Thanqol

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"That's the good ending!" said Mynx. "Did you not notice that the Master of Assassins has gone fucking rogue!? That she wants us all as compost for her bonsai garden!? Does that not strike you as an extremely realistic possibility and exactly the sort of thing Bella is worried about!? Did you not at any point think to pull Redana aside and say, hey, listen, we tried to keep all this shit away from you so you could have a happy childhood, but now that we're here maybe it's time to tell you about how fucking dangerous everything is!?"

Vasilia!

All that is left of the Thunderer is the smell of ozone.

Hestia took a moment to blow on her cocoa to politely give Zeus a moment to return if she desired. She did not. Then with a long sigh she set her cup down on one of the bridge's map desks and pulled out a notebook.

"Okay, so, listen," said Hestia. "This may not be what you want to hear, but right now you need a plan. We'll start by taking an inventory - what assets do you have that can be sold or traded for coin? The pistols, definitely, and the uniform maybe... Do you have any useful skills or business connections that could get you employment? I know you're going to want to set your aim at civilian merchant captain but let's be real - with your history as a pirate there is zero chance of that happening. And after the recent run-in with Demeter I don't think farming is on the table either."

Bella!

Whatever the secret to making Apollo go away, eating a delicious meal didn't seem to be it. Now he follows you wherever you go in the ship sitting in a meditative posture atop a golden cloud, shining radiance lighting your way.

It's deeply unsettling. Having someone important follow you at a respectful distance was the opposite of how the world was supposed to work. Nor too are you able to count on the basic escape of the god getting bored. It's not clear he's capable of it.

You are, though.

There's no one here. No one to protect. Nothing to hunt. No one to terrify or be terrified by. A lifetime of frenzied activity and constant stress is all somehow on hold for the first time ever, and it's the first time you've ever been truly alone with your thoughts. Unspeakable emotions boil inside your mind, steam from a crack in some deep pressure cooker, too much to possibly confront or deal with or be alone with. You need to find something to occupy your mind or else it'll all come rushing out.

Sunshards

The moon is gigantic and blood red as it hangs over the castle of Princess Qiu. Apparently she's decided that she likes it up there and so has doubled down.

*

Assault Ribbons soar in the cool dawn air like kites. In the distance formations of Princess Qiu's guards march in formation or roar along the roads in technicals (a category that includes horseback and light mecha). The spread out formation, the nonlinear movement and the tall banners that raise from each unit gives the impression that the entire landscape is overcome with Qiu's soldiers. She's on the march.

With the ribbon road occupied, the safe path leads along the river, keeping close to the undergrowth to avoid the eyes of passing patrols or the detection of streaking assault ribbons. It's cautious work, and tense - scurrying across the open while glancing everywhere for Qiu's black and gold banners.

The Sky Castle is the goal - but how to get there? There are some stories everyone knows - that a magical ladder hangs from the bottom of it, always just touching the ground but still a multi-kilometer climb; that to reach it by plane means dueling the skyfighters; that some chase it for years without catching up with it. It moves quickly and unpredictably and for this reason has only been conquered twice, and both times after Princess Jessic got herself captured first.

The internet provides some clues. Jessic's website is something of an adventure photography blog - she makes elaborate preparations and explores exotic and unreachable locations. There is a great deal of territory that only she can easily reach - other sky structures, or unreachable mountain valleys. Sometimes she faces terrible monsters there, creatures she spends as much time observing, researching or trying to socialize with as engaging in combat. Perhaps one might be able to predict her future movements from that but you'd need to be far more traveled or technically minded than anyone here is. Perhaps Princess Kikil or Jezara would be able to help with that.

Of course, there's also Cyanis' suggestion, which is to sacrifice a princess to tempt the dragon out. "Dragons love princesses," she said, looking at Chen with the confidence of someone who has learned everything they need to know from trashy romance novels. Then her gaze turns to Yue. "And maidens~," she said with a wink. And then she looked up at Rose and added, "and priestesses. You should absolutely let me tie all three of you up, there's no way Princess Jessic would be able to resist."

Her tails swish-swish-swish at the thought of committing fox crimes being so helpful!

Breathless Dead

Vasilia!

"Oh, is that what's bothering you?" said Zeus. "Why didn't you just say so? Hestia? Hestia? Where are you, girl?"

And there she was, slouching into the room. Her knee-length hoodie had bear ears, her mug of hot chocolate was held in both hands up to her lips, and her slippers were bright white unicorns. What hair fuzzed out from amidst the hood was black and tangled - everything about her was soft and cuddly.

"Nyah?" said Hestia, rubbing her eyes.

"Vasilia here wants to check out," said Zeus. "Humble life for her, building olives or farming automobiles or whatever it is that you do."

"Sure," said Hestia with a yawn. "Hi. Hestia. Goddess of domesticity here. Don't think we've met. I don't know if you actually want to hang out or if my little sister is just making a point. In case it's not clear, destiny isn't real, the call can be refused, and you can give up any time. And not a moment too soon if you ask me," she said. "I mean, you almost died. Holy shit! I'm exhausted just thinking about it."

"Well, it's been fun," said Zeus, ruffling your hair and setting you down. "Off you pop!"

Alexa!

"Doesn't that scare you?" said Mynx. "How does that not scare you? Bella... she's the only one responding rationally to all this, right? This all happened because we fucked up."

Bella!

Apollo picks chopsticks out of his sleeve with a swish and picks a piece of mushroom from your plate. He takes a bite and his closed eyes crinkle in delight. He picks a potato next and bites into it and joy of taste is the whole of his being. He wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin and then starts to shake with a quiet laughter, rippling out from his belly and up to his eyes causing mirthful tears to roll.

It's difficult to project malice on the smiling god - every bite stuns him into silence, and then joy overflows within him until it can only come out in that soft, wheezing laughter. It maintains the gentleness of an aesthetic used to long silences incongruously paired with the delight of a child to whom all things are new and unbelievable.

The solar god samples everything widely, chopsticks click-clacking, marveling in every new taste. After a while he dries his eyes and blows his nose and hands you a pair of simple black chopsticks engraved with gold. One has the character for STILLNESS and the other MOTION. Still gently trembling with mirth, Apollo gestures for you to eat too.

Sunshards

Autumn evening steals in a little quicker than you're used to. That calls for fire to warm soaked and shivering bodies, and a shelter to block the gently rising wind. The former is the product of hard work but the latter is serendipity - one of Princess Kikil's travel castles can be found a few kilometers down the river and it's a perfect improvised shelter.

Even if you've never seen a Princess you'll likely feel some sense of personal connection to Princess Kikil. She builds castles, you see. If she stays in one place for a while it'll be a huge complex as filled with defensible tricks of mathematical subtlety as it is filled with sweeping spires. If she's just passing through she'll still leave some little maze or shelter or tower - she especially likes building lighthouses - behind her, swiftly to be overgrown and weathered into the landscape. While a lot of her works are too far out in the wilderness to move into, some are indeed occupied by aspiring hermits who are happy for the free real estate. Plenty more are left uninhabited for lost travelers to stumble into.

This one in particular is built like a birdwatching hide - sunken and low, entirely hidden from one angle in particular - you'd suspect built to spy on Princess Qiu as she worked to clear this river. It's a cozy enough space, but in these close quarters with the wind rattling across the exterior and the fire flickering in the middle, it's just eerie enough for ghost stories. It's also suitable for gossip, party games, or the general camping experience, but Cyanis was the first mover in the space and decided it was to be ghost stories.

Hyra actually took to the activity first with the energy of someone who hasn't had the opportunity to talk out loud in too long. She's good at it too, telling it like she just heard it herself, letting her eyes go large and startled while keeping steady eye contact until, almost like a small jump scare, she shifted her whole attention across to someone else.

"On Tuesday the Sixth of April, Countess Klarissa's bank account ran dry," said Hyra. "She didn't notice. Why should she? She wasn't a technomancer. Wasn't relying on any burrower services or features. She was a creature of the new world and held no truck with demons, so that surely meant she was safe. Everything she'd earned was from her own hard work, and now she was powerful and respected and independent. She hadn't asked for anything from anyone so now she wasn't going to give anything to anyone in return. She put up a huge fence around her land and told everyone to keep out. No matter what! One time when two children snuck in to steal her apples she drew her sword and spanked them with the flat of the blade until they were in tears. Stay out! Work your own land! What's mine is mine!

"Or so she thought. Countess Klarissa had forgotten the wishing well, you see."

"Wishing wells are, of course, common - a well is more likely to be a wishing well than to be safe. Whisper into it and the water will carry your voice down deep, deep, deep into the depths. Normally it's a priestess' job to guard the well and draw the water but young Klarissa hadn't seen it that way. All that chanting and nonsense just to get a drink? Nonsense! So she snuck a sip when nobody was watching and it was easy - water was water! So she snuck another and another and got used to it, and when you're used to it you aren't as careful. And when you're not careful, and you're not chanting to keep your voice busy, you're always in danger of saying something that might just sound like a wish to the ears that listen at the bottom of the well. And little Klarissa had said 'I wish they all listened to me!'."

"And for a while that's exactly what they did."

"She got used to bossing people around. It came naturally to her and she had a lot of orders to give. Stop this, do that, go away, give me that. She thought she was just charismatic and had a way with words but every word she said was amplified by the invisible demoness that hovered behind her shoulders and brushed her hair as she slept. And each time she gave an order it subtracted a few more dollars from her bank account."

"Now sometimes service cuts off when you hit zero. Some people unknowingly waste their technomagic for years until it disappears without a trace one day and all the demons go home. But sometimes you get an Afterpayer. These are the most dangerous demons of all because they're authorized to extend you credit - and that's exactly what Klarissa's demoness did. Day by day she used the power she thought was her natural talent, thought was her ordained birthright, and day by day the demoness clacked another bead across in the abacus."

"But there was hope. You see, when a demon is granting you credit it needs to provide warning of some kind. It can, however, get fairly abstract or hostile when doing this. Sometimes it whispered its warnings at the same time as other people were talking. Sometimes it made milk curdle or roosters lay eggs. As the credit progressed red lights began to dance in the sky and a passing monk took notice. She came to investigate the village, demon-smiting staff in hand, searching for the signs of corruption. But just as surely as the monk could smell the demon the demoness could sense the monk and she decided that now was the time to call in her debt."

"In a swirl of water and algorithms the demoness appeared before Klarissa. It told her of her debt and told her of the price. She was to descend with her into the depths of the Burrowing World, collared and leashed, dressed as a maid to cook, clean, and wait on the demon's every whim until her debt was paid. Klarissa balked, panicked, and ran. She ran towards the town, calling for the monk - who heard her! The monk raced out to defend her with staff in hand, and Klarissa ran towards her saviour in relief."

"But then they both came up short."

"There was, you see, a fence in the way."

"Klarissa's own fence, her own gate, her own KEEP OUT signs were now no longer a defense against small children. They were now a cage that was keeping her locked in. The monk tried to climb, but she was not young and the barbed wire line at the top seemed so excessive now, didn't it Klarissa? And the demon was able to come out at a leisurely pace, take the girl by the hair, and start whispering the terms and conditions of her new role as it dragged her down into the depths. There she toils still, a single slave in an empty hell, working off every order she ever gave."

Fellowship: The Heart

Ailee was surprised by the smile, but let it stay. That was a good thought. That was how she should tell this story. He went out stealing a book. She had a feeling that, a few years removed from these events, he'd love to hear her tell that story.

"Small thinking," she said as the water brushed her ankles. "Both of you. Why go through all that trouble to steal a book about someone else? Aim a little higher and the books will be about you."

She sat amidst emerald eyes. That's right. Those are her lines. A comprehensible motivation: pride. Vanity on a cosmic scale. Nothing new beneath those crackling eyes. Nothing new except a wink.

"You coming with or cashing out?"

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"Who is this Mynx," said Mynx in the galaxy's most half-hearted Russian accident. "I am Sergivov Sergistan. I am humble investment banker. Why all this attention officer."

She sighs. Her eyes flick across to you and then back to the spot on the roof she's been trying to stare a hole through. She's flopped over a couch, arms hanging dramatically from the sides. Even the SP landmine she's hidden underneath a dirty hoodie right in your path is half-hearted - though for all of that you do almost miss it on first glance because this room has intense cannot-be-bothered-to-do-the-laundry energy.

She sighs again; she seems comprised entirely of those right now.

Vasilia!

Zeus looms over you, a monolith of indigo and eye-crackling violet. Her eyes fill with an unspeakable emotion and the clouds gather around her.

And then she squeals in delight, pinches your cheeks, picks you up by the scruff of the neck and sits you in her lap so she can pat your head. "I always forget how young you are!" said Zeus delightedly, like she might to a favoured daughter who has just proposed a new design of bicycle with rocket thrusters. "Oh, dear, sweet baby Vasilia! Of course I could snap my fingers and declare a new king. Why, I could snap my fingers and condense this entire sector of space into a black hole! You are very astute to have noticed that I am, in fact, very strong. However, you should also know that I am actually very wise - and it is not bragging for me to say so, for being wise is none of my doing; I merely happen to have my former girlfriend who is wisdom itself living inside my head. I have been known to be foolish nevertheless when my passions overtake me but this hardly seems one of those times. So why, then," she bounced you gently on her knee, "do you think that I am not intervening? Think hard, child!"

Bella!

There is at least one advantage to surviving the assault of Demeter.

You have never seen such bounty when it comes to food. The thorns and the chaos have passed on, the hyper-acceleration of evolution and growth dragged away as the Goddess went away on whatever errand took her fancy next. In its place is the harvest. Bounties of berries, every colour and shape and flavour. Interior fields of wheat so overgrown that a single caress sends seeds cascading down onto the metal below in their fistfuls. Thickets of eggplants, eruptions of spices, and mutations and crossbreeds of every vegetable you've ever known and more you'd never guessed at. And more than the quantity and freshness there is a difference of category when it is compared to food you've experienced in the past. For whatever reason it is plain, now, that Demeter never exactly showered her blessings on Tellus. Even food grown for Imperial lips was not kissed by the Harvest in this way.

Why? Had Empress Nero offended Demeter in some way?

Apollo provides no answers, but he does allow light to work with.

Breathless Dead

The Plousios!

The ship breathes in song amidst a gemstone storm.

Which god created these creatures, these nebulae clouds of light and dust? Which god gave them minds without language? Which god gave them music without shape? The Plousios is an arrow of adamant soaring through the void and all about it drift like jellyfish these enormous void clouds, each many times over its size. They reach out with glittering, questing tentacles formed of shining asteroid-ice and brush the side of the ship in flight. Each time they do a deep sigh runs all through the ship, the breath of stars, in time with the gentle glass rain of ice against steel.

The Alcedi pause where they fight. Their ceremonial spears lower and their heads turn to listen. Their society is in great turmoil, the old bonds of tribal elders shattered amidst this great return to the stars. They have formed many dozens of warbands around powerful leaders and engaged each other in constant ritual battle. Their prizes are acclaimed positions aboard the warship - to stand as the bridge crew, plover pilots, boarding champions. For these prizes they have clashed with thrown spears and stomps and martial music and night-raids, all to humiliate, kidnap and demoralize their rivals and achieve such prestige that none will challenge them for their positions. Those who lose these battles will be delegated to duties as deckhands, cleaners and repair crews. But for now they stop and listen to the song of the void. Even Athena, present at the heart of this warlike reorganization, searching for those she will favour as rising kings, turns her head to listen.

(Vasilia, the energy of your pistols have run dry but they are still changed from their experience as Zeus' favoured weapons. They retain Ranged, Piercing, Dangerous but now have Recharge instead of ammo. None of the Alcedi have yet challenged you but such a turn is inevitable - the eyes of the gods are upon this ritual conflict and whoever arises will have their support to claim the Captain's chair)

The Hermetics pause where they work. Iskarot's position has not been in doubt since he received direct confirmation from Redana but there are nevertheless doctrinal issues to resolve. Iskarot is from a foreign branch of the Order and his positions are heterodox - but nevertheless he can argue with evidence that his political opponents were all the thralls of Demeter and Cerberus. It is one against many in the whispered, chanting arguments in coded languages but the many have little they can cling to beyond their stubbornness. In some places consensus is reached. In other places, beliefs collapse and are buried by the machinery of church councils. Those who cannot accept these verdicts schism away to seek fresh converts to build their own independent power bases, but even fuming with pious rage they too pause in place. The discussions whisper to a close. The Order of Hermes stands for a while amidst their engine cathedral and then they wordlessly depart to seek the windows and listen to the music of the stars. Politics is all very interesting, but these are priests and their true calling is to witness and learn from the divine. They are people too, and no ensouled people will turn away from this celestial music.

(Redana - you now have materials, crew and skilled labour all, and Iskarot has come to you seeking your vision. He could make this ship a trireme, bristling with grappling hooks and a mighty beaked ram - or perhaps you would prefer a racing vessel built to race sunbeams, or a luxury liner to travel in Imperial style. Create the Ship as a playbook.)

The ceremonial royal phalanx has not engaged with the Alcedi conflict, nor has it sought to get involved in Hermetic politics. Galnius knows a soldier's politics, and she knows that it is better to present an Imperial princess with a gift than a fait accompli of one's military success. To this end she stalks the shapechanger. It is going well - the infiltrator is not showing any of the skill or creativity needed to evade warriors like them. They are moving through the ship listless and despondent and that makes them easy to pick from the crowd. This will make a fine gift for the Princess and a demonstration of their invaluable skill when it came to detecting assassins. They pause outside the room where the shapeshifter has locked herself, spears and ropes held - and they wait. They wait as the song of the stars fills the ship, their readiness suspended like a spear frozen in ice. Seeking the approval of the Princess is important, of course, but so too is this cosmic music.

(Alexa, you have joined the phalanx on their hunt, though Ares has for better and worse not gifted you with any attention in the course of it. Your head and neck still burn from the comforting embrace you received from Princess Epistia and your heart and gut still churn from the echo of chaos you never knew you were capable of. Athena has not spoken to you, but you know enough from how this hunt has gone to know that it is Mynx you have cornered in this room).

The Plousios is filled with life, industry, purpose and music. It makes progress amidst the shining stars - chaotic, lively, communal progress. The Yakanov hangs dead and empty, with a heartbroken girl and a god's golden heart in the ruins of the station's own shattered core. The lights are dim and regret hangs heavy and all the saffron magi have fled.

And all that remains is Apollo. And still he smiles.

He has sat down on the ground legs folded like a lotus, one palm cupped in his lap as though to catch the manna from heaven, the other forming a thumb-forefinger circle above his heart with fingers spread like sunbeams. He is calm, despite the weeping. He is calm, despite the loneliness. He smiles, and though all earlier evidence suggested it was because he was vindictively mocking your misery, his smile has not dimmed or faded even as your tears have gradually trailed away.

Your skin has tinged green, Bella. You have been here for a long time and your body has adapted, generating chlorophyll to absorb the soft light emanating from the sitting Sun God. You realize with a start that you are no longer hungry, no longer tired - you are feeling full and rested and nourished with an uncomfortable prickling surplus of energy that makes it difficult to focus on the fact that your life is ruined. A sense of boredom and restlessness ripples through you, and some part of you hates it. How can you still be capable of feeling such drab and mundane feelings after everything that's happened? Why can't you just lie here forever?

But the sun is shining and sleep, fitful or otherwise, refuses to come. Like it or not, you're awake - and you're sick of staring at that mysterious smile.

Sunshards

As the smoke clears and the helicopter soars off into the distance, the price of victory is made known: the final, wheezing collapse of the escape vehicle. All four tires deflate, the entire rear door falls off, the engine sputters, wheezes and chunders to a halt and an endless column of exhausted smoke ascends from the bonnet.

It is to be walking, then.

But the full moon is still high in the sky, so Hyra helps walk Yue from the wreck. Below the broken bridge is a river which promises a release from the dust and panic and the weather is just so warm as to make it inviting. Better, the water runs quick and shallow, barely ankle deep in places, crashing white and loud over ten billion thumb-sized pebbles while sweet coralbark trees emerge from the shoreline to drop their star-shaped leaves one by one into the rushing water. A river like this is no accident. It is the work of princesses and queens to dredge the depths, slay the ancient monsters, seal any portals to the stygian depths, and then surround the banks with saplings that promise springtime flowers. There is a lot of hard, unglamourous work that goes into restoring a river, just as with restoring a shrine.

But now that it's been done there's nothing easier in the world than to enjoy it.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Oh, and here she was, the temptress! She who came begging before her with two eyes unshadowed and lips unreddened and requested the makeup of the gauntlet! There were a hundred ways to give the requisite offense here, a hundred ways to transmute this blustering conversation into something far less instantly tedious. Ah, well. If she'd wanted to spend her last days in mortal splendour she'd have turned to banditry rather than the church.

"Perhaps the Saxons come tomorrow," said Robena. "Striking forth on raid, catching us unaware, putting us to the sword and looting the castle's wealth for themselves. If that is to be the case then all your winter preparation will be for naught but the service of evil - and yet there is no twist of fate that can turn my hunt of that fox from a good deed to ill."

Breathless Dead

Redana!

There are glorious last stands, and there are glorious last stands in defiance of an Empress - and the Order of Hermes seems to have no interest in the latter. Immediately their weapons are on the ground and the chief Magos is begging you for the opportunity to serve as your humble vassal and without thinking you accept his oath - and whoops. That's that. Now you're responsible for an entire Coherent phalanx with their full support staff, over two hundred new servants with their own pride and agenda. You can positively feel the tension burn between them and the Alcedi - not to mention between them and Iskarot, as both the Apothecary Magos - who introduces himself as Komninos - and the Evoker Magos start jostling for the honorary position two steps to your left protocol demands your chief Hermetic should occupy.

In fact, you're in that most familiar of positions - surrounded by hundreds of powerful figures with private armies who have all accepted you as the supreme authority and seek to derive their own positions from proximity to you. Tell us how you navigate the intricacies of this new political situation as you arrange for the shuttles to take you and the Alcedi clan back to the Plousios.

Alexa!

"Oh, if it were up to me I'd let you go," said the Master of Assassins. "But a woman's got to have a code. Logic to one's being. A truth you can hold high before the gods. Live that truth hard enough and it becomes your destiny - and when that happens it doesn't just bind you, it binds the whole world. That's why I'll get as many chances to strike as I want and why none of you - poor, confused, conflicted little babies - will ever lay a hand on me."

She smiled and flicked her hair with smug contentment, fading back down the corridor, smoke seeping from her like a ghost.

"So call me Cerberus," she said, blowing a kiss - and then she was gone.

Vasilia and Dolce!

Shuttles begin arriving from the surface. And they contain your crew.

You sent Redana to find people and she delivered. Over two thousand Alcedi of all ages - a complete society - and two hundred and fifty members of the Order of Hermes, complete with clattering war machines and battlefield artifacts. Not quite enough to fill your ship to capacity - a fully restored and functional ship of the Plousios' size could easily host three thousand - but enough to overwhelm those few areas of the ship that aren't damaged, soaking wet, or filled with battle crabs.

Good thing you've got the time and manpower to fill your hold with the supplies left on the Anemoi's loading dock. In a stroke you're richer, more powerful and better armed than you have been in years. When Zeus' blessings come they don't come by halves.

Bella!

"Bella..." she can't let the silence be, can she? She starts talking before she knows what she's going to say because she hopes she'll figure out the sentence before the end of it. "You're okay. It's me. The Magos, Demeter, the Master, the Coherent, everything here was messing with your head. I get it, but it's over now - we made it. Just... take a breath, come back to me? Please?"