?

"Curious," she signalled to the bees, blinded in this moment to the dark weight behind that word.

[Look Closely: 4]

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

This is a production all right, but it's not Shamash's any more.

As the world sinks into darkness and the arena into nightmare, so does she - bending low to cast her face with black sand and muck. Her light goes out and all that's left is the horror Marianne has bought. Eyes become accustomed to the light and beauty fades away into it - until the moment it vanishes. It's as shocking and disorienting as an electrical outage.

And a few seconds of total shock are lifetimes at the speed she and Shamash are moving at.

She sprints forward as invisibly as a sunbeam in space. She leaps, snatching the spear out of the sky seconds before Shamash's fingers close around it. She skids to a halt on the other side of the battlefield, feeling the twisted thing writhe beneath her fingers. She spends a few precious seconds to scan the crowd. Is Marianne here? Anathet?

She looks up at Tirzah. Despite everything she smiles. Despite everything her heart beats. Do you see? I'll never stop fighting for you.

[Directly engage: 11
- Avoid Blows
- Take the spear from him]

Breathless Dead

Redana!

"Telling the Captain would make things too," Iskarot buzzed, "organized. Ares has offered his favour as we are, his approval to your independent thought. Perhaps you have never seen him in this aspect before. He says, be bold! Be spontaneous! Though there may be chaos it shall be blessed chaos, and much can be done in those conditions."

He unravels himself into a standing posture, triskellion legs bringing him to his hunched-but-towering height, clicking across the metal deck.

"Now, the lesson begins and begins with safety. The D-Scythe is a way to focus the Engine into a single point. This implies enormous stress placed upon the device. As you hold it you will feel it vibrate under your fingers with increasing ferocity, until the point you can hear a sound like chiming glass. This is the focusing crystals impacting on each other and means the metal is beginning to warp. It is a bad sound and implies immanent detonation, immediately detether the device using this release catch and retreat twenty paces if you hear it. Following this all the crystals must be checked for fractures and replaced. Next, whenever the device is not in use remove it from the wall tether for strain is placed upon it even when not in use. The vibrations of the scythe can make it unsteady to hold, great strength must be applied to prevent it from shaking out of your hands - dropping a still-active D-Scythe is a perilous endeavour. Do not attempt to catch it if this happens, instead strike with your ELF against it as swiftly as possible which will momentarily interrupt the power flow. While the device is rebellious it is also simple and tends to struggle and fail in predictable ways. Steady authority will be required. Come, show me how you make this first cut - we will sever the internal structural bonds, then seal the floors above and below with omnifoam before cutting the exterior hull..."

Tell us, Redana, of how you come to grips with this strange device.

Dolce!

"Redana is blind to her strength," said Hera, "and Alexa is afraid of hers. Vasilia cannot command her own heart. Their curses are as real as yours. As real as everyone's. It is why Hades has not yet found a crew who can succeed at his foolish quest..."

She looks over at the window where the hulking wreckage of a broken ship drifts amidst red and violet nebulae-dust, like blood spreading in a pool.

"You must hope that they heal you even as you try to heal them."

Alexa!

"Ah!" Isty takes the spear with surprise and reverence. "Mother had these all destroyed..." she murmurs, tracing it with her fingers. "It feels like I know how to use this already..."

A wolf needs no instructor to teach it how to bite. Instincts of war are hard-coded into Ceronian biology. Medical tyrants throughout the ages have done their utmost to design the ultimate super-soldier - and many of their most brilliant innovations wound their way into the human genome over the ages - but no servitor species has ever dislodged the Ceronians. They aren't perfect soldiers, they aren't born Codexia, but they are optimized like no other war species, from everything from their omnivorous digestion to their ability to operate for weeks without sleep. You could make a better warrior than a Ceronian but no one has yet made a better army.

She doesn't do anything as formal as take a stance. She just reflexively falls into a resting stance that happens to present her with a deadly array of offensive options. The fundamentals of excellence are all there inherently, strength and speed and instinct. All she lacks is strategy.

Bella!

No chains nor scripture cage the Oratus. This is no aesthetic and no beast. The chambers are lit with steady flame and steady luxury, tasteful and restrained, and centred around a table heavy with maps. The only hint that you have not simply arrived in the quarters of a king is the soft roar of air in the distance, the steady breeze that runs through the room and the overwhelming scent of jasmine. No elaborate mechanisms of security need to be maintained when the assassin can be neutralized by mere air.

She rises to meet you with a brilliant smile and immediately bows with humble respect. She's beautiful. The most well groomed and elegantly appointed of the Ceronians. It's impossible not to like her, not to take an involuntary and reflexive step forwards - into Mynx's outstretched and warning hand. There's a current running underneath the perfume and it itches your nose just barely...

"The Oratus," Mynx said, "possesses a weaponized mutation of Ceronian formation instinct. The Cerons communicate complex information at a distance using a combination of their enhanced sense of smell and pheromone glands in their necks. An Oratus doesn't emanate just scents, but a viral agent that triggers something similar to formation instinct in any species. It's not mind control but it... makes people think that they're a small part of a larger entity."

"Which is not inaccurate, Praetor," demurred the Oratus politely. "I do not merely issue commands this way, but I can receive information in turn. Of course, my influence can be resisted - providing the subjects have reason to resist."

"Which is harder than it sounds," said Mynx. "This is dangerous stuff, Bel- Praetor. She's a hive-mind who can expand to fill any environment not designed to contain her, and she can control dozens or even hundreds simultaneously this way."

"Not with any finesse, mind you," said the Oratus. "My name is Beljani, Praetor. And fear not. The toxin secreted by my colleague's fangs entirely negates my influence and I am certain she has been very thorough in ensuring all relevant personnel have access to it."

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

There is certainly something amiss with this priestess, Robena decides. She hasn't been insulted before in such a strange way. The priestess has implied that she was dishonourable for even asking after her opponent before a match! She then advised her to beg Constance for use of one of her sacrifices as though she was powerless to intercede with Xristos without it. And in the same breath to speak in such a mercenary way about its value! She narrows her eyes askance at the woman, wondering if she is perhaps a faerie impersonating a priestess for some arcane trick. More likely she is merely dealing with a chatterbox with very strange opinions.

"I already possess a crucifix, mater," said Robena steadily. "Moreover one that was cast in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, as I am newly returned from the holy land. That should be sufficient for the new ways, but for the old I intend to ask Constance for a favour to bear into battle. You need not feel bound to these, ah, new customs of knightly secrecy when it comes to either of these facts."

And that indeed is the first matter of tournament preparation - to go down on bended knee before Lady Constance and request from her a favour for the tournament and offer to fight in her name. It would be a poor knight indeed who took to the lists without a maiden's kerchief to protect her. Robena herself has sat out a handful of tournaments when she could find no lady willing to sponsor her before the bouts. Some kingdoms consider her caution mere superstition, but she has not fallen from the saddle yet.

Apricot's regalia and her colours, however, are as faded from dust and rain as they have ever been. Robena has done what she could to polish her armour but she lacks coin and squire both, and so will have to ride dressed in the weathered and faded colours that unite all knights of the road.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

A cross of gold. Robena's mind turns a darker way. A lot of crosses of gold in the guts of the dragon-boats - if not atop the hoards of dragons proper. It hung from her neck like a stone and she wondered why Xristos' blood could not be caught with the wooden cup of a carpenter than the jewels and ornaments that accumulated too easily in the hands of priests. The sin of striking a holy woman was deep enough that it seemed uncharitable to tempt wayward hands into it with wealth.

A melancholy cloud passes over her even as Summer is welcomed unto the earth. Perhaps this is a land where such things are unthinkable and all the knights are true. A scent on the breeze like rotting flesh tells her this is not so.

"Mm," she demurs to the priestess' question. A strange one. Who wouldn't know Constance river-blessed? Who did this priestess take her for? This question indicated that she knew Robena not at all, and yet asked this stranger about her relation to another. To what end? She opted to answer with an enigma in turn. "And you know the Azure Knight?"

Breathless Dead

Redana!

"Your plan and explanation is coherent," buzzed Iskarot, "which is exactly why you should not give it. This is not a trial of your abilities as a leader. This is an introduction to the Mysteries. We can accomplish this task alone."

A complex motion was made beneath the saffron like an earthquake beneath the ocean. Steam hissed and flickers of light strayed out from the indistinct realm below before a bulky device emerged. At first it seemed to be a spear but the large and unwieldly horizontal slider at the top made it seem more like a curious broom. A number of faintly glowing rubies glinted within the mechanisms.

"This is a Disintegration-Scythe, one of the essential tools of the Order of Hermes," said Iskarot. "When fed directly by the Engine this device can cut through even the exterior armour of a starship - or for that matter, a hostile phalanx. Wield this and you will be able to sever the ship in half at the pace of a slow walk rather than with days spent with saws and cutters. I will instruct you in its use and care, how to channel the Engine's might and to manage its dark moods. Bear it with reverence and with caution, for these are not common and are jealously sought."

[D-Scythe: Melee, Slow, Dangerous, Piercing, Tethered
Tethered: Can only be used when cabled into an Engine]

Dolce!

"Save them, little sheep?" said Hera, keeping her voice soft to avoid waking Vasilia. "Your friends are nothing but suffering, each one of them. Redana, Alexa, even the Hermetic and the soldiers are all condemned to carry their pain and regret with them all the way to the gates of the underworld. Each one of you is cursed. Brother Hades is both your tormentor and saviour and he has worse in store ahead. None of you will be able to lift the weight from your own shoulders, so look to the darkness of those you meet in the hopes that they will be able to look to yours."

Alexa!

Hades flicks his unreadable eyes up as the cards flow from his fingers. It's like a lance of ice through the heart, but he doesn't say anything - doesn't give any sign that he's angered or bothered. Instead it looks to all the world like he's taking an augury with the way the cards flow and cascade, without him even glancing down at them.

Isty's eyes, however, are clear and innocent and baffled as they look at you. "You don't enjoy it?" she said. "You don't - feel the thrill, the rush? You don't feel the sand and air and fire on your skin? The motion of sweat and blood, the strength? Even just in the practice arena there's nothing like it, it's like being lifted out of the realm of the dead to stand on the border of life... how do you not enjoy it?"

Ah, that mark of Ares upon her. That madness. Strange how she can seem so normal despite it.

Bella!

The sound-slaying acoustics of the ship might have been put in place purely to drown out the attendants of the Diodekoi.

The dim, low-light interior of the Anemoi gives way to something different - eerie, jagged moonlight cast and filtered through spectacular arrays of stained glass to carve spectacular, revolving images of language in motion. The words flow together in shadow and light to carve the shapes of beasts, humans, and everything in between in typographic shadow-puppets. As they stalk and engage in scripture, as scripture, meditating acolytes chant the constant flow in the raw rhythm of ancient days.

It is a place of darkening light, at once insufficient to see by but almost blinding in comparison to the murk of the Anemoi. Ship serfs, thin and nervous servitors, cluster in small groups near the entrance - drawn to the light but unready to enter it entirely. They scatter like birds when approached, to a one seeking refuge in the shadows rather than the cool moonlight.

In the centre, prostate before the altar, is a cathedral-engine. The clattering of the machine intelligence clicks away in the substrata below the din. Though there is no doubt metal and wire below the surface, every inch of her is covered in paper. On her shoulders she wears open books, upon her back a forest of prayer-strips hang like ribbons, and every inch of every page is marked with spectacular illuminated script and images. An art gallery, a war machine and a religious icon all in one - behold the Diodekoi.

"If you need to fight a god, this is your girl," said Mynx. "She's encoded to follow every aspect of the Code of the Hunt in thought and deed. When she fights it's as though Artemis has taken the field herself - not unlike the Athena statue that Redana took with her. She's a precision weapon though - there's nothing that can come between her and her target, but she's nowhere near as effective when engaging a group. Thing to watch out for, though, is that she's so close to Artemis that she can become fully possessed by the Goddess - something that usually happens when Artemis starts to enjoy the hunt too much. When that happens she becomes a rogue, bloodthirsty goddess who isn't particularly interested in things like taking prisoners."

Hider

Diodekoi Adept
A sacred war-engine, divine and terrible.
Avatar of Artemis: The Diodekoi is immune to all Custom and Core moves. She can only be engaged with the Basic Moves.
Sacred Hunt: When the Diodekoi names a target, that target cannot damage or Finish her until she changes target.
Rampancy: When a Temple Assassin has reached the stage of Rampancy, it becomes a Threat to the World. It also has the ability to instantly destroy any other threats contained within the Environment.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

So she's back here.

She's done everything in her power to avoid this arena. She's resisted, evaded, hidden. She's veiled herself and averted her eyes. She's tried to be a Phantom Thief and win her name back from the shadows. She's tried to play smart. She's tried to play cool. She's tried to play merciful. And she keeps getting dragged back here. She keeps winding up in this fucking place where the only thing she'll be measured by is the amount of blood she leaves on the sand when she's forced to fight people she'd like so much to save.

She doesn't want to fight Shamash, any more than she wanted to fight Asterion, any more than she wanted to fight Tirzah. To dance, perhaps - to engage like lovers, fast enough to dodge and weave in and out of embraces, able to trust exactly where the spear was going and how to make it one of the steps in her own dance. But feline eyes weigh upon her shoulders and her right hand curls around empty air. This is it, Canada Taliv, bearer of the Light of Ra. You've tried everything you could to avoid this moment and it's here regardless. How many times can you put it off?

She stands tall in the arena, waiting for Shamash. That empty air in her hand feels heavy. She doesn't trust herself to hold it. She doesn't trust herself not to drop it.

She's not smart enough. Fast enough. Cold enough. She had a soft, bleeding heart and had done nothing but bleed for it. What value were hearts in the arena? What value were hearts when they came between her and doing what needed to be done?

The fingers of her sword hand twitch.

Shiver.

Release.

Both hands come up to brace behind the shield instead.

She can't tell if it's resolve or cowardice. Both are warring still in her mind, but neither of them are triumphant, neither of them are making this decision.

Her feet shift in the sand.

She's making this decision because she can hear that music again. Distant, distant, but just barely starting to rise. The rhythm of battle, the dance steps that call to her. A song half-remembered, as though from a past life, gaining speed and pace.

She didn't know where the music was going to lead her, but she knew she wanted at least one more dance.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Antioch was ablaze when she arrived. The city burned from within and without, and all the sky and the land were alight.

Massive braziers filled with smokeless fire heralded the positions of the Shah's army, and forever on it stretched. A quiet landscape of hills and olive groves was by night rendered an inferno, and the watching beasts of the zodiac were snuffed by the flaming comets of oriental siege works. In the night the fire seemed like a living thing, like the waves of the ocean that cast themselves upon walls of stone and desperation. The Empire of Eagles would fall, proclaimed those fires, and a third great temple would be built upon the sacred mount of Jerusalem.

She hadn't wanted to fight - her knees had trembled and the screams had echoed in her ears and she'd wondered how any dared to stand when the fires of Sekhmet raged. She had been a creature of many fears, but it was there beneath the walls of Antioch where she'd obtained the chief among them: the fear of burning.

She'd tried as best she could to talk Alitel - Lady Sandsfern - out of joining the battle. They were here as pilgrims, not as warriors. No oaths held them to the Empire of Eagles. There was no need to divert away from Jerusalem. Her pleas had been weak, and Alitel had scorned her for what she correctly saw as her cowardice. And so they'd stood together atop the walls of Antioch - Robena trembling, but Alitel's eyes filled with brilliant fascination as she watched the ocean of fire come towards them...

Robena's left hand twitched. Beneath her glove the skin was raw and creased with the memories of that battle, and it needled her still.

But now she is here in the land of milk and honey, watching two priestesses natter how to best bring the harvest and bounty. No sermons screamed from the mouth of berserkers who wore fire as a cloak, no reference to light and pain and rebirth, no black pyramids to be built in honour of Emperors to wait out eternity. For a moment it's all unreal. That these could be matters of religion! That a harsh stare and folded limbs might suffice for holy dialogue! She had wondered if she had been naive as a child, unaware of a mad evil that had surrounded her in her younger years as it did in her later. But all here in England, blessed land, seemed removed from that world.

Again the wave of nostalgia comes over her and again she learns that never more shall she wander.