Thanqol

Breathless Dead

Redana and Bella!

Thunder roars as you stand against Sagakhan.

All her marks of humanity have fallen away. Her soldiers have left her. Her hands can no longer hold a sword. Her fine clothing and delicate butterfly wings have torn to shreds. And now her last daughter and tool has turned against her. Serpentine eyes stare and her necks sway in harmony only with themselves. There no longer seems any intelligence in her eyes. As you, Bella, have emerged from the shell of XIII, she has fallen into her own biologically programmed monstrosity.

And she lashes out like a monster.

Gone is skill and precision. Gone is Artemis' guidance, the deadly focus that keeps a true assassin on the path. Gone is Zeus' intervention. Gone is Aphrodite's cruelty. Your opponent here is nothing of the divine. Your opponent is the intelligence who found a newly lethal way to weave DNA together and the goddess who will not let the result die.

As she fights, she grows. As her heads multiply her body has to become shorter, more muscular and more bestial to support them. Soon she falls to all fours like a quadruped and still her teeth lash out, dripping with venom. In place of strategy, manipulation or cunning what will speak your end is grim mathematics. As the fight goes on you will become weaker and she will become stronger.

You may as well fight the rainforest that now towers around you in every direction of this former desert. As long as the rain falls there shall ever be life.

Alexa!

"Alright," said Beljani, gingerly stepping into the narrow gaps between bodies. "I believe she went this way."

Corpses on battlefields don't just pile up randomly; they're not evenly distributed over a range of territory. The way they fall tells the stories of battle. Large empty spaces followed by the concentrated wreckage where the lines crashed, verdant grass and tree sprouts from the emerging rainforest before reaching the toxic wastelands where concentrated volleys of SP fire left their scars. An experienced soldier can trace the lines of formation, shock, flight and pursuit as a detective might examine a crime scene.

And the scene left by Epistia is a nightmare. It's a highway of ruin. Kaeri and Alcedi pulled from the sky, phalanxes shattered - metal and bone sundered into pieces. And there, bloody red, she hunches atop the body of a horse, silhouetted by the lightning. Her broken legs have ceased to trouble her. Her fur is matted and jagged, standing on end, eyes filled with deep crimson light. She holds a Kaeri soldier like a broken doll in her right hand while her left holds her scythe, and heartsblood drips from her jaws. In ancient days they told the legend of the werewolf, and her she is - another monster gracing a battlefield increasingly filled with them.

She smoulders like fire. Where the spikes of her fur end wispy clouds of toxic SP smoke fume and hiss and crackle. She is one with the dread lord Ares, the aspect of terror itself.

Beljani's phalanx pulls nervously closer. The Assassin sets her jaw and then hands your head, Alexa, off to one of them to carry. She flicks her wrists and then rolls up her sleeves, the absolute icon of dignity.

"Well," she said, with a dreamlike confidence, drawing a shortsword and unfurling a razor-edged fan, "I cannot complain that I was not trained for this."

Vasilia and Dolce!

"If you do not mind," snapped Demeter, "I believe I have given you a sufficient quantity of mercy. You have dared much already, which I will permit as a courtesy to Aphrodite, but at this point I really must insist. Remember your place, mortal, and take what you have been given."

You do not need to look around to feel the blades of the hedge trimmers in the Queen of Spring's hands.

The Red Furnace: First Contact

The approach continues without any sign of awareness from the alien ships. No active scans, no change in behaviour, no sense that they have any awareness of you whatsoever. Interestingly, there also doesn't seem to be any communication chatter - nothing on radio, no wireless signals, nothing on the electronic spectrum at all. Absolute silence, lending an uncomfortable credibility to the idea that psionics might be in use... right up until a close observation of one of the docking ports is made. There is a sequence of rapid direct blue laser lights blinking on the edge of one of the ports, sending a tightly focused beam at one of the incoming spheres which blinks back a rapid signal of its own. So: these vessels do communicate each other over direct optical transmissions. It's possible that they have some technology which enables complex communication over these links, but from here it looks eerily similar to a combination of morse code and 19th century naval signal flags.

Decoding the basics of this cipher is trivial. A whole host of basic navigational signals will take mere hours of observation for the brain trust back at xenolinguistics, but the simplicity of the codes also implies that they can't be assumed to be permanent. With a simple code system like this it's entirely possible for a force to rotate its codebooks, potentially extremely rapidly. Still, though, compared to the encrypted military communications of an AI-enabled species this is frankly amateur hour. Aotrs signals intelligence will have essentially no trouble decoding these communications...

If they have a direct visual on the emitter nodes. And that's where an interesting problem in the core-and-orbit system of the alien ships becomes evident. These nodes are all over the ships and the ships are in constant motion. Without a 360 degree visual on the alien craft it's possible that invisible exchanges may happen on the 'dark side' of the ships. There are also great numbers of these emitters and it's possible that they might launch massive bursts of decoy signals, with the 'true' communications only known to the aliens. These are ultimately extremely low-tech solutions, though: the aliens are foregoing all high quality data transmissions between their ships and all ability to communicate complex information. There may even be severe problems issuing basic commands to fighter wings performing combat maneuvers just because of the difficulty of 'hitting' them.

For a species to adopt a system of communication like this implies firstly a massive decentralization of authority, and secondly a massive concern about being in a hostile information environment. Similar systems are most commonly seen in species that have endured an AI uprising or are engaged with a civilization with enormous hacking power. Direct laser communication is as unhackable as a typewriter.

As this observation is taking place, one of the destroyer-spheres performs an unusual action. It detaches from the rest of the formation and begins to accelerate its orbit around the planet. This occurs without any engine spikes or thruster activity - it just slips seamlessly from a geosynchronous orbit into a rotational one, directly around the planet's equator. More unusually, the speed of the vessel seems to adjust up and down without any sort of electrical activity.

It's an eerie motion. This is not how spaceships should move. But, combined with the observations of the rest of the alien craft, suggests that Stab had the right idea. This is a gravitic drive.

Many species utilize various artificial gravity systems for their starships so the concept is not unthinkable. The idea is, simply put, that you arrange those artificial gravity systems externally to the ship. With such a system you could change the direction of up and down as far as the ship was concerned, making it 'fall' in certain directions as its primary propulsion. Further, by increasing or reducing the effect of gravity on the vessel, it could be made to speed up or slow down. An interesting blackboard theory, but not one that ever seemed worth the time or money to develop at the expense of conventional thrust drives.

This alien species seems to have thought differently; this is gravity-control technology taken to a state of absolute mastery. Though the top speeds of these ships seem to be slower than an Aotrs ship, their turning circles are ridiculously tight, making even the larger ships seem as maneuverable as starfighters. Of course, the great theoretical problem with grav-drives has always been "What happens if you fight outside of a gravity well?" The further these ships get from a planet or a star the more sluggish and unresponsive they will become, and in deep space they would be essentially becalmed. But here in orbit around a planet they move with an eerie grace, and if they operated around a gas giant or star they would be blisteringly quick.

The last observation of interest, then, is what exactly the destroyer is doing. When it slows down at regular intervals around the planet it releases a cloud of glittering crystals. It seems to be quite deliberate about this, taking the time to carefully target their orbital positions, and then moves on to the next point after half an hour at location. Like much of what these aliens do, this is a coherent action expressed using bizarre means and technology: This is clearly some sort of parallel to establishing a network of satellites around a planet. But what purpose these odd crystals serve - if they are some sort of mine or other weapon, or if they serve a role in communications, or some stranger or more mystical purpose - can't be determined without acquiring some for study.

Estimates are murky, but the destroyer seems to have launched over a thousand of these crystals, most smaller than human sized. If you weren't there to observe the process they would have seemed just like random space debris. At the end of its orbit, it resumes its position orbiting around the cruiser.

The Red Furnace: First Contact

The reconnaissance mission proceeds without interruption. As night falls over Tanshin II finally the space anomaly comes into view.

It is a sphere - as geometrically perfect a shape as an advanced shipyard can construct. It is also heavily damaged. It looks like it has endured an extended barrage from kinetic weaponry or high speed asteroid impacts and there are massive rents in its structure. It is indeed Cruiser size, and it does indeed emanate an absurd amount of waste heat and light. Its reactor output is frankly ludicrous for a ship of its size, and no less so for the fact that it seems to be venting power externally to no effect. All of this would make sense if the ship had been critically damaged in battle, was venting plasma and was mid-way through a critical reactor meltdown, but hours go by with no fluctuation in the power output, let alone explosions.

But then the eye - or skullglow - is drawn to what at first seemed like the debris field around the sphere and it becomes apparent that it is not debris at all.

Around the Cruiser sphere orbits four smaller spheres, each around about the size of a Destroyer, in a strange miniature model of a solar system. One of these spheres demonstrates even more intense damage than the Cruiser, torn almost entirely in half by kinetic impacts, but the others are completely intact. Each sphere, large or small, is marked by a strange glowing band around its equator, a repeating symbol like '>>>' running in a full circuit around the orb and emanating a faint light blue energy glow. The smaller spheres are also almost electronically dead - they do not have reactors on board, and so presumably operate off battery power. Perhaps they refuel from the larger sphere, hence its disproportionate output?

None of the vessels compromise their spherical design, even for the purposes of weaponry or sensor arrays. Large sections are painted in midtone blue, and others reveal golden alloy metals of unknown composition. However, as observation continues, even smaller craft become visible - spheres again, but now fighter and heavy shuttle sized. In an organized but unhurried way they detach from the large craft and descend down onto the planet, and then hours later rise up. There's something uncanny about the way they move - these vessels do not have thrusters, do not leave engine trails, they just float with perfect silence and stillness. Even in atmosphere they are eerily quiet as they descend down to a distant point on the surface, unload, and depart again back to their carriers.

As unusual as these ships may be, the act itself is profoundly familiar. This is a bulk landing operation. A huge quantity of materiel is being shipped from orbit to the surface. The pace of operations suggests that this is a planned maneuver, but the visible damage to the ships suggests that it might be an evacuation. The site they have chosen as a base is nestled in a mountain range - an extremely defensible location. Even though there still has not been any signs of active scanning - not even radar pings - drawing much closer involves increasing risks of detection.

The Red Furnace: First Contact

Translation was achieved in the late afternoon on the northeastern continent of Tanshin II, deep in a Desolation Zone. An incredible stroke of luck, even if the region was eminently unsuitable as a base of operations.

The 'Desolation Zones' are the terrestrial feeding and hunting grounds of the deep ocean megafauna - but they are not the wastelands the name suggests. The local ecosystem is perfectly adapted to the tidal waves, mass destruction and topographical devastation caused by the oceanic titans. From the vantage of a levitating drone the landscape looks like a lush steppe environment with clusters of thin pioneer trees amidst massive tangles of grasses and shrubbery - perfect tank country. However, topography scans warn that the ground beneath is a nightmare. The combination of titanic footfalls and the devastation of trees being ripped out by the roots and the soil being turned by massive digging claws render the soil and rock a chaotic and hazardous network of trenches, ravines, blind deadfalls, and fast-moving rivers. Imagine if WW1 had been held in the rainforest and Mother Nature had been a field marshal.

Dismounted heavy infantry or tracked vehicles will find strategic movement extremely difficult - but on the flipside, this terrain is ideal for light infantry. Cover is abundant, camouflage opportunities are endless, and migratory herds of swift-moving grazing animals will foil most bio or heat sensors. Atmosphere is a normal oxygen-nitrogen mix, though with the density of pollen, disease particles and microcontaminants it's not the sort of place to send anyone with allergies. The Desolation Zone ecosystem is optimized for rapid regrowth after catastrophe and that means flooding the air with seeds.

Gravity is unusually low, at 0.7 Earth standard - no doubt contributing to the proliferation of titanic life forms - but the drone's sensors report deeply unusual anomalies linked to the ongoing stellar disturbances. Apparently local gravity conditions are fluctuating between five times standard and absolute zero, though these are mostly smaller events. These flickers last ten minutes to an hour, with a radius between five hundred meters and a thousand kilometers. It does not initially appear that these bursts are intelligently directed.

So far so unusual - but things really get surprising when the drone switches to scan for power sources. And there, burning in planetary orbit, is an absolutely blinding power spike. It's the output of an unshielded battleship reactor at maximum burn, a frankly ludicrous output of energy - and not least given that it seems to be coming from a cruiser sized object that is not engaging in combat operations. Currently the object is operating on the other side of the planet's orbit, making getting a good look at it difficult with the drone, but with that reactor output scanners could sense it from anywhere in the system.

Whatever this object is, it seems to be inert. There are no signs of directed movement, no active scanning pulses. From the scan results, it is about as reasonable to think that this is an ejected battleship reactor core as it is to assume it is a starship.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

"These only seem like three problems," said Zhaojun. "Because you do not know that Kayala Na loves Ven. That could at once be the discrediting scandal for Knighthood you require and a resolution for the problem of the Brass."

Freeing her to arrange a more auspicious match for the Princess Knight, in accordance with Heaven's whims, and not the illegible feelings created by being rescued.

"What do you know of the sorceress, Giriel?" she asked, changing course to the one who had been a recurring thorn in her side. "What is her part in all of this?"

The Red Furnace: First Contact

Astrographical Survey Data: Tanshin System

Star: Yellow Main Sequence
An unremarkable star like billions of others - right up until the point when a long range Aotrs probe entered within 8 Light Days of the system. After that distance was reached a flood of confusing data emerged from the star. More strangely still, from within the Tanshin system, a number of stars only seen through long range scanners appear to have changed colour. Some power has been altering stars of all classifications, with the result that they burn with a distinctive purple hue. The changed light from these stars has not yet reached the home systems of the Aotrs. Tanshin still burns yellow, but the flood of strange stellar radiation from the star indicates that the same force may be acting on it too.

The system is a low magic zone.

Tanshin I
Toxic World
Intense heat, oceans of both salt water and sulphuric acid, heavy metal deposits including massive stores of uranium, hyperium and other advanced metals. Radioactive thunderstorms, cyclone winds render it uninviting in the extreme, but bioscans indicate that the planet is nevertheless thick with life. Whatever survives on a rock as desolate as Tanshin I will no doubt add to the planet's hostility.

Long range scans have identified numerous garbled and ancient distress beacons. The presence of orbital contaminants suggests that numerous starships were destroyed in or around this world over eight hundred years ago.

Tanshin II
HPE-B Class World
It is possible that Tanshin II might surprise you. Worlds with bioreadings like this are sometimes strange garden utopias, perfectly designed to nurture benevolent lifeforms. Far more likely, though, the planet is a green hell.

Notably, the system is home to numerous titanic bioforms - semimobile entities the size of large islands. Two major branches can be identified at this distance: Sedentary land creatures who operate like migratory mountain ranges, and predatory oceanic monsters that emerge in packs to consume huge swathes of the rainforest that has grown near the shoreline. The saving grace is that the planet is only 40% oceanic, putting a solid 30% of the world outside of range of the destructive ocean predators. Tanshin II has a single rocky moon, with several archaeological sites visible from long range scanners.

Tanshin III
Gas Giant, Stellar Rings

Tanshin III is a typical gas giant; solid core, hydrogen-helium mix atmosphere, and vast stellar rings of billions of asteroids. Numerous larger moonlets can be observed, with Tanshin IV being by far the largest.

Tanshin III is unusually close to the star for a gas giant with an unstable orbit. Over the course of millions of years its orbit will degrade such that it collides with the sun, a detonation that will likely be catastrophic for the entire system. In the meantime its gravity is potent enough to affect the tide on Tanshin II in a similar way to the planet's own moon.

Tanshin IV
Tidally Locked Ice-Ocean Moon

Tanshin IV is a water based moon of Tanshin III. The bright side perpetually faces the sun in an eternal day only broken when it eclipses Tanshin III, and the temperature on the surface is warm enough to keep it liquid. The dark side is a single massive polar ice cap covering half the planet. Tanshin IV has signs of ancient civilization upon it - the decrepit remains of old stellar elevators and asteroid mining bases, some of which might be able to be repurposed. Notably, long range surveying scans detect vast quantities of subterranian oil.

The Prize
Tanshin is a resource rich system, with one colonizable planet and numerous locations of archaeological value, primarily around Tanshin IV. However the system is both distant from Aotrs space and lacks any sort of ready-made population base, meaning it's utility as an expansion region is limited. The archaeological sites are interesting but it is unlikely that they will contain technology surpassing the Aotrs' own.

The prize, then, is Tanshin I. The distress beacons are of interest, as is the fact that it seems that a major fleet action occurred in the planet's orbit. Accordingly, Command has dispatched a small reconnaissance force to determine if the system is worth further investigation.

The secondary objective is to determine what is happening to the system's star. The field of purple stars is of concern; a civilization or power that is capable of performing stellar engineering on such a scale is not to be taken lightly.

It is time, then, for an Aotrs Commander to take the field.

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"So firstly, it's not like I did anything wrong," said Beljani. "And the letter should say that. But it also should say how terrible it feels to have done nothing wrong and have everything be wrong anyway. Do you know what I mean? When you can't do better and still not have it be enough?"

There is an eerie unity as she walks across the battlefield, cradling your head in her arms. All around her there is peace. Kaeri, Alcedi and stranger things grind to a halt and join a phalanx around her, a mongrel formation with a harmony strangely reminiscent of the Coherent.

"So it should be that feeling," said Beljani quietly. "But in words that make the reader feel that feeling. They need to be able to cut through armour. And they also... need to say that she didn't do anything wrong either. That she was perfect too. And that I respect that even if it didn't solve anything either. Can you write that?"

She doesn't say who she wants to write it to. Maybe to many people.

Vasilia and Dolce!

A wind swept Sahar's airless moon. Regolith like mountains of paperwork swirled and blew through the stars, every one signed in red.

"That is a sacred blade," whispered Artemis in the click of abacai. "This is a sacred hunt. This is a sacred prophecy. The husband will murder his wife. Aphrodite's will be done. Demeter's will be done..."

You are outside yourself. Your hand moves, frictionless. There's nowhere you can go other than Vasilia. There's no one you can hurt other than Vasilia. The Anathema, invoked in the presence of Artemis, in the presence of Demeter, in the presence of Vasilia must perform its function. You are the executioner and you know in your bones that it was always going to end this way.

You can taste her blood already.

"Stop! I revoke the contract!"

And you stop, the blade a centimeter beneath Vasilia's skin.

"You," said Artemis in the silence of broken oaths, "what?"

"Away with you, ridiculous girl," said Demeter. "You have failed and I no longer have need of you. Coming to steal my kill once I am finally positioned to do it myself? To grant mercy to my captive with death? You have failed, Artemis, and I will not grant you the satisfaction of pretending you have fulfilled your oath."

You turn your head shakingly to the side. You see the Goddess of the Hunt.

You see crazed eyes. Terrible fangs. Wild hair. Deadly talons. Flowing hair and armour of bone and skin carved with ten trillion names and red, red, red.

She might be Bella's sister.

You close your eyes as hard and as fast as you can and look away. Greater heroes than you have suffered far worse punishments for daring to look at Artemis when they ought not to.

"I understand," you hear her voice still so close to your ear, still so calm and measured, hardly any blood and flesh on her teeth. "I apologize for failing you, Lady Demeter."

You feel the knife in your hands break and crumble to dust, but you wisely keep your eyes shut until the moon disappears behind the clouds again.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Orange!

Orange reaches up, brushing her hands through her hair, up to sweep off her cat ears, untie her bun, and let her hair fall like a sunset waterfall down along her back. Then she takes off her glasses and the transformation is complete. The transition from professional maid to beautiful woman is a moment from a movie; her body designed from the ground up to perform that switch and look magnificent doing it.

"Have you ever read The Time Machine?" she said with a radiant grin. "Like most novels from the era, the setting is a dinner party with an unexpected house guest who turns out to have a rather magnificent story. I am not asking as a favour, I'm offering because we have got a tale to tell."

Orange read a lot of books; more than any of the others. Books were little self-contained blueprints for human interaction. Old 19th century novels were a particular favourite; a world of balls and parties and dinner guests! Was not that ever an aesthetic? And was not curiosity such a motivation?

"And to answer your earlier question," she went on, "not only am I a qualified chef, but I possess a full artificial taste suite. If you're trying to impress a certain guest then I can load their sensory preselects and customize a meal exactly to their individualized preferences."

[Charm hits the 9 exactly]

Pink!

November sometimes thinks that she is the only one she can trust. The self-reliance runs deep; she was meant to operate as a self-contained vessel beyond resupply and rescue. Complete autonomy and with thoughts and calculations so complex that it wasn't worth explaining her logic to mission control. Even after her repurposing, she was the complete household and administrative staff for Mrs. Everest; the old lady never asked her to justify her actions or assign her help. A bigger task just meant she needed to assign more resources to it, simply differences in scale and not in kind.

And so she is quietly humbled at this demonstration that someone is better than her in a topic she considered herself uniquely qualified. It's not a humiliation, it's a relief - the option not just to share the burden but to learn through observation. It creates a deep sense of affection and loyalty inside her, a sensation uncommonly felt, and she determines that if she at all can she will keep York's promised fall from being too hard.

She fades back a bit, determined now more than ever to watch and absorb what lessons she can.

Black!

When startled, Black's instinct is to freeze. Caught in a spotlight she wasn't prepared for, rendered a centre of attention; for a moment she seemed almost about to vanish into the crowd and re-establish a stalking position. She overcomes it with effort. Moves, then.

She snaps forward, left hand brushing by the side of your neck - up, then down sharply. Another sudden step brings her around to your side, left hand coming around to cup your chin and hold your jaw, right arm coming across your back. Legs step and flex, brushing against yours, half tangling, away again. It's not the reload animation, but these are adapted martial arts moves; the edge of violence because that's how Black relates to physicality.

But the physicality is genuine. Yellow was more talkative, cerebral, controlled. Black is far more free with contact than her; hands squeezing your wrists and pulling you into embraces before ducking under your arm and moving behind again. She lets your hand touch her shoulder and feel the seams and synthskin; she lets your lips touch hers and feel the teeth behind. She hasn't the words for it but she wants you to know that this is dangerous and that this is safe.

She wants to know if you will make the same promises.

White!

Her mind folds against itself. An incoherent energy continues to twist inside her. The emotion feels... flexible, a puzzle that draws her into her own code. She feels like there are words she could assign to it but the idea of using the wrong words seems somehow perilous. She can see a hint of her reflection in a corner of her mind's eye and is in equal parts afraid to look closer and look away.

Once again she resets herself free of human habits, human body language. Where did all of those come from? She unclenches her fist, terminates a deep breath, unlocks her jaw. She doesn't understand the physicality of the feeling, the way it moves through her structure. Fingers, wrist, elbow, shoulder, neck, eye; she traces the flow of data up and back. A compulsion in communication nodes that should not by rights have opinions of their own.

And then abruptly and incongruously she feels lonely. It's like the galaxy skips a beat and everything around her just slides a foot away from her. The nerves, the edge, the weird pride and contempt somehow seem like extensions of this utter isolation. She's cut off from even herselves in this moment and so she has no one left to be with but herself. And so here she is, a single lost robot, in a place that is not for her. Her thoughts slow, and then halt. For a moment she sits very still.

> Restorative function: Stimulus Quarantine. Relaunch in Safe Mode.

Some deep subprocess within her awakens. One of the oldest functions used to troubleshoot computing technology was to strip away all the bells and whistles - all the graphic user interfaces, all the contradictory processes that churn away constantly - and relaunch the machine in its purest form. White's core functionality is to investigate for mental and emotional damage, and so the function that triggers isolates the sensory data of everything that is causing her emotional distress so that she can examine the problem from a distance. The dancers become indistinct shapes. The bartender is an shadowy blur surrounded by icons to execute basic commercial functions. The music fades into a distant throbbing beat.

And the unicorn remains. High resolution and perfect - the one thing not blurred out. White's head tilts. Her human friend was filtered out. This simple quirk of data seemed to undo all the theories she had as to what was affecting her emotional state. What was it about this girl?

She terminated the quarantine; senses engaged and the room became clear again. Now White had a new focus and determination, and she looked across the bar to catch the eyes of the unicorn.

When she does, she beacons. It's a commanding gesture; you, come here. But it's also a vulnerable one. In the gesture, in her eyes, is a fragility. Please, it asks - let me be this person. This is as far as my arm can reach.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Solarel, The Walker of the Mountain, The Varangian, The Empress' Champion, The Hunter of Huntresses, The Exile
The Infamous

The muscles and scars of one who has lived hard, the softness and kindness of one who has dreamed beautifully.
A sword of gold and a sword of silver, one given by a Spirit and the other by an Empress.
For every curse, a blessing. For every blessing, a curse.

Daring +1
Grace +1
Heart +1
Wit +1
Spirit +1

Angry - Frightened - Guilty - Insecure - Hopeless

Undeserving: When you become Smitten with someone, say why, give them a String, and answer this question:
Why do you think they would be wrong to forgive you?
Your Wicked Heart: When you Figure Out a Person during physical conflict, you may additionally ask one of these questions, even on a 6-:What are you most ashamed of?
How could I get you to betray your ideals?

What Cannot Be Undone:
I am proud that I sacrificed childhood dreams of power, glory and Imperial favour for the path of honour, though it took me time to learn.
Once I Walked the Mountain; I stood alone before a God named Vaeled armed with but a spear and I triumphed. She was mine and I hers. And then I traded her for the cursed armour Aeteline and never learned what became of her. This causes me grief still.
I have sworn never to draw my blade without understanding both sides in the conflict.

Wicked Past: When you hear about a villain for the first time, you may decide that you know them from your past. If so, give them a String on you to ask a question from the Figure Out a Person list and take +1 forward against them.
Make It Right: When you allow yourself to be vulnerable to someone you hurt during your villainous past, they choose 1
- Decline to engage; they gain a String on you
- Lash out; you Stagger
- Guide you; they mark XP and give you a task to help make amends
- Show vulnerability; you take +1 forward to interact with them
- Forgive you; you each clear a Condition and this move no longer triggers with this person

Talons of the Past: When you gain a String on someone associated with your villainous past, or vice versa, mark XP. The first time this happens for a given person, you each can define a secret or vulnerability you know about the other.

Who’s the Monster?: When you expose the hypocrisy of someone who is supposedly virtuous, roll +Daring:
10+: Gain a String on them and choose 1
7–9: Choose 1
- The wrongness of their act is exposed to all; they mark XP if they change their mind. If they don’t, they must attack you or take a Condition.
- Your words sting; they take a Condition.
- You impress an onlooker; gain a String on them.

Histories, Names, Important Notes

Hider

Hailing from the planet Roevg, Those Guided By The Sage Zaldar are a post-singularity alien species. Their basic biology is as an anthropomorphic bipedal reptilian, however they are all deeply integrated with the nanotechnological fallout from their species' ascension. They are born with cybernetic implants and deep connections to the digital wreckage of their former glory, which can deepen and change as they grow. There is an immense deal of individual variation amongst Zaldarians and the technologies they manifest, everything from scale colour to the presence of hair, number and functionality of organs, or even things like integrated weapons. There appears to be some sort of intelligent guidance, or at least environmental impact, on these alterations; since contact was made with humans and hybrasil Zaldarians have been observed evolving features more pleasing to and compatible with both.

Zaldarians are bound by the concept of Motive Balance. Not requiring food or water, Zaldarians exist entirely on energy. They can harvest this in a variety of ways, from direct exposure to sunlight or fire - Zaldarians can tolerate temperatures of over 1500 degrees comfortably, allowing them to walk on lava - or even through converting kinetic impacts into power. What comes in must come out, however, and a Zaldarian must discharge accumulated energy rapidly; maintaining a full store of energy is akin to holding one's breath. Often this is done through sudden bursts of physical expression, but has also been known to occur with the Zaldarian bursting into flames or shooting lasers from their eyes. Drained of energy a Zaldarian is slow and lethargic.

The Zaldarians exist within the Sacred Realm - the remnants of their pre-ascension internet. Strange entities broadly called Shedym move through this realm, sometimes visible or audible to Zaldarians even if they have no physical components. These forces often influence physical reality through the activation and work of omnipresent nanobot swarms. Zaldarians have no ability to command shedym, and even their shamans can barely influence them, but the majority range from benign to wildly helpful. A commoner might possess a loyal Spirit that even the Empress might never tempt from her side.

Geists are the lowest entities, fragments of scrapcode with the intelligence of an insect or small animal. A Zaldarian might have a cup geist whose purpose is to use nanobots to fabricate a cup whenever the Zaldarian calls for it, and then dissolve the cup when the Zaldarian no longer needs it.
Spirits are mid-ranking entities, often possessing forms too complicated to be trivially fabricated. They perform a range of complex functions - a Spirit might perform repairs on mecha, or act as an independent cyberwarfare ally, or create a mystic sword and suit of dresslike armour when invoked with a battlecry and ritual dance. What Spirits one has access to does much to determine how a Zaldarian's life journey will go, though they come and go as they please.
Gods are the enormously powerful spirits that manifest in the forms of giant mechanical monsters. Gods are perhaps military in origin, as unlike lesser shedym they are aloof, hostile, and violent. They might generate on any world within the bounds of the former Zaldarian empire, self-manufacturing over the course of months or years into a powerful combat form that can only be engaged by a Mecha. The majority of Zaldarian mechs are Gods, defeated and bound and called God-Armour. Commonly this is done by a warrior with God-Armour of her own, but the tribes of Roevg consider 'Walking the Mountain' - an unarmed warrior conquering a God - to be an act of profound heroism to be attempted by the bravest champions.
Ancestors are poorly understood - they are thought to be the digital ghosts of fallen Zaldarians, pre and post Ascension. They cluster around interesting people and events providing a constant and slightly distracting rhythm of conversation, advice, directions and opinions. On occasion, when a Zaldarian is in a deep sleep or coma, it has been known for the Ancestors to control them directly as a sort of strange democratically directed zombie.

Zaldarian society is based in Instanilios; the Evercity - the most intact remnant of Zaldar's golden age, and the only truly space-age city under their control. This is a magical city, alive with a tightly bound network of spirits and geists, and the only place where Zaldarian manufacturing is still performed. Zaldarian manufacturing is a superstitious and poorly understood art where technologies of incredible potency are created without any ability to address the flaws inherent in that technology. An example is a powerful laser weapon that refuses to fire at any mecha with blue colouration as the weapon's Geist recognizes that as the banner of the long-forgotten nation that designed it. It is even possible for the artisans of the Evercity to construct new Gods of their own; something the Tribes regard with terror and awe.

The Evercity is ruled by the Empress, who is elevated and supported by the Knights. The Knights are a warrior caste who have bound Gods to their service. Honourable conquest of a wandering God is considered the traditional way to become a Knight - either in borrowed God-Armour, or as an armoured Knight fighting a God to gift it to a child or favoured retainer. The Empress is elevated from amidst the ranks of the Knights following what ranges between a civil war to a series of incredibly high stakes duels. One of the rights of the Empress is to command the artisans in the construction of new Gods. Receiving God-Armour without a battle and becoming a Varangian is regarded by the Knights as some combination of cursed, cowardly and dishonourable, meaning those elevated by the Empress' grace tend towards being isolated loyalists with no support other than their sovereign. Imperial rule is profoundly unstable and depends entirely on the opinions of the Knights who support or oppose the throne.

The Tribes are the nomadic remnants of life elsewhere on Zaldar, warrior cultures based on raiding and conquest. Often they quake at the passage of the Gods, but every so often a great warrior Walks The Mountain and obtains a suit of God-Armour for her tribe. From there the new warlord has two options: Travel to the Evercity, swear fealty to the Empress, and become a Knight, or remain and seek to use her God-Armour to tame more Gods. Godblessed tribes are considered a dire threat by the Imperial administration and are either bribed or manipulated into going to war with each other or outright destroyed by the Knights. This is a rational fear, for the Evercity has been conquered twice in the past by barbarian warlords who went on to crown themselves the new Empress, installing their own loyalists as the new generation of Knights.

The Empress Voctine XCI made her mark on history when her scouts encountered Hybrasil. Seeing an opportunity she immediately mobilized all her Knights and went to war. In order to secure the loyalty of the champion Solarel who had Walked The Mountain only days before the war was to begin, the Empress offered her the cursed God-Armour Aeteline, a manufactured suit of unsurpassed power. Clad in Aeteline, Solarel became the Empress' champion and the face of the war, an unstoppable dervish who hunted the Huntresses.

Solarel, however, was a tribal warrior, with a simple adherence to the legendary Code of Zaldar. The Code was a series of instructions on how to conduct war, how to treat with enemies, how to respect and command the defeated. She fought with honour and was too new to Imperial politics to understand that this was a war of conquest, annexation and slavery. Solarel's adherence to the Code made her clash increasingly with the Empress' loyal Knights and eventually break with them all together. With Solarel's defection, a rival faction saw the chance to rise in rebellion and seize the Evercity from the Empress, driving her into hiding with her few loyal Knights and Varangians. The Empress Naelkai II was crowned soon after.

Though Solarel had only ever fought honourably, and though her refusal to fight for the Empress was what had allowed the uprising to succeed, she was considered far too politically dangerous and unreliable to be allowed to remain in the capital. She was stripped of Aeteline and banished from Zaldar. This was not the end of things, though, for soon after it was discovered that Aeteline refused to accept any pilot who had not vanquished Solarel in honourable combat. Now the hunt was on: Whoever could win a duel against the exiled Varangian stood to win the finest suit of battle armour produced by the artisans of the Evercity.

XP: 1

Strings
Mirror 2
Isabelle 2
Angela 1

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"Oh!" said Beljani. "You're just like the others! No hellos, no how do you dos, no you look fetching in that armour Beljanis, just straight to 'Kill this person, save this other person, also here is my life story'!" She huffs but the words don't have real bite to them. They're just stress noises. Her actual action is to snap her fingers at a charging Kaeri. "You! Bad owl! Stop what you're doing and carry this for me, would you?"

The owl warrior's footsteps drag to a slurred halt. After a moment of struggle she leans down and picks up Alexa's severed head.

"But," she said thoughtfully. "You're offering to pay me? Nobody's ever done that before. I mean, I'm not clear what sort of favour you're positioned to offer... oh!" she snaps her fingers again. "Do you know how to write letters?"

Dolce!

"Oh, darling Zeus," said Demeter. "You're such a soft touch. You can't keep letting these mortals get away with this! They'll never learn if you don't discipline them."
"Why is their learning of interest to me?" said Zeus. "Either they please me or they don't. Either they seek my favour or they don't. I do not seek to control their lives."
"That seems such a cruel way to rule!" said Demeter. "Your garden runs wild. If you let your field bring you whatsoever harvest it pleases and in the end the forest will grow and all will fall into darkness. Just think of all the wonderful things that you could do if you took a more active hand?"
Zeus smiled and patted the top of her sister's head. "Demeter," she said. "You think that the path to glory is through your children. You couldn't be more wrong! My glory comes not from what my sons and daughters do, but from what I do!"
In the heavens above, through a gap in the cloud, a brilliant-bright star winks out. Ten million years ago across the cosmic void of space an explosion of incomprehensible size finally comes to a halt and the last supernova light finally reaches this distant world. A tiny thing. A gesture missed by two armies knee deep in wet sand and nettles, but no less mighty for their failure to see.
"And were I to spend my days persecuting failed kings, or torturing those who fail to live up to my moral aspirations," said Zeus, "then I would be an ignoble god indeed."

Though Zeus smiles there is no question of the edge of cool judgement in her tone. She does not bring Demeter to heel but her disapproval is clear as she turns away to Olympus. Demeter remains, though red faced and bitter at the implied insult.