The second--the very instant second they're out of the water, Coleman is comforting Sasha. Is she the best train in the world? Absolutely! Is she going to get aaaall the coal tonight? Yes she is! Oooh, look at that steam whistle blow, she knows her name! Oooh, she's adorable! Lucien, come on, get in here! Rub that boiler, feel how she purrs at you? Come on, she likes it!
Really? Not gonna get in on this action?
Fine. Be like that.
And you will all be, just a little bit, more like creatures that can survive in the Heart.
You know, Coleman's granpappy had a saying that applies here. Very wise kobold, was Coleman's granpappy. Lived in the Heart all his life, just like his forebears. Knew how to get around, how to survive, how to avoid the Bats and dodge the flood.
Saying went something like this:
"Fuck that."
Look, there are sitations where it's wise to run. And he acknowledges that yes, he basically just left Lucien to fend for himself. But that was a train on a boat, and this is a train on a shoreline with a tower. It's completely different.
Here, there's space to run.
"Tie yourself to Sasha," he states, and starts to climb into Sasha's belly. Sorry, girl, we got more to do yet. "You grab her, I'll run."
It's almost universally acknowledged among experienced soldiers that you have more in common with your opposite number than you do your own leadership. The brass may go on about honor this, and defilement that, and ideals the other one, and for gods and empire and the whole shebang. But when you're at the front, in a line, desperately making promises and offerings to Hades, the guy on the other line is probably doing the same thing. And if it weren't for the order to advance, to kill one another, you'd probably get along fine over something toxic enough to rot away memory, perhaps while commiserating over said leadership.
So when Alexa and Galnius's eyes meet in passing, she perfectly understands the longsuffering eyeroll best expressed as, "Commanders, eh," and can answer in kind.
She seems a decent type. Probably a good social entry point into the local ranks.
No, wait. Statue. Foyer. Right. Not a soldier. A decoration in a king's palace.
Something twists inside her at the thought.
That's fitting. How many times did Molech tell her she was built for beauty? For his glorification? Be seen, Alexa. Be graceful. You are his creation, his glory. At any time, someone looking at you should be both struck by your beauty, impressed by your grace, and too intimidated to even think of starting trouble.
"Blessed be, o miracle! Show us the golden path through your enlightenment!"
Hah. Like she'd actually allow this cretin to touch her.
She shoots an apologetic glance at Galnius which, in body language, roughly expresses "sorry that you're going to get in trouble for this, but you just brought me behind the phalanx and served me your leadership on a silver platter. Join me for drinks afterwards?"
Then she's in motion, and the ship's communication tubes are filled with Jas'o's screams.
She can't move. Every thought is locked on the Hermetician, muscles tensed for fight, flight...
Surrender. This is good. This is a good thing. She's been complaining about Redana and her stupid seal for ages now, and this is how she leaves! She gets to have a peaceful life, being admired, not being asked to kill anyone.
No friends. No freedom. No long tea services with the delightful chef. Nothing but long days filled with staring at the same scene for the rest of eternity.
"If you're facing a phalanx, you have already failed."
Alexa does not ask the obvious question. Molech is speaking. If he wishes to explain himself, then he will do so in his own time. If he does not, then any attempt to provoke him into doing so is simply the act of somebody too simple to understand what he means. Questions are for people.
Instead, she stands at rest, and studies the men lining the opposite end of the parade ground. Given the ease with which they carry themselves, they're obviously friends. No, upgrade that to comrades-in-arms. Even here, even in an unthreatening environment, they move almost as one to shield and block each other. It's an intimidating wall of spears and shields, and the glints at the points say that she can expect no blunted tips or padded armor today.
Molech waits a second more, and gives an almost imperceptible nod at her silence before continuing. "In battle, your position is by my side. If you are facing a phalanx, it is because you have already failed to prevent them from reaching my side."
Alexa opens her mouth, and then shuts it quickly again. Molech frowns, and she winces internally.
"Nevertheless," he grudgingly continues, "you may someday have need of fighting them. As such, The 601st has volunteered to train you."
Er. Somehow, that worries her more than the unblunted spears. "Volunteer" is a dangerous word in this army. It can mean either "was volunteered" by a commander, and that's the good option. The other option is that a bunch of violent bastards decided that it would be fun to pit themselves against the spitting image of Athena herself. There's no winning for her here--either she spits a bunch of hapless wanna-bes, or spares their lives and has to deal with word spreading that Molech's Pet Statue was defeated in a training bout.
At a command, the bristling spears and shields turn, and now it's like facing an armored, impenetrable shield wall.
Molech is unreadable as a page hands her a spear and shield.
"Begin."
---
She hits the ground, a deep gouge carved into her chest, and looks up into a forest of spears aimed at her throat.
"No. Wrong. Flank, disrupt, tear apart. Again."
---
Aegis shatters under a blow poorly blocked, and three spears physically lift her off her feet.
"Too slow. If this were real, I'd be dead now. Again."
---
Granite, marble and blood litter the courtyard. She's given well, but too much. Please, Molech, allow her to rest.
"Again."
***
Not again.
Phalanxes suck, do you know that? They're grindy, and achy, and full of points, and once they get set up it's always, 100% of the time, a painful affair to remove them.
And here she is between two of them.
One phalanx she can handle, she tells herself. They outnumber her, sure, but she's eight feet of marble with weapons and armor crafted by the gods themselves. Line up with one, bowl them over, and lay waste to the rest. Do it quickly, and she's out and down the corridor before the second phalanx can move in and properly pin her. She's fast, they're slow, and if the second phalanx wants to catch up to her, they'll need to break formation, which is basically an open invitation to be torn apart.
And it works! It's standard strategy to go for the end of the phalanx, as, in theory, that means fewer spears brought to bear. That means that, in accordance to equally standard strategy, the redhead at the end of the line is roughly as thick as a brick wall, and twice as dense. They expect the bull rush. What they don't expect are the arms that snake out, grab the walls, and throw her into the next man over.
Something crunches under her heel, and the man sags against the line. Good. Paralysis can be sorted out later. Line break achieved. Now for the rest.
She lets momentum carry her to the opposite wall, where a quick thrust with the shortspear jams itself through an unfortunate second-rank servitor's armor and down through the lung underneath. Two down, which means that the man in front of them is left alone. Stab him in the kidneys, let the rest of them see a front-line combatant, one of their best, get taken down.
Break their morale. That's how this works. Make them see the folly of facing Athena's champion, the creation of the Warsage. Make them turn, flee, run, break upon the spears of the ranks behind them. Make it confusing, chaotic, but be seen. Be seen as the force of destruction you are. Make them know what they've done. Make it so that next time, the next phalanx cuts and runs at the sight of her.
But it's grindy, and slow, because of course it is because phalanxes suck. And as she cuts down spearman after spearman, she's all too aware that there's more to fill the line, and that clomping from the other phalanx is getting really loud, and then it's a press of two walls meeting and spearmen getting their last licks in first, and kicking and wow they're heavy.
And now it's confusion. Because shit, she just killed Faron, and Zelok is still paralyzed and will be for the next five minutes or so, and... and, well, she looks like Athena, and nobody wants the kind of shitstorm you get by killing someone like that. The redhead linebacker suggests that maybe they capture her? It'd be a commendation for them for sure, that kind of thing. Bring her back to the ship, like, present her to the King? Make them look real good, might even get the king to bow out of his alliance with that prick the Admiral?
Hmm. Not the princess, sure, but still an obviously important person. Bring her back, and let the higher-ups sort it out.
That is always the simplest way to calm down a train. You point it in a direction, build up its steam, and let it burn itself out. Trains are creatures of motion, of energy pent-up and tamed and forced into pistons. If you're not there inside them to calm them down, if you're not willing to sit with them and calm them down and help them understand that no, running heedlessly ahead isn't the best plan, if you don't have an engineer listening to their needs and a knight to clear the way, the train will run regardless.
Of course, that's the simplest way, and ignores that running more than about ten feet in any direction right now has a rather precipitous drop-off.
But that's actually the key right now. Sasha is stressed, wants to move, wants to run, wants to be free, and she's pinned down holding the raft together and being forced to sit still with a belly full of steam. If she's not given a direction, she'll pick her own.
So, that means he's got to pick one for her. Give her a direction.
And that means that part of the raft has to go. She's pinning the raft together, but if... Hmm. The logistics of this one are a bit hard, because cutting any part of the raft off means that the train's off-center, but he should be able to jury rig Sasha a bit closer to the edge, let her legs dangle a bit in the water, and Sir Hatt as his witness, he's going to teach a train to dog-paddle.
Slowly, Alexa walks to the wall and puts a stone hand against the viewscreen. She recognizes most of the banners hanging there, shifting back and forth in their chained positions.
Athena means well. She cares, in her own way. And she wishes to bring glory to Alexa, for to do so is to glorify her own name.
But against all the ships here... Damn that child. Four, against an empire. Even the fraction of the empire's might arrayed against them is sufficient to swat them from the sky, and it stings that they'd send but one ship to fetch their princess.
When your spear is heavier in your hand than your opponent? You know what, they feel plenty heavy now.
And with that bright note singing in her heart, she scans the viewscreen for the next boarding party. The same trick surely can't work twice, so she'll be there waiting for them.
[That's either a 5 on Look Closely or 7 on keep them Busy, whichever is more appropriate.]
"I didn't want to kill them," Alexa very carefully does not say. Alexa performed the rites of war before the battle, and doubtless they did the same. Athena favored her over them. What fool could stare into the face of the god of war and spit in their face so?
She walks among the dying and dead, granting the first a quick, calculated thrust, the second the Hades-requisite coins and prayer, and wonders not for the first time why Molech saw fit to grant her adrenaline. Or perhaps it was Athena? It's good in a fight, no doubt. But in the aftermath... well, Molech would no doubt be criticizing her form. That thrust was sloppy, Alexa. You're making them hurt even more, instead of less. Stop shaking, Alexa. Be graceful, Alexa. You're the perfect warrior, and warriors don't have quivery spears or nerves.
"Why did you help him," she also does not say.
With the necessary done, she kneels and offers a salute. "By your grace, I yet live."
Right words, wrong attitude, Alexa. Sloppy. Be grateful. This dullen tone does not befit you. Athena has spared you, favored you.
The first thing you need to know about Molech is that you're wrong.
The gods, in their wisdom, smote him down for his hubris, yes. But that doesn't mean that he was a bad person or a bad father, right? He was kind, and caring, in his own way. He was a good teacher.
(She never once forgot one of his lessons. He made sure of it.)
He taught me how to be brave, how to be strong. The enemy must know, the instant that she steps on the field, that they are doomed. Let them wail and gnash their teeth, for they face the Warmaster, the chosen of Athena, and none shall survive!
(She tries to spare them, once. What are they called? A small military outfit from a backwater, barely worth noting. It's over in a second, after all. Routine. Decapitate the leadership, and clean up the rout. But they're running. Panicking. Leaderless. Not a threat, at least not today. Let them live.
(And then the next day, Molech brings her to the courtyard, to the prisoners. They sit, tied, no hoods or armor to distract from the terrified looks in their eyes. She missed some, he explains. It's perfectly understandable, after all. A battlefield is chaotic. But she's better than that! She's made in the image of Athena! She's the offspring of the Warmaster! Anything short of perfect devastation is unacceptable.
(So, in his mercy, he allows her to correct her previous mistake. Make it quick, Alexa. After all, there are other, far more drawn-out ways to be killed.
(She cleans her spear obsessively that night, but it still feels unclean.)
Molech taught me how to fight to the end, to give it my all in every situation! Never back down, never surrender, and never give up!
(She runs, once. Breaks in the face of the enemy.
(And they win! The Glorious 25th Regiment, her friends, her comrades, they win, even without her! It's amazing, and she's so glad that Molech doesn't have to know!
(He knows. Of course he knows.
(And the next day, the road out of his capital gains some new decorations. Anyone who witnessed her shame must find a new occupation. Slave, perhaps, if you're lucky. Outcast. Disenfranchised, locked out of bank accounts, family, friends, left to pick for scraps until starvation or prison take them.
(The unlucky take weeks to die.)
More than anything else, he taught me loyalty! How to be a proper bodyguard, how to care for only your ward! I was his servant, his creation, and I owe him my life. Perfect devotion and obedience is the bare minimum I can do to start to repay that debt.
(Her name is Minerva, and she has the softest hair Alexa's ever felt.
(They weren't supposed to meet. Schedules should have made it impossible to do more than catch occasional stolen glances in corridors.
(But Minerva... Alexa can't help herself. Can't help but find reasons to pass by the library. To ask questions. To learn favorite books (The Rise of Endymion), color (lavender), hobbies (reading, blushing). To make her laugh and find eternity in the way her cheeks dimple. To spend long afternoons basking in her light.
(She shouldn't. She knows it. But she can't help it.
(And then one day, she comes to the library, flowers and a copy of the newest Endymion release in hand and… it's an unfamiliar face at the desk. The little nook in the back corner, where sound is muffled by thick stacks of tomes, the little nook with a fold-out couch and a well-loved blanket, is absent all of the above. Alexa rips the door off her home, shouting her name, only to find soldiers inside who warn her of the dangerous spy who lived there, and was trying to steal proprietary technology from the palace.
(She doesn't ask Molech he did with her, and Molech doesn't tell her. She tells herself it's for the best. Hasn't she done enough already?)
So if you think you know Molech, think again. He's not as bad as the stories say.
(The stories aren't nearly bad enough.)
Alexa The Construct Marked by Athena and Hera Seeking Peace
Agenda: What is my Purpose: Find a reasons for who you are and what you do.
Moves: Built For This You have only one purpose in this world: You were built to explore the Horizon. You must follow your orders. It is what you were made to do. You do not have your own society. You are artificial. You Command Lore about your creators, their secrets, and their science. Tell us who made you - it may even be the people of another member of the fellowship. You also Command Lore about yourself - your purpose, your functions, your creation. Only you can tell us what you are. This Move cannot be Shared
By Your Command You were created to serve, and serve you shall. You have three Locked Bonds, and you begin the game with the first one filled in with the name of another member of the fellowship. These Locked Bonds are: -Like it or not, I must follow _______ ‘s orders. -I have chosen to follow _______ ‘s orders. -I have grown emotionally attached to _______ . When someone named in your Locked Bonds gives you an order, you are filled with Hope if you follow it, and filled with Despair if you ignore or go against it. Either way, this Hope or Despair only lasts for one roll. When you Forge a Bond, you may write a name into an unwritten Locked Bond. Once it is written, it is permanent. You can never change or erase a Locked Bond, unless a Move specifically tells you to. Locked Bonds count towards your maximum of 3 Bonds with a single person.
The Robot You cannot eat Food, and the Healing tag has no effect on you. When you Fill Your Belly, you must use Fuel--the ichor of the Gods-made just for you. You can be healed by items with the Repair tag. You do not need to breathe or sleep to survive. Your severed limbs or eyes can function remotely from your body, although you need an item with the Repair tag to re-attach them.
Hold Them Back When you successfully Keep Them Busy by grabbing them, pinning them, catching them, or otherwise holding them close, you grab them. Someone you have grabbed cannot move and cannot harm you, but otherwise this works just like Keeping Them Busy normally does. You may end the grab at any time to do one of the following things: Throw them to the ground. They land prone right where you want them. Slam them into something, hard, dealing damage to them. Talk Sense or Speak Softly with them, rolling with Hope. You hold them close until you’ve said your piece and they’ve said theirs.
Advanced Sensors When you Look Closely, you may ask one question from the list before you roll. You may choose whether or not you still want to roll after hearing the answer to your first question. You may only use your Advanced Sensors once per scene.
What are you made of? Stone and Bronze You are a very tough golem, built of marble and bronze, and animated through the will of Athena. Add your Aegis (Armor, 1 Use) to your Gear. When you Fill Your Belly, when you are Repaired, or when you get a 10+ on any roll, restore 1 Use to your Aegis. It can never have more than 1 Use at a time.
Gear: A pair of spears, presented to me by Athena herself (Melee, piercing) As a replica of Athena, I share her multilimbed nature and can walk or run on walls and the ceiling. I have a riding pod, perfect for defending my ward or restraining naughty kitties. Redana, as a clever princess, has a small crucible of bronze with which to patch chips in my stone (Repair, 2 uses, slow). She’s also figured how to use the Seal to summon me to her side whenever it is needed (1 Use). Now, if only she could figure out other things… Crucible: [ ][ ] Seal: [ ]
Bonds: I must obey any order Redana gives me. I enjoy the elaborate tea ceremonies I have with Dolce. I'm slowly sharing the booze recipes I've accumulated with Vasilia. Isty and I played tag in a flirty way. I told Redana who I am.
Fought Jas'o. Damaged Blood Fought Jas'o again. Damaged Grace. Grace repaired by Dolce. Level up! +1 Courage. End of Session 1. Wild robot orgy damages Grace. Stabbed by Bloodfeather, damage Sense. Repair Blood between sesssions. Refresh repair kit. Level up! New Programming: Speak Only When You Mean It from Ogre playbook. End of Session 2. Rest episode! All stats refreshed.
To be lost down there is to be swallowed by a selfish, all-consuming love unworthy of the name. By the time you look up, Lucien’s already been swept away.
You can try to put things into reverse, and expose yourselves to more danger (and certainly to finding out what’s actually down at the bottom of the Flood, and thus to likely losing your memories) or you can go full speed ahead and get Sasha, Jackdaw and technically Ailee clear.
That's... unfortunate. Coleman winces and wishes Lucien well, but it doesn't stop him from feeding more coal into Sasha and revving the engine. There's a time and place for everything, and "on a boat on the Flood with eels running from the Storm" is appropriate for basically none of his personal occasions.
There will be time to go back, he tells himself, once it's not four people risking their lives to save one.
"You do not die!" she yelled at Lucien. "You do not die until I tell you to die! You especially don't die to backwater slime monsters! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it would be for me if you died here!?"
...Three. Three people, to save two. Math looking somewhat more tenuous on that one. Jackdaw, please make the sensible choice here? You like the train, right? You enjoy curling up on a smokestack with a good book?
Is this the revenge of the Flood? Did she stir these eyeless things up from her depths? Or is this a depraved indifference, a decision not to lift a driftwood finger as the parasites in her waters seek to drag you down and devour your bones? And, when you get down to it, is there really a practical difference? The propulsion's clogging, and the waters all around you are writhing, and the boards Coleman put together are starting to buckle. Coleman: if you don't do something, and fast, you're going to be going down to meet the Flood a lot sooner than you'd like.
Look, he did not spend that long socializing with the locals to have his raft torn apart by garbage noodles. So while Lucien tackles the propulsion, he scampers up Sasha--with a quick, "pardon, ma'am," to Jackdaw--and fires up the boiler. Up til this point, he's prioritized a stable platform for her, but if the choice is rocking the boat a little or suddenly being boatless, it's an easy decision.
It's a question of friction, really. The driftwood he bargained for is nailed, screwed, and tied down, variously, and that's basically just different means of holding perpendiculars together. Now, Sasha groans and lays prone on the raft, reaches out all four limbs, and just squeezes the raft together. The cross beams are robust enough, and he chose square enough timbers, that the additional pressure should be enough to let it hold together.
Then the tide recedes, and you realize that, for one reason or another, you're still alive. And you only seem to be missing a little bit of yourself. A memory or two, but you'll be run over before you can tell where the holes are.
Coleman is shaking inside, and doing the mental equivalent of patting your jacket to figure out where your wallet is. Something's missing, and that's the worst thing, is that he doesn't know what it is. There's got to be. Gotta be a way to figure out what she took, right? He can't just go through life not even remembering what he lost, right? He feels seen, and touched, and violated, and he's not even allowed to have enough time to mourn for whatever it is he's lost!
"Coleman! Good on you for not playing dumb pagan games!" she said, walking over. "Honestly, I see so many grad students selling their souls for so much less than they're worth. Like, have you heard of self respect!? Are we going down that way?"
And then there's this asshole.
"No, we're going to go down if we're not across before the Storm gets here. Grab some driftwood and start paddling."
There will be time to mourn later. Right now is the time for practical solutions, and getting a train across a lake.
"Actually. We probably should share them, too. I think. Between ourselves. Unless we give up our memories of each other, I think that's... that'd probably for the best." Seasick smile. "Might be fun?"
Oh, sure. Great idea. Bit late, but good idea.
No, no. That's not fair. You're allowed to be bitter, but you chose this. Don't get angry at teammates just because they have the luxury of deciding what they give up.
Fetzen
Phoe
Lurking Krog