Thanqol

Sunshards

Yue!

There is a special magic to a market like this. It's not about what you want as much as what they have that you might find a use for. Three things catch the eye, and with the gold given to you by Rose you might purchase no more than one of them.

The first is a scroll with detailed instructions on how to perform a magic spell. Spells are tricky to get the head and hands around and you'd expect this one to take from weeks to months to learn depending on how much focus you can give it. The reward for such effort would be that you might reduce the call of gravity upon yourself, letting you run and leap like a figure from a show.

The second is a true curiosity - a wax-sealed envelope that claims to have a code for invitation to Princess Kikil's website. It's a challenge! Kikil designs fortresses and her website is no different; the legend of it runs through high and low parts of the world. With this invitation you could take part in the great exploration and try to uncover the treasures the Hive Princess conceals within.

And finally, something dangerous - an Assault Ribbon, twisting and thrashing inside a long glass tube. These are Princess Qiu's weapons, unleashed in great swarms to distract, delay and bind so that she might close the distance to finish off each opponent. This one flows in electric blue and writhes like a snake before tying itself into beautiful woven knots and bows, playing dead for a time.

Breathless Dead

Redana!

You stand upon a beach alongside Lord Hades. You watch three figures sprinting away, heels kicking up splashes as they cut across the gently rolling tide, trailing their fine uniforms behind them in fragments. One blooms with blood as a spear bursts from their back and the other two come to a halt to first scream in horror, and then scream at each other. Like mad beasts these comrades fall upon each other with claw and blade.

Hades looks away. His gaze instead falls on the rushing tide of vicious wooden figures that pour in their thousands from a great nozzle twenty meters above the ground. His gaze traces up the enormous thing's form - spacer silver banded with gold, beaded through with the green weavings, branches enough to wrap the Yakanov and eat it like a tiger might eat a dog.

A tear glitters in the eye of Hades, and you feel regret.

The clock swings back further. It is drawn, it is called, it hunts. You feel reality click into place like it was made to be this way and everything else was but a dream.

Your auspex recovers first, though at first you are terrified it is broken. No, not broken - that it has reset to the standard set for it by Nero. It is flooding your mind with data in the way it did before it learned your limits. For a moment it's terrifying but then you realize you're handling it. Sort of - you're not understanding it, but it's washing through the back of your mind without crushing you. Perhaps it's like the ocean - you have learned you can be on the same world as the ocean without being made to drink it all.

But you don't need to drink the ocean to know it is whipped by a storm. The specifics flow in maddening detail but you know that the galaxy is at war, and that it is your will that it be so.

You sit on a velvet red pillow, the court shrouded from you by a red curtain veil. You sit on what isn't yet a throne with the legendary wolves of Ceron below you - guarding the stairs leading up to you, engaging each other in debate, pushing miniatures across maps of a burning world.

You look in the mirror and see yourself as Director Nero, pretender to the Imperial Throne.

Alexa!

"Keep your spear, Alexa," said Artemis, and terribly it was indeed pity. "This is a murder a year in the making and all the forms have been observed - and you have not observed Athena's forms of defense. Neither I nor she are positioned to help you."

She gave you a complicated expression, like she was compromising a principle as an act of charity by saying this. "It is too late to prepare, Alexa. You need something more... impulsive."

She folds her papers under her arms and leaves. In the space behind her are two choices. There is Aphrodite sitting at the bar, habitually flicking a broken lighter in search of a spark to light his cigarette. And there is Ares, outside in the void of space, grinning and knocking on the glass.

Dolce!

[Overcome with Grace: 6]

You try to make your way through the kitchen but you can't resist tasting a passing dish - and then another. How could you resist when it smelled this delicious? When everything smelled... so...

You try to taste another but it's snatched away from you. The chef crams it into her face like that is the only place it might be safe, and you find yourself reaching to prove her wrong...

The blow shocks you. One of the cooks has struck another in the last gesture either of them gave as a thinking entity, because after that both of them have their teeth in the same bone and are pulling back and forth and snarling like dogs. All around you the kitchen is falling into a frenzy - and as you watch you can see those who fight over the scraps are physically withering as though they were weeks starved. And you can feel that cold, consuming hunger raise inside you too.

The assassin looks over at you from the doorway, a broken vial at her feet and its scent is starvation. She gives you a smile and a wave, then closes the door and slides a bar into place, locking you inside.

Vasilia!

You raise your head to see an elegant horror.

The practice of bonsai is a traditional art for a genewright for nothing is less becoming than engineering an ugly species. So one begins with a plant, weaving it on a genetic level with precisely targeted serums and on a physical level with cables and wires. One must learn the tricks of scale, what the plant is capable of and what it will try to get away with should it be permitted. One must learn synergistic plants and practices; when moss will add to the beauty of one's creation and when it will smother its delicate roots.

For all of that, this is a masterwork. The leaves hang like puffs of clouds at the end of twisting branches, four distinct almost circular shapes. The roots are thick and strong and give the impression of enormous age. The plant's crown fades from green to yellow with just the smallest tip of fire red. All along its trunk mossy patches glitter with tiny flowers that smell far too sweet and strong for their size. There are a great many trials to create a thing of such beauty, and it is a great statement that the artist was able to do so with a plant that was to burst out of a person's skull.

Ivory Smile is dead. Through his brain and face grows this terrible bonsai, roots running in and out of his bloodless flesh, delicately falling autumnal leaves catching on his shoulders. He is dead but he still moves - and how he moves! He moves with a plant's carelessness towards pain, slowly and achingly, but with enormous strength. He shoves Bella aside and storms towards Vasilia.

The fact that Vasilia's name is engraved upon the knife he wields makes his intention perfectly clear.

Bella!

There are many shocks here. Seeing a human dead in defiance of Imperial law is not the least of them, but added to that a priest killed in this way? All mortals are called to the House of Hades in time and to commit this sacrilege speaks of a truly immortal hubris.

Another shock, though, is that this is a new way to kill.

You know so many ways to deal death - so many ways someone might hurt Redana. You've never seen this before, this arboreal zombification. How are you to guard against it? What are its limits? What are its capabilities? The Auspex is racing to find out but this is new to it too. It tells you what it can - the engraving on the dagger is sacred to Artemis, but when you look at the tree your vision flashes with the green of hunger and the blue of hatred and the name Demeter, Demeter, Demeter rings out in your eye like the thoughts of a fearful granddaughter.

You know from the chill in your bones and the sudden empty craving in your stomach that the Harvest Goddess personally wants Vasilia dead. And for once in your life you don't have a biological imperative hardcoded into your being telling you to protect her. You can choose to let her die safe in the knowledge that veridian craving will not then fall upon you.

Do you?

Breathless Dead

Redana!

"Hera..." said Lacedo, fingers running across Redana's knuckles, eyes down cast. "I don't think how well you treat her is the most important thing."

The light changes and all eyes turn towards the sky. Yours, the Alcedi, Hades ever-present, and most ominous of all, Poseidon world-breaker.

There in the stars above hangs the Yakanov, no longer a dim shadow of distant metal but a new sun. Saffron energy courses off it - slowly at first, but then with steadily increasing intensity. No less than three mighty engines have been pushed to their fullest setting and the throb of their power casts this whole world in shadow. Gravity lessens and in places reverses, and small rocks and silvery columns of sand start drifting loosely up into the air. From the jungle, a cacophony.

"All hands!" roars the voice of the Elder, a screech so harsh it cuts through the awe. "Enemy station charging primary armaments! Take combat positions and brace for impact!"

Through the chaos of Hermes' rising star you almost miss the last stranger in the crowd. Demeter Harvest-Mother, young and crowned with the delight of spring. She is smiling because, for all of this, spring is a time for smiling, but she is not watching Hermes' star like the others. She is watching you.

Dolce!

Blending in with the Order of Hermes can be challenging sometimes. For example, at any minute all of them might drop to their knees and start blaring enraptured chanting with no warning whatsoever. Moving through the prostrate crowd is a difficult thing involving lots of careful stepping - avoiding saffron fabric entirely is impossible so you must simply do your best to ensure you aren't stepping on any limbs. You don't always succeed and are rewarded for your mistakes with harsh language and rude gestures.

The vibrations running through the ship make your task even harder. A pounding rumble - three distinct beats working in parallel - runs through everything, causing plates and glasses to vibrate right off table edge and the sound of each crystal plate shattering on the ground is like a dagger in your heart.

But you're not alone in kneeling. Lady Demeter, Queen of Plenty, is picking her way through the crowd with glass-slippered feet, emerald dress rendered radiant amidst the field of saffron. She leaves trailing vines in her wake and is attended by a woman who you certainly hope is a divine attendant and not a murderous assassin disguised as a Hermetic Priest. You aren't optimistic.

They are together heading towards the Magos' vault but this is a situation where movement speed is limited by one's ability to politely navigate a crowd.

Alexa!

"Hmm," said Artemis as the ship quakes before you. Her face holds faint discomfort as her eyes flick between you, Isty and Ramses. "You know. If you're busy you can come back later."

She clears her throat and looks away. It's an intensely awkward moment.

"I mean, I won't wait," she elaborates. "I'm doing a favour for Lady Demeter here. You know, pruning the... er, flowers and all that. But probably no one will die? Physically. You know, because of the whole thing."

The Goddess of the Hunt is not a famed communicator.

Bella!

Oh, the gods had such a vile sense of timing didn't they?

The fur on your neck raises at the sound of the distant gentle rumble, the spool of temporal data from your Auspex translating into the physical sensation of being young and afraid. But it's not just that - beyond the smell of Vasilia's crude perfume you can feel more scents start to move. You can smell maple sap and human sweat and a faint pulsing flow of deliciously hypnotic taste... it's like Beljani's mind-distorting scent, but different - more artificial and more natural at once. The Anemoi swallows scents so for you to perceive this it must be close - but still you jump when you hear the pounding on your door, slow and heavy like it's coming from a place of exhaustion.

Sunshards

Travel takes many forms, but the engine that powers it is kindness.

The first stretch of your journey is done by foot, but only so much as is needed to take you to the nearest road. There almost immediately a truck laden with hay bales pulls to a halt and offers you a ride and so each of you clamber upon the back and the roof and set out together for as long as your paths align. Music pours from the radio - an eclectic mix channel put together by Princess Kikil's mother who talks animatedly about how she cracked the various unique encryptions that protected each song. You get a bit of everything - jazz, classical, memebeat, and three different versions of "Writing's On The Wall".

The roads are kindnesses too. Sometimes they weave like fishnets, filtering the landscape to catch the most beautiful pieces of scenery to fill the visions of travellers. Sometimes they resolve into laser-sharp arrows that cut through mountains and rivers without care. Both exist in parallel, providing choices for travelers who want to dwell in the moment and those who just want to get back home. Some paths are new, wide, and so well maintained it feels like they are signs of the mandate of heaven. Some are old and dusty, so faded into the landscape that they feel like natural formations. Hyra cannot resist putting her head out the window for some instincts run too deep and Cyanis strikes a bargain with the farmer to purchase a comfortable wool jumper five sizes too large for her in exchange for an entirely legitimate story about buried fox treasure. It comes down to her knees; she wears it proudly and inside-out along with a blue baseball cap with holes cut for her ears.

Your paths diverge just before a river; the farmer isn't going any further so she sends you on your way with a bag full of delicious cherry tomatoes that you eat like grapes as you walk. A while further you encounter a riverside shack where the old man invites you onto his fishing boat at least until the next town. You spend the night sleeping beneath the stars and listening to the hum of the engine and the lapping of water and watching the wingfish dart around above you snatching mosquitoes out of the sky.

Your departure from the boat is delayed for several minutes in the morning by a very large frog who has puffed himself up even larger while Cyanis and the fisherman tried to remember if its particular type was poisonous. In the end the matter is rendered moot when Yue was able to convince it that the sun will be coming up soon and this very comfortable concrete dock will be rendered hot and uninhabitable, meaning it was best served by getting a head start on a good muddy spot. This was well timed for it came right as Cyanis had convinced the fisherman to give the frog a poke for science, and so the mystery of the frog's poison would be left for another fox to unravel.

There are no vehicles leaving town this early, so again it was walking. Fresh and crisp and early along a long winding bike path through the rolling hills as the trees steam in the dawn-light as dew evaporates. You stop to pray at a shrine and the maiden there almost gives you some cold tofu skewers before she spots Cyanis and then it's Rose to the defense as suddenly you are beset (very unfairly, Cyanis might add). In the end, Rose from the River is able to demonstrate her superiority in skill with the blade and superiority of rank within the Order and Cyanis has her punishment for sneaking into temple grounds downgraded to having some beans ritually tossed at her. She bemoans this injustice all the way to the top of the hill.

And there you find horses. A dozen of them, wild and tame at once. They trot and snort and then come close and snuffle for carrots and are so convincing about it they send Chin wind-wafting back down the hill to purchase some from the temple. Once fed the horses become so docile and loving they can be mounted and there they carry you further across the land as the horizon glows with the eternally shy dawn.

And then the sky blacks out.

Something massive soars overhead - round and black and jagged with yellow. It takes a moment to process it - a balloon! A hot air balloon! It is joined by another, and another! And then a dozen! And then a hundred! Beyond this hill soar balloons in a huge flock, each a unique construction - hand made of individualized heraldric cloth. Skulls and crossbones, pink and rainbows, blue and white checkers, red chevrons, brass and violet, crudely stitched dinosaurs, each floating low in the sky like a painted egg. You hear voices, laughter - and then a hard and glittering rain falls upon you. Some of the people in the balloons have thrown things from the sides down to you - individually wrapped chocolate eggs the size of a thumbnail, each foil wrapping making them shine like rubies and sapphires in the grass.

And then the final shape launches from the balloon field. Though it takes to the air it has the character of water, though its scales flash in dawn reflection they're so bright they must be glowing. It moves like nothing could, nothing should - not faster than the boxy paper and wood biplanes that it races on the straight, but with folding wings making turns that would render a human dizzy or unconscious. For a few moments it and the planes weave about through the balloons and - oh, are they trailing some sort of wire? This cable wraps through the sky, weaving around the long metal rods that descend from the base of each of the balloons.

And then the dragon breathes, and her breath is lightning.

The sky lights up in a single mighty thunderstrike, a lightning bolt in the shape of tangled thread. It surges into every balloon and runs up their sides in azure columns. It hangs there for a long moments, ten full seconds, before the dragon's breath finally ceases.

And then gears and machinery begin to turn. Fires alight beneath the balloons, providing lift - and all at once the air fleet rises up into the sky. The dragon flies again - she and her planes buffeting the balloons with great blasts of wind to correct courses and ensure that they are all flying together towards the distant mist-shrouded wonder of the Sky Castle.

Upon the field where the balloons had been a market is beginning to wind down. People from miles around had come to trade and celebrate with the citizens of the Sky Castle and there had been a great festival last night for them. Children have gotten up early in order to play with exciting new kites and drones and hunt for chocolate dropped from the sky, and what goods remain for sale are on final clearance discounts.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

This was nothing new. This was not a failure.

Of course you were wrong, Constance. Of course any dream that she, Robena, was some sort of hero was wrong. Ideals like that were memories of a time before Burgundy, before Antioch, before Jerusalem. She was a vassal. She was a shield. She was the extension of Lady Sandsfern's will so utterly it was hardly worth mentioning. She had only failed once in all her days and it had been when she had not struck down the Crossroads Devil before it could grant that fated wish.

She had not hesitated this time. She had not known what wicked sorcery King Pellinore might have wrought against her Lady if she had been given the chance. What restitution might have meant.

This was not a failure. She gripped her bloody axe so tightly she felt the ring mail of her gloves bend.

This was a redemption.

She had been given a second chance to save her Lady and this time she had not faltered. She had not stood stunned. She had not begged uselessly. She had risen above a weakness and a failure she had carried in her heart for long years alone on the road and so what if she was to be cursed over it? So what if she was to die over it!? She had sworn to die for Lady Sandsfern if needed, and this was but that in slow motion!

She felt death settle upon her shoulders, as heavy as the terrible bearskin she wore.

So it was death, then.

The haft of her axe, carved from ancient wood from German forests, cracked beneath the strength of her crushing hands.

An oath fulfilled. She had died for Lady Sandsfern as she should have at the Crossroads. Was that why she had done it? Why was she questioning now? Of course she had done it for Sandsfern! She had done it for - for honour! She knew what that meant and had accepted this fate in advance. She knew better than anyone! She'd known death would come for her and so of course it had held no fear for her in that moment! She - she was a puppet, and this had not been her choice to make. Not truly. She had known what her Lady had wanted and what was a Knight to do but obey?

And after all, Pellinore had ravaged Britain on the orders of a wicked ruler, foregoing chivalry and injuring the maiden heart of Constance.

And... who... who could commit a sin like that and deserve forgiveness?

Fellowship: The Heart

Ailee is not accustomed to... nonfunctional social interactions. Conversation is to obtain information or issue instructions, something where the relevant thinking is all done beforehand so that the relevant mouth noises can be performed as quickly as possible. Neither is she much for navigation - navigation is a thing for compasses, charts and maps, not any of this touchy-feely 'sense of direction' garbage.

So she is lulled by the conversation, compelled to absorb whatever information this familiar stranger is trying to tell her, nodding along in quiet attention, while failing to absorb any information regarding where she's going or how to find her way back.

Breathless Dead

Redana!

"You," said Hera Mother of Cities, "have no idea what cruelty is. Do you?"

The scariest part of that is that she isn't being condescending. She's genuinely thinking about it. And that's terrifying because...

"I will teach you," said Hera Protector of Children. "You will learn the ways the universe can be cruel. Not all of them, for you are mortal and you do not have the time. But enough so that you will not embarrass yourself when you are called before the Furies in the House of Hades."

Her finger-snap is imperious and dismissive. She does not leave; everyone else does. The Alcedi bow their heads and together they file from the room and your feet, knowing better sense than your head or your tongue, go with them. The clan gathers together outside in a rusting courtyard filled with ropes that weave around and through the branches of a great holy tree that drips roots like stalactites.

Alexa!

"Hell yeah," said Ramses. "Nothing in the texts says we're only meant to explore our own bodies, right?"

And the three of you part from the dance in a tangle of limbs which seem to have taken this as an invitation to get even more familiar. It's intensely distracting, almost so much so that it overwhelms your training - but not quite. After all, you have spent a lot longer as a bodyguard than you have as a girl.

And if there's any goddess you know to watch for signs of its Artemis.

Brown hair cut short in boyish style and sharp silver suit - clearly inspired by Tellus fashions, with woven loops and a holographic badge depicting a shattered sun, all jagged triangles. What appears at first to be a tie is a black scarf, woven into a stylish loop and knot, matched by smooth black leather gloves. Everything about her style, her stance and appearance signifies restraint. Despite not seeming any more well built than average she somehow seems one flex away from tearing her clothes; despite having a face of perfect calmness you can sense the emotion boiling just below the surface; despite standing quietly and patiently you can sense the unbelievable violence below the surface waiting to rip out. Artemis is a puzzle box around a supernova and her presence has never boded anything but ill for those you care about.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Rage. Rage, rage, rage. The fight denied. The rebuke delivered. Who are you? Wise women and priests have tried to stop us before. Fools! They said their words into a hurricane! There were no duels we could not win, no armies we could not shatter, no brawls that stood beyond us when we fought together. Who are you!? Who are you to tell us what is demanded by chivalry!? We left this land with you and you allowed it to come to this! You allowed this to become a place that could break the heart of dearest Constance!

Robena's blade falls upon King Pellinor's unprotected back as she kneels.

Breathless Dead

Redana!

You don't understand them. How could you? A servitor is an artifical being, no matter how much courtesy you extend to them. Each servitor species has had truths written into their genome, the bedrock of their minds extracted and woven and re-helixed until a new certainty is encoded on the same level that humans know to fear sabre-tooth tigers. Each servitor knows the meaning life - or at least, their life. And as the Ceronians know their greatest purpose is to die in defense of their pack, and as the Kaeri know their purpose is to rule the darkness, the Alced know that it is theirs to sail the stars. When you speak these are not just pretty words, this is an appeal to the instincts that run at the absolute core of these people. You see the promise run through the entire gathered crowd like a shock and a new kind of silence falls. A hungry silence, a craving silence, one that banishes the depression that had filled the Alced.

But it is Hera who places her hand on the top of your kneeling head and plucks you like a weed, holding you so your feet are a foot off the ground and you still don't meet the eyes of the goddess. Instead you meet the abundant eyes of her peacock-feather dress.

"Zeus," she said, "Cloudgatherer, Lightningsmiter, Galaxyfucker, will not assist you in this."

She lifts you a little higher so you can see the mood that fills her real eyes - plenty, peace, luxury, abundance and all denied to you.

"She has tried. She has made promises, hospitality and fair dealing and feasting and all of those things that thrill her so. But every time she approaches Magos Birmingham with peace and justice and fair-play in hand, the sand of Hypnos, brother to death, blows forth to fill her eyes and snatch her memory. And while she rests her children are robbed and collared, and when she awakes she thinks it good. Trust not the will of Zeus for her daughter Hermes has her wrapped around her finger."

And she drops you unceremoniously - though you are swiftly caught and gathered up by the Alced.

Alexa!

[I have rolled for you and hit a 10 on Speak Softly with Hope]

"Advancement? Prestige? Ha!" laughed Ramses boisterously. "Some amongst the Order care for such things, but not we of the Coherent. Hermes is the God of Journeys, and where some travel across the stars or up the ranks or to the ends of books, we travel towards the most perfect form of ourselves. We envision ourselves strong, beautiful, powerful - whatever that means in the individual's own eye - and advance relentlessly towards it. Once we have arrived, we perfect it. It is not enough to become a dragon, one must learn a dragon's martial arts!"

And isn't that a thought? Simply grafting tentacles onto your body come with no guarantee that you'll know how to use them. Years of practice, conditioning, training and dedication have gone into being able to move like this.

"So I won't gain anything from capturing you. I do it because the union is not currently on strike and I have no reason not to disobey management. I do it because you might reveal a little of that strength of yours and reveal another branch of the Path I have still to walk. I do it because it's an opportunity to dance with two beautiful ladies at once, and who would say no to that?"

Sunshards

"Every full moon!" said Cyanis, swish-swishing her tails while remaining extremely intently on the opposite side of the Yue to Rose. The way she moves in orbit with you clashes with Hyra's steady presence like the waves against the headland - here and there the fox moves in fluid motions trying a hundred ways and now and then she makes a bolder play for position - and there is Hyra to stop her. The wolf is not unkind, or unduly suspicious to the fox - but she is duly suspicious. There is an ancient kind of energy in their interactions, like at any moment the fox might cross an invisible line and be seized. The only part in question is if the fox's hubris would get the better of her.

"It's a really nasty curse," she said. "And I just don't have the power to break it outright. But, like I said, I'm a responsible and honourable fox and I am motivated out of genuine desire to help," and here she's looking at Rose, swish swish, fully aware that you as a monk have a duty to pre-emptively put her in fox jail. "Honest!"

The rules are really quite clear on this point, for this reason. Foxes as a category of spirits have used up every single benefit of the doubt they have ever been given over centuries. You can't give them fair trials because foxes are amazing at trials. An opportunity to tearfully declare that everything they ever did was for love and besides they didn't really do anything it was just a fantastic coincidence that they wound up with a harem of every eligible woman in a three village radius, funny story, let me tell you how it all began...

No, the scriptures are quite clear. Fox jail. No parole. It's the only way to keep the peace.

"In fact, I am so motivated to fix this problem that I'm going to get even stronger!" said Cyanis, hands on hips, striking a powerful pose. "Each tail would let me weaken it even more, and I reckon I could break it entirely with only seven tails! Normally a tail takes a hundred years to grow, but there are ways around that." That is to say: crimes. A kitsune can earn out of sequence tails for particularly impressive crimes. "And, you know, hear me out I'm just thinking out loud here, but maybe if I happened to get my paws on a Sunshard or two I mii-iiight just be able to skip the whole process! Normally I wouldn't bring it up but we've got a princess on hand so - Princess Chen, how would you feel about doing a super-duper good deed at only minor risk to yourself/the world?"

[Rose, your devotion is clear: fox jail for Cyanis. Mark a condition if you spare her.]