[b]Mosaic![/b]

The crack of the whip sounds above even the din of battle. The crack of lightning follows soon after.

Ceronian soldiers scramble to the edges of the ravine, climbing up or dropping down and hanging by their fingertips. Crushing bronze wheels bypass them by inches. The hooves of four mighty bulls, thick and vital with the heat of life, pulls a chariot in blue and silver to the front of the formation. Atop it stands Taurus, crowned with the bull horns of Mars, whip in hand, the long metal spike of an ELF Buzzsaw rising up from the crest of the chariot. It crackles with power from the heavens, lightning storming overhead.

An ELF Buzzsaw is an uncommon weapon type, so named for its ultra-rapid disorienting blasts of electricity. It is inaccurate and close range, only a few meters longer than the reach of the heavy whip. Its role in this context is to paralyze the front line of an enemy phalanx as the chariot charges head-on, shattering a formation outright.

"Mosaic!" roars Taurus, exalted in the light of Mars. "The Gods will this battle! They have revealed to me in dreams how you invaded Elysium and stole my Princess from me! In the name of Mars I swear I will collar you to my chariot, or else I will break it with my own hands!"

A glint of light reflects from the warlord ahead of you; the focused rainbow that indicates where Quajl's crystal arquebus has lain its gaze. It's a promise - stand your ground and she will fire to disable the Buzzsaw, if you trust her to make the shot.

[b]Ember![/b]

She will not be able to make the shot. From behind Mosaic you can see the reborn Hermetic's sniper nest atop the distant rooftop. You can see Sagetip creeping up on her from behind, silhouetted by the moon. You see strong hands reach out to grab the mechanical jaguar-taur, heavy across her mouth, stealing her breath. To rescue her you must move with speed beyond speed and confront the most skillful of the Ceronian lieutenants in direct conflict.

Be wary. Sagetip can hit a mosquito in flight with a shot from her solid projectile pistols, and she wears a dozen loaded and ready about her armour.

[b]Dolce![/b]

"The Crystal Knight is rather... forward," said 20022, and his voice was sympathetic without being apologetic. "You've never met an Azura before. They are an Administrator species, as far beyond us as we are from the birds and fish. They are our creators, our mothers and fathers, who took dirt and water and made it into our blood. They speak to the Gods and built their civilization to please them, as our civilization was built in turn. They carved our brains, so it stands to reason that loving them is our first instinct."

He gently sipped his own tea. "There is corrective biomancy that the Service offers. I've had it done, very pleasant procedure. It makes it much easier to withstand their direct attention which can be helpful if you draw the eye of some of the more aggressive citizens. In fact, there is even a career path that allows even people like us to be physically uplifted into Azura bodies, though it is rare that anyone would even think to want that."

[b]Dyssia![/b]

The Dust Knight smiled. Genuine but weary, the smile of someone who feels good about his chances of conquering the desert - tomorrow.

"You know, what you just said used to be a mainstream political opinion?" he asked. "Don't do heinous shit. People just kind of took that as a baseline. But the fucking [i]Skies[/i], man." 

There was a deep, frustrated exasperation to how he said that word. Like he remembered it as something other than the all-encompassing, all-consuming empire that it was today.

"We - which is to say, the majority - were out living our ideal lives, not fucking with anyone, exploring, colonizing, building, living - dying, you know? And at the time there wasn't much you couldn't do with yourself and a few decent friends and neighbors, so that became the average community size. But the Skies - they seemed harmless at first. A weird cult, heavy on the recruitment, advertising their vision to anyone who would listen. Fill in the void! Make the black sky blue! It seemed right mad to most people, but that was kind of the point. What else was there to do? We didn't have any rivals, any scarcity, any checks on our power. No reason to organize - no reason but the Skies. And so we invented this mad game of shahs and nobility and hyper-optimization out of boredom, because the only thing worse than pushing the boulder up the hill was sitting peacefully at the bottom."

He smiled sadly. "So there it is," he said. "That's why the Skies cling to life like a leech on a teat. It's the ultimate artistic vision, the final reason for a bunch of degenerate immortals to crawl out of bed in the morning. The fact that it justifies anything is the point, because without it they couldn't justify anything."