[b]Mosaic and Ember![/b]

There is no sign or scent of the wolves. There will not be until dark. But be sure that they are here.

They will be infiltrating the town all throughout the day. Girls will walk too close to the shadows and will be caught by snatching claws and dragged into the dark. There they will feel fangs brush their skin and words whisper in their ear and crushing scents fill their nostrils and they'll babble everything they know until they're released in a daze. Infiltrators will make their way in, heavy battle armour silent and chameleonic. Sense-scramblers will distort eyes and memory as heavy equipment is hauled into position, artillery pieces on commanding heights, tunnels dug into secure buildings. By the time the first evening howl sounds the wolves will hold all the town in their hand, and the pack will arrive not to do battle but to pillage.

Their foremost infiltrator team hunts for Mosaic, and a second team hunts for their lost Ember. Even as the sun rises one of the moons remains in the sky. They are dedicated to their targets, ritually bound to bring their prey down. Roll to Overcome - success or failure will determine if it is you or it is they who are bought before Taurus in chains.

[b]Dolce![/b]

She never settles. Even when you're sure you couldn't move another inch, still she shifts, still muscles contract and the sliding smoothness of her scales rush in search of a tighter grip.

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," said the Crystal Knight. "For you see, I have been oppressed. I have not even been able to reach out my arms -" she said even as she bound yours ever tighter against your body "- without this wicked meddler coming and binding them tight. Do you know," she purred, "what it's like to lose your freedom?" Her chest pushes against your back, her arms around your shoulders, as she slumps in feigned exhaustion upon your shoulder. "To have your vision -" she placed her hands over your eyes "- blinded? All I have ever wanted from a representative of the central government -" her flicking tongue passes close enough to your ear that you can feel its wetness "- is to treat with me as a woman and not as a number."

She slides over the top of your head, flexible body letting her arch over the top of you and come down from above, head upside-down as her entanglement reaches its conclusion. "So what is your name, darling chef?" her weight seems to rest upon you from every side, as well as from above. "I promise I'll remember it. I promise even after they give you a number, I'll always see you as a man," her eyes were bright green and staring. "You have goals in life, I know. Things you want to see. Things you want to [i]touch[/i]," her tongue darted out, barely touching the end of your nose. "Both can happen."

Her voice lowered, still playful but now also serious. "20022 is ambitious and popular. He was placed here without any subordinates in order to sideline him and inconvenience me. But if he has been lucky enough to find an apprentice he can train he will leave without a backwards glance. You will have a great deal of power to decide [i]exactly [/i]what you want the people here to do..." she gave a full body squeeze, crushing the whole world one size smaller. "... or ♥... you could simply decide not to make [i]any [/i]decisions at all~"

[b]Dyssia![/b]

To be Mars is to count the buttons.

These things matter. The intricacies of uniform design are critical to the functioning of an army. The swish of fabric, the whirl of capes, the glitter of golden braid - essential! Essential! Who could fight while anything less than glorious? Who could stand upon the stage of death without all their wealth about them? An army is the wealth of civilization, the jewel it throws all of its resources into polishing. Of course it must be beautiful! Of course it must be precise! Of course every tiny detail matters!

The Wayang are eerily beautiful. The Drones that swarm around them are unlovely by design, swarming and unspeaking things that will not traumatize their makers when they see them die by the thousand. But the Wayang themselves are creatures of glittering black marble carapace, long and thin fingers and faces like elfin judges. Curling wigs of hair descend from their powdered heads, cheeks flushed with pink pigment. They retreat at your arrival, using pheromantic commands to cause drones to detonate like bombs, to overclock their already limited lifespans to make desperate charges. They are puppets, projections, but one amongst them was not. One amongst them was the Biomancer true, here on the battlefield, hidden in the shadow of his creations, that he might carry Aphrodite's watch and make his demon prayers.

"Why do you fight us, noble Azura?" he cried as Aphrodite carried him away from you on swift feet. "We do this for you, for your good. We do this for the Skies! If you love the Pix we will restore them! We will fill your house with a specialized strain to serve as bodyguards and slaves! New children, built from scratch to make you happy, while these unsatisfactory half-warriors fade! All you must do is look away!"