Thanqol

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"Did you know," said the Assistant Secretary of Fear and Doubt, "that I wrote my graduate thesis on why the Eater of Worlds should fear Molech? Part of my argument involved you, Ms. Alexa! It was very well received, and although Hubris and Action ultimately blocked it from entering the Agenda, it did lead directly towards the development of a specialized strain of battlecrabs designed to resist what were perceived to be the Emperor's favoured tactics. Not a bad result, if I do say so!"

You've never really been able to get over how well dressed Poseidon's monsters are. The Assistant Secretary looks more like an Emperor than even Molech did, enthroned upon a towering coral chair, flowering in technicolour atop an elephantine battlecrab's back. Rolling silks and encrusted veins of gold and silver garland the sea monster, raised claws in a mirror sheen. The tendrils of the octopus-like Assistant Secretary are dashed with feathers, and his hat is towering, rectangular, and dangling with dozens of scrolls covered in kanji of some strange language.

It must be emphasized, even through that, that these are monsters. When Poseidon Earthshaker wishes to bring disaster upon a planet he unleashes his strange deep space fleets. They descend from the void and bring indiscriminate ruin to everything in their path. There's no negotiating with them. Even the Assistant Secretary, as reasonable as he seems, is not so much a person as he is a single brain cell, a fragment of a creature unknowably vast, subject to pressures and currents as alien as those that command you must seem to him.

"But you're right," he said, turning so that a single black eye fixed you directly. "Both that you hate this, and that we should talk. It seems to me that, as this ship's authority on fear and doubt, you are filled with both. So you should work for me!" He laughs, a plump and wheezing sound, a happy creature's laugh. "I certainly don't stand a chance otherwise!"

Vasilia and Dolce!

You get... tips?

One Azura nobleman gives you a letter. Another gives you an intricate mechanical watch. A third gives you a handkerchief. The gifts keep coming, from everyone you encounter, just absent smiles and whatever treasure happens to be in their pockets.

It's not until you tune into the music that things start to make sense.

"Oh, my heart is in your pocket,
Won't you take it out and show me?
Oh, my heart is in your pocket,
Won't you take it out and give me?
Oh, I'm trapped inside your pocket,
Set me free and I'll be yours..."

Even with the shield of strong aroma preventing her from being literally hypnotizing, she's still so captivating she's metaphorically hypnotizing. The notes that she can wring out of that throat are unreal, impossible. This is the song left by Artemis' arrow cutting through the air, Aphrodite's curse as a murderous weapon. You have to look away.

And when you do, you notice you are not alone. There are other serving staff here, mouse-servitors dressed in drab dark blue uniforms moving about. They are carrying empty plates upon which they are politely collecting the various possessions given to them by the Azura nobility. One in particular - you do not know her name, but she is Jil, Lanternlight of the Anemoi - stands obediently by the Satrap's side as she absently hands her a strange, glimmering violet coin. Its light briefly flashes through the room but it vanishes up the mouse girl's sleeve just as quickly. This, you have no doubt, is what they are after.

Bella and Skotia!

Jil just got the coin - but from all around, you see and hear shivers and groans from the Azura aspect knights. They saw something and their lulled brains are awakening them to danger. They will soon arise from Beljani's spell - unless you do something to seize control of this situation and demand their undivided attention.

Sunshards

This is that most wonderful of things; a battle where everyone involved is winning. Everyone is getting everything they crave from battle. The world is in alignment.

Countess Keron was not born to this life. She adopted her personality and role in the world as a girl adopts a stray kitten, not knowing at the time that it was a tiger cub... but not flinching from it either. Hers had been a path of temptation, foes who sought to overcome her with beauty and blade, and with each one she had defeated her resolve hardened. Each victory became a heart to defend; if her foes dashed themselves to pieces against her siren's rocks then to fail would be to let each of them down. Her secret strength is her strength - but as she fights against Princess Chen she knows that strength is not enough. This foe is stronger, faster, and will not tire. This foe has a heart reforged in her own shadow. This foe has reached the limits of her control. And so, Countess Keron tosses her Naginata aside -

[Countess Keron creates an opportunity for Princess Jessic]

And Princess Jessic seizes it. Well, eventually. In the immediate sense the flat of it impacts against the side of her head as she stares up at Rose from the River, and the force of the blow shakes her from the hypnotism of the warrior monk's swaying motions. That is enough to draw the dragon's eyes across the hall to where the now unarmed Countess Keron is giving her the evil eye amidst wild dodges of Princess Chen's unstoppable offensive. It's a call to action that even the power of the ancient world cannot deny, and so a new thunder finds Princess Jessic.

It was correct to try to seize a dragon by the heart, for no other chains could be binding. She sweeps the naginata up with her tail and engages, whirling it with shocking prowess before transferring it to the grip of her foreclaws. It is a wild swing in the nature of battle, almost impossible to keep up with. Jessic is no master of this weapon but the sheer novelty of having to fight an armed dragon is enough to break the momentum that had turned against her.

She had not come to this life by accident. It had been the result of deep deliberation and many conscious choices. She was not human and her thoughts and cravings were impossible to explain. There were patterns and authorities that her mind naturally shaped around. She had her own ideas of beauty, some of which were dark and fierce. But she'd found in Keron a halfway point between the human and the draconic; a lens through which she could communicate with a species she did not truly understand. And through that she'd been able to build a trust that was as strange as it was absolute. She didn't know how to relate to a being as fierce and seductive as Rose from the River, so her decision was as it always was in this strange world: to obey Keron, to follow the lead of her partner and translator.

She hooks the naginata up into her tail and uses it to strike like a scorpion's stinger from above her head as she crouches low to the ground. Attempts to evade or encircle her are met with sudden, sharp wing blows. Her technique has its limits but it is enough to drive Rose back - and then turn and lunge, fast as blinking, across the hall to where Chen has Keron on the ropes. She spreads her wings as she reaches the second duel, the clap of her wings transforming all her forwards momentum into a hurricane blast of air to send the winter princess flying clear of her partner.

[Princess Jessic creates an opportunity for Countess Keron]

With a toss, the naginata lands back in Keron's outstretched palm. With a grin, the Countess lifts herself to stand atop her dragon's back. This, then, is their final form. This is their true harmony of battle.

But this is not their day. This is not their scene. This, all of this, has been stolen already by Hyra of the Wolves and the master thieves who trained her. And now it's time for her to bring it to its conclusion.

She presses the detonator. The charges in the ceiling explode, and with an enormous crash, treasure begins to rain down from the second floor. The vault of the Sky Castle pours down in a rain of gold, gemstones and rare video game cartridges to land in an enormous heap in the centre of the floor, separating the four combatants. A gagged and squirming fox is tossed down to land on top of the pile, at once the greatest treasure of the pile and trying to grip as much of it as possible with her tied hands.

And hovering there, in mid-air, is the Sunshard. The gleaming, four meter orange and black tigerseye gemstone, filled with all of the wishes of Princess Jessic. Atop the Sunshard, power glowing up through her boots and running through her fingers, stands Hyra, and in her arms, Yue.

"Make a wish," she says to Yue with a smile.

Then she presses the detonator again. This time it blows out the floor of the main hall, sending all that gold and treasure falling down out of the bottom of the Sky Castle, down and down towards the distant countryside below. Hyra steps from the edge of the Sunshard and falls too, hand holding Yue's hand as they descend amidst a springtime storm of diamonds.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Desire breaks as much as anything. She didn't know what she wanted, didn't know the small wants that would take her to her big wants, didn't know if she should want or how to damn it aah aaah

She was in Iopeter's domain and she hated it, she feared it, her heart thundered louder than the storm as she ran and ran and ran and scratched at her stone mask in frenzy as the emotion raised to crush in through the walls of reality like the moment in the dream before the dreamer escapes her entire constructed reality in horror -

And then the mask comes off. It takes effort to pull off. There is that deep gasp, the gasp of someone who was thinking too fast to even breathe. And Zhaojun draws everything she is up with the mask. The robes, the blue ghost fires, the hair, everything that she is is drawn into the mask as it comes off, folding away inside the stone interior and disappearing. With it goes the thunder, the peril, the emotion, the fear.

Her face is uncovered for a moment before the rain covers it in place of the mask. And then she falls to the ground; a fall at once graceless and practiced.

She lies on the soft and soaking earth, feeling the water soak into their comfortable clothes; a white shoulder cloak above a cheap and comfortable striped green throat-to-ankles dress. It's a sight you'll see in any province in the Flower Kingdoms, sitting at the left hand of the local authority. A scribe, a bureaucrat, centrally trained in the Bandri River University and issued like commodities to assist in all forms of administration. The girl is even less noticeable than the dress, slight and modest, all in brown and black. Her breath takes a while to settle, but settle it does with a strange air of... exasperation? Familiarity? The patience of the resigned.

Then she sits up. Looks around. Wipes a cascade of water off her face. Takes her first truly steady, serene breath. Then, hand over hand, she starts to pull herself through the mud, dragging limp and unresponsive legs behind her.

She reaches a tree and combines gripping it on one side with the leverage from her umbrella - still held tightly even through all her flight. It's not the sort of thing you forget you need once you've learned to need it. Standing is a long and arduous process, but it too is practiced. It's not that her legs do not work at all; instead, the mechanism of the knee is weak. Once she is on her feet she will be able to shuffle at half the speed of a normal person, but the trick is getting there.

On her third failed attempt - the ground is too soft for her to properly brace her umbrella and she keeps slipping - she stops and looks at the mask. Her lips purse and her fingers tap the slick wet surface pensively. She's filled with thoughts but she doesn't speak them out loud.

Then she hears the noise of something approaching and hastily tucks the mask away inside her robe. She curses softly and half reaches for it again - what if it's a tiger? But she freezes, when instead she sees...

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

There was no friction in Molech taking command of the Plousios. In fact, it feels like a strange relief to the structure of the ship. All questions are resolved. The path is clear.

The Alcedi cannot be faulted, for they are as much the children of Molech as you are. When he reached his hands into their genetic code and wrote the rhythms of war into the tempo of their hearts he left a hole that could only be filled by fealty to legitimate authority. With one breath he announced himself, and with the second he announced their target. And that is all that was needed.

Thunder rumbles down the corridors of the Plousios, as it always does as the Kingfishers prepare for war. The Alcedi are creatures of Zeus even more than they're cogs in Athena's engine. They are the glory of battle from the skies; a thunderstrike of unstoppable destructive force. They are the saviours, reinforcements, the fall of the hammer against the anvil of the machine phalanxes. All across the galaxy, battle cultists lose themselves in emulation of the gods in their most martial aspects: The legendary Azura bridge keepers, the mad cults of Ares, the Codexia of Athena, and many more besides. The Alcedi were unique amongst the battle servitors and their divine traditions for drawing the open favour of Zeus. They seemed to be Molech's masterpiece, displacing their elder sisters, the Kaeri.

(Unstoppable until the howls of the wolves of Ceron drowned out even the crash of thunder. How had Nero beaten him? You still don't understand it.)

The Order of Hermes, likewise, fell into place easily. In their case, though, it seemed less a declaration of loyalty or the fulfilling of a genetic sequence so much as it was carefully placed submission. The Order of Hermes is, from what you've learned about them in your time with Ramses, overwhelmingly aware of what they have to lose. Their society is deeply materialistic and categorically resists displays of noble self-sacrifice. The loss of the Yakanov, one of the flagships of their civilization, to the crossfire unleashed by a single Imperial Assassin was another data point to emphasize just how bad an idea it would be to start raising questions if a human - and an emperor, no less - showed up and started issuing commands. So they fold, having endured enough displays of force in recent days to make another one undesirable.

Your role, then, is to talk to the Assistant Secretary of Fear and Doubt. Molech does not understand or appreciate the organization or relevance of the creatures of Poseidon, but cannot overlook their military potential for the looming battle. And so you are sent into the lower depths of the ship which have begun to look curiously like the mangrove forests of the Eater of Worlds, thick and humming with life and the clack-clack of battlecrabs at every stage of development. The Assistant Secretary's home is in a massive pavillion, red and white striped, surrounded by ranks of crabs holding flags and banners in massive pincers that look one errant twitch away from severing in half.

Vasilia and Dolce!

There is music. Someone is singing. They've got the voice of an... the voice of a...

You don't have time to listen. You already spilled a quarter of the soup as the music hit you. There are polite coughs and your throat is itchy. But some attention turns from the dance floor and to you - and your meal. Some Azura seem to awaken as if from a deep sleep when the smell of your cooking touches their flickering tongues.

Bella is here. She is dancing with a dark stranger. Thist did not lie when she said the assassins were close.

But that... music. It's getting into everything, infectiously, hypnotizingly good. If you're going to keep bringing this meal out, and potentially distract the Azura from it, you'll need to roll to Overcome.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Would you believe her if she said she had no idea who The Green Sun was?

The Lore of Demons is forbidden. It is power wrapped up within the Bureau of Secrets; the lore of names and power and ancient terror. Zhaojun is the connection between Heaven and Earth, but the mysteries of the underworld are not for her to know. Perhaps it is a joke of the Maidens; one final twist of the knife that such a profound entity be forgotten.

And so, Zhaojun finds herself tongue tied and outmaneuvered. Peregrine has snatched a question, and the Green Sun has let slip a poison answer. A tension coils at the base of her spine, tying into her jaw. Somehow she has become weak. She had called upon the greatest power she knew to ask and now she was learning that there were powers beyond that. She was being threatened, bullied, ignored, disrespected. She'd come all this way and it still wasn't enough.

"You know what my question is," she huffed, bluffing. Her muscles strained against her attempt at relaxation, at confidence. This was the only escape she could see; to shrink back behind her stone mask and force the demon to bargain as though a greater power than he were underneath. "So stop playing dumb, go ahead and answer it."

Don't see me. I need you to see me as something else.

[The Mask to persuade the Green Sun of a lie: 6]

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"I command you to address me as Molech," said the living dead. "Preceded by emperor, master, or father, as the context requires."

And this is his answer. He is not interested in your complaint. He is not interested in addressing himself to you, or explaining his motives or your fate. Already his mind has moved on, discarding your complaint like the grinding of an engine that needs naught but oil.

"Furthermore, I command that should I die, you are to kill yourself," he went on. "If I become imprisoned or lost you are to find me and return to my side. If you hear someone discussing how to kill or overthrow me, you are to kill them on the spot. If you see that child Redana you are to kill her before she can use her command seal on you, and bring the seal to me."

And that is you, Alexa. The problem you present is solved. His machine mind whirs on to the next problem.

"We must consider the battlefield," he went on. "That an Ikarani is unleashed means that our ship will be a target, and there are few pieces on the board that can threaten it. The Alcedi will answer the call of a true Emperor; they shall be both shield and sword, and you shall lead them. We will rally the tribes, thwart the assault that is no doubt directed at our ship, and use the intelligence gained from our victory to pinpoint the Ikarani's true location."

Vasilia and Dolce!

Thist gives a strange look. It's surprised; surprised that would even be a question.

"She wasn't special," said Thist. "It's like that for everyone. Everyone is cursed, Reacher. Haven't you heard?"

She stops when she reaches the kitchen doors, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Ask Hades when you reach the Tunguska, he'll tell you all about it."

You have a meal to prepare, Dolce.

Sunshards

And once again the world has come back together. It's no fluke, this time. Whatever force tries to break you into three different stories, be it Qiu's blade or simple time and distance, cannot maintain its hold in the face of such harmony. These are not independent moments existing in parallel; they are one moment. One dance. And the partners switch as naturally as rhythm.

Cyanis is squealing through her gag as she is dragged along by Yue, Princess Jessic in hot pursuit. It's not how you might dream a dragon chase might go; there are no snapping fangs or fiery breath. Jessic may be a dragon, after all, but she is a person as well and people use their mouths for eating, talking, kissing, and sometimes holding swords as Yue has demonstrated. You don't just go biting strangers! And so Jessic's pursuit is more catlike than anything, bursts of lightning speed followed by swipe-blows with dragon murder-mittens that bat the poor fluffy tails of girl wolves and fox girls about as she follows so close behind, distracted only by the sudden and unconscionable spillage of her secret notebooks across the floor.

And then in the next moment Yue is racing between the whirl of scattering guards, cast aside by the wroth of the Rose from the River. And that, Rose, is when you find yourself face to face with Princess Jessic; your mistress' mistress. She is momentum furious and focused, secure in her own power - and blind to yours. She has seen you soft, but has not seen you sharp. She is a Princess, one of the greatest dangers of this surface world, but she has no handmaiden here to shield her - as you are here to shield Chen.

And Chen, you do need shielding, as an arrow soars through the air inches away from your leaping. The only reason it doesn't hit you is because it was not intended for you - but the only reason it wasn't intended for you was that it was intended for Hyra, who has run and dived mid-air to take cover behind you. The Maiden of Wolves grins up at you. "Hey. I'm Hyra. Nice to meet you." And then she's off a-scampering with a speed to match that of Yue, a speed that takes time as a wolf to truly understand. She's quite cravenly left you facing down an determined Countess Keron, armed with greatbow and naginata. The Countess draws another heavy arrow, and aims it at you as her guards form a shieldwall around her.

And then, Yue, for a moment you're running alongside Hyra. She grins at you as she goes, feet flashing across the floor, as you rush together for the end of the hall. It's such a grin, too. You know this is her moment, still, but she's not using it to fight Keron, or continue her game of wits, or to defeat a hundred guards, or anything else that seems obvious. She's still got something else in mind. She's got her own story, told to the beat of her own secret ideal, and you somehow know all the important parts while knowing none of the specifics. And right now that story tells her to run alongside you - leaning down as she does to take the protesting and gagged Cyanis from you and heft her over one shoulder with strong arms.

And oh. Maybe her plan has her carrying you the same way? Or perhaps a different way?

Breathless Dead

Skotos!

"Ahhh, at last," said Aphrodite. "I thought I was going to die of old age before you got there. But then, I've always had trouble with time. Did you know, I used to reign supreme across the whole cosmos? I did not need thunder, or warfare, or virtue to do it. No, I needed merely two things: desire and time."

He gave a wry chuckle. "And then daughter dearest over there cut one from the other. Now I still have that supreme power over desire, but I'm... stuck... waiting. I'm stuck waiting for everyone to realize that I am all that matters. I'm stuck waiting for everyone to find their matches. I'm cut in half, like the galaxy, like you and Bella. Tick, tick, tick, I've waited for you to ask me for something. For you to realize that I've got the only thing that matters."

He rolls his shoulders. Straightens his tie. He looks younger. Not a lot, but the dust seems to fall away and there's a new health to him now. A streak of black amidst the grey.

"All my children only had claim to you before you realized it, before you said it. Now they command you no longer. Now you are mine. But... hmm, no girl of mine can be a mere shadow. Let me fix that."

He pulls a silver casino token from his pocket and gives it a fond flip. "You can borrow this," he said, tossing it over to you. When you catch it -

Skotia!

You are a shadow no longer. That silver token was a name, one of Aphrodite's. Where Skotos is a shadow, Skotia is the Dark One. The night-time stranger, dressed to steal dances, roses, hearts. An edge of danger. An edge of passion. It comes with a wardrobe change, worthy of a formal Azura party. You must look the part, after all, Aphrodite would allow nothing less from himself.

Alexa!

"Oh, you betrayed him? Interesting," said the Azura, though he didn't sound in the least bit interested. He made a note in his notebook regardless. "He didn't mention that."

The Shahrak keeps you waiting for a moment as he adjusts the magnification lenses on his glasses. Age is a tricky thing in a galaxy where eternal youth was mastered many aeons ago. For a creature such as he to appear this old implies one of a number of tales; it speaks of poison, the sacrifice of his beauty and strength to the Gods, or having reached an age where Hades' pull begins to outweigh even the gene-alchemy of the Splicers.

"It's a fair question," he said. "But the Eater of the Dead believes it is precisely your increasing irrelevance which will allow you an outsize impact on the game being played. Precisely, the deal is thus: Emperor Molech, if you bring me the head of the Ikarani adept operating on this world, the Skies will provide you with a new body and a one way trip to lands beyond Our sight."

"A body of my choosing," said Molech sharply.

"Oh, really now?" said the Shahrak. "You believe this is a negotiation?"

"You taught me to watch my words around you, snake," said the Emperor.

"I told you to learn some manners," said the ancient serpent. "And the correct protocol when your betters offer you charity is to smile and say 'thank you'."

The mad emperor seethed and ground his teeth. The Azura scientist waited for a moment, and then turned back to his book.

"I accept your terms," said Liu Ban.

The Azura kept reading.

"Thank you," Molech spat.

"Better," said the Shahrak. Without looking up he raised one withered hand. "Alexa, I bind you with this command: Do not harm me or my property," he thought about it for a moment, and you're surprised when he leaves it there. No additional qualifiers. "Secondly, obey the commands of Liu Ban. That is all."

"My first command," said Molech. "Is not to harm me either."

Vasilia and Dolce!

Thelis Thist held up a hand, looking away in faux hurt disgust. "Woah! I'm sensing a lot of negativity flowing my way, a lot of questions, a lot of equine dentistry if you catch my drift. I'm hurt - but you know what, I get it. You've been through a lot, so, cards on the table," she raised her hands to either side of the two Tunguska tickets. "A few quick answers and then we have to get to work. Hmm?"

"So, to cut a long story short, I am that rarest of breeds - a predator that preys entirely upon other predators. And you are, and forgive me lady for so saying, prey creatures. Sure you might have a little cat in you, but that's not the same thing as being sweet enough for my fangs. I wouldn't eat you if the sheep did you up in herbs, no offense. Instead... well, I reckon two well traveled souls like you might know that there are two paths to wealth. You could sweat and slave over the chisel for years to make something new from nothing, or you could arrange for a little hostile redistribution, am I right?" She took a deep inhale of her cigar smoke. "So it is with the gifts of Artemis. And I'll swear in Artemis' name that my only interest in your lives is to catch the ones trying to end them, may my fangs fester if I lie."

She leaned back, pulling a large mechanical pocketwatch from her toga pocket and glancing at it. "There should be two assassins arriving around now, one you know and one you don't. Distract them for a bit. Make them feel at ease. And listen closely for further instructions, the lives of everyone you know will depend on your swift obedience."

Bella!

"Yes, you know where you belong, and it is to my mother," said Redana, passion ice cold. "Of course you are not loyal to the Empire. Nobody could look at the wretched hive of Tellus and call it good, especially after seeing the stars beyond. Of course you are not loyal to your friends, for they are simply tools to get what you really want. No, loyalty to me, the Imperial heir, because I have no power yet. You only worship at Nero's feet. You only care about power."

Her teeth clenched, and then relaxed. There was a distant, angry sympathy there. "And of course you do. Only power can keep you safe, after all, and that's what you really want. You're so afraid and I'm so..."

Redana's cold anger hesitated, trembling, lost. A dark shiver ran through the hall, the rattle of wine glasses. And then, more from decision than passion, she froze over again in your arms.

"But I am trying to actually wield that power," she said, though there was no conviction in those words. "To change something. Because I'm loyal to something even more distant than power."

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Robena Coilleghille sits atop the white cliffs and gazes out across the Channel. Mail and leather lie between her and the soil of fair England. She contemplates a world she didn't realize she'd be leaving forever.

It hurt that there had not been a parade. There had not been a celebration. There had not been gifts of gold handed out by jeweled lords, dressed in dead men's finery. Some deep part of her still craved that, the pat on the head and promise that she was a good dog. Some part of her would kill for that. Die for that. Perhaps it always would. To find someone worthy to drown in...

But there would be no attagirls this time. No one would wipe the blood from her lips and tell her she'd done well. She was not to be honoured with title and land. She was not to be blessed with a faerie sword. She was not to be treated with kindness and love. She'd chosen a path of terrifying isolation. She'd chosen a path apart from every other knight she knew. She'd chosen a path apart from the Kings of Britain, apart from the Duchess, apart from the bards and minstrels and camaraderie of rough women. Nobody gave a damn about her story, she had realized. Nobody wanted to hear it. Nobody wanted to assist in its telling or its aftermath. She was sat here in silence after having dragged her way through a land that had not called for her, leaving ruin in her wake. In the end she had not ascended to the rank of storied hero, she'd climbed to the lofty pillar of performing the basic functions expected of a human being. No wonder nobody stood by her now. They did not make women saints for merely resisting temptation.

Her thoughts were stormy enough to block the channel, dark enough to call for four more weeks of winter. She stared at distant France for a long time, metal hands tapping away at the chalk. She considered departing. Starting again in some foreign land, with a spotless reputation and enough hard-won wisdom to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. What more could she do here, in this country that she had failed?

But then her brooding thoughts asked a different question, and the storm stumbled.

Why is it that I am alone?

She had walked England for years now. She had not yet found a sisterhood of worthy knights to pledge herself to. Lostwithel had faded away into the snow, taking its dreams and glamours with it. Where then were the true knights? The ones who fought with honour? The ones who defended the weak? The ones who spoke only truth? The ones whose wroth undid the wicked? Was she truly alone in all of England? Was she, of all Knights, the greatest among them purely because she had attained basic morality? Was she alone in learning to resist temptation?

Good God.

She stood on the cliff's edge and turned to look back at the green and rotting land that covered the northern horizon.

She had considered herself uniquely wicked. Uniquely damned. She'd stood obediently alongside a woman with the soul of a dragon, even after the devil herself had revealed the wickedness contained within Lady Sandsfern's heart. A morality tale for the rest of England to shake their heads knowingly at. But where were those moral people, those spiritual guide, those ideal role models? Why had they not found her? Why had they not found any of the Knights she'd met? Where in all of Uther's Britain were the righteous?

With that question the storm in her mind finally broke. In turn, the clouds of Britain opened and rain began to fall upon her face. Feather-light and sweet. No cloak kept it from her silver shoulders. No reflexive hatred sent her grumbling in search of shelter. It pulled away dirt and grime and oil that it felt had been there forever. Though it chilled her the sun shone through, away to the east, as though distant Jerusalem was reaching out to touch her.

She was not the hero England needed. But she alone knew what that hero might look like. She was not kind, but she knew what kindness felt like. She was not wise, but she understood foolishness. She was not a great woman, but neither was she a beast. She was not a member of a noble sisterhood of knights... but she could help found one.

She turned away from France for the final time. When she did she froze, for the half-storming sky was kissed with the most vibrant rainbow she had ever seen.

And beneath the rainbow, by a simple lighthouse by the cliffs, came a young girl like an angel from God. She was wet from the rain, but still she scaled the heights step by weary step. Robena stood still as the girl made her way up the endless muddy hill, arms filled with heavy bundles. When she arrived at last, the girl beamed up at her in the mortal reflection of the rainbow above her head. "Heya! I'm Artoria. You looked so cold and lonely, up here alone, and I noticed you were having trouble getting your horse to come up the hill with you so... I bought you a cloak!"

There was no fear in this girl's eyes when she looked up at her. She, Robena, a giant in stature, clad in mail and heavy ax... this wasn't a figure of fear. To this girl, she was just a lonely person who had lost her cloak.

She took the woolen fabric from the girl. It was heavy, and warm, and a deep and simple blue. She actually choked up for a moment, but the brilliant eyes of the girl didn't seem to notice her stumble. Robena swung the cloak around her dramatically, and felt a childish happiness that the girl's eyes went wide at the coolness of the gesture.

"Thank you," she said. "I am Sir Robena Coilleghille, Knight of England. As thanks for your kind gift, I offer one of my own: apprenticeship as my squire, and inheritor of all my arts."

The girl's eyes went wide as saucers. "I! I-I think you've gotten the wrong impression, ma'am," she stuttered. "I don't know the first thing about fighting -"

"But you know about kindness," said Robena. "And I have come to realize that is a far harder thing to teach than war."

Breathless Dead

Skotos!

"She is not yours, Skotos," snapped Hera, dropping you to the ground and drawing herself up to her full, regal height. "You have no claim on her location. I have no desire to tell you. Direct the craving in your voice to Aphrodite, for I do not answer the prayers of the heartbroken and desperate. I have no desire to empower the impulses that have bought you to this place."

"I do," said Aphrodite, lighting a cigarette in the corner. His lined face is a mess of creases that might be a smile. Hera casts him an irritated and disdainful look.

"It seems, then, you have a choice to make," she said, stepping back until she was equidistant between you and Aphrodite. "Never say you were never offered one."

Alexa!

You are in a study; opulently appointed, heavy with books. The fading paper smell has soaked into everything. From the outside you can hear reverent prayers of prospective students; not just Azura voices, but servitor-kith the galaxy over who have come here to beg the aged masters for education.

"We had a deal, serpent," said the voice of Cronus, thick with the blood of children.

"We had no such thing," creaked the ancient voice of the Azura Shahrak. "You dictated terms to me. I laughed them off."

"You did no such thing!"

"Did I not? Oh, my, tragic little warrior king," said the Shahrak. "You do need some lessons on polite society, don't you?"

You can feel the hatred pouring from Liu Ban. It doesn't need to be a big hatred, really, it just needs to be big enough to drown every positive impulse, moral or scruple that might check it. And for your father that does not need much hate at all.

Did you know he never fought the Azura? It's a mark of deep shame for him, the perfect Athenean Emperor. His intention was to win his own civil war first and then, once society was perfected, reforged into a weapon, he would at last destroy the Eternal Enemy. But instead he lost the war, lost his head, and is now being disrespected by an Azura technologist who clearly sees him as an item barely more notable than his treacherous daughter. This is his nightmare, the ultimate crushing humiliation. He'd burn the galaxy to avoid specifically this moment. He'll burn the galaxy to avenge it.

The withered Azura Shahrak examines the Command Seal upon the back of his left palm with rheumy eyes. You can feel the power, the threat. They are as Molech designed them, the secret encoding techniques that contain the key to your unhesitating loyalty. If he could not control you himself he sold you to one who could, one who now looks at you through magnifying lens goggles.

"You are... the Pallas Rex?" he asked. "Tragically so, if true. It looks like you have had post-period modifications made to your mouth that sharply reduce your value as a museum piece. In better condition you might have stood as an eloquent symbol of humanity's warlike folly, but as you are... perhaps it is for the best. The Skies have use for you."

Vasilia and Dolce!

The cards match. Border, calligraphy. THELIS THIST, EATER OF THE DEAD.

You turn the card over. Upon the back of Thist's card is written the word TUNGUSKA, the same as the one you carry. Hers is stamped though; she has used hers already.

"Of course," said Thist magnanimously. Her version of polite laughter is more on the devil grin side of things. "I can sate a little of your appetite. I got my first taste of what was coming when I met their advance scout, XIII. Some sort of feline assassin - oh, I see you know her. Well, you might not know they've unleashed their Ikarani adept. I haven't met her but she," Thist took a deep breath of her cigar, "is a data addict. An intellect enough to snatch fire from the gods, who will then inevitably burn in that same fire. Deadly threats, ordinarily, but this one is fighting blindfolded - Sagakhan has not told her about me. Poor girl imagines she's fighting unopposed. If she realizes that she's been made I imagine she'll burn your ship and butcher your crew in a panic. Who else? I suspect but haven't confirmed they might have an Oratus. You've heard a little of my humble speechcrafting," she flashes another grin; only she is in on this joke, "but she is convincing enough to be literally hypnotizing, right up to the point where she loses track of her body and becomes a deadly disease. Of course there's Sagakhan herself, who keeps her capabilities closer to her chest. I've picked up that she's got the eye of Demeter, though, so... hmm, I'd skip any raw salads, put it like that."

"It's Sagakhan you really need to watch out for, though," said Thist. "Any of the assassins might get you, of course, but I've whittled down her elites over the years. Now all that's left are children barely out of basic training and she's evidently setting them up to fail. I'm happy to take the prey, but your co-operation would make it a more... controlled process."

Bella!

Redana takes your hand. She was always distracted during her dance lessons. She is not distracted now. This is the dance of someone who values the dance above her partner. All eyes on you, and that is perfect, for in the distance you can hear Beljani's voice leading the Azura musicians. Her voice is transcendent, and its notes are the reassurance that the clock is on your side.

"You follow me still," said Redana, voice steeled with conviction. She's so restrained, as predictable as sunshine. "It makes me wonder why you did not simply accompany me when I asked. Do you know that it was you alone whom I invited? You alone whom I trusted? And you betrayed me, just to follow me anyway?"