Force and Fury

The Hourglass Order

Johann

J O H A N N S T E I N B A U E R

V O N O S T E R M A R K - K A R N H O L D T

"Discover is the spice of life."

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19 | Male | Kerreman | Noble | 8.75

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ [ A F F A B L E ] _{dispassionate}
❖ [ H U M O R O U S ] _secretive
❖ [ B R I L L I A N T ] _utilitarian
❖ [ G E N E R O U S ] _selfish
❖ [ E A S Y G O I N G ] _twisted

Everybody loves Johann - at least, anyone who's not a complete stick in the mud. This rather portly Kerreman lad is famous for frequenting the bars, pool halls, study halls, and biergärtens of Ersand'Enise. He can often be found at the library, collaborating academically with his fellow students, at the bank, managing his family's business ventures, or at the auction house, bidding on seemingly random items of interest. Whatever he might be up to, however, Johann never forgets his friends, classmates, acquaintances, and... well, just about anybody. One can be certain that, whatever he purchases, most of it will be for others, for it is Johann's foremost philosophy that something enjoyed alone is not truly enjoyed. So, he is always the one to buy an extra round for everyone in the bar, to organize the study session, to share his notes, to pay for dinner. He has the money, after all, and spending it on others is an investment in their happiness. Nothing makes him happier than being around people who want to be around him in return. The most basic litmus test for many biros on whether someone is a decent friend or not is whether they like Johann. Anyone who doesn't, clearly has no appreciation for what makes someone good.

Of course, most of this is a complete fabrication. Beneath his affable surface, Johann is cold, calculating, and ruthless. Driven by an obsessive need to discern the secrets of the human and humanoid body and develop complete mastery over it, he regularly engages in the most inhumane and sordid of experimentation. This is a strictly-kept secret, with even the school authorities unaware of either the experiments or their originator. Johann, meanwhile, has little use for social convention, tradition, or politics. They are merely tools that he employs and levers that he pulls to further his ends. Skillfully, he uses his money, raw magical power, and burgeoning reputation as insurance to guarantee that nobody could possibly believe the truth were someone to ever leak it. Someday, he knows, he will change the world, and a glorious day it will be. For the time being, sacrifices must be made - just not his.

C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E

An absolutely enormous young man, in both height and especially heft, Johann is notable for his bright red hair, sharp little beard, and jolly face, which often wears a mischievous smirk. There are times when something else seems to flash through his smiling brown eyes, but it must just be a trick of the light. He is friendly to a fault.

His clothing is all custom-tailored, a necessity for one of his size and wealth, and reflects the latter with its fine materials and cut in addition to a colourful, adventurous palette that reflects his open, fun, and gregarious nature. This young Kerreman is very self-aware and definitely the sort to lean into his reputation and appearance. If he isn't the handsome leading man, then he's the funny friendly fat guy who everyone likes. Things are easier that way anyhow: many more surface friendships and few of the deeper entanglements that can be so problematic.

L A N G U A G E S

❖ [ K E R R E M A N ] natively
❖ [ A V I N C I A N ] fluently
❖ [ H U U L I S C H ] fluently
❖ [ P E R R E N C H ] fluently
❖ [ R E V I D I A N ] semi-fluently
❖ [ C O N S T A N T I A N Y A S O I ] basically

T H E G I F T

Blueblood, Copycat

❖ [ M A G N E T I C ] 4 ❖ [ A T O M I C ] 0
❖ [ A R C A N E ] 0 ❖ [ B L O O D ] 4
❖ [ B I N D I N G ] 3 ❖ [ T E M P O R A L ] ?
❖ [ C H E M I C A L ] 5 ❖ [ D A R K ] 0
❖ [ K I N E T I C ] 0 ❖ [ C O M M A N D ] 0

Johann is, ultimately, a terrifying force of nature with the Gift, and his manas' ability to copy spells renders him even more potent. However, his greatest weapon is his mind and his ability to manipulate people. Unsurprisingly, his magic is tailored to fit this skillset. While he can certainly heal competently, he focuses more on fleshcrafting, generation, and regeneration. His use of Chemical and Magnetic magics is specialized in their biomanipulative aspects with some competency in illusion, corrosives, toxins, and energy. For the most part, however, he passes himself off as a healer, transmuter, lightning mage, and explosive chemist, perfectly competent, but not exceptional.

Finally, his massive size proves a boon with magic, giving him a capacity well in excess of most other people. In a pinch, he can liquidate his own energy-rich fat reserves for a sudden burst of power. This is only a last resort, as is - to some extent - combat itself. The best way to win is to never have to fight, or at least to never have to fight anyone who has a chance against you. When nobody's looking, Johann is rather good at punching down.

B A C K G R O U N D

He should’ve been born a first son. Alas, he was not. While his eldest sister Sybille is now Duchess of Lindermetz and in line to be queen consort, and his elder brother Klaus stands to inherit the duchy upon their father’s passing, little but a name and some share of his family’s substantial wealth is left to Johann, the pudgy little second son. The less that is spoken of his pompous godly younger brother Wilhelm and simpleminded sister Ulrike, the better.

From the time that he was old enough to understand that he was the spare and not the heir, Johann alternated between bitterness and some misplaced desperation to prove himself. Alas, for all that he was warm and kind - qualities uncharacteristic of high Kerreman nobility - Markgraf Klaus was a man of rules and principles, and his dictated that, while Johann was to be loved and provided for, he was not to inherit unless some calamity befell his brother. The ancient rules and the ancient line of Ostermark-Thandau were not to be disturbed or altered in any manner.

Yet, even warmth and care can only extend so far when he who has taken it upon himself to provide them is rarely present. The duties of Klaus - the elder Klaus, that was - kept him away from the family estate for months on end and, if he was a welcome presence to his wife and children, he was also set apart from them. Johann was left, by and large, to his tutors and his own devices.

While Sybille grew into a graceful and intelligent young woman, strong in body, mind, and magic, Klaus spent most of his time outdoors, hunting, riding, playing sports and wargames. Johann preferred books. He was too small to keep up with his vigorous older brother, and so he ate and he ate. Wilhelm was always his mother’s creature, much concerned with following her around, going to worship, and doting on feebleminded Ulrike. Before long, as his siblings went off to Ersand’Enise, the second son was left master of the house, at least in theory. In practice, he was given the small town of Thandau to administer as he saw fit.

His Gift had begun to manifest itself and, by the age of twelve, clever and intelligent Johann was finding ways to use it around the estate and the town. When he was not eating - for it had become a custom of his and his appetite was great - he was studying or at work on some new scheme to improve irrigation in the orchards, reorganize the tax records, reduce livestock loss, or incentivize the peasants to train at arms or send their sons and daughters to school. He shuddered to think that so many were illiterate and most showed little interest in reading or learning. A life without books was an unthinkable thing to him.

Around this time, he also began to develop the usual urges that a young man might at such an age. There was Katherine, daughter of one of the junkers. She was pretty and how he liked to look at her sometimes, but she was dumb. There was Alena, of Kurlich-Karnholdt, who was smart and friendly, but homely and oh-so traditional. Then, there were the many pretty girls about town, like Wilma, Verena, Therese, and Zoe. They fluttered around in their dorrad dresses, always leaning into each other, whispering and giggling as they carried baskets or sacks.

Finally, there was Margerethe, the miller’s daughter, but he knew to avoid her for the difference in their station. This, too, he found paradoxical. Perhaps the body of society needed to be organized, with each part serving its purpose, but there were some people who were clearly ill-suited for their stations or better suited for others. She was bright and beautiful and witty and would just as easily have made a duchess as a miller’s daughter. Johann learned when her father was there and when he was not and he made a point of bringing grain down or running an inspection or some other errand whenever he could. She always seemed to have a grin or a blush when he came around and he began dressing better. Whenever he saw her with the other girls, she would glance his way quickly before turning to them and whispering in hushed, excited tones. He knew that he was not handsome, but Klaus had told him well enough what it meant when girls did that.

Over the course of that dorrad and early rezain, Johann redoubled his studies and the work that he undertook on his family’s behalf. While Klaus was busy drinking and bedding women and casting fireballs at Ersand’Enise, Johann was actively bettering the duchy of Ostermark-Thandau. Often, he would come by Margerethe’s house and bring some book to share with her. He had extra food prepared and would carry it over in a basket so that she might eat like the duchess she should’ve been. Over the warm months, they spent a great many hours together. She confided in him that he was her dearest friend. He learned every bit of gossip about town and her opinions on everyone. Her magic was not so great, but he taught her how to use what she had.

Finally, he received news that, two days hence, his father was to return from an absence of some six months, and with momentous news. Johann burned with indecision. He could make his stand here: appeal to his father’s sense of fairness and desire to better the duchy’s position, and present himself as the clear heir, or he could embrace his insignificance and ask that he might be able to court Margerethe after all, as he was only a second son. It was late in rezain and the leaves were falling in earnest when he went to her to ask for her counsel and confess his feelings. He had taken care to make the moment special: a picnic in a field beneath a great oak tree, her favourite book, cake, and candles.

He left the picnic with cake on his face, having fallen forward when she flinched away from his kiss. He was a friend, a dear friend, she’d insisted, but it was foolish for them to be together. He’d suggested the elope, cheeks burning with shame and anxiety as he’d wiped the icing away, but then she’d been honest: she didn’t love him. She didn’t want to lie to him and use him for his money or station, but she felt no stirring inside of her. Johann had left her with the picnic, left her to clean it up, and walked away. It seemed that his course had been set. He was not beautiful, but he knew, at least, that he was effective.

He met his father on the road, having commandeered one of the grain wagons for the job, as he was not a good rider. There, he regaled the elder Steinbauer with the many great things he had achieved during those six months. He built up towards his case for inheriting the estate, for how much good he could do, and the evidence was all around them as they made their way through Thandau.

It was no longer theirs. Markgraf Klaus had been away arranging the marriage of Sybille to Prince Freidrich and Thandau was part of the dowry. He had, further, arranged for Klaus’ marriage to homely Alena and acquired Karnholdt in the deal. Johann’s work had been for nothing: a waste of resources better spent elsewhere. Furthermore, he had been busy stuffing his face, embarrassing himself about town, and being seen scandalously with a local girl. One who doesn’t even love me, the boy had thought. He was to attend Ersand’Enise himself in three years time, he was to learn, to make social connections, and to bring no further disrepute upon his family. Then, he was to take his place. He could see the wavering in his father’s bearing, hear it - ever so slightly - in his voice. There was none from Johann. He accepted the rebuke in humble good humour and vowed to do better. If he became a bit dissolute afterwards, a bit of a merry, feckless drinker and jolly do-nothing, it was only what was expected of him anyhow. He must never outshine his brother. He must never aspire to more.

Yet, he does.

M O T I V A T I O N

Johann's motivations are simple: make friends, have a good time, and make the world a better place. He is altruistic sometimes to a fault: there are those among his 'friends' who appear to just use him for the money, status, or academic benefits. However, unless they reciprocate in at least some fashion, they never seem to hang around for long.

He also has his research interests, of course, and he dedicates plenty of time to these, often locking himself in the Grand Library's solitary study rooms or disappearing into the laboratory that occupies the tower of his townhouse. These are basically the only times that he isn't out and about and being social.

I N V E N T O R Y

Johann dresses as one might expect of someone of his pedigree, but he will almost never be seen carrying any visible weapon or obvious magical paraphernalia or focus. He will always have a few sacks of money on his person, in various denominations, as well as a handful of reagents and an imbued wand. Almost all of his items are, in fact, imbued in some way, though none is of particular note on its own.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S

❖ [ C H A R I S M A T I C ]
❖ [ V E R S A T I L E ]
❖ [ B R I L L I A N T ]
❖ [ S C I E N T I F I C A L L Y K N O W L E D G E A B L E ]
❖ [ W E L L C O N N E C T E D ]

Johann is extremely bright, superficially charming and likeable, and is excellent at adapting to unexpected situations and seizing opportunities. He has social and business connections one would not expect of someone his age and will throw his weight around for friends and even acquaintances though, beneath the facade, this is very much a calculated thing. His knowledge of cutting-edge science is nearly unparalleled and he regularly employs it in his studies and everyday life. Finally, he is immensely physically strong, though he rarely makes use of this strength, at the cost of physical endurance. He weighs slightly over 400 lbs, after all.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S

❖ [ O U T O F S H A P E ]
❖ [ C O W A R D L Y ]
❖ [ D E C E I T F U L ]
❖ [ M I S A N T H R O P I C ]
❖ [ A R T I F I C I A L]

All of Johann’s charm is skin-deep, or perhaps just a bit more than that, but not much. Beneath the surface, he is a bitter and detached individual with a colossal superiority complex fed, deep down, by a lack of self-esteem. He will make a show of bravery when required but, if there is genuine danger or risk, he will almost always try to weasel his way out of it. Finally, his level of fitness, while improved recently, still leaves much to be desired. For anything requiring stamina, he leans heavily upon his abilities with the Gift.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

Colour Code: Goldenrod

The Hourglass Order

@Fallenreaper Mahal is approved. I imagine you'll be expanding further on just why her father is so utterly awful to her in the future and I look forward to seeing that done well. In the meantime, feel free to move her over to the character tab. Let's welcome her aboard!

The Hourglass Order

@BlackRoseSiren Lunara is approved, though I do wonder:Who is the friend that you referenced being the only one who didn't 'show odd qualities'? I'd appreciate if you expanded on that a bit and clarified. otherwise, well done. I look forward to seeing her in this roleplay. When you've addressed those concerns, please repost her in the character tab.

The Hourglass Order

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Don't Lay Your Weapons Down: ♫

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There had been a point in her life when Jocasta had hated the world and everything in it. She had first been a victim: bitter, helpless and frightened. Then, she had found her strength but lost none of her hatred. She did not, by and large, know the faces of most of her victims. She never would. She had been told that they were bad people and hadn't cared enough at the time to question those who seemed - to her warped and damaged teenage mind - to be good.

Then, San Agustin happened. Zarina happened, and Ayla, and Kaspar and Abdel and Marceline... and Yalen. Jocasta had come to understand that the world could be a bad place, full of awful people and awful things, but there was good in it too! There were things worth keeping in her life: protecting and having and loving!

It was late and she could not sleep. Yalen, thankfully, had managed the trick, but his loving wife paced anxiously about the living room, hands both heavy and light on her wheels. Finally, she pulled on a light shawl and eased herself out of the front door into the cool night air. Crickets chirped and stars shone overhead, peering shyly through the hazy bands of clouds. In a nearby alleyway, two or more cats were fighting and, presently, a dog started barking and drew out three more or its kind to join in the howl.

Jocasta rolled along the flagstones, working up a bit of speed on the flat ground and coasting, feeling the comforting little bumps and jostles beneath her wheels, the sharp wind on her nose and ears. Her golden hair trailed like a series of ghostly ribbons behind her, but her breath did not come out in little wisps as it had in Retan. It was too late in Stresia for that and Ersand'Enise was too warm anyhow.

Retan: it was still with her. What she'd witnessed and been a part of had rendered itself indelible in her mind's eye. Elder sanguiniares, she thought. Sapient dragons, Arcel of Perrence reborn, and that... tentacled titan. The crushing enormity of the threat facing... everyone was, honestly, too much for her to fully wrap her head around, insignificant girl that she was.

But it was not all that bothered her. There had been no missing the looks of reproach: Maura, some rich merchant's daughter whose venomous smile and barbed words had split the group of students, who had twice denied Jocasta land of her own so that the rich might grow richer, who looked relentlessly for advantage with her silver tongue and false earnestness; Abdel, who had rendered judgment upon others with his beasts; Ingrid, who had used her strength to intimidate Yalen into giving up his land - their land - and the security of their shared future. It was another bauble in a growing empire to her. It was everything to Jocasta. She'd had to grit her teeth and bear it for the sake of decorum, because of her position.

The further on that she went, the more that Jocasta thought. Something had surfaced after that, though. She had taken, for herself, three items of value to make up for the loss, ignoring Maura's judgmental glares. How quick she was to turn bitter and righteous when it was her on the losing end of things. Go cry into your stacks of money, you spoiled bitch. Then, there were bullies, like Ingrid and, now, possibly Abdel. The latter at least did so out of some sense of moral superiority and it made him dangerous but not bad. The former, however, the more that Jocasta thought about it, was simply a bully, through and through: eager to threaten with her superior strength and - usually - quick to back down if she sensed that she could not win or felt, in their glares and mutterings, the burning resentment that people held towards her actions.

And that was when Jocasta knew it: she had strength of her own and talent in magic that far outstripped theirs. She had people that she cared for and that she wanted to protect, because they were what made a bleak life in a bleak world... something better: something 'worth it'. But there would always be Mauras and Ingrids. There would always be people who sought relentless advantage for themselves and were either too blind to see how awful they were, too callous to care, or too weak to change. And, as long as there were people like that, there would be a need for Jocasta. There would be a need to protect herself from their aggressions, whether with words or force. There would be a need to protect Yalen and Ayla and Zarina and Marci and Kaspar. The best way to do that was to be strong. There was some good in the world, but it was a place of predators. She could not show weakness. Every testing word by Maura was a sniff for blood in the water, so that she might force and subject her prey into either agreeing with her or being cast as villains. Every too-firm hand on the shoulder, warning draw of energy, or buyout of some auction was Ingrid's attempt to place herself above others and then help them - on her terms - from on high. They were all so power hungry and all so relentless, and...

Jocasta, quite frankly, did not care about any of that. She'd have been perfectly happy to live and let live. Yet, the closer that she let people like that get to her level, the stronger they became in comparison to her, the greater the chance of it happening again: they would step on her. They would humiliate her and crush her underfoot and leave her loved ones vulnerable. She would not be left counting on their dubious goodwill. That was not a mistake she would ever make again. The refuge had used and abused her. The Volti had shown some care - true - but they had used her as well, in their own way. The school, certainly, was using her at this very moment.

She came to a stop, eventually, at the edge of the arboretum, and the cool brisk wind was making her eyes water. She wiped them clean with the back of her sleeve and turned on the spot, blinking and looking about. Not anymore, she promised herself. In truth, she could kill them. She could kill almost anyone. If she were an animal, like Benedetto, she might. It would be so easy and so... What? Satisfying? It wouldn't, though. It would just make her a murderer. It would get rid of a few run-of-the-mill bad people who might, someday, even see the error of their ways. No. Jocasta would have to drink this poison. She'd been living the past nine months in a fantasy world - a kneejerk escape from her more customary misanthropy - where she could simply be nice to people and have them be nice in return. They weren't, though, and the tethered was reminded that she was not a nice person either. She took and released a couple of long breaths, rolling to the foot of the gazebo before turning back. She had her immense magic. She had her position of authority at this school. She had her wits. It was time to use them: no apologies or pretense. It was time to take the offensive.

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The Hourglass Order

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Present: Ayla Arslan @Ti, Evander Fino Synesti @RezonanceV, Tku Pictor @dragonpiece, Fiske Flachstrauch @jasbraq, Zarina Al-Nader @YummyYummy, Desmond Catulus @Th3King0fChaos, and Yansee Keelee Kensen-loon @CaliforniaState

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Marceline did not realize that she had fallen asleep. She’d ended up talking to Fiske the previous night, in their shared misery and then… the next thing that she knew, she found herself woken by a cat. It was a large, fluffy orange one, very much like Kurbis, and she thought that it was him for a moment. The teenager rolled over lazily in bed. She may have slept but it had clearly not been all that much. “Oh hello, little fellow,” she yawned, reaching out to ruffle his ample fur. Yet, her unexpected visitor was rather insistent, unleashing a stream of rather eloquent meows and yowls, pawing at her, and design away towards the door, shooting expectant glances back in her direction. He was trying to tell her something, and that got her attention.

“Miauw,” he prodded, and she rose to a sitting position, wriggling and stretching out her toes. “Prrauw! Brrt!” She could feel pins and needles in them - the unwelcome tingling of dying nerves - and took a moment to stretch them out. It was ever a battle and she would need to find another grey aberration soon, or even a white if she was desperate. “ME.OW.” She regarded the creature dimly for a moment before sighing. “Okay. Okay. I’m coming.”

“Mew.” He seemed satisfied with that, pacing around the door as she stood and stretched. She’d fallen abed in her day clothes, so there was no need of a change and, as she looked about the room, her eyes fell on Fiske, who had similarly fallen asleep in a corner on some cushions. Her cheeks flushed. To have fallen asleep in the same room as a boy - one who she was… she shook her head. It was scandalous, but nobody here would know or much care, she imagined. The cat - she had been thinking of him as Kurbis in her head, though he was not - was now pawing at Fiske, and he, too, snapped awake.

In the proceeding few minutes, both were led cautiously outside, through the slowly-stirring streets. Morning had taken hold of An Zenui and the surrounding environs, and it was already a hot and vicious thing. Sand from the previous day’s storm still lay about the place; the Stuzé-Upets and other assorted slaves had been hard at work, but they had not yet cleared it all. Not-Kurbis hurried out ahead of them, his little head glancing back, letting out the occasional “meow” of anxious encouragement as he assiduously avoided the areas where it clung to surfaces or had piled up in small drifts. For much of their walk, moments of stillness prevailed. The arms of the sun reached deeper into the shadows of the canyon in which much of the city lay, but it was, as always, the rich who enjoyed first light.

It broke over a clearing by the cliffs and there was already a small crowd of curious onlookers gathered. Fiske shielded his eyes with magic from the glare while Marci used more traditional methods. Both took in a gasp. From a scraggly tree hung a body, swaddled in ornate silks and flowing veils. It took them both a moment to recognize who it was.

“Ayla.” Marceline darted forward, her voice a terrified squeak, and she bade Fiske to follow. The cazenax and sirrahi who had gathered swirled back at her sudden approach, jabbering rapidly amongst themselves in their foreign tongue at the arrival of the two humans. Marci paid them little and less attention. She reached out with her senses and felt the energies in Ayla’s body. To her immense relief, the girl was alive, but her breathing was shallow and her heartbeat irregular. Fiske, of course, could’ve already told her as much, for such were his gifts as a sensemaster.

Together, they brought their friend gently to the ground, pushing back the nascent crowd, and trying to figure out just what had happened. It was Fiske who sensed it first. “Poison,” he said grimly. He’d been grim ever since last night. She had too, but there was no time for self-loathing at the moment. “It’s a paralytic.” She was not good enough with chemical magic to have sensed it, but he clearly did. “Look for those places,” he directed, “Where the muscles seem colder.” Arcane was a language she spoke at least a little, and she found them after a short interval. The damage was near-terminal, but binding was a language that Marci spoke considerably better, and she set to work. If she could not neutralize the foreign chemicals, she could remove them entirely, and heal the harm they’d done. The entire time, Not-Kurbis paced around protectively, and she began to grow suspicious that there was something special about that cat.

Ayla was jarred from her near-death reverie quite suddenly, and opened her eyes to the sight of Marci and the cat - Benny - leaning over her. Fiske hovered nearby, holding off a growing crowd, and they did not have long to linger. Within a minute, she was on her feet and they were on their way. Perhaps they might’ve headed back to their underground bolt-hole beneath the cliffs, but the city had become an oppressive-feeling place, full of hidden enemies, where they’d be instantly recognized and surrounded by crowds. If they’d found a handful of sympathetic faces, like Pan’s, they were, at best, a curiosity here. To some of those in power, however, they were a threat, and it was Ayla’s recommendation that they reconvene at the 4S sweetwater farmstead.

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Zarina’s journey there had been of a different sort. Her vigor and ambition to catch this Wesca - this puppetmaster behind the attack on the stead and perhaps other happenings - had collapsed against an onrushing wall of profound exhaustion. Yansee had not betrayed her, either. Against all odds, the renegade eeaiko had seen her safely to the farmhouse and, after a slightly tense encounter with Zox, to bed. Persevering through mumbled half-coherent resistance, she laid the Virangishwoman to sleep.

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The city still held its poisons, however, and they festered under the fuming midday sun. Naxos and Tku had decided to leave An Zenui for the time being, heading back to the stead, and they had retrieved Desmond - none too popular a figure even if innocent - from his cell only to find him sleeping.

It helped with Tku’s cover story, at least, for Naxos had advised him to avoid Desmond’s wrath with a little white lie about how Benedetto had learned the truth. Why, even now, forces were roving about the city, searching for him, and the threat of mob justice loomed. They also, after a fashion, decided to make their return to the farmstead, away from prying eyes, crowds, and the ever-hovering danger of what was starting to be revealed as a far-reaching conspiracy.

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It was into this cauldron that Tennaxi and Classa inadvertently walked, or, at least the latter did. Zarina had sped off in another direction unexpectedly during the early hours, and the ambiguously undead eeaiko who they were not certain they could trust had disappeared in a crowd. Now, they found themselves alone in the city. The clamour for Nyax-Acan was all about them, but there was no going unnoticed for very long. If centaurs were not a common sight, they warranted little more than a second glance, and Classa was generally a sponge for attention, prancing about, talking to people, and putting on a show. Tennaxi had never been noteworthy or different in any way that she could remember, and the stares and points quickly began to force a retreat. “Is it just me,” she whispered to the junior accomplice upon whose back she rode, “or are they… kinda hostile?” A handful, at different junctures, had already darted off in some other direction, seeming in a hurry to get there.

“They seem a lil’ weird,” the girl agreed warily.

“This isn’t how things usually are for… sorry, what was her name again?”

“Samaxi,” came a pointed reply. “And umm, no. They’re not.”

Then came a shout. “That’s him!” and another: “Her! It’s a her!”

“Fuckin’ excuse you!” Tennaxi retorted.

“It’s Potes-Palix!”

“IPotes-Palix.”

“It is!”

“He’s gotta be crazy.”

“Or ‘she’!”

“Didya think what disguise could fool us!?” shouted one boldly.

“The fuckin’ nerve!” cried another.

Tennaxi’s heart was hammering and, beneath her, she could feel Classa tensing up. The little centaur was about ready to bolt. “Classa,” she whispered, “What the hell did Samaxi get into?” but the girl only shook her head fearfully, as the first shout of “assassin!” leapt forth from the crowd. “I… I dunno!” came the high-pitched reply. “She just sold sweetwater.” She shook her head. “And she’s still here somewhere, or else…”

“They fu-” She paused and tempered her language in front of the child. “They got her or she’s in trouble.”

“Or maybe she’s dead!” wailed Classa, and she broke into a quick trot, the milling mass of people surrounding them jogging or running to keep pace.

Tennaxi tried to give her a reassuring squeeze. Riding was a harrowing thing without legs, she was learning. “I think she’s just lying low,” she tried, not sure if she believed it herself. One of their unwanted escorts tried to reach out for Classa’s tail and Samaxi summoned what she could of magic to bash him away, lest the centaur kick. That was it, then. It was on. A second one came, and then a third. Kinetic shoves and slams tried to hurl them off course and Tennaxi found that her capacity - always high by the standards of her people - was a good deal less now that there was a good deal less of her. “Run, Classa! Run!” The horse-girl took off and she was, indeed, fast. Wind rushed through Tennaxi’s and Classa’s hair alike, and the twin streamers rippled behind them. The crowds began to part. The gate hove into view. In the distance, Classa even thought she might’ve seen Tku and… some other human guy.

That was when there was pain: pain and sudden nothingness. When she came to once more, she was in a large room with stern-looking men and Tennaxi was nowhere to be seen.

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If she was lost to Classa for now, virtually all of the others were eager to be out of sight as well. Amid swirling crowds and increasing scrutiny, they made a desperate flight towards Jascuan and the sirrahi’s bolt hole from two directions. Time after time, by trickery, stealth, intimidation, and cajolery, they escaped those who paid them extra attention. They drew close, their goal within sight, their pursuers evaded, and Tku, Desmond, Naxos, Ayla, Fiske, and Marceline dared hope that they might’ve pulled it off. They could slip in unnoticed and leave their hideaway safely anonymous.

Then, towering before them, out of nowhere, came a Seeker: a demon of the fourth tier. It filled most of the alley that it emerged from and there was no way that it could fail to draw the attention of anyone watching. From two angles, they laid waste to it, but it took all six of them and every ounce of power that they had. It drew exactly the unwanted attention they had feared, forcing them to assault and knock out two more interlopers There should never have been such a monster moving about in broad daylight in the middle of the city and, if it had been summoned in so precisely in their path, its summoner had been someone who possessed both great power and knowledge of who they were, where they were, and what they were doing.

They scrambled into their hole in the ground, some unexpected mirth and desperate camaraderie along the way, to find that Jascuan and Samaxi had preceded them. Five long hours of travel down a tunnel and an emergence in the desert as the shadows began to grow long saw them battle profound exhaustion, delirium, and claustrophobia. In the home stretch, they overtook Jascuan and Samaxi, making their way forward only with the help of magic. By the time that the expanded group straggled in through the archway of the farmhouse, Pauppaup was there with Yansee to greet them and Zarina was still in a land of blissful dreams. There were strangers in the house, prisoners in the shed, Classa and Tennaxi missing, and…

None of it mattered. Tku passed out on the spot. Desmond staggered and seated himself ungracefully on a sofa. Marceline, Fiske, and Ayla followed, finding whatever space looked comfortable. Mostlike, they did not even register the absence of their two allies, else they might’ve been stirred to action against their better judgement. The home was left to Zox, Yansee, and Pauppaup, exceptional trust placed in the latter two only by dint of circumstance.

Afternoon gave way to night and night to morning. Zarina was the first to rise, and Samaxi a few minutes later. The latter brewed an invigorating sweetwater drink and, soon, they were all up and present, but for their questionable eeaiko allies and - now they noticed for certain - Classa and Tennaxi. Surely, something had gone wrong. Surely, nobody would stoop so low as to harm an innocent child. There was so much to say - so much to be exchanged - but how much time did the group have? They needed a plan and they needed it quickly.

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The Hourglass Order

Some yasoi girl who's gonna piss half of you off. Enjoy.

Seviin

S E V I I N ' D E L A A N ' T A X O I Y A

"A healer should do no harm."

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16 | Female | Yandese | Clergy | 8.24

P E R S O N A L I T Y

❖ [ P R I N C I P L E D ]
❖ [ E X A C T I N G ]
❖ [ A L O O F ]
❖ [ C A R I N G ]
❖ [ C O N F L I C T E D ]

Seviin is a young woman - still half a girl - very much playing at being more mature, competent, and certain about life than she truly is. A tyro priestess of Oirase, she has dedicated herself to the cultivation and preservation of life at all costs, including that of her own. This dedication is, for the most part, genuine. It is also, however, her method of coping with the darker things in her life. Precisely what those are, she withholds to the point that most would not even guess at them. Most every action that this young Yandese takes is completed with either a light, noncommittal smile or a look of mild (and perhaps smug) disapproval, directed down her nose at those who fall short of her exacting ethical thresholds. She will help you and heal you, but she will judge you and you will know that you have been found wanting. Her ambivalence towards animals - the assiduous avoidance of most contrasted with her clear understanding and empathy towards them - is a further mystery. Yet, beneath this guarded and morally superior facade, she is capable of moments of sweetness, caring, mirth, and unexpected earnestness.

Ultimately, despite appearances, Seviin is a kind soul and will do everything in her power to ensure the survival and (physical) flourishing of her allies and - well, a priestess of her ilk does not necessarily keep friends. However, she will absolutely not, under any circumstances, act to harm another sentient being and, if possible, a living creature. She will not eat meat. She will find a use for all that she owns and all that she takes from the land and she will not - directly - say a cruel word to anyone. Certainly, she will never curse either. It is her job to nourish, to save, and to do good works, regardless of the wickedness that thrives around her. This moral code is one that she rigorously adheres to. It is her shield for the weak, the innocent, the preyed-upon, and... for herself.

C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E

Tall, slim, and graceful, Seviin is the very picture of youthful yasoi beauty though, by Tarlonese standards, she dresses quite modestly. Long sandy-coloured hair falls in curtains to either side of her face, which is unmarked by the Tetsoi so favoured by southern yasoi. Red lips stand out against pale skin and vivid cerulean eyes. Her clothing is invariably white, sometimes accented with pastel colours in the habit of her holy order and often loose and flowing. To some, it may appear impractical. To a binder of her calibre, its maintenance - while simple - is symbolic and deeply meaningful.

On her person, Seviin carries neither weapon nor armour, though she does have a staff - Aloi'alar, the Mother's Mercy - passed down from her great grandmother, who was a healer of some repute. Any pouches and belts she may have are well hidden or incorporated seamlessly into her outfit. This is, in theory, a rather conservative set of garments but, in practice, there is always just enough skin left showing to pry loose the intentions of those with whom she interacts. When she can get away with it, she prefers to go barefoot, though she will never admit it, of course.

Perhaps the only discordant element of her appearance is the single large fang hanging from her left ear, turned into a piece of jewellery. Nobody but her is quite certain why she wears it or what it stands for, but she is never seen without it.

L A N G U A G E S

❖ [ Y A N D E S E ] natively
❖ [ T A N T I A N ] natively
❖ [ C O N S T A N T I A N Y A S O I ] fluently
❖ [ A V I N C I A N ] semi-fluently
❖ [ R E T A N E S E ] semi-fluently

T H E G I F T

{unknown), Solocaster

❖ [ M A G N E T I C ] 0 ❖ [ A T O M I C ] 0
❖ [ A R C A N E ] 2 ❖ [ B L O O D ] 5
❖ [ B I N D I N G ] (5) ❖ [ T E M P O R A L ] 3
❖ C H E M I C A L ] 4 ❖ [ D A R K ] 0
❖ [ K I N E T I C ] 2 ❖ [ C O M M A N D ] 0

Seviin is trained in the Gift as are all young yasoi and is extremely capable in its use, having completed her first year of studies at Tantas'iilwash Academy. However, she absolutely refuses to use it in a capacity that will harm other sapient beings, and prefers not to harm any living thing at all. All of her spellcraft is dedicated to this pursuit, with her abilities in Arcane used to create light, warmth, and cauterize wounds, her Chemical abilities to invigorate, empower, and transmute, and her Temporal to reverse negative effects, buy allies more time, and facilitate movement. In Tarlonese culture, no distinction is made between Binding and Blood magics, and these are used, of course, to heal and protect.

Of course, there is more - there is the thing that disturbs her so, but it is not something that she will ever talk about, as if she might someday disperse it into oblivion through sheer force of will.

B A C K G R O U N D

There is much to say about Seviin's origins and how she came to be here. It was as a seeker of asylum, however, for she could not countenance her people's horrid war against the humans of Ai Medda and their own kin in Constantia. Before that, she was a priestess, and much loved and celebrated by her family and community, if not seen as a touch odd and overzealous, perhaps. Maybe she wasn't always so rigid, so awkward, and so defensively sanctimonious. Maybe she's running from something else. Her past is not something that she speaks very much about, and so it shall not be spoken of here.

M O T I V A T I O N

Seviin is someone who lives by an absolute moral code and will not contravene it for anything. As Tantiac moved to effectively annex her country and the entirety of Tarlon, sometimes by outright force, she found herself called upon to act as an instrument of the empire in an expansionist war that she did not agree with. Hence, with the Trials beginning, she volunteered to represent her school before promptly defecting and seeking asylum. In the end, she is someone who clings to her moral code, who clings to a fairly narrow and easily definable idea of being 'good' in an uncertain world where the terrain shifts constantly around her and such broad concepts as 'right' and 'wrong' aren't necessarily so clearly evident.

I N V E N T O R Y

Seviin carries her robes, her staff: Aloi'alan, pouches of reagents, and some local currency on her. As a refugee, she does not own very much. Most of her food and necessities, she synthesizes using blood magic.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S

❖ [ I M M U N E T O D I S R U P T I O N ]
❖ [ A G I L E ]
❖ [ B R A V E ]
❖ [ L E A R N E D ]
❖ [ R E S O U R C E F U L ]

Seviin is, despite all of her purposeful lightness and elegance, someone who knows how to handle herself when it really comes down to it. She possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of the humanoid body, materials science, and basic physics, and will come to the aid of any ally in need regardless of her personal feelings. She is excellent at compartmentalizing, retaining a professional distance, and will not hesitate to speak truth to power.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S

❖ [ R I G I D ]
❖ [ S A N C T I M O N I O U S ]
❖ [ P A C I F I S T I C ]
❖ [ M I S A N T H R O P I C ]
❖ [ I M M U N E T O M A N A I N T E R A C T I O N S ]

With her attitude, Seviin is unlikely to make any friends and she tells herself that it's alright, that it doesn't matter and that she doesn't need them. As with many matters, she is lying to herself. Her entire identity is an unstable thing now, built upon pillars of sand. Her refusal to do any direct harm, while commendable in some respects, can make her a liability when it comes to outright combat.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

Colour Code: F0FFF0

The Hourglass Order

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Present: Esmii @BlackRoseSiren, Oksana @Ti, Yuliya @Suicharte, Marz @Th3King0fChaos, Yvain @jasbraq, Roslyn @Fallenreaper, Khaliun @YummyYummy, Sven, and Penny

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F O R T P E R E K R E S T O K || ♫

It started with more disagreement. Everyone had their ideas and not all could be followed. The urgency built. The seconds ticked away. Agents of the Dieci Volti Nascosti closed in on the epicentre of the anti-magic disruption.

The students of Ersand’Enise split into two teams and evaded the legendary assassins for as long as they could, remaining within the bubble of safety where they could use their Gifts, scouring the city for the magic disruptors.

Then, they split.

Yuliya, Marz, Sven, Khaliun, and the latter’s mercenary ronin, Sugawara Yoshinori, headed straight for Fort Perekrestok at the confluence of the Kuska and Belykuska rivers. Yvain, Roslyn, Penny, Esmii, Oksana, and the remaining mercenary, Fritz Rudolf von Weigenen, went to investigate a warehouse they had already identified as suspicious some days earlier.

The latter group met with failure and made to cross the river instead, with the aid of magic, before the teams were too far apart. Oksana’s bridge of ice proved sturdy enough to resist the mighty river’s flow just long enough for most to cross, but Penny found herself stranded on the other side with a mild concussion after slipping and no way across.

Time was everything, and they could feel it eating away at their chances of recovering what they knew to be weapons of terror hidden throughout this remote Vossoriyan town, so they left her and carried on. It wasn’t long before they found themselves shadowed by nearly a dozen more shadowy operatives, and it was only Roslyn’s quick thinking that saved them from having to fight for their lives against odds that no gambler would’ve taken. A canny use of a smoke cannon, a feint attack, and some arcane magic threw their pursuers off and they raced to rejoin their allies.

Those allies, however, had not been so fortunate as they, for, as they had approached the small triangular island on which the fort perched, they came upon two things. The first was indisputably an active magic disruptor, and Yuliya rushed to turn it off. The second, however, was the man in the blue mask who had tried to murder Yuliya and Yvain less than a week earlier - not merely an agent of the Dieci Volti but one of its actual members: the legendary assassin Soldato. He was not alone.

Pursued relentlessly by nearly twenty enemies, the group of youths made a desperate crossing and then turned off their anti-disruptor at the key moment when their enemy tried to follow. Four plunged into the river, one drowned, two washed far downstream. It was then that they unleashed a withering counterattack, and agents of the enemy fell before them.

It was not a massacre, however. For all that the enemy bled, so did the students, now surrounded, now hemmed in. Yuliya had found the crate containing the magic disruptor and a hundred more of its kind - dormant - and she made a desperate play, with her nascent temporal magic, to teleport the entire thing back to the royal palace in Karamevo.

It was Soldato, though - the Blue Volto - who they could not best, however. His shot struck her and the girl’s concentration was broken, the contents of the splintered box scattered across the still-melting snows on the tundra some mile or so outside of town. One by one, she and her allies fell, gasping for breath, mortally wounded, perforated by his deadly accurate fire. Azure Devil - rifle of the magusjaeger volto - sung its deadly song and, for all that they were able to lay low the lesser members of the attacking cabal, they could not touch him.

Then, they beheld Penny’s fate. Their abandoned comrade had dived into the warehouse they had visited earlier and there found a similar crate of magic disruptors. While she had shut the active one off, the act had come at great cost. Waylaid by another Volto - the lilac Coccinella - she had been brutalized to the edge of death, as had many of them. Yet, the enemy never killed. They never seemed to seek unnecessary bloodshed. Again and again, they entreated the foreign youths to stop fighting and let them have what they had come for. Most of these attempts fell upon deaf ears.

Coccinella hovered in the air before the youths, however - not a human, but half-transformed beast: a thresher of some sort, with Penny impaled on one of her claws. She tossed the limp figure aside, and how the others ran for it! How they wasted their time rescuing, healing, and fretting over their friend. It was Sven who suffered next, pierced by Soldato’s bullets. He dropped to the ground, seemingly at the door of death.

They could feel it coming, too: the final remaining Volto, and his power was massive even from a distance. Then, the Eskandishman revived, seemingly out of nowhere, and his rage was something to behold. Gone was the meek, polite, academic Sven Bjørnsson that they knew best. With a bestial fury that they’d gained only glimpses of before, he tore through the Volti agents, making his way towards the Blue Volto. Even Soldato was laid low before the fury of the Southman.

Yet, he was not defeated. Sven was. Coccinella made quick work of him and left the Eskandr giant lying unconscious, right back where he’d started. It was… finished. They were surrounded. The final Volti’s forces had arrived to cut them off and the dainty little Lilac had revealed her true, monstrous power. She was one of the ten - The Originals - an ancient wildblood of unfathomable power. Against this, against Soldato, against two dozen others and the final Volto - as yet unseen - victory did not seem to be an option.

There were two factors that the enemy hadn’t counted on, however. First was the sheer, relentless spite of Yuliya Ilyanovna Vassilieva, Tsesarevna of the Vossoriyan Empire. If there was one thing that she wanted above all else at that very moment, it was to reap a terrible vengeance upon Soldato for the injury that he had caused her and her allies. The second was that she had, in her possession, a chaos marble. This, she launched toward the sniper as he perched on a rooftop across the river and there were none present who could stop it.

There are moments where it becomes clear that one’s enemy is not actually an evil being, and such was the case for Soldato. If Yuliya had not a care for what would be destroyed or how many would die from her attack, Soldato did, and he threw himself into the path of the projectile as it was still in flight over the river, knowing that he was a doomed man but hoping to prevent the death of dozens of innocents.

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R A D O M I R || ♫

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Then, the world wavered and there hovered, in the air, a man. He was tall and strongly built, with a full and well-trimmed beard and richly ornamented robes adorned with the ancient seal of the Vossoriyan Royal House. Yet, most of all, it was his face. As if carved from a block of ice, it turned to the feuding parties, even as he released the limp and broken figure of Soldato, who he had grasped, with indescribable force, by the neck. The corpse splashed into the frigid water and was gone.

Radomir, legendary protector of Vossoriya and - some claimed - its first emperor reborn, had arrived. He regarded Coccinella and the other Volti like the insects they were as he took a pair of knives from his pocket and slipped the chaos marble casually into it. His gaze was cold and unblinking. "You have five seconds to get out of my city," he commanded, "Or these are going into your necks." Immediately and reverently, Yuliya sunk to her knees before him, only a single question on her lips. "Почему ты здесь, сэр??" (Why are you here, sir?)

Radomir's cloak and ribbons flapped in the dusky breeze as the last rays of sun disappeared beneath the horizon. His icy eyes flicked away from the Volti for just a moment and took in the form of Marz well below him. "This boy -" He narrowed them. "has my hammer."

Then, however, he judged that about five seconds had passed, and it was time for these Revidian criminals to learn why they should never have come to Vossoriya. First was the illusionist who Yvain had been speaking with. She exploded upon contact, chunks of flesh, shards of bone, and ribbons of skin raining down across the small courtyard. A second was cleanly decapitated by the elder sanguinaire's hand, his head hitting the ground with a meaty 'conk'. So sudden and terrible was the violence that the Volti were slow to respond. A third and fourth were roasted alive where they stood by the sanguinaire elder's mere gaze.

He came for the next one on his hitlist, eyes wide and burning with ravenous bloodlust, only for his unstoppable force to be met by an immovable object. Coccinella was zipping and whirling above, but Radomir had run headlong into something massive, like a bird hitting a window. He rebounded and reeled, shaking his head to clear it. In his path stood a mountain of a man, his wild, bristly beard poking out from beneath a yellow mask with a smiling face, his gigantic arm steaming where Radomir had impacted, and his great gut protruding before him. He straightened. "Bad idea coming alone, kompis." He shook his head. "Imagine that: living a thousand years, founding a dynasty, becoming a legend, just to die here to some fat guy." From behind the mask came the high, unsettling sound of the man's laughter, tinged with hints of madness. He seemed endlessly amused by his own taunt, giddy and eager.

Radomir's face remained stoic as he, too, straightened. "Who says I came alone?" he asked, and a half-dozen oprichnina of the Zavesa Imperii (Veil of the Empire) materialized around the courtyard. A tall, pale woman was among them, standing beside Yuliya, and the girl might have recognized her from the portraits handing within the family palace: her own great grandmother, Ekaterina. There was a distinct resemblance between the two. She leaned in and whispered something in her younger descendant's ear before drawing back. Her peers were already starting to engage the Volti in battle and, just then, Radomir lashed out once again at the colossus that some may have recognized as Il Sorriso (The Smiler) or Volto Giallo. This time, he had the Chaos Marble clearly in hand and was aiming to use it.

The oprichnina turned to the students. "My friends, you have helped us much, and your service will be rewarded. I ask one more thing." She gestured broadly, taking in the rest of the city. "There are two more crates like this one. If this terrorists retrieve them, our country - and many others - will burn." She glanced up above as Volto Lilla went hurtling through a wall with one of her fellow high sanguinaires in her clutches - not that anyone aside from Yuliya and perhaps Penny could've known what they were. "I know where two of these are. Me and another officer will go with you."

Then, the junior Volto was there: an insectile being with few human features remaining. "I say to you, once again, that the greater evil would be to let these devices fall into the hands of Vossoriya," she buzzed. "You are only our enemies so long as you fight us." The monster leveled an arm at Yuliya, "Except for -" A half-dozen skewers shot up from the ground, furrowing the wildblood's carapace and forcing her to dodge aside. "Run!" shouted their guide. "For the warehouse where you first found them! I will follow after I deal with this menace!"

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I N T H E B A L A N C E || ♫

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There was, indeed, a menace, but what form it took was very much a matter of opinion. Even as magic returned to Kirimansk and its people began to rejoice and clean away, in earnest, the debris of these two weeks of calamity, others fled the growing conflagration at Fort Perekrestok and agents of the Dieci Volti Nascosti swarmed about, hard at work. They had claimed the crate full of disruptors that Penny had fought for and lost. They had come upon the second crate as well, out to the east, and stolen it. Even now, they were seeking the chaos marbles hidden beneath the town in its sacred caves and searching the sparse taiga forest to the north beyond for the precious devices that Yuliya had spilled there. Time was, once again, wasting, and much hung in the balance.

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The Hourglass Order

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Present: Ayla Arslan @Ti, Evander Fino Synesti @RezonanceV, Tku Pictor @dragonpiece, Fiske Flachstrauch @jasbraq, and Zarina Al-Nader @YummyYummy, Desmond Catulus @Th3King0fChaos

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The meeting had mostly broken up by the time that they returned, Marci downcast and anxious, Fiske much the same. Egosto-Alguo had slipped back into the workhouse where he would spend the rest of the following day, along with Uixel. Stela had hurried back to her home and children, bidding her sister-in-law a quick farewell and some cautionary words. It was only Cazelui, Jascuan, and Evander remaining, Samaxi having drifted off to sleep. The last of the three was nursing a cigar pensively, as had become his habit of late.

“Care to explain why you’re slinking back in with your tails between your legs?” As usual, the Revidian did not mince words. Marci shot him a hooded look. “Things went bad. We should lay low.” She quickly retreated towards the backrooms. Then, for a moment, she cracked. “I…” her gaze dipped to her shoes for a second. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I need to go.” With that, she disappeared.

For all that he often seemed hard, prickly, and unforgiving, Evander was well aware that he had crossed a social boundary earlier with Samaxi and he was loath to do so again. Marceline was young, she was a lady, and she was clearly hurting. He set his sights on fitter prey. “With her, I won’t push,” he began implacably, “but from you, I need to know.”

Old man Jascuan was there, then, among them, sitting on the table, feet resting on a chair, legs crossed. He nodded slowly. “What happened, boy?” he asked. “Where are Desmond and Tku, and just how much danger are we in?”

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♫ | T E A R S D O N ' T F A L L , T H E Y C R A S H | ♫

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For Marci, it was all peaks and valleys - almost overwhelming, but now she found herself in the deepest of the latter. The youngest of the students rushed into the other room without even looking, threw herself onto the bed, and pulled her knees up to her chest. A force for good. Leave the world a better place than you found it. Those had been her mother’s wishes. They still were, as far as she knew.

Tears Don’t Fall, They Crash

The girl felt sick to the stomach. Instead, she had killed a policeman. She hid her face between her knees and cried. Thoughts fled with the escaping tears, and she just let them. She remembered the look on his face but, worst of all, she remembered what had been on hers: triumph! Even Manfred, who had been a soldier, who had killed and nearly been killed countless times, did not simply rush into situations like that. There was planning, there was reason and justification and - She cried some more, looking up momentarily and glancing about her surroundings. Shune it was dark!

The truth was that her brother was just better than her - at least at these kinds of things. She wasn’t so deep into self-loathing that she couldn’t recognize her own talents. Marceline was good at recognizing what people wanted. She was good at recognizing how to get them to do what she wanted. She could make money hand over fist.

So why had she rushed in like an idiot to save Fiske? She’d killed a man for it - watched the life drain from his eyes - ended his story! She felt sick to the stomach just thinking about it. She wanted to shout apologies, scream them, reverse the entire thing and have absolution. How could people like Jocasta and Manfred… and Desmond, Benny, Evander… there were a lot. How could they kill with such ease, plunging into life or death scenarios again and again for dubious reasons and no obvious benefit? And now Desmond and Tku were going to jail or worse for what she and Fiske had done. She still even had Desmond’s hat! Why had she just let them take the fall?

“Stupid,” she growled, pounding her knee with her fist. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!” A year ago, she’d been in the process of losing her knees - the next step in a particularly aggressive form of the tethering. Now, she was walking and even running, just like the others. Just like people who weren’t sick. She had literally been given an unexpected life, and she had no idea what to do with it - except be awful she thought. She’d lied, cheated, and stolen. She’d been superficial, callous, and petty towards her own brothers. She’d been a horrible friend to Zarina, her business partner and sister in all but name and, even now, she’d dismissively left Ayla alone with those two filthy rich monsters!

Dami! How horrible can I be!? she wondered. I’m better than that, the fourteen-year-old assured herself. I’m a better person! But the family of the man she’d murdered wouldn’t agree. Things were much better between her and Manfred these days, but she still felt a pang of guilt every time she considered him. Maybe he wouldn’t agree, either. Maybe Ayla wouldn’t, or Zarina!

The girl began shaking as she cried, now. She had to be honest. She’d done it to prove something: that she wasn’t just the little sister, the younger friend, the pest, the schemer, the deadweight. She’d seen it in his eyes, too: Fiske was… a lot like her, really. She could picture his face perfectly, and it hurt her to see him like that. You have a crush on him, Marci. She blushed and sniffed bitterly at the thought, head retreating to her knees once again. Secretly, she wished her mother was here, or Manfred, or Zarina, or… Ayla gave good hugs. She glanced up at the near-distant door, however, and the person she first imagined coming through it was Fiske.

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♫ | F L A G G I N G | ♫

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Elsewhere, it was Tennaxi who was pushing open doors. It was a slow, arduous process, but she’d been given run of the house, for what it was worth. “Zox?” she called, slipping beneath a saloon-style gate. “Uinza? Zox?” (Hello? Zox?) It still felt like a strange dream, or some kind of game, being stuck at this height, scooting along the floor on her hands and rear. She’d been pumped full of chemical magic and the pain was gone, but there was no shaking the surreal nature of it and the deep-set feeling that she was ruined, and permanently. It bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to boil over, but she’d done an admirable job getting on with things.

Flagging

It had struck her shortly after Zarina had departed with the bound and gagged Cuimits: he was from one of those outlying settlements. She wasn’t certain, but she thought it was Netsazai. She knew that place, and others like it. She knew what would happen if Zarina went there. “Zox!” she shouted one more time, but he simply wasn’t answering. He must’ve been elsewhere, doing what, she could not say. She picked her way outside, under the endless canopy of moons and stars, energy flagging, sharp pebbles biting into her palms. Her body had not been made to move this way. She had to say something. Maybe she could prevent it. Desperately, the young cazenax cast about, searching for Zox’s massive form.

Instead, the stable door opened and it was Classa who peered out. The centaur girl, still a child, towered over her. She yawned and swayed. “Maxi?” she murmured, perking up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Tennaxi shook her head. They would ever be mistaken for each other now. “No, it’s Tennaxi.”

Classa blinked, trotting over. She looked down at the legless figure on the ground and tilted her head inquisitively. “Why are you calling Zox?”

Tennaxi craned her neck and the child, oblivious, pawed at the ground with one of her front hooves. “Because we need to go get Zarina. She’s flying right into a trap!”

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♫ | G R A C I O U S H O S T S | ♫

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If Tennaxi was set on rescuing her friend, there appeared to be nobody able to rescue Ayla Arslan. Though the wily Torragonese had succeeded in stalling Talo and Wesca while her friend Marci had snooped, she was now alone with the pair: a smaller fish in a tank of barracudas, but at least a somewhat… fabulous one. It was Talo who seemed to be most in charge, and him to whom her question was addressed.

Drinks Before Dawn

He seemed to consider. “A human could learn the Vozas, suppose I,” he admitted, stroking his chin, and his wife nodded, seeming to agree. “Human was Nyax-Acan,” she chirped, leaning in and regarding Ayla with large, warm, searching eyes.

Ayla repeated the words softly, trying to memorize them, as they seemed important: Nyax-Acan. She smiled warmly and gestured to Wesca, encouraging her to explain more about whom this human was.

Before she could do so, however, her husband cut her off. “Nyax-Acan is a story, my love.” His Avincian was quite good, but stilted. He was speaking it solely for Ayla’s benefit, as there was an intake of energy instantly recognizable as that of the VOID. He closed his eyes for a minute and focused. He furrowed his brow and concentrated, then, perhaps genuinely challenged, or perhaps merely making a show of it. Wesca’s eyes widened, inquisitive, and then she clapped. From a black splotch of nothingness, Talo-Tecazan-Mostix-Cazui drew forth a large orange-striped cat by the scruff of the neck. “Remind me of one you did, I suppose.”

Ayla had experienced dark magic before, especially when it came to summoning demons, or that incident with the stiletto back at the academy. There were always various strange beings and creatures breaking through, but the Vozas seemed different. Watching how Talo was able to bring forth a cat, living and breathing as if from the streets of Varrahasta, made her even more fascinated. Perhaps there was good to be found in this magic, the ability to control what comes through. If they could do this from simple things like food staples to creatures like a pet cat, the possibilities become unimaginable. "This is the most beautiful thing we have seen," her eyes widened as she moved toward the kitten, touching and stroking on it to confirm its authenticity. "We have seen this type of magic used... misused, rather, but seeing it in the hands of someone like yourself helps us understand better."

Talo smiled. “The vozas is our most wondrous Gift,” he replied reverently, while Wesca took in the little animal. The orange longhair was dropped into Ayla’s arms with a small mew and, for a moment, he struggled. She was not without some calming ability in chemical magic, however, and he soon settled down, nuzzling into her hand as she cradled him and sinking his claws lovingly - and painfully - into her clothing and whatever lay beneath. “It is,” Wesca agreed, “but right are you. Use this, not all can or should.”

“Most should not,” concluded Talo with a scowl. “Only the best of a society can be trusted.” His face softened briefly, looking at the kitten, however.

Ayla found herself in agreement. This is a magic that seemed to be easily abused by those who pervert it for their own ends. However, it hasn't all been bad. "We haven't witnessed many good things come out of it before, except for the Eggs. They saved my life and the lives of my friends twice, and we even got to witness their ascension. That was a beautiful sight."

Then, there were figures approaching from the near distance: a pair of hard-faced sirrahi and one of those faerie-like beings hovering behind them, arms crossed. They bowed their heads briefly and perfunctory in greeting Ayla, and addressed Talo in rapid zenuese. He furrowed his brow, listening, and then stiffened. He exchanged a couple more words with his wife before bowing to Ayla. “Very sorry am I,” he said quickly, “but I must go. Something urgent has come up.” He turned on his heel and hurried towards the house, just short of a run. She was left with Wesca and the as-yet unnamed cat.

Ayla found herself alone with Wesca, offering her a reassuring smile. “We still have to give this one a name.” She stroked the cat while attempting to salvage her dress from the claws, pondering for a moment. Then her eyes lit up, “You mentioned a human, their name was… Nyax-Acan? Would this be fitting for a cat?” She looked toward her encouragingly, as if prompting her to continue the story where she left off before it was dismissed by Talo.

Wesca let out a bark of laughter almost immediately, gaining control of herself before long. Still, the reaction had been taken. “Goodness, no!” she giggled, with an easy shake of her head. “A sacred name is it, you see.” She shook her head some more. “Certainly not appropriate and, anyhow…” Her voice trailed off for a moment and returned, lowered as if in some acknowledgement of the sacrilege. ”‘Dark explosion’ means it. Maybe not best name for the bright orange cat.”

Ayla couldn’t help but find herself giggling too; the laughter was infectious. “Sacred names are definitely a no-no.” She smiled as she looked toward the cat, “Bright, Orange, and turned up out of nowhere.” Perhaps the talk of an explosion made him come to mind, but it was fitting. “What about calling him Benny?” She went into her dress, flicking through some coins and showing a copper one to Wesca. “This is what we call a Benny, and the saying goes, they always have a habit of turning up when least expected.”

“Benny…” Wesca trailed off, mulling the strange word over, before smiling. “Just so!” After a slight apprehension, she reached out to pet the little furball, but he was having none of it. Restless and wary, he squirmed to be let go.

Ayla sighed a little, “It's a shame we can't provide a treat for him, like some chicken or catnip, perhaps.” She moved to place her hand against the back of his head, using some chemical magic to help soothe him, so he's no longer as agitated. Then, she turned to speak to Wesca and blushed lightly. “This is meant with respect, but you both remind me of my parents a little.” She smiled a bit in a teasing but friendly manner. “My father is the Duque of a big trade city called Varrahasta. He's very important, so he's always busy with work all the time, often having to be on call to advise the King.” She then looked toward Wesca, “and my mother is left to do the very important tasks of managing the household, entertaining the guests – a vital but often underappreciated role. Allowing my father to be at his best.”

Wesca had given up on petting little Benny by then. She sighed. “I guess I am about this age now.” She shook her head. “Very different are you from mine daughter,” she admitted, starting to walk. She led Ayla towards a balcony that overlooked the canyon city in a panoramic view. “This girl, I love, but think, does not she.” She shook her head sadly. “She will not listen to king’s words. Only on what her friends say, him judges she.” Ayla noted Wesca’s words, and it was how she suspected, the pair didn’t completely agree, and continued to listen intently.

It was the wee hours of the morning and there seemed to be some sort of commotion down below. It was out of sensing range, in any event, and she paid it only cursory concern. Presently, a sirrahi servant approached, bowing once again in Ayla’s direction and speaking quickly to Wesca in her native tongue. The noblewoman nodded and he departed. She seated herself at the small table there, slumping and letting out a sigh. “My husband outshines me not because of ability, but because he has the better name, and he is a man.” She shrugged. “My hobbies have I. Places to shine have found I.” She sniffed. “My friend is her majesty. She comes sometimes. We garden, we talk, we drink.” She regarded Ayla and the cat, who seemed to want to explore now instead of being held. “Drinks soon, by the way. Still acceptable before sunrise, no?” She let out a snort.

“My brother is favoured because he is a boy as well.” It was not an exact parallel, but Ayla attempted to empathize with her nonetheless. It also made her wonder more about Wesca, and she decided to be a little daring. “My father has this habit of talking over my mother in public, as if he is worried about her outshining him. Even though when they are alone, he is a lot nicer toward her.”

Wesca sighed, glancing at her almost… evaluatively. Then, she waved dismissively. “Oh, I let him think he wears the pants, and he is much more agreeable when it’s only the two of us. Besides, I have my garden, and he doesn’t dare interfere with that.”

Ayla glanced toward the green space and its carefully cultivated plants. “It does look like you take wonderful care of your garden; the well-attended plants are quite evident.” She leaned down to inspect those nearby and began to use her chemical magic to attempt to decipher Marci’s meaning. The plants didn’t look like they were being killed, more like someone had tried to plant crops in Varrahasta. Her mind clicked as she knew what to look for – salt content – and she found it. “We are from the coast, and sometimes the plants struggle due to the salt water from the sea. Perhaps the water source you are using is drying up. If you switch, you should get a better harvest.”

For a moment, there was a flicker of something that crossed Wesca’s face, and it was so brief that Ayla had to have imagined it. Was it annoyance? Jealousy? Suspicion? Whatever it had been, she quickly moved on, letting out a quick bark of laughter as the servant approached with a platter. “Water drying up, in a desert.” She grinned ironically.

With the cat being more pleasant, Ayla decided to let him down to explore. She found herself possessive of the creature and concerned about it making a fuss, as she was there as a guest. She chided herself, remembering he wasn’t actually her cat, even if she was attempting to adopt him. He was quick to go walkabout, darting into the bushes in pursuit of a gecko.

Then, the bottle of cactus wine and two glasses had arrived, and her attention was drawn back to the table as Wesca accepted them from the sirrahi, who bowed hastily and crisply and hurried off. “Good it is your Somnes here,” she declared, gesturing toward the nearly-started sunrise as she began pouring. Ayla looked over briefly. “A few more minutes of darkness.”

She smiled warmly toward Wesca and nodded. “You’re right, one of the many perks of the cold months: more time in good company and drinking till your heart is content. Thank you for being a gracious host.”

Wesca handed her a glass and returned the smile. “Thank you for being the good guest. ” The cazenax raised hers in a toast. “To gracious hosts and good guests.”

A pair of glasses clinked as the horizon brightened behind them, and both sipped eagerly. “You know, the worst part about it is that I like you,” said Wesca, her voice… odd compared to how it had been before. “You’re bright - naive but bright, resourceful, and… charmingly forward.”

Ayla tilted her head to the side, an unease quickly building inside of her. “How is that bad?” she inquired, casting about briefly for the cat. The wine was hitting her hard, it was -

“Because you deceived me, Ayla. You and that other girl are in league, exchanging coded messages somehow, and she’s just plundered our house and our safe.” Wesca shook her head and there was a draw of magic. Ayla stumbled to her feet, but she was woozy. It was poisoned! She’d been poisoned. She tried to draw on chemical magics to counter the effects, but she found herself drawing against Wesca. Talo emerged as well, and then it was their combined force. “You offrd uss foodn drink!” she slurred. “We wwere jusscurious!” The wife was snapping some words at her husband in their native tongue. Then, the balcony railing was immediately behind Ayla. Benny was nowhere to be seen. “You know things you shouldn’t know.” Wesca shook her head. “We can’t take that risk. I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal.”

Dimly, Ayla registered herself falling: falling towards the ground far below.

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♫ | N E T S A Z A I | ♫

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The sun rose over An Zenui, the streets of the great city already coming to life. Thin trickles of people scurried about in the predawn: cazenax, sirrahi, and the others that had been brought into being through the efforts of the first. The barest amount of dew collected on its myriad surfaces, much of it carefully channeled into clay pots or metal pans or catchment basins. Great steel plates on arms were swung out into the sun’s rays to warm for the day. By the evening, thousands would be cooking off of them and eating.

Netsazai

Outside of its boundaries, however, morning routines were sparser and more humble, and many had long been awake. They wasted nothing: not time, not energy, and not space. So it was that, in the outlying village of Netsazai, a young boy and a young girl, twins of no more than six years old, were already outside, reveling in the feeling of the nascent sun on their night-cooled skin as they coaxed water into scuffed pots and clouded old jars. Their mother was bustling about the kitchen with their older sister and their oldest brother was saddled with the undesirable task of changing the baby. Ostensibly, the children were outside to wait for their father, who had promised to return by the morning.

Cazan leaned into Cazéa. “You think it’s gonna move?” he whispered, but the girl was enraptured. “You think it’s safe?” she replied after a moment. “It’s a dwagon aftew all.” A dragon, indeed, it was. The great reptile was resting on the sands, having arrived sometime just before dawn. There was a single rider - a silver clad knight in the style of the distant twin continents - perched upon its back, and it seemed, to the two children, like something out of a fairytale come to life. The question that faced them was: is it good, or is it bad?

The knight’s helm came off, allowing Zarina’s long, brown hair to flow out and her sweaty scalp to take in the cool morning air. A long sigh escaped her as she took in the views and noticed the young audience she had gathered after landing Alqasas near the destination: A red domed home in some ass-nowhere village close to the city. The human waved down the cute little Cazenax spawns with a warm smile on her tired face. “You wanna say hi?” she asked, the language barrier making her verbal offer pointless, but the gesturing of her right, normal-sized hand communicated the intention well enough.

The twins regarded each other, Cazan taking the tentative lead. Cazéa’s head popped out sporadically from behind her brother’s, but the child’s eyes were filled with wonder.

Cuimits was there as well, though as-yet unrecognized by his children. He had come in Tennaxi’s stead, although he was bound and his face veiled on the large saddle straddling the immature but still quite big alpha froabas. He could break free if he really wanted to, but was provoking a dragon when his kids were so close a good idea?

The two of them, growing in boldness, chattering softly in their native tongue as they approached, froze suddenly when they noticed the presence of another - a captive. Instead, they started to draw back, their eyes shooting up warily in the direction of Zarina’s. Their father, upon hearing their voices, went rigid.

Zarina’s eyebrow raised as she noticed the reluctance. “Ah.” she raised her chin after acknowledging the issue. The voices of the children were replaced by clanging metal that got closer and closer to the trapped Cuimits, until he could feel his captor right by him. A quick snip of her massive gauntlet’s claw had his tethers severed and his vision no longer obscured, although she had taken measure to keep his hands hidden inside improvised gloves. Then, she turned to the kids. “New friend. Don’t want him to go splat when we fly.” again, all gibberish, so she illustrated with one hand ‘flying’ above, and the other dramatically dropping under it to represent somebody falling. She even did a ‘Waaahhh’ sound effect to make it evident, before finally pointing to the bondage she kept their father strapped with. Once again, she invited them over to get a closer look of the dragon.

Alqasas suddenly shook its head to rid itself of the accumulated sand that had entered her scales and pores. Her heavy breathing sounded like threatening growls to the uninitiated. She was as wary as the children were and never let her reptilian glare leave their minuscule forms as she rested her chin back onto the increasingly warmer sand.

Cazan and Cazéa were briefly thrilled and then mortified. They jabbered rapidly in cazenax, having taken a few eager steps before stopping once more. Young, they may have been, but they were not stupid. They had heard stories. They had played games of chase, war, and espionage. It was the girl who spoke, directly to her father, and Zarina knew not a word of it. Cuimits snorted. “She asks why there was a bag over my head,” he translated, his reliability dubious. “She’s a smart girl, like her parents.” The, with some urgency, the boy talked, narrowing suspicious, resentful eyes at her, for a moment, a miniature version of his father. “He says you look like a badguy.”

“So you do speak the civilized tongue.” Zarina snarkily remarked, although her joyful facade was unperturbed.

“I know your barbarian words.” Cuimits shook his head bitterly. “All the demons speak them and, these days, one must speak with demons to have any worth.” He regarded his children and his craggy face softened. “Gil nasca! Pax axol néist malma.”

Zarina’s hand brushed over the growing dragon’s neck, and guided the scaly head of the magnificent, reticulated beast closer to the children. Even with some distance, they could feel the hot air erupted from the animal’s nostrils. Again, she invited the kids to come and say hello.

They were both old and informed enough to understand that her gifts were poisoned, now, and they ran for the family home without taunt or remark: only fear. Cuimits was left alone with Zarina. He glared at her with the purest hatred one could imagine: a desperate, vicious, impotent rage.

Vexed, the Virangish threw her arms in the air. “What was the point of that? I don’t need them to come close to burn this whole place down.” she spat out, as if disappointed she couldn’t have a little bit of wholesome fun. “How often do kids get to see such a pretty dragon, and pet it? Fucking …” an exaggerated wave of dismissal followed her rant. A piece of dried boar meat was taken from a satchel on her side and tossed for the dragon to snag with its massive jaw. “Anyway. Now that you’re talking. We may as well finish what we started.” she petted her dragon’s nostrils as her tone gradually shifted to something more flat. “Who sent you. Both the woman, and who she worked for. And most importantly, why? It can’t just be some massive scam.” Alqasas shifted on the sands, growing increasingly antsy as her master looked to be losing patience already. “We wouldn’t be sent here if it was bullshit politics in yet some remote crap-desert.”

“Your arrogance, truly, says it all. This is not some pile of shit for you to step in, outsider, it is our home and we fight for its soul, something I imagine a creature like you could not possibly understand.” He spat the words, eyes promising a murder his hands would never be able to deliver. “Murdering children to help you hasten our people’s ruin.” For a moment his gaze flicked over in the direction of his home, trying and failing to mask all of his anxiety. He scrunched up his face, putting up a mask of resoluteness, but closer to breaking.

“I would tone down the hypocrisy if I were you.” it suddenly got much hotter for Cuimits despite his natural adaptability as a desert dweller. Intense chemical magic had caused his body temperature to rise uncomfortably. “Last I checked there was at least one child in that farm. You and your men showed no qualms in fucking all that up. So yes,” she too was struggling to keep up the hardened warrior veil she had to stick with for hours now. This was soul-crushing. “I will do anything to prevent the ruination of everything.” the silent ranger’s fear mongering did take its toll. The imposed heat on Cuimits cooled down after she had made her point. “Tell me why some farm would ruin your people, and then answer my questions. Now.”

“There were no children there,” he replied, his tone at least slightly less aggressive, “Only monsters from the VOID, not matter how cute a personlike face they wear.” He would not budge on this, no matter what. “The VOID corrupts both directly and indirectly.” Once again, his eyes flicked in the direction of his house. Zarina extended her magical sense toward the house he consistently looked toward, cautious of what he may have instructed his children to do and expecting something desperate. He spat at her feet, then, just close enough that she would have to step back to avoid it landing on her. And step back she did. “Fucking really?”

“You force me to pay attention to you, you pay attention to me!” He had managed to break her sensing concentration, however, and that was what mattered. They needed more time - just a bit more. “Anything fucky and I burn everything.” she looked him right in the eye. Perhaps her best lie yet.

“Can a man not be concerned for his family?” he hissed, “Though I’d not be surprised if you killed them regardless of what I say.”

Zarina scoffed. “I spared your people, didn’t I? I didn’t need as much as I saved.”

Cuimits was done with this. He waved his hand dismissively. “The VOID is not of our people. It was you humans who brought it here. It has weakened and corrupted our society.” He shook his head bitterly. “Where, once, all cazenax stood on level ground, now there are those who place themselves far above others and look down their noses at us. They jealously guard their secrets and use the VOID to control the wealth of our entire society.” He sniffed and scowled. “Then the solution of fools like Stazen is to open this unnatural thing to all!” He shook his head once more. “I will assume, for your benefit, that you are young and stupid and have never seen the things that come from the VOID, else you would not be fighting against me. Some may be passable enough, but they are all horrors beneath the surface: horrors that untwine the very fabric of our reality the longer that they exist within it - horrors that go wild and kill and destroy - horrors that act as magnets for more of their vile kind.” He regarded her grimly, distastefully. “This is a truth our ‘king’ refuses to acknowledge, and he will ruin us all.” He breathed, in and out, eyes once again flicking to the house, and then to other nearby houses. “I am no friend to the greedy slime of the bantarsca, but their fear serves my ends for now. The cazenax should be free of the VOID - must be free of it. Then, and only then may they - and even your ungrateful people - be safe.”

“I have seen these horrors, for your information.” Zarina attempted to cross her arms, but failed due to the oversized nature of her gauntlet-shield. “My own friends were changed. And they were never the same after. But they remained my close friends. No shitty opinion will change that fact.” this time she also flicked her eyes to any sort of habitation of line-of-sight blocker. No more distractions, the obvious expectation of something was making this hot-headed Virangish increasingly nervous. “But the one thing we’ll agree on is this free use of it. That sounds terrible.” her eyes were no longer on him but her surroundings. “Why did the farmstead matter for your cause? WHO gives enough of a shit about some independent water-maker to have it raided by organized idealists like you?” her attention returned to Cuimits and the gap between the two was closed. She was now right at his face while Alqasas, feeling something was off, got on its claws and feet.

Cuimits drew, then. He drew magic, and he was strong for one of these cazenax. “Why this little farm?” He made a face of distaste. “A devil’s bargain.” He shrugged. “One of the scumbags we were working with wanted it. In return, we would get what we craved: the King’s head.” Cuimits spread his arms and took a step back from the dragon. “I imagine, this very moment, he is dead, like he should be.” He let out a laugh. “You can try to kill me. You can butcher my family - they believe just as I do; I have made sure of it - but we have already won. The first step to freeing our people has been taken and, when Nyax-Acan returns this very day, he will find the enlightened among his people invigorated and in open revolt.”

“Nyax-Acan?” Zarina tilted her head. One step forward for every step Cuimits took back. “Is that scumbag connected to the sweetwater guild?”

That was when Zarina reached out her senses once more. There was no opportunity to disrupt her and perhaps no desire. The surge of energy was colossal, and the very land itself reached up to envelop her and Alqasas.

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♫ | S M O K E | ♫

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Meanwhile, perhaps such a fate would’ve seemed a blessing to the two humans and two sirrahi who were being shoved relentlessly from sideroads to streets to grand boulevards. The officers who had arrested Desmond and Tku were smarting for blood, and they were quick to heap abuse on the cop-killers. If their actions technically fell outside of what the law allowed, well… they were the law, after all, and they allowed it. Bindings were clipped on too tight, weapons roughly confiscated, and any excuse used to rain down kicks and punches.

Smoke

There was dialogue exchanged, as well, between the sirrahi’s accuser and the eight officers. She was pointing back, repeating a particular word they didn’t know. All they felt were their bonds, the brutal blows of the furious officers, and the sting of wondering if they had, indeed, made the right move.

The rising sun glared in their eyes and they found themselves drawing nearer to the center of the city, where a palace rose along the banks of a wide, shallow muddy river. Numerous opulent buildings rose around it and, around them, were thickening crowds. “Lixoasc!” shouted one of the officers towards the front of the group. “Lixoasc!” (Make way! - lit. ‘be smoke’) but it was tough going. Something seemed to have gotten their attention. Tku didn’t pick up on it immediately, but the two sirrahi did, and Desmond right after. Most of what the crowds were saying was gibberish to the outsiders, but one part was repeated again and again - a phrase, or maybe… a name: Nyax-Acan.

Against this backdrop, they were dragged into the Hall of Justice, one of the officers who spoke a bit of Avincian taking the time to taunt them. “He is return now,” she crowed. “You are fuck! Ha ha!”

“Fuck!” repeated another.

“You are fuck!” One kicked Tku from behind when he was a bit slow. “Zetsuo-zoan!” (cop killer!) he spat.

Above were great vaulted ceilings and an open agora in the middle. They were hustled into a long hallway lined with heavy windowless doors. One of the officers hustled off with their accuser in a different direction. “There more know we,” one growled. “We get them! Don’t worry, fuck!”

Then, there was a taller cazenax in fine, boldly coloured robes who gave off the air of some kind of official. His hair was slicked back and dyed a vibrant royal blue at the tips. “You will wait here to enter your plea,” he said coldly. “In the interest of fairness, we have searched for an attorney. I doubt one will take your case.” He scowled. “I know I wouldn’t.”

Unceremoniously shoved into a small, dark cell with two sirrahi, Desmond and Tku were left to wait. They found that their cuffs were not removed, the cell was not cleaned, and there was nothing more than a bucket in the corner. While the accused remained resigned and stoic, pulling into himself, his partner was busy having a meltdown. “I did nothing. I did nothing.” He began to murmur rapidly under his breath. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!” His voice rose. “They’re gonna kill me!”

“Us,” corrected the other. “There is more than just you here, Inzé.” He looked at the two humans. “I am Gisté-Luno,” he introduced himself. “Your intentions were noble, I’m sure, but your friend was a fool, killing the police. You should not have gotten involved,” he warned, shaking his head. “It was his fall to take and this will not be a fair trial.”

“We won’t even have a lawyer!” Inzé wailed. “That bitch! We should’ve just taken the wages.”

Gisté-Luno shook his head, however. “It was less than half of what we were owed. One must have principles or one is stepped on.”

“We were stepped on anyway, you old fool!”

Gisté-Luno merely shrugged. “I trust in Nyax-Acan.”

The two had reached an impasse, and they waited, after that. All could sense energies outside: cazenax, sirrahi, and some of the rarer, stranger forms they had seen since coming to this absurd place. There was a buildup of sound, motion, and bodies. They could sense a large chamber nearby filling with bodies. Then, surprisingly, their door opened and a small figure was ushered in. It promptly slammed shut. The quartet found themselves staring at Naxos, the imp. He scratched at the back of his head. “So, uh… looks like you got yourself in some hot water, huh?”

None of them denied it.

“Well, I just so happen to be a registered public defender, and I wouldn’t let friends like you and uh… innocent people go to the gallows for a crime you didn’t commit.” His eyes darted between the four and he leaned in, lowering his voice. “You are innocent, right?”

There was a loud bang on the door. “Two minute, lawyer! Then out!”

Naxos swallowed and looked up after glancing at the door. “Ya know what? Maybe don’t answer that.” He smoothed back his hair. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan here. I’ll see you in court!”

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♫ | N Y A X - A C A N | ♫

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They were bound by the wrists, bags tied over their heads tightly enough to nearly suffocate the pair. All around them, the Hall of Justice was packed with bodies - they could sense hundreds on the ground floor, hundreds more packing the balconies, and many more gathered outside, trying to get in. Shouts and jeers rained down upon them and, more than once, the four found themselves pelted with garbage until the perpetrators were roughly ushered out. Angry as the people here were, the dignity of the court could not be called into question.

Desmond and Tku found themselves ‘helped into’ and then bound to their seats as official-sounding voices rose, augmented by magic. By the growing silence around them, one could assume that they were demanding order and silence. Finally, they had it, and the scampering footsteps of Naxos could be heard rushing up beside them. “Don’t worry, guys. We’ve got a good case here,” he whispered. “Don’t be alarmed. They’re gonna announce stuff and remove the bags.”

“The accused will now rise!” called one of the official-sounding voices. “The aggrieved will now rise!” it concluded, as they were forced to their feet.

It was quiet enough that they could hear footsteps somewhere out in front of themselves. There was a loud but soft ‘thump’ and a collective intake of breath and an outbreak of hushed, excited murmurs. Then, they stopped in reverent silence.

The bags were ripped away roughly enough that Desmond’s neck was nearly wrenched, but he held steady. All around were walls of cazenax. At the other table was the aggrieved woman, who made a show of recoiling from the two sirrahi. It seemed that a plea hearing had turned into an entire trial within the span of no more than a few hours.

That was not what drew the attention of Desmond and Tku, however. “Presiding, his eminence, the ever-wise and merciful Nyax-Acan.”

Nyax-Acan

It was… Benedetto, after a fashion. He was dressed more like a cazenax and he seemed a few years older, at least. He was draped with casual ease across the thronelike judge’s chair, one leg on an armrest, elbow on the opposite one. He straightened presently. “Well, fuck me sideways,” he exclaimed, looking them over and glancing their accuser’s way, scowling at her display. He blinked and regarded her a bit more sternly. She shrunk before him. Benny stood up, wielding his gavel in one hand. The cazenax murmured. Then, he leveled his pointer at the woman. “You,” he pronounced, “are a lying bitch. Out of my sight!” He brought the gavel down. “Innocent.”

The chamber erupted in murmurs, then shouts, and then movement. The opposing counsel stood rapidly, face flushed, and his voice was lost in the cacophony. A couple of the officials tried to reason with Nyax-Acan. He would hear none of it. They bellowed once more for order as another half-dozen were escorted out. Finally, it was quiet enough to continue. “It was a pay scam, clear as day. She was their supervisor, they protested, she pulled the abuse card.” He took in all of the cazenax. “C’mon, guys. You’re smarter than that.” Both of the sirrahi burst into grateful tears. Benny cringed at the sight. “Have some backbone, stuzets.” He shook his head. “Justice has been done and the bitch’ll be dealt with.” He ordered the officials to pay them their lost wages.

Then, he turned to Desmond and Tku. “That doesn’t mean you get to walk outta here, though.” His face turned grim. “Police were killed, just doing their job and responding to a call.” There was a hardness to his voice. “And, you know, we live in a society here.” He shook his head and then his gaze settled on Desmond. “I’ll ask you once, because I kinda respect you and I just don’t think you’d be stupid enough to do something like this.” Proceedings had gone deathly silent once more. “Who really did this and why’d you take the fall for them?”

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The Hourglass Order

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Present: Esmii @BlackRoseSiren, Oksana @Ti, Yuliya @Suicharte, Marz @Th3King0fChaos, Yvain @jasbraq, Roslyn @Fallenreaper, Khaliun @YummyYummy, Sven, and Penny

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The Aftermath || ♫

It was, simply put, a brawl. Even as the Hegelans fought their way out of confinement, the world above shook with magic and fury. It all came to a head with a crazed hegumen losing control of an atomic blast when he found himself once again cut off from his ability to use magic. It was only a momentary lapse, but it was enough to unleash further devastation across the surrounding countryside.

Kirimansk was not spared either. If those strong in the Gift were able to resist the incredible force of the explosion, those not were - as usual - helpless amid the collateral of their magical betters’ clash. Some hundred fifteen souls perished in one fell instant, but the heroes stood triumphant, the tyrannical enemies vanquished at their feet. At least a dozen of the monks - false and true - lay dead around them and about a third of the monastery of St. Artyom lay in ruins. Some people embraced each other or the newly-recovered Marz. Some celebrated.

Sven flopped onto his back, laughing, crying - his emotions in turmoil. Esmii fell to the ground beside him and embraced him. The enormous lad thrust one arm in the air and stretched out his middle finger. “And fuck you one more time.” He shook his head, lying there, adrenaline still coursing through him. “Yeah, fuck you!” agreed Penny. Esmii stuck her middle finger up in the yanii way. Yuliya chimed in with a few words in Vossoriyan and Oksana joined her. It was cathartic. It was a desperate sort of relief, and Sven recognized it as such. He was alive: alive and well - and so was Esmii, but how many others had died because they had picked a fight with some very bad people? Would it have been better to step aside? Marz and a few dozen other hegelans were now outside, blinking, stretching, glancing uneasily up at the sky. The monks that had survived were being rounded up by the mountain-dwellers. Some turned tail and ran. Some accepted their fate.

Penny sat on the ground as well, ‘cross-legged’. She leaned back and took a few deep breaths. People were already healing each other and she would assist as needed. It was a binder’s sacred duty, after all. First, however, she just… breathed, feeling her lungs fill, the life that yet carried on in her chest. Yet, it was unsatisfying. Looking over at Sven and Esmii, she was - as she had often been during this week and a half - keenly aware of Ashon’s absence and the danger he was likely in hunting that vile beast in Kerremand. More than that, though, it was the smell: there was dust and fire in the air. For all that she lived, other people’s stories had ended, in sudden flashes of fear and pain that they had been helpless against. The past year had taught her to not give a damn about those who initiated violence - she had sent a dozen or more to hell by her own hand and would continue to do so as was her divine prerogative - but the innocents had done nothing. To callously employ magics that killed indiscriminately… She started to gather herself.

Then, a shadow fell across her and the perrenchwoman looked up, shielding her eyes from the late afternoon glare. It was Marz, and while he stood closest to her, he addressed them all. “Aye, take yer moment,” he allowed, “I reckon’ ye’ve earned it. We all ‘ave, but it’s only fer a moment.” A few of the other hegelans nodded somberly, and one - a great, grizzled giant of an older man - spoke up. “They’ve been keepin’ us in there, working underground.” He sniffed and glanced about at the scenes of devastation nearby, muttering under his breath momentarily. “Workin’ on chaos marble weapons.”

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The Enemy Moves || ♫

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Marz turned the weapon in his hands over a couple of times as the other hegelans and then his fellow students looked its way. “An’ there’s a lot more where they came from,” he confirmed.

Khaliun floated quietly nearby, her two mercenary companions no more than a couple of yards distant. The light of the setting sun burned vast and golden-orange behind her. Yvain crossed his arms. “And, correct me if I’m wrong, but we still haven’t found the boxes that we came here for.”

“I think is safe we can say they are ones with anti-magic device, no?”

Penny, brow furrowed, clambered to her feet and nodded. “If we can use magic again, we can use that to track them, right?” She nodded further, recalling. She glanced about, realizing that she was the only one who had been part of last year’s clandestine operation on Isla d’Amato. “Last year,” she admitted, “I was called by the late Paradigm -” She quickly made the sign of the Pentad. “To undertake a... task. There, we encountered… items similar to these. When active, they would give off a very particular sonic and magnetic signature.” It was burned into her memory and there was no forgetting the feel of it: how she had nearly died, how those horrid snake people that the others so loved had kept her locked up and isolated, how they had turned those infernal devices on, how they had done it again and again. “I can recognize it. I can track it. If I’m within sensing range, I can lead you there.”

“But the shchool wants us to retrieve theshe thingsh?” Sven retorted. He shook his head, unafraid to question authority. “I shay they’re a weapon of terror. We should deshtroy them.”

Yuliya pursed her lips and nodded. “You know what? I agree with him.” She glanced about. “How many people still alive if these things are not here?”

Penny, once again, found herself disagreeing with her friend. “Guys,” she interjected amid the burgeoning consensus, “We’re forgetting something.”

“And that is…?” Yvain pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against.

“We don’t know who made them,” Roslyn interjected. “Or where they came from,” Penny agreed. “And if they’re still out there, they’ll just make more.”

Marz nodded uneasily, stroking his scruffy beard. “Aye, and we should be ready.” He scowled.

"Yes, and magic keeps going in and out now!" Oksana chimed in, sharing the others' concern. With so many speaking and so quickly, it had been difficult for her to keep up, but she'd caught that much. Penny nodded. “I mean, it's an improvement,” Roslyn offered, “but also another mystery we should probably get to the bottom of.”

“Ehhh, eheh." Marz scratched at the back of his head, a bit sheepish, but proud, nonetheless. "That was... actually the lo’ of us." He gestured towards his fellow mountain-dwellers. “This wondrous thing -” He gestured towards an arm-sized mechanism held by a rather heavyset fellow, who smiled at the compliment and blushed. “Not you, yeh tub o' lard!" he barked, and a few of them laughed. “The device. It's an anti-anti-magic device, I guess yeh could call it." He shook his head and another hegelan interjected. "Needs a better name." Marz waved him away dismissively. “I know, I know, alright!?" He turned back to the others. “Anyhow, Thah's what's been givin' yeh yer magic back in fits n' starts." He posted hsi hands on his hips matter-of-factly. “And if we could manage somethin' like that in secret, in a Gods-damned prison, then I give us a damn good shot o' reverse-engineering one o’ them things an’ finding an even prettier way teh counter it.”

Yvain crossed his arms again. “Impressive," he admitted, nodding along, "But isn’t it all a bit of a moot point when this town is crawling with Volti and their hired thugs?” He looked to Yuliya for support. “Have we not forgotten that she and I were accosted and nearly murdered by them?”

Not quite facing the perrenchman, Sven rolled his eyes. Hard to forget when you’ve reminded us at least three times already, he thought, but he said nothing.

"Is true," she confirmed. "They need death."

Esmii passed a concerned look around. “We can’t just forget about the chaos marbles,” she reminded them, and the hegelans nodded in chorus. “I’ve seen what they can do and it’s... terrifying.”

“We need get them,” an elder hegelan rasped in half-way passable Avincian. “We need break them.”

“And who here can handle a chaos marble?” Yvain asked, glancing at Khaliun’s hammer. “I know of two.” Penny and Yuliya glanced at each other. “I think Yuliya and I can,” the former advised. “Maybe we should split," she continued. "At least two who can handle the marbles with our hegelan friends to lead them. The rest with me to find the crates.”

“To destroy them?” Roslyn asked pointedly, still aware that they were not necessarily all on the same page.

Then, Khaliun spoke her first words since the encounter. “They’re moving,” she said simply, raising her mighty weapon with the help of kinetic magic. “Who?” Yuliya prodded, shaking her head. “Always I tell this girl, say full sentence! She never listen.”

The tethered tilted her head to the side. “The Volti.” She blinked. “Dozens of them.”

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Action Opportunities || ♫

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Welcome to the penultimate chapter of Cold Comfort! Our group of students has not only managed to finally reunite with the recently-escaped Marz, they have also become aware of the anti-magic device managed to survive the battle with the crazed abbot and the false monks of the Order of St. Artyom. However, the town of Kirimansk has once again paid a heavy price. As the ten youths weigh whether or not that was worth it, a new opportunity and a potentially deeper crisis present themselves, intertwined: The hegelans reveal that they were kidnapped from their homes specifically for the purpose of crafting a weapons using the terrifying power of chaos marbles. There is, in fact, an entire arsenal of the things hidden within the sacred caves. The anti-anti-magic device (better name pending) that they have developed will allow people within about a three hundred yard bubble to use magic normally, even within an anti-magic zone. Doing so, they may finally be able to find the crates that they were sent here for. What they do when that comes to pass remains up in the air and very much undecided. First, they need to get there, and fast. Before any further discussion can take place, Khaliun reveals that she has sensed multiple forms moving in a coordinated manner. She believes these to be agents of the infamous terrorist group known as the Dieci Volti Nascosti, one of whose members assaulted and nearly murdered Yuliya and Yvain a few days earlier. The clock is ticking and now things become a desperate race against time and a well-ensconced enemy with considerable resources as well as nebulous motivations and potentially hidden power. Before any action may be taken, the group must decide:

OOC: Where each of them stand on what to do with the boxes and chaos marbles.
IC: Where each of them stand on the boxes and chaos marbles.
IC: How they'll be splitting themselves as a group, if at all, and how they'll approach the Dieci Volti agents at work throughout the city.

Best of luck and happy posting! Most of this will be handled in our discord server, aside from your main forum posts. I expect that a good deal will be played out live this coming Saturday.

The Hourglass Order

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Present: Rikard Ambrus, Yalen Castel @pantothenic, Valerian Remi Leclere @yoshua171, Maura Mercador @Ti, Salomé Xiuyang Solari @Emeth, Trypano Somia @A Lowly Wretch, Ingrid Penderson @dragonpiece, Niallus Saberhagen @McKennaJ71, Abdel Varga @YummyYummy, and Neki Kaureerah Wenhan

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A Clash for the Ages || ♫

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The sky writhed and roiled above Wanggang as cosmic entities clashed with the fate of the nation and possibly the entire world on the line. Vast black tentacles blotted out the moons and stars. Heroes of yore clashed with the villains of the present. Enormous bursts of energy - enough to level a city - were released again and again.

Nobody saw any of it. At least… nobody who wasn’t a powergazer or a highly skilled user of magic. At most, some might’ve felt changes in the air pressure, or been woken up in the depths of the night without quite understanding why. They soon fell back into sleep, blissfully unaware.

For those within the grounds of the Imperial Palace, however, the struggle fast became the only reality that they knew. Brother Ash - once the Quentic hero known as Sir Rodric Danneman of Lindermetz - mocked and taunted, having made a temporary alliance with his enemies. From the fabric of space and time itself, he called forth versions of his past allies from the Great Heathen War, fighting alongside them against the Twin Emperors’ forces and the students who had sold their souls to the tyrants for personal gain. Hildr the Red clashed with the Black Guard known as Smoking Bandit. Camille de Saumurre faced down her fellow somnian Yalen Castel. The mighty King Arcel the Victorious did battle with the overwhelming power of Jocasta Re. The Laughing Knight himself was left to the Black Guard Stormcloud, once upon a time his dubious ally, now… an enemy?

Yet, there were other clashes that, if not quite as grand, were nonetheless important. The Nikanese ronin Seki had called forth a copy of the storied hero Hitoshi, who had fought during the Himitsu no Senso. These engaged in a prolonged struggle against the Black Guard duo of Cold Soup and Mountain Spring and their initially reluctant student ally Xiuyang Solari. Meanwhile, Maura, Kaureerah, and the chicken that occupied the former’s lap found themselves facing down the Nikanese tyrant Lady Matsuhara, once again somehow alive following her apparent death at Jocasta’s hands. The two girls were both far better known as charmers than fighters, and what use was a chicken, all told?

Wu Long, a far mightier being who had so roared about the students’ betrayal, was called into battle against the Twins themselves, while the foreign youths set to work felling his - and formerly their own - allies. Cruelly cut down by the Black Guard Golden Monkey was Dragon Smirk, who had offered both Valerian and Niallus hospitality, friendship, and rescue from certain death. In the end, they had decided for greater power, convincing themselves of their moral righteousness and the Black Guard’s honesty. Convinced, also, was Ingrid, who had been swayed by Evil Eye’s emotional entreaty and appeared very ready to gain the powers of a sanguinaire for herself. Only a timely call for mercy by Evil Eye prevented her from killing the slain Dragon Smirk’s sister - Elephant Mouth - as the girl mourned her brother and loudly cursed their betrayal.

The Great White Dragon of Frost and the Golden Dragon of Fortune both fell, the first after being transformed into a hideous three-headed abomination and forcing the students into a terrifying hallucinatory world to rival the very worst of West Callanasti voodoo. The noisy heroes who had felled it and its counterpart strutted about and gloated, the only more-than-perfunctory misgivings among the group expressed by Abdel and the ever-optimistic Trypano who had, in fact, originally sided against the others before - like Kaureerah - being quietly drawn back onside.

The death toll only grew from there as the heroes of yore fell, as did Camille at Yalen’s hands and Hitoshi by way of Xiuyang and Mountain Spring, or were turned, like Hildr by Smoking Bandit. Cold Soup met her end at Seki’s blade and another half-dozen ogauraq allies of the dragons fell in battle. While Laughing Squid and Sleeping Carp battled the Progenitor to a standstill in a contest full of ebbs and flows, the gargantuan power of Wu Long pressed even the Twin Emperors to their limits.

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Titan

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Then, the Golden Dragon of Fortune collapsed, brought to the edge of death by the combined efforts of Abdel, Trypano, Rikard, and Golden Monkey. Out of him spilled not only his life, but a great many secrets - world-shattering ones were he to be believed: the irrepressible evil of the sanguinaires, the purpose of the dragons and the primordial forces of order who had created them to fight chaos. It was these great beings referred to as ‘Knowers’ who lay beyond time and space lorded over all of creation and now they had been angered.

The air roiled with a strange, rich sort of energy. Try as they might, the mortals below could not properly sense it though they knew it was there. They could not draw from it. They could not use it.

Trypano, seeing that the dragon had made its final choice, decided to heed its words. She looked quickly to see if anyone else required aid in fleeing before she turned heel and made haste. Abdel stood up, still unable to run, and limped back until he could straddle Qadira. “Dammit ...” he cursed, upset over the outcome. He had shown mercy, and yet this beast - no, this individual - was still dying. And by the looks of it, something else was at play. Thoughts on the ways of the world were put aside in favour of his own survival. He and the Skuggvars made as much distance as they could. Rikard, genuinely unnerved, sensed something that he didn't understand. In many cases, his natural curiosity might’ve taken hold. In this instance, caution won the day. "Go!" he screamed. "Go! Go! Go!"

The dragon lasted another ten seconds, perhaps. Then, it began.

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The sky opened like a massive eye of the purest blinding white. The scale of it was colossal: stretching across the entire horizon for as far as anyone could see. It parted like a lazy eye awakening, and then it parted further. From within the blazing whiteness an endless black tentacle crawled forth, dwarfing any living beneath it by orders of magnitude.

Then, a second one appeared.

And a third. They snaked and swirled about the vast white eye, their suckers grasping and popping. There came the sense of something hulking beyond - just on the other side of the veil.

The Progenitor, about to glory in his nearly-complete triumph, paused. The Twin Emperors were brought to a standstill, as was Wu Long. Arcel and Jocasta, in the middle of a contest that was as much one of rhetoric as one of strength, pulled back. People ran and screamed. A fourth and fifth tentacle appeared. A sixth. A seventh. An eighth.

A thunderous red glow issued from the depths of the infernal whiteness. A gargantuan eye peered down at the tiny world from above, vast and ancient in its intelligence and intent: a being of pure calculation.

Or was it? Was not this display more than what was strictly necessary? Did not it provoke primordial terror? And this eye, how it looked down, searching the green lands below. What it saw and what it judged, the mortals that it gazed upon could not fathom.

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Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light!

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Then, from within the light emerged a new darkness - a second darkness. Itself, it opened like an eye. A small figure emerged - small compared to the vast horror that surrounded it. It was, much in contrast, a thing of whiteness. It began floating down.

But then it turned. Its call echoed across the landscape, heard by a hundred ears in a hundred different voices - that which they would be most likely to listen to and to heed. "Do not run!" it urged. "Stand! Fight!" And that burning white figure - the will and fury of humanity and her sister species - stood alone before the behemoth, blazing at it, implacable.

It was the Traveler.

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Her form was that of Enna Lantisca, among the greatest of mages to have ever lived and a companion of the great Hugo Hunghorasz’s youth. She reached out with all of the magic that she could muster and struck one of the enormous tentacles. Momentarily, it recoiled, but then it redoubled.

Those below were galvanized. Rodric and Stormcloud paused in their halfhearted battle to add their strength. Ingrid gathered her atomic power. Trypano called upon her blood magics, and Arcel of Perrence turned from Jocasta to face the new threat. "I stand, once more, as humanity's shield." He gathered his energy. His companion Hildr loosed a Holy Lance on the beast and Captain Zhu attempted to follow. His explosive spell blew up in his face instead, and only a quick reaction saved him from self-immolation.

Others were not cowed by the mishap, however. Captain Zhao struck true. Kaureerah, over the panicked fluttering and clucking of the chicken that had accompanied her and Maura, managed to launch a sonic attack with her lute. Maura materialized a multitude of spikes that she hurled into the heavens.

Yalen had not been there to hear the last words of the dragons, but he had borne witness to the arrival of the eldritch abomination and, sensing the great danger it posed to everyone present, he decided to do what was necessary. His hated enemy was within arm's reach, but apprehending the Traveler was a duty that could wait for another time. "Smoking Bandit!" Yalen called to the black guard with a hand outstretched. "Lend me your black powder!" However, the young somnian found it already on him. Smoking Bandit nodded.

Yalen nodded back. His intent was obvious: It was time to start a chain reaction. He uncapped the powder horn and thrust it into the sky, allowing its contents to scatter into the wind. The young priest placed a hand underneath his robe and held the dragon's jewel aloft, igniting the ancient fuel source so that it might serve as a catalyst for his final attack. "Burn." The air exploded into flames, and under Yalen's control all of that chemical energy was sent screaming towards the pitch black invader.

Abdel and his beastly companions gathered a colossal amount of electromagnetic energy and prepared to release it. “I will NOT run!” the youth roared. He cast.

Then Xiulan poured what little magic she knew into the growing onslaught. Yin gave it what she had. So did little Yong. Xiuyang let loose an arcane lance. Jocasta threw her considerable power in as well, telekinetically grabbing one of the massive tentacles and wrenching it away from an intended target.

Valerian, exhausted, bruised, and battered, watched as the sky itself was split by a great eye, which was swiftly joined by one, two, three...and finally eight vast limbs. Vel paled, but his mind went to what might happen if he did nothing, if any of them chose not to act. He pushed to his feet and closed his eyes. Legs shaky beneath him, Valerian, Remi. Leclere nonetheless decided to give it his all. Despite his injuries, his exhaustion, and the occasional flare of pain that ran through him from overexerting himself, he pushed forward. "Why stop now," he murmured as a look of intense concentration slipped onto his features.

He drew all of the energy he could get, weaving his three schools into a single attack, but his exhaustion showed through. Despite his efforts, his casting was clearly weakened. He pressed on, conjuring a projectile of pure kinetic force, filled with pressurized fire and separated from a layer of extremely flammable air. Nonetheless, it proved drastically weaker than it ought to have been: unstable, leaking energy. Still, it was something. He unleashed it, hurling the great lance of force and fire up and at the eye of the tremendous beast. Perhaps it would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

He was not the only one who was struggling to make much of an impact. With Maura’s encouragement Kaureerah looked at the chicken that had proven a constant distraction. She knew that there was more to it. There had to be. "Yoo, Eye knoow yoo aur noo naurmel boord. Eye need yoo too look et mee." She made eye contact with its beady little black eyes. It looked back at her. Chicken let out its sixth Primordial Cluck. It grew, and an aura of heat began to emanate from it.

Mountain Spring leapt far into the sky and struck a tentacle with a colossal kinetically-displaced punch, while Golden Monkey burned it with fantastic fire. Energy poured out of Evil Eye's ravaged eye socket, peeling away flesh and skin. A burning crimson Polaris Beam stretched a mile up into the sky and struck the monstrosity. The Black Guard smoked and bled and, when it was done, collapsed in a heap, unconscious.

The ronin Seki looked to the others, having prepared his retreat, but his eyes met his former combatant, Mountain Spring, before he spoke. "Help me, and we can both bury our grudges. Otherwise, we'll meet our comrades far sooner than we should. Whatever you are, that thing is worse."

Spring's expression was flat. Wordlessly, he seized the man with both his hands and complied without even a grunt of exertion. Seki was fired at the speed of a literal missile right at the eye of the storm. The ronin slashed at reality as he was launched, creating a multitude of ripples as he ascended to the height of the eye. Such a disgusting sight was unfit to look upon this beautiful world that the gods had crafted, however corrupted it may have become. He struck true and the titan recoiled.

Sir Rodric was not to be outdone, however. "WHHHAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! EAT SHIT, YOU TENTACLED FUCK!!!" he brayed and, from his hands leapt a colossal roiling explosion that brightened half the sky.

Stormcloud sighed. A pear was ripped out of a blackened portal by her. She ate it and her form shifted: a being with horns of a Qilin and black hair flowing like a fiery mane. Her blade turned into a massive Tetsubo. She raised her almighty club and descended a blackened heavenly wrath onto the monstrosity.

Meanwhile, chicken flapped its wings. "Coome aun! Yoo stoopeed boord!" Kaureerah hissed, gesturing madly at the chicken. She tried to manifest it. She tried to rely on this new magic she was tapping into. Chicken let out its seventh Primordial Cluck. It grew, now, to a monstrous size - easily that of a thresher. Kaureerah's eyes lit up. "Yes!" she crowed. "Yessss, mai meenioon!!!"

The students and Black Guard had started something, it was clear. They had fought when most had thought only to flee. Heartened by the sight, the true heavyweights now threw their full power at the monstrosity. The twin emperors, as one, struck at the great horror that threatened their nation, and it roared and thrashed. Wu Long, the Dragon Emperor, reeled back. He made to flee. Then, he stopped. There was no avoiding this. He turned and opened his enormous mouth.The vast red and silver dragon breathed a stream of molten metal that speared the colossus right in the eye.

The Traveler was everywhere. Now taking the form of a crimson-robed man, he struck again. There was no visible damage, but the monstrosity pulled back.

Hildr launched another lance. Yawen made use of her tethered range. Jocasta tore at space and time itself, deleting chunks of the expanding horror.

Chicken released its eighth Primordial Cluck. A greater aura of misfortune blossomed. "Aulmoost there!" Kaureerah encouraged. "Yoo cen doo eet, mai leetle feathered frend!" With that encouragement, the huge bird let out its ninth Primordial Cluck.

It grew once more, until it towered over all but the dragons. Its feathers gleamed with a metallic light. Its eyes burned ghostly blue. "Cheep"

"Goo, mai meenioon. Nauw ees yoor taim!" Kaureerah took out her lute and launched an attack of her own. The chicken looked rather cross.

Then, as the fell god descended from the heavens, Lucky Dragon collapsed. She lay there on the ground unmoving. A small, sleek dragon with iridescent indigo scales and glowing orange eyes rocketed in from over the palace. It released a burst of concentrated VOID energy. This struck true and the beast let out a shriek.

There was only the Progenitor left to act. He was nowhere to be seen, until… He appeared behind the Traveler. "Your bleeding heart was always your weakness." She had changed forms once again and he reached out to strike her through the heart.

The Traveler grabbed his fist. She tilted her head to one side. "And yours was always your predictable deviousness." She snapped his fist. Her eyes burned with fury and, from one thousand feet up in the sky, she flung him into the hungering whiteness. "Die, tyrant."

The attacks continued to pour in, hammering at the colossus in the sky. Then, it moved. The combined efforts of everyone - of all of these epic heroes and villains - of their great ambition, their rage, their will to live… It was not enough. Marhazannet descended upon Retan.

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Burning Heavens || ♫

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That was when the chicken released its tenth Primordial Cluck. The sound was immense - tremendous. It reverberated across hills and mountains. It intensified the effect of every ounce of damage dealt to the great black horror. It gave humanity and her sisters the extra boost that they needed to put them over the top. The sonic wave struck the tentacled colossus and it reeled backwards in pain. Great sheets of darkness began to slough away and it… began to retreat. The eyelike gap in reality began to close. "Now!" Shouted the Traveler. "One final push!"

“We finish this!” yelled Abdel. Vel's expression hardened. "You're not leaving alive," he proclaimed, calling upon whatever vestiges he could to level one more blow at the titan's fleeing form. Ingrid looked to Trypano, "Make me Uranium!"

Seeing as Trypano was in the thick of it with the rest of them, combining her assault with Ingrid’s was indeed an appropriate choice. With binding she drew from the giant entity itself, pulling at powers outside her knowledge to try and fabricate the materials Ingrid needed.

Lucky Dragon bit down on one of the tentacles. Stormcloud used her unfathomable, Oni-like strength to seize that same appendage, dragging it along with her fellow Black Guard. “Wu Long!” screamed Abdel at the top of his lungs. “Help her!” he pointed at his fellow, younger dragon.

Yalen could feel it. In its moment of weakness, the creature's power had faded to the point where even an insignificant mortal like him could touch its unfathomable essence. He could command it. "Do not underestimate the strength of humanity, monster. You will submit!" Yalen shouted into the sky. It shifted and wavered and let out an ear-piercing roar. Then… "IGNITE!"

The White Eye began to close. The titan began to escape. It was almost out of their reach, no matter what fire and fury they poured its way. Then, it stopped. It twisted in midair and a massive burst of energy poured forth from its eyes, beak, and suckers. Thick black smoke belched out in every direction. Writhing and twisting, it turned its fury on a target: Chen Linlin, better known as Evil Eye. A tentacle moved to crash down on her unconscious form in a final, spiteful attack.

They would not simply let it happen, however. Abdel mobilized his Skuggvars. As with his final flash, they could serve as batteries for Ingrid to channel even MORE and FASTER. “Ingrid, use them!” and in turn, he used electromagnetism to help her contain the volatile energy. The Eskandr nodded as she felt a helpful grasp outside her experience: the power of a Cataclysm but at the same speed of a fireball.

The massive limb detonated the ground beneath it as Mountain Spring dashed to grab his unconscious comrade, determined not to lose another one under his watch. Everything in the monstrosity’s path was eliminated from reality but Linlin was not among its victims. The combined efforts of the two remaining dragons, Stormcloud, and Mountain Spring proved just enough to delay its journey and skirt her away to safety.

Then, Ingrid struck, empowered by Trypano, Abdel, and his skuggvars, and the heavenly eyelid that had stopped closing began again. Knowing he had limited options, Vel eviscerated the very ground around him, and the air in every direction he could manage. Winds died, fissures formed, and great thunderclaps echoed as he annihilated the matter with binding and translated it directly into energy. Stretching a hand out with an almost pained expression, Valerian began to extend a thread-thin tendril of power out from himself. It penetrated the sky and reached the colossal entity: Touch of Fury.

---

---

Betrayer of Humanity

---

---

He was not the only one: they hammered away with all that they had, pouring destruction into the gap, but the sliver of perfect whiteness narrowed further still. Then, the Traveler rocketed forward, accompanied by a colossal surge of energy. The eyelid slowed. Then, it grated to a stop. Dozens of attacks poured through and a tentacle broke apart, its pieces plunging to the ground, crushing palaces and mountaintops. The puny beings below were forced to flee. The Traveler’s sheer will seemed to be the only thing holding the great eye open.

Then, she wavered.

---

♫

---

She fell from the sky, a hole clean through her centre, and the Progenitor floated behind her in all of his pitch black glory, her blood hissing and boiling away from his hand.

Then, rushing his way came a copper streak. A hulking figure rushed past them all - past Jocasta, floating in the air, past the ronin Seki, maintaining his height with the help of others, and past the two dragons: Wu Long and Wu Xiang, father and daughter. It was Sleeping Carp.

He looked to the ronin who had been his enemy mere minutes ago. "Lend me your weapon!" he bellowed by way of entreaty. "Lend me your strength and I can end him and his evil." Time itself seemed to swirl around him, running fast and slow in eddies.

Seki turned to the other sanguinaire, with a look of surprise. "On your honor, fellow countryman, end your own existence after the deed is done. This is the price. Echiran dictates a life must be given for a life to be taken. as he unclipped the sheath of the blade from his hilt, and held it out towards the running black guard.

The Progenitor's brother rushed past, accepting the blade and the deal and leapt into the sky. "Brother!" he roared. "Even for you, this is a new low!" He brought the legendary sword down.

He scowled. "You can't fight them, foolish little brother." He shook his head as another swing missed. "And now, I see, you have brought me a sword, just as planned." He reached out with kinetic magic. He snapped Sleeping Carp's neck and the hulking figure slumped.

Then, it smiled, and it was a huge, wicked, mocking smile. Sleeping Carp laughed. "Hahaha! She was right. You are predictable!" he crowed, broken neck and all. The illusion faded. Sleeping Carp appeared beside him.

It took one slice. The Progenitor's head was separated from his body. Sleeping Carp smiled faintly. He released a breath. Then, both faded from existence. The sword tumbled back down to the ground.

Seki nodded at his countryman, as he walked to collect the blade that had vanquished the heart of darkness, and the honourable bloodsucker who had wielded it when it mattered most. The best of his kind was gone, and he would continue his fight.

Further hurt poured in at the wounded titan. Yet, for all that this had appeared to be a victory, for all that many people had stood together this day and fended off an apocalypse, it would be a bitter one. The eye was nearly closed and the beast yet lived.

---

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The Cavalry Arrives || ♫

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---

Then, from seemingly out of nowhere, a second eye opened. Only, this one was a portal. From it poured a dozen or more strange flying contraptions. Some had wings that swirled and moved. Some zipped across the sky on trails of blue fire with absurd levels of speed.

Missiles armed; target locked. "Let's light this fucker up, boys!" The tentacles lashed and thrashed and, from the strange craft came fifty-four Alpha-Seventeen Titan Killer missiles. Parachutes deployed from others and, from them, loudspeakers: sirrahi inventions. "Kinetic and arcane shields! Use your magic, raise your shields! Explosives incoming!"

Those who weren't too dumbfounded to react listened to the instructions. Kinetic shields and arcane ones went up. Then, the missiles struck home. The eye rippled. The beast let out a high, pealing screech. Great seething chunks of it fell from the sky, shaking the very ground that people stood on. Most were able to dodge. Some were not. Then, the eye was gone. The monster was slain.

Former enemies stood together on a battlefield even as a mysterious new ally turned about and headed back through the portal they had come from. "Well done, monkeys!" they called through their speaker systems. "'Til next time!" Then, the anomaly closed behind them.

In its wake was left exhaustion, best expressed, in many regards, by Valerian. Remi. Leclere. Perhaps from the shockwave, perhaps from shock, Vel had fallen on his ass, where he now sat. Feeling dead tired, he stared up at the sky, unable to even process half of what had just happened. "I...." He frowned. "I have so many questions...and I'm not sure if I want answers to any of them."

Chicken appeared above him. "Well, if you ever change your mind," a tall lean young man in a parka offered, "you can always ask." He sat down beside Vel, grinning, and let out a sigh.

---

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The Aftermath || ♫

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The next ten minutes were a maelstrom of activity as various actors raced out to try to find and secure samples of the fallen goliath. Others gathered about a being whom a handful recognized as the Ice King, trying to glean what knowledge they could from him, searing for answers that might help explain the new and terrifying world they now found themselves thrown into.

Still others searched for the Traveler, Maura first of all, hoping that humanity’s saviour had not been slain by the progenitor’s treacher and, if she yet lived, looking to heal her. They found that she was not so easy to do away with unless killed in one fell stroke. What was spoken between them - in turn Maura, Abdel, and Yalen - remained largely secret, but most made their peace with the protean figure that night in Retan.

Meanwhile, those who had made haste to collect samples found themselves frustratingly stymied. The substance proved lethal to the touch, and only some timely temporal intervention prevented multiple deaths. This was used as a justification by Jocasta to not only contain a small sample of the fallen behemoth, but to destroy the rest. It was simply too valuable dangerous to be allowed to fall into others’ hands. Indeed, the amateurs had barely avoided calamity as it was!

This movement of people and exchange of information, commiserations, and congratulations continued for some time, but wheels had already been set in motion. Yalen had spoken with Smoking Bandit and Captain Zhao in turn, and would be granted permission to retrieve the mysterious Nikanese orb from the evidence room of Wanggang’s central guardian station. Yawen was to accompany him, but she was anxiously searching for Maura first. While the junior White Knight was in no hurry to leave, the same could not be said for Seki, Laughing Squid and Golden Monkey closing in on him with potential aspirations of avenging the fallen Cold Soup. As she was no more, slain in combat, it was Smoking Bandit who presented Niallus with the blade he had turned against his erstwhile allies for. Evil Eye, once healed, made her way quickly to the Wei family and, in particular, to Yong. Yin had been reunited with Captain Zhu Kai and, perhaps it was the sheer relief of the moment. Perhaps it had been brewing for some time. Whatever it had been, they disappeared, hand-in-hand behind one of the few remaining trees, and embraced each other.

Conspicuous by their absence, however, were Wu Long, Wu Xiang (better known as Lucky Dragon), Xiulan, Hui (a man known by many names), and the Twin Emperors. While an entire wing of the palace had been devastated, much of it yet stood.

In the scramble, and with the assistance of some illusory magics, their flight there went virtually unnoticed. That Wu Long had been gravely wounded as the pieces of the titan rained down upon Sipenta’s defenders was known by many. He had shielded his daughter - estranged though they had been for a century before this. A strange black malady was spreading through the Exemplar and it had proven unstoppable. Many wondered; few knew.

Then, Laughing Squid went to work and, momentarily, concerns for those who had disappeared into the palace were put aside, much as they were among the most essential actors in the entire process. Smoking Bandit, Evil Eye, Golden Monkey, and a dozen other binders of various stripes joined him and, weary and cautious, Red Menders began to stream in, eyes wide at the devastation, glances reverent and wary at the Black Guard and the foreigners.

Piece by piece, the palace grounds began to reassemble themselves under the moonlight. Incinerated forests were regrown. Craters and scars upon the land were filled. Ruins returned to functional state. Retan would be as it had always been - as it must always remain: a land of peace, harmony, and prosperity. None would be allowed to lay eyes upon the imperfections that they knew existed. It was, simply, the Retanese way of doing things, and ten foreign students had decided, on one bloody night, that it should not change, at least not more than superficially. If subsequent events had altered that, it would only become evident in the coming months and years.

The rebuilding process took nearly some two hours and, during that time, Ingrid and Valerian were called aside. For what, the others were uncertain, but both likely had an inkling long before they stepped into the hallowed halls of the Crimson Chamber and were led down a long staircase into a darkened room below.

Meanwhile, Stormcloud, who had ducked into the palace for some minutes, emerged to share the ill tidings with her allies: Wu Long had passed from the Knower’s strange malady. She was an awkward speaker at the best of times and this instance seemed no different from any other. Perhaps that was why she had been selected to deliver the news, or perhaps she had volunteered. It was unknown. Regardless, the Exemplar was no more, and his daughter, known as Lucky Dragon, had entered the extended period of solitary mourning appropriate for such an occurrence. It was expected that, following her observance, she would re-enter active service, but her privacy was to be treated with the utmost respect and deference by others.

It was on this rather dark note that the desperately joyous scenes outside the Imperial Palace came to a close and the exhaustion that they surely all felt once again took hold in earnest. Some lay on the ground, sleeping where they could. Others crowded under the pavilions, making use of furniture. Some could not sleep anyhow.

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Anointing || ♫ || ♫

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Ingrid Penderson and Valerian. Remi. Leclere. emerged from the palace’s great rotunda at the head of the other eight visitors from afar. They were clothed in long ceremonial robes - gold and deep red, embroidered with the sigils of their houses or else personal symbols. Gongs and drums sounded across the restored gardens of the Twin Emperors of Retan, who sat, triumphant, upon twin thrones in the great plaza behind.

The first glow of the sun appeared upon the horizon, though it had not yet broken that plane, and the air buzzed with music, sound, and energy. At this early hour, the inner circle of the imperial court had been gathered and the Emperors’ wives and concubines took their places in a semicircle about the rulers. Last to emerge was Jiang Xiulan. Gone was the girlish manner, the irreverent quips, and the eternally unkempt hair. Ensconced behind a shield of makeup, ceremony, and fine silks, she strode into the center of the clearing, radiant. She pivoted on her heel, bowed deeply before her husband and his brother, and took her seat at Ten-Jiu’s right hand. The other women barely repressed their scowls and murmurs and, for a moment, Maura could have been certain that Xiulan looked at her and flashed the faintest ghost of a smile.

The Black Guard entered: the six that they knew - Laughing Squid, Golden Monkey, Stormcloud, Evil Eye, Smoking Bandit, Mountain Spring - and four new faces. Among these was the tall white-haired figure of Brother Ash, and he walked towards the head, second only to the mighty Laughing Squid. They took their places in two exalted rows to either side of the emperors, bowing before turning to face what came next.

They stood there as the horizon burgeoned in brightness. The hundred banners of the Retanese Empire flapped in the brisk early morning wind. The drums went silent and a final gong echoed across the clearing, its sound subtly enhanced through sonic magics. “在这一天，我们向来自远方的勇敢英雄致敬。” (On this day, we honour the brave heroes who came here from distant lands,) proclaimed Ten-Jiu, rising. His brother rose alongside him. “他们不必这样做，但他们为我们的国家而战，确保正义得到伸张，确保人民免受巨大邪恶的侵害。” (They did not have to, but they fought for our country, to ensure that justice was served and its people remained safe from a great evil,) Ten-Re concluded. He and his brother bowed in the direction of their visitors.

Then, the drums sounded twice more, thunderously. Other instruments that most of the visitors did not properly recognize played. One by one, the heroes of the day were called to stand before the Emperors, surrounded by applause. Each received the personal thanks of the twins and an item given in reward for their service.

Finally, it was the turn of Ingrid and Valerian. Evil Eye and Golden Monkey detached themselves from the ceremonial guard to stand behind and to the left of each, respectively. The drums settled into a solemn march. The horizon blazed with light and birds chirped and tittered in the trees. A small, screened pavilion took shape behind Ten-Re and Ten-Jiu, its ornate walls wood, paper, and something energetic enough to fool the prying senses of virtually anyone.

Guided by their sponsors, the pair strode up a crimson carpet to be greeted and embraced by the emperors. The drums rose in intensity. The horns blared. The gongs sounded. They were led into the small pavilion for the most sacred and secretive part of the ceremony. There, behind the screens of paper, wood, energy, and sound, they were inducted for their meritorious service as members of the Crimson Order of the Balance.

What took place within that shielded space, only they could say, but when they emerged, they did so as silhouettes, the sun cresting the horizon behind them. Evil Eye and Golden Monkey took a step back and bowed before them. The two newest members of the order returned the gesture and it was complete: all of the ceremony, all of the intrigue, the danger, the betrayal, the conundrums - all of it. This very evening, after being feted and feasted some more, the ten students and Jocasta would return to Ersand’Enise through portals of the Black Guard’s conjuring. That, then, would be it: their happy ending. All was as it was meant to be. Retan was saved. A great evil had been defeated. All was well.

… but was it?

Fin.

---

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Rewards

Rewards

The following items are laid upon a table for the students to choose amongst themselves. As the Twin Emperors are fond of, this is yet another social experiment.

1. The Black Dragon's Spine: the agitator manas inside of this spell dagger grant its user +16 manas as well as an increase of two skill modifier tiers for their dice and access to spells of one skill level above their level when using internal chemical magic. They will roll a d6 before each roll for hallucinogenic effects. If it is a one, they will roll with disadvantage. If it is a 5 or 6, their target will roll with disadvantage.

2. The Pendant of Guilty Conscience: In addition to simply providing 8 manas, each time that this pendant's bearer substantially lies, betrays a friend, murders, or commits a crime greater than petty theft, this pendant will gain one charge. Each charge will grant its bearer a spellcasting benefit as follows, stacking:

1) One extra advantage roll per cycle.
2) A +4 benefit to any two spells per cycle.
3) One extra skill modifier tier in a chosen school.
4) Defense boosted by two tiers twice per cycle.
5) The ability to revive a dead ally/enemy (they're pretty much the same thing, right?)

3. Goldy: the runt of the twin emperors' royal qilin litter of two years ago. This will grow into a very fast mount by next school year.

4. Slayer's Helm: In addition to providing its user with 18 manas, this cavalry helm in the Retanese style will boost defensive rolls by +2 for every successful attack landed.

5. Unruly Dragon's Bridle: In addition to providing medium to large dragons with +18 manas, this bridle will boost their rolls on control checks, as well as combo attacks and defenses with advantage.

6. Staff of the Burning Monkey King: On top of providing 24 manas, this bo staff will bump all arcane spells except for cryogenic ones up by one skill modifier tier. If twirled rapidly, it will create a blazing shield of heat capable of absorbing up to 6 damage twice per scenario.

7. Thunder King's Lance: This great spear requires at least 3 points in kinetic magic and 3 in magnetic to be wielded. In addition to providing 24 manas, it will increase the speed of magnetic drawing and casting, allowing for a d3 to be rolled before each action taken with this school. If a 3 is rolled, its bearer will receive an extra turn out of sequence.

8. Book of Unanswered Questions: This is a book full of riddles and questions, with precisely one per page. All of them appear to be crossed out. When a new one is written, the book will attempt to demonstrate its answer in the physical world. It has ten free pages remaining.

9. Barbarian's Net: Anything ensnared in this ogauraq net will be subject to an immensely powerful Gaze of Dominion Spell, rolling 6d15 with advantage. This may only be used twice per scenario and only one target may be controlled at a time. Also grants 24 manas to its bearer.

10. Akuma 7: The seventh Masterwork of Kagemitsu Kenshin, this haureenium katana constantly draws heat from its environment, boosting all heat-based magic (arcane, some chemical, some atomic, and some magnetic) by one RAS modifier tier and gradually strengthening itself. Each successful defense builds a charge of Infernal Wrath. Once it builds five, it will release their power into the VOID, drawing (roll a d5) tier 2 demon sprites into reality.

11. Red Curtain Troupe: This set of seven imbued puppets was a gift from Revidia or Segona a great many years ago. It has more or less collected dust, unused in performance since appearing in the show where it was received. In any given encounter, five of its seven members may be active. Each possesses a unique attribute and these are as follows:

a) Papa Joey - a midsized puppet, elementary to control. He has 10 health and specializes in kinetic magic. He can attack with [THE BELT] using a d15, which is also his basic defense roll. If he rolls a 13 or above, the target will roll with disadvantage. He may instead use [SCOLD]. This attack pulls the kinetic energy from a target, weakening its next (d2) attack rolls by -3. He may defend in combination without losing an action and receives a +2 when defending other friendly puppets. If another puppet is knocked out, Papa Joey may use [PATERNAL INSTINCT] to sacrifice some of his own health and revive them. Finally, he can give a [FATHERLY TALK] twice per scenario, resetting any cooldowns or conditions on the targeted allied puppet.

b) Fat Freida - a midsized-large puppet, easy to control. She has 14 health and specializes in binding magic. She can attack with [SMORGASBORD], automatically dealing back to a target damage equivalent to any bonuses that it currently enjoys and negating them for that turn cycle. If she has not used this skill for at least four turns, she becomes [PECKISH] and may specify a number between 3 and 12. When an enemy rolls that number, she will consume one stack of it, removing it from their total. She will then become [SATED] and unable to use that skill until she first uses another skill, though her basic defense will rise from d12 to 2d8. She may also choose to [PATCH UP] other puppets, rolling a d6 to heal up to two targets. If she ate a [SMORGASBORD] on her previous turn, she may heal up to three targets, with advantage.

c) Bad Dog - a small puppet, easy to control. It has 10 health and specializes in chemical magic. It can attack with an [INFECTED BITE] using 2d7, which is also its basic defense. If it rolls 13 or above, the target will suffer an automatic Damage over time effect of -2 for (d2) rounds. Bad Dog may also [POOP]. This is a corrosive chemical that lowers the enemy's next (d2) defense rolls by -3. Following this, it will turn into a Good Dog. This may heal the user by using [WAG], which will restore (d4) health each turn for (d3) turns. Alternatively, it may employ [BORK] to empower the user's or an ally's rolls for two turns with a bonus of (d4).

d) Maid Malena - a midsized-small puppet, intermediate to control. She has 8 health and specializes in magnetic magic. She can attack with [FATAL ATTRACTION] which polarizes a target, increasing all internal damage dealt to it by one RAS tier for (d2) attacks. She may also either combo attack or combo defend for free and pass this ability on to one other puppet, allowing them to do the same that turn. Finally, she may leave targets [THUNDERSTRUCK] by rolling a d14 for damage, which is also her basic defense. If she rolls a 12 or better, they will suffer 2 damage for the next (d3) turns if they attack.

e) Little Nicky - a small puppet, intermediate to control. He has 8 health and specializes in arcane magic. Every turn, he can attempt to [PLAY WITH FIRE] by specifying a number from 6-15. Every time that his user or another puppet rolls that number (in any capacity), Little Nicky will copy and store it up as a [MATCHSTICK]. Once he has reached three or more stored matchsticks, he may unleash a [BLAZE] equal to their power on any target. As long as he suffers from Papa Joey's [SCOLD], he may specify two numbers instead of one. Nicky can also set a [WILDFIRE] by rolling a d4, which is his basic defense as well. He will continue to roll and add to his total until he rolls a 1. If he rolls over twenty with [WILDFIRE] (though not with a defense), he will be sent to [COOL OFF] and will be unable to use it for his next two turns. While doing so, he will be unable to [PLAY WITH FIRE] but will defend with 5d4.

f) Old Man Somnes - a midsized puppet, difficult to control. He has 8 health and specializes in temporal magic, always rolling with advantage. He can attack with [BLIZZARD], which prevents targets from attacking or defending in combination for the next (d3) turns. He also rolls a basic defense of d16 and is able to reverse any non-lethal damage or condition suffered by his master or any puppet twice per scenario using [FATHER TIME]. Following this, he will gain [SENILITY] and be unable to attack or defend for the next (d3) turns. Upon recovering, he will tell an [ELDER TALE], which forces all engaged parties aside from puppets to roll with double disadvantage.

g) The Dragon - a midsized-large puppet, difficult to control. It has 16 health and specializes in atomic magic. It can attack with [HORRIFER BEAM] which rolls 5d4 with exploding dice (which is also its basic defense) and may not attack in combination with other puppets unless enabled by Maid Malena. If it rolls over 20, it will immediately employ a damage over time penalty known as [NUCLEAR WINTER] to its target. This will deal -2 each turn indefinitely until healed or cleansed. Defensively, it may [HARDEN], forfeiting the ability to counter for itself, its master, and all puppets controlled by him/her. In return, all incoming damage will be reduced by one tier for (d3) defenses.

12. Land Deed - the rights to the territory of Lěnglóngjiāng. This is a vast plot of land in the north of Retan, and can be found at the headwaters of the Lěnglóng river, right around the tree line. It is roughly twice the size of Feska and comes with noble title. However, it is isolated, with no year-round roads leading there and only a very small human population. The vast majority of its residents are ogauraq, who fear, hate, and distrust the central government. The position of governor is currently vacant.

13. The Sanguine Bolt - A much-embellished high-caliber wheellock rifle, with a barrel some six and a half feet in length. Fires superheated liquid silver-zanzerast alloy rounds containing a strangely aggressive form of maladyshield that was bred to target Wildbloods. All bullets deal +2 RAS modifier tiers of damage when used against these targets. They are also designed to disperse throughout their target's body, leeching into their bloodstream and weakening them for every turn that they remain inside, successively causing the following effects:

1) After one turn, they will remove (d32) worth of manas from the target.
2) After two turns, they will reduce intrinsic wildblood healing by half.
3) After three turns, they will lower the wildblood's moon tier by one.
4) After four turns, they will eliminate all wildblood healing.
5) After five turns, unless purged, they will deal 16 damage.

If further bullets become embedded in the target, they will also tick for damage. So, for example, two bullets will advance the effects by two turns each turn instead of one. Finally, removing these bullets will always cost six points of health. While sanguinaires can wield this weapon with their enhanced abilities, its recoil is so ferocious that anyone else who tries to do so will need to possess at least level four in either kinetic or magnetic magic and the ability to roll a minimum of 24.

14. The Hammer of Dami-Zept:

Into the hands of men is cast the Will of the Judge.
May one of character and fortitude take up its burden and lay down justice in the name of Dami-Zept.

A pristine warhammer of relatively average size but excellent craftsmanship, it holds little wear and tear and possesses a dark, lustrous sheen. Perfectly balanced, it appears almost weightless in the hands of the Twin Emperors.

It awaits its next wielder, silently. Patiently.

Postscript

(coming soon)