Balmas

Breathless Dead

"They will be remembered," she intones, and offers a shaky smile to the deity behind her. Unspoken is the promise that just as Zelok and Faron will be remembered, so too will the four of them be remembered to Redana when the time comes.

Of course, that promise is, in itself, a ticking time bomb. If she cannot convince them that Redana's cause is virtuous--dubious, both for their hidebound attitudes and for her own doubt in the truthfulness of that fact--then when they retrieve her ward, they'll have two mutinies on their hands instead of just one.

Which is why Alexa is glad of the hard work of the engines. The redirection of flow and stoking of fire leaves little room for conversation and even less for thought. Just good, hard effort where she doesn't need to worry about--

“Ladies and gentlemen; do brace for impact.”

@TheAmishPirate

She needs to worry quite a bit, apparently, and a quick glance at the hoplites tells her she's not alone. Galnius' death glare makes it very clear that they signed up for glory, and despite all the evidence to the contrary littering the battlefield, dying by ramming an enemy larger than you is probably not what they had in mind.

Alexa gives a brittle smile and says, "Starsong. They did inform you who you were dealing with, I assume."

She does not waste time rushing to the speaking tubes and blurting out demands. Already she has brought shame to the Captain, and to further question her orders risks the already-fragile bargain for forgiveness she has brokered. Instead, she simply feeds more power to the engines, and does as commanded.

Breathless Dead

"Please."

It's a quiet word, and one so out of place that Galnius can't help but cut off midmurmur in surprise to look at the statue. The murderstatue wants to talk? It can talk quietly?

Alexa's step never wavers as she talks, but she's also pointedly not looking at anything besides the path towards the sepulchral engine rooms. No, that's not quite right, Galnius realizes. She's not looking forwards, but back: back in time, back to other times and other faces.

"Tell me about them, Galnius. I know well the press of a shield wall. The press of brothers and sisters, side by side, shields firm to defend. When one falls, the hole must be filled at once, lest the phalanx fall and all be lost. But the wall is never the same, is it?"

It's not Jrav at your side. Not Jrav, third son of a petty noble. Not Jrav, who left his home to seek the inheritance he'll not receive from his family. Not Jrav, who hides his sketchbook from the rest of the platoon. Not Jrav, who delights in telling the worst jokes purely for the groans.

There's a new man at your side. The phalanx stands tall and strong. But it's not Jrav, and it's not the same.

"I do not relish killing," she confesses with the solemn air of one admitting high treason to the king's face, and it takes all she has not to check to see whether Athena is standing behind her, listening. "It is all that I know. But if I must, then allow me to mourn. Please, Galnius. Tell me of them, that I may mourn with you."

[10 on Speak Softly.
-What should I be wary of when dealing with them?
-What would they have us do next?
-What can they tell us about themselves?]

Fellowship: The Heart

Sasha rears, a steam-fuel bellow shrieking from her whistle, and Coleman lets loose an equally profane streak of curses as the motion throws him against a pressure gauge. Gingerly, he feels the spot and winces. Not bleeding, thank heaven, as he's not sure where he'd treat a head wound, but that's going to smart for days.

[Damaging Grace]

That soggy bitch. Watery tart! Soaking strumpet! Touch Sasha again, see what happens! Do you have any idea how many cuddles Sasha is going to demand for this? He's happy to give them, but that's not the issue! You hurt his baby!

And as Coleman starts to furiously manipulate the levers in the cockpit, it flits across his mind that it's probably for the best that Lucien isn't here to see this.

The first priority is to clear the area, because Sasha is already tired and whining under his touch. She needs rest and a space to burn her energy out.

Fortunately, she has a target on which to vent both her rage and her steam. At a pull of a stop, a hatch in the firebox opens and a jet of steam force-feeds meteors of molten coal down the lobster's stinking throat.

Coleman coughs and fans a hand across his face. And he'd thought the stench couldn't get any worse. But now soggy, wasted flesh is screaming, eyes melting, rope singing and catching alight, lobster reeling. One coal-peppered step at a time, the train forces the lobsster away from the group. Don't let up. Keep it on its toes. Don't let it retreat inside its shell, or make it so that it has to choose between coming after the little rodents behind him and protecting itself. Drive it towards the water. Keep it away from Sasha.

Yeah, definitely best Lucien doesn't see this.

[Keep Them Busy, 12.

Breathless Dead

Alexa scowls after the retreating Hermetician. And now that he's in the vents, he's basically untouchable. And there's enough vents here that finding him is basically an impossible task, short of lucking upon him by chance.

Hmm. Perhaps Hades might be willing to lend his aid in the search, but the cost is more than enough to make her hesitate.

But that's neither here nor there. Right now, she has grievously erred, and reconciliation is required before anything else can be done.

Gingerly, she kneels, head against musket, and intones, "Forgive me, Mighty Captain, for my trespass against your domain. In exchange for not exacting vengeance, please accept my oath to present you with the head--"

And the ship shakes as the Veterosk disengages, and Alexa's heart sinks. Because there's only one reason the ship would break off, is either because Redana has been captured or is otherwise not on the ship.

"--ofthisrogueHermetician," she finishes as quickly as would not violate the form, and offers a textbook-perfect salute. Come on, come on, don't draw this out please. Molech would gloat and lord it over her, please don't let's do that, she's getting away.

Breathless Dead

It would be so easy, you know.

It's not even watching her. It peeled her like an onion, took what it wanted, and discarded her once it had its prize. iIt deserves it. It's threatening the captain. It's a threat to her. Let it live, and it'll do it again. Do it for yourself. Do it for Dolce, wouldn't he be disappointed if you let his wife die? One simple thrust, and so many problems just disappear.

It should be easy. It's what she was trained to do.

And that, more than anything else, is what pushes her in front of the barrel, watching as it tracks her. And she is so, so tired.

"It doesn't have to be like this," she insists. "We can all be friends, here. See? No spear from me, no gun from you. You put your cannon away, I'll put my spear away, and we can negotiate without the threat of violence. You said it yourself, it's so much easier this way. You get to... Raving Direction? Right? Doesn't that sound nice?"

[5 on Talk Sense]

Breathless Dead

The stone is not.

Then one day, it is. It is aware. Knows that there was a time when it was not, and now it is. And the stone is happy.

For a time, that is all there is. Oh, do not mistake and think that nothing happens. Hands brush the rock. The stone feels the judder of motion, the cold of long times left alone.

And this is fine. The stone marvels at it, at the very thought of being aware of this. For so long, it was not, and now it is. And it is good!

Then it feels the touch for the first time, of the one it will come to know as father. Others have handled the stone roughly, shoved it too and fro, and the stone does not mind. But this touch is different.

For one, the touch is almost entirely absent. Always before there was the warmth, the brush of sensation of something that was not cold. But this touch is clinical. Cold. Wires scrape at the stone, clean it of its old friends. Something scritches across its surface, leaving residue behind.

And then comes the touch that the stone will learn to dread. A cold, hard line places itself against the stone, and abruptly carves a line of fire in the stone. Pain! Agony! Shards of the stone fly off and suddenly are not. And the stone, for the first time, knows fear.

The stone knows this pain and fear for too long. More than half the stone is gone by the time the stone hears for the first time. It does not understand the sounds--low murmurs, back-and-forth, one high and level, one low and scowling. It takes months of lost self before it learns names, words, emotions. Molech. Athena. Alexa. Promises. Contracts.

More months, and she can see. Can learn what her tormentor looks like. Can see the irritation in his face, the scowling, the judgement of her failure to be created in the way he envisions. Can feel the dismissive way he flicks at spare dust. Can brace, for the first time, for moment the chisel comes down.

The mouth comes last. Molech can see the way her eyes dart around, wince, screw shut, every time the hammer raises. Complaints are neither necessary nor wanted.

Fellowship: The Heart

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.

@Tatterdemalion

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."

Breathless Dead

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!"

@Thanqol

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.

This doesn't have to be a bad thing.

Breathless Dead

"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.

[6 on Overcome.]

Fellowship: The Heart

In situations like this?

The trains must run.

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.