B A S I C I N F O [Name][Selen̍e͊] [Callsign]Selene [Gender]F [Age]Early 20s [Rank and Designation]Main-Class Constellation [Place of Birth]Luna-1 [Official Statement] "I like to think we'll get along."
C O M B A T A B I L I T Y [Anti-Barrier Sword]#29 "Pleiades" [Anti-Barrier Quotient]70% (10% per fragment)
[Physical Description] An ancient greatsword with a chipped and broken blade, too brittle for true combat. Once wielded by the legendary Constellation known as [C͌͛͂a͊llist̘̘͊̚ȯ], its obsidian edge never promised salvation, but meted doom in abundance.
[Attributes] In its prime, Pleiades would engulf itself in ghostly AB energy. Now shattered, its fragments still thrum with power, which when channeled can manifest minor projections of its former glory. While the blade itself may be useless, each of the seven fragments can form its own copy at the cost of a diminished AB ratio. [Anomaly]Nebulae [Origin]Space [Ca͉ͮ̀͒̎ͤͅl͊l̗̒i͚̳̜͊sto Unit̿yͬ]
[Phenomena] [Sele͊n̑̏ͩ̔̆e͊]’s anomaly presents as expected: psychokinetic force mimicking the nascent strength of the Unity’s [fo̭̤r͓̥̈́êb̮̼̠e̙̹a̚r̯̜̭͍͊̊͆̓]. In reality, it manifests not as a direct telekinetic power, but rather as a multitude of long, invisible limbs. Able to fluctuate at will along the spectrum of intangibility, these hands can simulate the effects of psychokinetic phenomena, from simple pushes and pulls, to complex, dexterous maneuvers. Individually they display modest strength, but working in [un͚͈̗̦î̝̞̺͈̋̔s̪̲͕̳on] their impact can be much more devastating. Most often, [S̥̺̦̲͆ė̫̱̮̥ͅlene] utilizes her anomaly to wield her many AB sword projections at once.
[Limitation] Nebulae suffers from some predictable psychokinetic drawbacks. The mental and physical cost of her Anomaly increases with the number of ethereal limbs summoned, and this makes her more prone to rapid fatigue and exhaustion. However, at the same time it also presents its own unique challenges.
Firstly, while the limbs generally follow [Selḛ͆̐ͫne]’s will, they have also been shown to act independently, as if [r̞̖̩̾̉ͭ̃e̹̣̤̙ͫm̠e͋m̥̏̅̒̅b̌ͥe̼̠͈͌r̮̲̻̅ͯ̌ͅi̲̙͆ͅn̅̾g͍̯̔ͧ o͕̱͎̳͆ͩͯu͔̠̔ͫ̆̆r͚̫̹̝̘̓ͣs̒eͭ̃l̖͓͒ve̜ͫsͭ]. This occurs most regularly in relation to the amount of limbs summoned, with more limbs meaning less direct control. Sometimes this works in her favor, as the Anomaly seems intent on protecting her, but as early incident reports detail, sometimes there is unintended collateral damage.
Secondly, and most concerning, is the effect the use of Nebulae has on her amnesia. In most cases, activation results in some degree of mental agitation, manifesting as incomplete and often incomprehensible memories. These effects intensify with prolonged use, which can exacerbate the loss of control of Nebulae’s limbs, and trigger periods of dissociation.
[S̭̐̎̚he͍͋̓ ̣̹ẉäs͊] quiet as the void between stars, but not silent.
Nor frigid, though in her wake was [c̭̞ͅȍ͖̀ͦl͛d̔ and͌ s̽t̝̀̔̓̓i̖̗͓ͥ̋̑͆l͖ͤl̰̯͔ness̬̰].
Her [l͊͆o̬̮̾v͉̠͉̿ͬ̐eͦ͋] was gentle. Those who mistook it for indifference saw also [fur͓y̝̩̦] in her passion.
She never mourned, for [g̣̱̰r͕͍̿ͩ̑ie̓f̻̩̺̣ͪ̃̂ would have anchored o͑̔ǔ̙͊r͇̪̤̭] feet.
[He̐ͬr̬͚ ͔̦ͥ͆͊̆n̚a͖̺̗me̹͗̇ a̹͚ͫ̓͒n̜̓d̪ ͓͚͍̠̿̊̒̀f̩̩͋̓̀ͨ̋ả̬͕̬̲̆̓ͯc̾̂ẻͮ] were lost in the unmarked graves of the Pleiades.
There is a plaque above the door they can’t open, the door to an outside they’ll never see again — some of them never saw it at all. It reads:
[The ảs͚ͬ͐͆h̽ͣes of a th͍̑ͬousan̦̤ͦ͊̉d stars, adrift in H͓̫̆e̯͈̺̣̤͑ͣr̞͙ͦ image͍̬̮ͩ.]
Words they cannot escape. Words whispered to them in their dreams.
Yesterday at approximately 18:00, a cluster of Aberrant ships entered the Juno-29 system, disrupting the warp gate and passing harmlessly by several mining stations on a direct course for Megisto. Upon reaching the planet, the small fleet changed course and established a blockade around its smaller moon, Selene.
Selene was briefly host to a private mining operation in 120 IC, which was quickly abandoned due to a lack of actionable resources. Megisto itself has launched no lunar operations on its lesser moon, and Selene was assumed to have remained cold ever since.
However, at 19:23 a distress signal was intercepted from an installation presumably beneath the surface, identified as [L̦̣̥͙ṳ̝̰̿́͋̄n͖̰̝ͨa-1].
The Callisto Unity’s system-headquarters has begun evacuation procedures on Megisto and sent an armed repair team to the warp gate, but has otherwise made no comment on the station and its distress signal.
They scratch their names into the walls. At first there is plenty of room, but as the years go by, the etchings crowd and overlap and connect together in looping portmanteaus. A handful of names become dozens, become hundreds, become innumerable and inextricable. The letters are brushstrokes of a mural, their own conception of a 'family name.' There is no way to tell the ones who had been brought from the ones who were born, so they called themselves together what they were—what the caretakers called them.
Daughters of Callisto.
Aberrant fleet retreated from Juno-29 approximately ten system-hours prior to the warp gate’s repair. UAS Reconnaissance team encountered no resistance upon arrival, or en route to Megisto.
Distress signal intercepted by satellites on 01/01/276 IC was still active. Detected signs of life on Selene from orbit, which decreased rapidly when approaching Luna-1 Station.
Found destroyed Pawn-class Aberrants, which appear to have engaged with the installation’s automated defense systems, as well as assumed members of staff. Station suffered severe structural damage, as well as a 90% failure in life-support systems.
Recovered bodies of presumed inhabitants. Remains suggest a population of both children and adults, and multiple sealed dormitories show signs of long-term habitation.
Aberrant damage tapers off midway into the facility, suggesting the defense was partially successful. However, more damage and deceased were discovered beyond the blockade. Core data systems and all physical archives appear to have been destroyed by surviving staff members. It is unclear at this time how much was lost to Aberrant forces, and how much to sabotage. No identifying material remains, neither regarding the deceased, nor the owner of the installation.
One survivor found barricaded in what appears to be a crematorium. Teenage female, unconscious upon discovery. Numerous hand-prints and indents in the walls, floor and ceiling, but rapid scans detected no severe injuries. Retrieved without incident, but regained consciousness en route to the flagship and was unresponsive.
All samples and remains are being catalogued. Initial assessments indicate the installation was likely some sort of research center, but no conclusive answers regarding its purpose, anachronistic interior, or the attack can be given at this time.
There is no ceremony for death. They cast her ashes into Selene’s depths, to the desert of those who died before, where she will wait to accept the ones who will die after. Already, another sleeps in her bed, and eats at her table, and perhaps will carve a name into the wall over her own, connecting them in life until they meet in the Daughter’s Sea.
Initial regimen of anti-psychotics and behavioral conditioning proved counter-productive (which, I remind, Command was warned about — by me.) However, [Sel͉͔̇̈e̻͈͂̓n̤̘͒ͅe̞͙̺’s] lucidity has improved exponentially over the past nine months, I believe as a direct result of the altered treatment. As such, liberty was taken to conduct an impromptu re-evaluation, which I have summarized below.
Patient [Sel̩̮̘̤ēͫ̓ne] possesses the composed demeanor expected of a soldier. Field tests indicate she is capable of both following orders and working cohesively in a unit of Constellations and Mechanized Infantry. Socialization has caused a marked improvement in stability, consistent with records of other successfully rehabilitated Constellations. (See ‘On Anomalies and the Mind’, Konners et al, 275 IS)
During reintegration she was noted to take a keen interest in the physical and mental well-being of her squad mates, even under temporary conditions. Frequently applied self-sufficiency skills learned during therapy to cook, clean, and otherwise care for those in her vicinity. Cynical interpretations of this behavior deride it as ‘compulsory,’ but this diagnosis was unsubstantiated.
Symptoms relating to [S̼͓̖͔ͬ͐̍̀̈elene's a̿m͈̙̟̈́n̘e͈̠̙ͬs͆͊̾ȋ͉̪a̭] have not improved, but have also ceased to degrade as of the change in treatment. Concerns regarding frequent hallucinatory episodes should be tempered; these instances are often so minor they are only reported afterwards and by her, voluntarily. Severe cases have not impacted her performance, in fact I would point to ‘Incident Report 6,’ as well as the lack of incident reports since, as evidence that she is perfectly capable of navigating them without endangering [o̓ǔ̄͗ͬr̪̻͍ͤs͎̘̣͎͌̋͛̿eͪ̏ͮlv̠̱̏̂ͫ̑e̺͍̣ͬ͊ͪ́̋s͈̣̬ͭ] or those around her.
I will reiterate what I said upon her retrieval from [Lun̰̠̗̹̰ͬ̏͊a-̘͖̽ͩ̓̇1͔̻̪̙̯ͪ̾ ]: I do not believe these behavioral anomalies are symptomatic of any neurological disorder. Scans show no damage, and anomalous activity has yet to produce any tangibly harmful effects.
In light of these advancements, I am recommending she be folded officially into the UAS’ Constellation Branch while her treatment continues.
Signed, Dr. Reom
She doesn’t know what they find, when they do find her. What they take from the moon is not her, or rather it is only one of her, but she doesn’t know which. Images, sensations, places, people, all plague her mind from the first. She doesn’t know where the memories come from, or when, or to who — or how many whos — they belong.
The caretakers here are much different. They don’t poke and prod at her mind, or her soul, only her body. They ask her questions she can’t answer. They want to know what she is, and who she is. They want to know about her home, but she doesn’t have one anymore.
So they name her after it, her cradle and her grave, and she is a Daughter no longer. Now, they tell her, she is a Constellation.
[Luna-1] Nearly a century ago, Meridian Corp. abandoned its short-lived mining project on Megisto’s smaller moon, Selene, before being promptly liquidated in the ensuing financial collapse. Authorities now believe that no true mining effort was ever made, and that instead Meridian constructed the research installation known as Luna-1 using a largely automated workforce, before its owners vanished.
Built nearly a mile down into a man-made chasm, Luna-1 is separated into two main sections: the laboratory, and the estate. As the name implies, the laboratory sat on the upper level, and was presumably home to a host of scientific equipment. Laid out like a research park, there were multiple divisions whose purposes cannot be identified—in fact, in the wake of the Aberrant attack almost no machinery remained. All records, both digital and physical, were lost. Dormitory layouts suggest a modest population of potential researchers, as well as a small security staff.
Beneath several layers of reinforced plating and military-grade blast-doors, lies the estate, [h͓̯͉̼̉ͯͧ̈́o̹͗̔ͪ̉m͇̠͔͓̪̊͛e̗͑͒̃̒̉] so named for its anachronistic appearance. Here the architecture shifts entirely from clinical to Victorian. The vertical atrium sports a wide, spiral staircase traveling down a cylindrical hall of bookcases, filled with material ranging from educational textbooks and encyclopedias to fantasy epics. None were published later than Meridian’s departure, some appear to have been written by the estate’s occupants. Also found were piles of burned paintings, carvings, smashed statues, musical instruments, and many other recreational products, seemingly destroyed during the Aberrant attack.
At the bottom of the stairwell, the estate branches off into multiple rooms, including sleeping quarters, two gyms, a cafeteria, and enclosures which appear to have been used for some sort of combat training or [h͇̰̘̩̯̉ͥ̒͗å͆r͕̱̖̓̓ͭͭm̹̜͕̻̼͂͑̓o͉̦̠͔̥̍̈́ͨ͂͑ṉ̙͖̈́̈́ͨy̮͔̬̑͗̄̂].
Of note are the dormitory walls, which are marked with what at first appears to be meaningless scratching, but upon further examination, are in fact a collective mass of letters, presumably [n̾a̪̣̘̿ḿ̑͒̾͋e̞͔̯̠͆s͇͂͛]. Very few are legible, and none appear to connect to any established family or missing persons reports.
The area below the estate is only accessible via the laboratory. An elevator shaft runs down to the bottom face of the installation, beneath which is the pressurized depth of the chasm. Found what was believed to be a massive reservoir of sand, or moondust leftover from when the chasm was made.
Further analysis determined these were human ashes.
[The Callisto Unity] As Progenitors rose from the ashes of their fellows to lead humanity into a new age of war, the doomed world of Lycaon prepared for its end. Overwhelmed by Aberrant forces, its cities burned, its mountains crumbled, its oceans boiled, and its people were culled with unimaginable cruelty. On the precipice of obliteration, they say, it was not the survivors who cried out for salvation, but the innumerable dead.
None know why She answered. [Callͨ̎ͭi̦̦̒͐̉̄s̱̫͗ͧ͆ͦ̐t̮͕̯ỏ̾͊̅̎,̙͓͖̈́̉ͅ ͛̅͌ͮ͂tḧ̠̝eͨ̅ͩͯͬ ̻̗̠͙͔͛ͥ̋̇Mot͔ͤ͋̏ͬ̚h̋͂̍eͦͯ͒rͧ ͨM͙̬̖ͪö̦͕͇͓on̗͎̠̭̹ͨ̀], wreathed in silver and fury. She descended like a verdict upon the Aberrants, cutting with a ghostly blade, rending with powers strange and occult. From ruin to ruin, across broken landscapes, barren seabeds, through a crust of blood and body, merciless and unyielding, She never stopped. Those saved by Her slaughter could only follow behind, glimpsing from afar the calamity she visited upon the Aberrant invaders. They became revolutionaries, reclaiming inch by inch what was lost.
When it was done, Lycaon was quiet as if in mourning for its people, and for itself. There was no preserving a thing so utterly ruined. The survivors knew there had been no salvation, only vengeance for the death of their home. They left it behind, fleeing to distant stars where, eventually, they managed to forget what had happened. Lycaon, like so many lost worlds, faded from history. Some, however, chose to [r͇̗̪̀͂͐̉ͧḛ̳̼ͨ̎̂̽̾m͉͎ͪ̄̃̀̇ẻm͔̽̽ͬ̅̽bͣe̅̏̑ͦr̾̾̂͌].
Callisto vanished, never known by a [t̯̺̭̩͗ͣͥ̉̏r͎̍̆̄͊ú̙̩ͫ̉̽e̤͚̿ͧ ͎͈͔̤͐̈ͦ̓n̞̳̺͛̄́a͔̒͊m͎̟̦̍ĕ̥̦̪͎̆̈ͯͣ,̠̗̜͚ͅ ͌̿ȍ̺̜̠͙͇ͩr̀͗͊ ̻͉̼̥̈́̐ͦf̱̫̜͔ͅa̗̥͉̭ͬ͗͑c̎̀ͯ̃ë̖̻̙͖̻́], nor was She ever seen again. But at the site of Her final, pyrrhic victory over the Aberrants, She left one thing—three, things. Children. Infants, swaddled and silent as dead Lycaon. Her followers took them up and left with the rest of the survivors. But they did not forget.
The Callisto Unity formed in the shadow of the progenitors; the UAS and the MHA expanded their reach, while the Unity focused inward. They did not truly emerge until decades later, not as some cultish antagonist, but as a scientific organization bursting with medical innovations. Helmed by the descendants of their [forebe͔̜̤ͦ̉a̫̤ͫr͓], the Unity established itself in the human effort as a force for good. They sought to ensure no world suffered as Lycaon had, producing both powerful Constellations, and critical advancements in medical technology.
Some whisper that such altruism is merely a façade for a more nebulous cause. They say the Unity is still steeped in the [O̞̮̗̮ͮͅl͉̤̑ͪd͐̃̒ͪ Way̲̖̦̬̌͆s̝̼̱̪̠͊͑], that its highest echelons are driven by occult impetus, and that beneath their calm, collected exterior is a fanatical devotion to their lost Goddess.
But these are mere rumors. Lycaon may remember the cries of the dead, but it lays silent and bereft. The Mother Moon is gone, and now Her children bring cold, gentle love to humanity. They are a thousand stars across the sky, working in unison, and even in death their ashes scatter together, with purpose.
In [H̩̳̓̈́e͚͔̘̱̍͋r̖̞͊] image.
Notable Contacts
[Name] Dr. E͈̗̲ͩ̄ͅ Reom
[Relation to Subject] Dr. Reom has been [S̉̄e̥̪͙͉ͪ͊ͥ̏̏l̲̗ͥͥe̘̤̿n̟̟̺͌͐͛̾e͂̇̔̒̑]'s MHA-assigned psychiatrist since her retrieval from Luna-1.
[Analysis] Reom is a clone, registered to a Megisto-based agency located in New Euclidia. Neither the first nor, likely, the last of his line, Reom's generational work with Constellations has made him indispensable in his field. He has, quite literally, written the book on many subjects relating to Anomalies and their effects on a Constellation's mental state.
B A S I C I N F O [Name][Selen̍e͊] [Callsign]Selene [Gender]F [Age]Early 20s [Rank and Designation]Main-Class Constellation [Place of Birth]Luna-1 [Official Statement] "I like to think we'll get along."
C O M B A T A B I L I T Y [Anti-Barrier Sword]#29 "Pleiades" [Anti-Barrier Quotient]90% (Fragmented)
[Physical Description] An ancient greatsword with a chipped and broken blade, too brittle for true combat. Once wielded by the legendary Constellation known as [C͌͛͂a͊llist̘̘͊̚ȯ], its obsidian edge never promised salvation, but meted doom in abundance.
[Attributes] In its prime, Pleiades would engulf itself in ghostly AB energy. Now shattered, its fragments still thrum with power, which when channeled can manifest minor projections of its former glory. While the blade itself may be useless, each of the seven fragments can form its own copy at the cost of a diminished AB ratio. [Anomaly]Nebulae [Origin]Space [Ca͉ͮ̀͒̎ͤͅl͊l̗̒i͚̳̜͊sto Unit̿yͬ]
[Phenomena] [Sele͊n̑̏ͩ̔̆e͊]’s anomaly presents as expected: psychokinetic force mimicking the nascent strength of the Unity’s [fo̭̤r͓̥̈́êb̮̼̠e̙̹a̚r̯̜̭͍͊̊͆̓]. In reality, it manifests not as a direct telekinetic power, but rather as a multitude of long, invisible limbs. Able to fluctuate at will along the spectrum of intangibility, these hands can simulate the effects of psychokinetic phenomena, from simple pushes and pulls, to complex, dexterous maneuvers. Individually they display modest strength, but working in [un͚͈̗̦î̝̞̺͈̋̔s̪̲͕̳on] their impact can be much more devastating. Most often, [S̥̺̦̲͆ė̫̱̮̥ͅlene] utilizes her anomaly to wield her many AB sword projections at once.
[Limitation] Nebulae suffers from some predictable psychokinetic drawbacks. The mental and physical cost of her Anomaly increases with the number of ethereal limbs summoned, and this makes her more prone to rapid fatigue and exhaustion. However, at the same time it also presents its own unique challenges.
Firstly, while the limbs generally follow [Selḛ͆̐ͫne]’s will, they have also been shown to act independently, as if [r̞̖̩̾̉ͭ̃e̹̣̤̙ͫm̠e͋m̥̏̅̒̅b̌ͥe̼̠͈͌r̮̲̻̅ͯ̌ͅi̲̙͆ͅn̅̾g͍̯̔ͧ o͕̱͎̳͆ͩͯu͔̠̔ͫ̆̆r͚̫̹̝̘̓ͣs̒eͭ̃l̖͓͒ve̜ͫsͭ]. This occurs most regularly in relation to the amount of limbs summoned, with more limbs meaning less direct control. Sometimes this works in her favor, as the Anomaly seems intent on protecting her, but as early incident reports detail, sometimes there is unintended collateral damage.
Secondly, and most concerning, is the effect the use of Nebulae has on her amnesia. In most cases, activation results in some degree of mental agitation, manifesting as incomplete and often incomprehensible memories. These effects intensify with prolonged use, which can exacerbate the loss of control of Nebulae’s limbs, and trigger periods of dissociation.
[S̭̐̎̚he͍͋̓ ̣̹ẉäs͊] quiet as the void between stars, but not silent.
Nor frigid, though in her wake was [c̭̞ͅȍ͖̀ͦl͛d̔ and͌ s̽t̝̀̔̓̓i̖̗͓ͥ̋̑͆l͖ͤl̰̯͔ness̬̰].
Her [l͊͆o̬̮̾v͉̠͉̿ͬ̐eͦ͋] was gentle. Those who mistook it for indifference saw also [fur͓y̝̩̦] in her passion.
She never mourned, for [g̣̱̰r͕͍̿ͩ̑ie̓f̻̩̺̣ͪ̃̂ would have anchored o͑̔ǔ̙͊r͇̪̤̭] feet.
[He̐ͬr̬͚ ͔̦ͥ͆͊̆n̚a͖̺̗me̹͗̇ a̹͚ͫ̓͒n̜̓d̪ ͓͚͍̠̿̊̒̀f̩̩͋̓̀ͨ̋ả̬͕̬̲̆̓ͯc̾̂ẻͮ] were lost in the unmarked graves of the Pleiades.
There is a plaque above the door they can’t open, the door to an outside they’ll never see again — some of them never saw it at all. It reads:
[The ảs͚ͬ͐͆h̽ͣes of a th͍̑ͬousan̦̤ͦ͊̉d stars, adrift in H͓̫̆e̯͈̺̣̤͑ͣr̞͙ͦ image͍̬̮ͩ.]
Words they cannot escape. Words whispered to them in their dreams.
Yesterday at approximately 18:00, a cluster of Aberrant ships entered the Juno-29 system, disrupting the warp gate and passing harmlessly by several mining stations on a direct course for Megisto. Upon reaching the planet, the small fleet changed course and established a blockade around its smaller moon, Selene.
Selene was briefly host to a private mining operation in 120 IC, which was quickly abandoned due to a lack of actionable resources. Megisto itself has launched no lunar operations on its lesser moon, and Selene was assumed to have remained cold ever since.
However, at 19:23 a distress signal was intercepted from an installation presumably beneath the surface, identified as [L̦̣̥͙ṳ̝̰̿́͋̄n͖̰̝ͨa-1].
The Callisto Unity’s system-headquarters has begun evacuation procedures on Megisto and sent an armed repair team to the warp gate, but has otherwise made no comment on the station and its distress signal.
They scratch their names into the walls. At first there is plenty of room, but as the years go by, the etchings crowd and overlap and connect together in looping portmanteaus. A handful of names become dozens, become hundreds, become innumerable and inextricable. The letters are brushstrokes of a mural, their own conception of a 'family name.' There is no way to tell the ones who had been brought from the ones who were born, so they called themselves together what they were—what the caretakers called them.
Daughters of Callisto.
Aberrant fleet retreated from Juno-29 approximately ten system-hours prior to the warp gate’s repair. UAS Reconnaissance team encountered no resistance upon arrival, or en route to Megisto.
Distress signal intercepted by satellites on 01/01/276 IC was still active. Detected signs of life on Selene from orbit, which decreased rapidly when approaching Luna-1 Station.
Found destroyed Pawn-class Aberrants, which appear to have engaged with the installation’s automated defense systems, as well as assumed members of staff. Station suffered severe structural damage, as well as a 90% failure in life-support systems.
Recovered bodies of presumed inhabitants. Remains suggest a population of both children and adults, and multiple sealed dormitories show signs of long-term habitation.
Aberrant damage tapers off midway into the facility, suggesting the defense was partially successful. However, more damage and deceased were discovered beyond the blockade. Core data systems and all physical archives appear to have been destroyed by surviving staff members. It is unclear at this time how much was lost to Aberrant forces, and how much to sabotage. No identifying material remains, neither regarding the deceased, nor the owner of the installation.
One survivor found barricaded in what appears to be a crematorium. Teenage female, unconscious upon discovery. Numerous hand-prints and indents in the walls, floor and ceiling, but rapid scans detected no severe injuries. Retrieved without incident, but regained consciousness en route to the flagship and was unresponsive.
All samples and remains are being catalogued. Initial assessments indicate the installation was likely some sort of research center, but no conclusive answers regarding its purpose, anachronistic interior, or the attack can be given at this time.
There is no ceremony for death. They cast her ashes into Selene’s depths, to the desert of those who died before, where she will wait to accept the ones who will die after. Already, another sleeps in her bed, and eats at her table, and perhaps will carve a name into the wall over her own, connecting them in life until they meet in the Daughter’s Sea.
Initial regimen of anti-psychotics and behavioral conditioning proved counter-productive (which, I remind, Command was warned about — by me.) However, [Sel͉͔̇̈e̻͈͂̓n̤̘͒ͅe̞͙̺’s] lucidity has improved exponentially over the past nine months, I believe as a direct result of the altered treatment. As such, liberty was taken to conduct an impromptu re-evaluation, which I have summarized below.
Patient [Sel̩̮̘̤ēͫ̓ne] possesses the composed demeanor expected of a soldier. Field tests indicate she is capable of both following orders and working cohesively in a unit of Constellations and Mechanized Infantry. Socialization has caused a marked improvement in stability, consistent with records of other successfully rehabilitated Constellations. (See ‘On Anomalies and the Mind’, Konners et al, 275 IS)
During reintegration she was noted to take a keen interest in the physical and mental well-being of her squad mates, even under temporary conditions. Frequently applied self-sufficiency skills learned during therapy to cook, clean, and otherwise care for those in her vicinity. Cynical interpretations of this behavior deride it as ‘compulsory,’ but this diagnosis was unsubstantiated.
Symptoms relating to [S̼͓̖͔ͬ͐̍̀̈elene's a̿m͈̙̟̈́n̘e͈̠̙ͬs͆͊̾ȋ͉̪a̭] have not improved, but have also ceased to degrade as of the change in treatment. Concerns regarding frequent hallucinatory episodes should be tempered; these instances are often so minor they are only reported afterwards and by her, voluntarily. Severe cases have not impacted her performance, in fact I would point to ‘Incident Report 6,’ as well as the lack of incident reports since, as evidence that she is perfectly capable of navigating them without endangering [o̓ǔ̄͗ͬr̪̻͍ͤs͎̘̣͎͌̋͛̿eͪ̏ͮlv̠̱̏̂ͫ̑e̺͍̣ͬ͊ͪ́̋s͈̣̬ͭ] or those around her.
I will reiterate what I said upon her retrieval from [Lun̰̠̗̹̰ͬ̏͊a-̘͖̽ͩ̓̇1͔̻̪̙̯ͪ̾ ]: I do not believe these behavioral anomalies are symptomatic of any neurological disorder. Scans show no damage, and anomalous activity has yet to produce any tangibly harmful effects.
In light of these advancements, I am recommending she be folded officially into the UAS’ Constellation Branch while her treatment continues.
Signed, Dr. Reom
She doesn’t know what they find, when they do find her. What they take from the moon is not her, or rather it is only one of her, but she doesn’t know which. Images, sensations, places, people, all plague her mind from the first. She doesn’t know where the memories come from, or when, or to who — or how many whos — they belong.
The caretakers here are much different. They don’t poke and prod at her mind, or her soul, only her body. They ask her questions she can’t answer. They want to know what she is, and who she is. They want to know about her home, but she doesn’t have one anymore.
So they name her after it, her cradle and her grave, and she is a Daughter no longer. Now, they tell her, she is a Constellation.
[Luna-1] Nearly a century ago, Meridian Corp. abandoned its short-lived mining project on Megisto’s smaller moon, Selene, before being promptly liquidated in the ensuing financial collapse. Authorities now believe that no true mining effort was ever made, and that instead Meridian constructed the research installation known as Luna-1 using a largely automated workforce, before its owners vanished.
Built nearly a mile down into a man-made chasm, Luna-1 is separated into two main sections: the laboratory, and the estate. As the name implies, the laboratory sat on the upper level, and was presumably home to a host of scientific equipment. Laid out like a research park, there were multiple divisions whose purposes cannot be identified—in fact, in the wake of the Aberrant attack almost no machinery remained. All records, both digital and physical, were lost. Dormitory layouts suggest a modest population of potential researchers, as well as a small security staff.
Beneath several layers of reinforced plating and military-grade blast-doors, lies the estate, [h͓̯͉̼̉ͯͧ̈́o̹͗̔ͪ̉m͇̠͔͓̪̊͛e̗͑͒̃̒̉] so named for its anachronistic appearance. Here the architecture shifts entirely from clinical to Victorian. The vertical atrium sports a wide, spiral staircase traveling down a cylindrical hall of bookcases, filled with material ranging from educational textbooks and encyclopedias to fantasy epics. None were published later than Meridian’s departure, some appear to have been written by the estate’s occupants. Also found were piles of burned paintings, carvings, smashed statues, musical instruments, and many other recreational products, seemingly destroyed during the Aberrant attack.
At the bottom of the stairwell, the estate branches off into multiple rooms, including sleeping quarters, two gyms, a cafeteria, and enclosures which appear to have been used for some sort of combat training or [h͇̰̘̩̯̉ͥ̒͗å͆r͕̱̖̓̓ͭͭm̹̜͕̻̼͂͑̓o͉̦̠͔̥̍̈́ͨ͂͑ṉ̙͖̈́̈́ͨy̮͔̬̑͗̄̂].
Of note are the dormitory walls, which are marked with what at first appears to be meaningless scratching, but upon further examination, are in fact a collective mass of letters, presumably [n̾a̪̣̘̿ḿ̑͒̾͋e̞͔̯̠͆s͇͂͛]. Very few are legible, and none appear to connect to any established family or missing persons reports.
The area below the estate is only accessible via the laboratory. An elevator shaft runs down to the bottom face of the installation, beneath which is the pressurized depth of the chasm. Found what was believed to be a massive reservoir of sand, or moondust leftover from when the chasm was made.
Further analysis determined these were human ashes.
[The Callisto Unity] As Progenitors rose from the ashes of their fellows to lead humanity into a new age of war, the doomed world of Lycaon prepared for its end. Overwhelmed by Aberrant forces, its cities burned, its mountains crumbled, its oceans boiled, and its people were culled with unimaginable cruelty. On the precipice of obliteration, they say, it was not the survivors who cried out for salvation, but the innumerable dead.
None know why She answered. [Callͨ̎ͭi̦̦̒͐̉̄s̱̫͗ͧ͆ͦ̐t̮͕̯ỏ̾͊̅̎,̙͓͖̈́̉ͅ ͛̅͌ͮ͂tḧ̠̝eͨ̅ͩͯͬ ̻̗̠͙͔͛ͥ̋̇Mot͔ͤ͋̏ͬ̚h̋͂̍eͦͯ͒rͧ ͨM͙̬̖ͪö̦͕͇͓on̗͎̠̭̹ͨ̀], wreathed in silver and fury. She descended like a verdict upon the Aberrants, cutting with a ghostly blade, rending with powers strange and occult. From ruin to ruin, across broken landscapes, barren seabeds, through a crust of blood and body, merciless and unyielding, She never stopped. Those saved by Her slaughter could only follow behind, glimpsing from afar the calamity she visited upon the Aberrant invaders. They became revolutionaries, reclaiming inch by inch what was lost.
When it was done, Lycaon was quiet as if in mourning for its people, and for itself. There was no preserving a thing so utterly ruined. The survivors knew there had been no salvation, only vengeance for the death of their home. They left it behind, fleeing to distant stars where, eventually, they managed to forget what had happened. Lycaon, like so many lost worlds, faded from history. Some, however, chose to [r͇̗̪̀͂͐̉ͧḛ̳̼ͨ̎̂̽̾m͉͎ͪ̄̃̀̇ẻm͔̽̽ͬ̅̽bͣe̅̏̑ͦr̾̾̂͌].
Callisto vanished, never known by a [t̯̺̭̩͗ͣͥ̉̏r͎̍̆̄͊ú̙̩ͫ̉̽e̤͚̿ͧ ͎͈͔̤͐̈ͦ̓n̞̳̺͛̄́a͔̒͊m͎̟̦̍ĕ̥̦̪͎̆̈ͯͣ,̠̗̜͚ͅ ͌̿ȍ̺̜̠͙͇ͩr̀͗͊ ̻͉̼̥̈́̐ͦf̱̫̜͔ͅa̗̥͉̭ͬ͗͑c̎̀ͯ̃ë̖̻̙͖̻́], nor was She ever seen again. But at the site of Her final, pyrrhic victory over the Aberrants, She left one thing—three, things. Children. Infants, swaddled and silent as dead Lycaon. Her followers took them up and left with the rest of the survivors. But they did not forget.
The Callisto Unity formed in the shadow of the progenitors; the UAS and the MHA expanded their reach, while the Unity focused inward. They did not truly emerge until decades later, not as some cultish antagonist, but as a scientific organization bursting with medical innovations. Helmed by the descendants of their [forebe͔̜̤ͦ̉a̫̤ͫr͓], the Unity established itself in the human effort as a force for good. They sought to ensure no world suffered as Lycaon had, producing both powerful Constellations, and critical advancements in medical technology.
Some whisper that such altruism is merely a façade for a more nebulous cause. They say the Unity is still steeped in the [O̞̮̗̮ͮͅl͉̤̑ͪd͐̃̒ͪ Way̲̖̦̬̌͆s̝̼̱̪̠͊͑], that its highest echelons are driven by occult impetus, and that beneath their calm, collected exterior is a fanatical devotion to their lost Goddess.
But these are mere rumors. Lycaon may remember the cries of the dead, but it lays silent and bereft. The Mother Moon is gone, and now Her children bring cold, gentle love to humanity. They are a thousand stars across the sky, working in unison, and even in death their ashes scatter together, with purpose.
In [H̩̳̓̈́e͚͔̘̱̍͋r̖̞͊] image.
Notable Contacts
[Name] Dr. E͈̗̲ͩ̄ͅ Reom
[Relation to Subject] Dr. Reom has been [S̉̄e̥̪͙͉ͪ͊ͥ̏̏l̲̗ͥͥe̘̤̿n̟̟̺͌͐͛̾e͂̇̔̒̑]'s MHA-assigned psychiatrist since her retrieval from Luna-1.
[Analysis] Reom is a clone, registered to a Megisto-based agency located in New Euclidia. Neither the first nor, likely, the last of his line, Reom's generational work with Constellations has made him indispensable in his field. He has, quite literally, written the book on many subjects relating to Anomalies and their effects on a Constellation's mental state.
Weapon of Choice Asclepian Dressing: Vestments of arcane bandages which act as both a spell-casting focus, and serve to hasten the regenerative process of her self-healing.
Albie, who was very nearly “Albert” and who will only ever answer to “Alberta” under legal compulsion, has always sort of known what she wanted. Born to a nurse father and a therapist mother, she grew up surrounded by and constantly reminded of the absolute importance of empathy. No matter what, they said, she should always strive for kindness. People came from all walks of life, from all manner of circumstance, and though she would meet some she liked, and some she didn’t, it was imperative that she try her best to understand them, no matter what. Human interactions were ephemeral, and precious, and connections were made to be cherished.
She thought that was bullshit. People sucked. They were loud, and inconsiderate, and when they weren’t literally killing each other, they were arguing over the dumbest shit. Her middle and high school years were a protracted angsty, broodingly emotional not-a-phase spent lamenting that everyone else was just so annoying and couldn’t understand her. Except Linkin Park. And the people in the comments section of her Linkin Park AMVs.
Eventually she did grow up. With graduation approaching, and the fruits of her exceptionally studious labor opening the doors of higher education to her, Albie realized she didn’t really hate people—at least, not sincerely. Being annoyed with someone didn’t mean she had to treat them like shit. But being kind didn’t mean grinning through the things that annoyed her, either.
She finished undergrad early, and didn’t think twice before throwing herself into medical school. Surgery seemed to be her destiny, where her bedside manner wouldn’t matter and she could do what she ultimately had always wanted to do, and what her parents had wanted her to do—help people. That was her kindness. Not fake smiles, not endless patience or empty platitudes. Action.
H E C A T E : W O U N D T H I E F H E C A T E : W O U N D T H I E F
Actions have consequences. If you stand in fire, don’t pop your defensives for tank-busters, or drop aoe in the middle of the raid, your consequence is an irritable healer calling you a moron as she puts your stupid little body back together.
Hecate has been joining pugs since Pariah launched, and while she finds herself malding every session, healing for the walking contraceptive endorsements that make up her groups, there is something strangely addicting about the whole ordeal. She’s not particularly interested in teaching, or lifting bad players up into competency, but no matter how bad a run goes, no matter how much yelling and fighting there is, she is the last to call for kicks and the last to vote for disbands. Apologies and removals are just band aid fixes; an entire gaming career correcting the mistakes of people who shouldn’t be able to tie their own shoes without medical intervention has taught her that any group is capable of clearing any content. No one is uncarryable.
But some people are much heavier than others.
Her reputation formed quickly. She was not a lone wolf; she was a healer, by definition she needed people to heal. Despite her prickly nature she was rarely seen alone, always tagging along with some group or another, having a small circle of regular players she ran with but never committing to something as serious as a guild. It was true that healers enjoyed a certain priority, but invites shriveled up quick if you were bad at keeping people alive. Hecate was not. When she joined a group, more often than not they cleared whatever dungeon they set off to challenge.
Climbing ranks didn’t matter much to her, she wasn’t competitive in the way some people were, which perhaps made her rise that much stranger. Despite being on the shortlist for some of the most prestigious guilds in the game, she could just as often be found healing for groups of nobodies who couldn’t move and breathe at the same time.
To her credit, she treats them all equally.
Signature
Martyr’s Rhetoric Hecate’s signature ability, which defines her spell-casting style. Passively allows her to both heal targets by transferring their wounds to herself, and damage targets by transferring her own wounds to them.
When activated, allows Hecate’s spells to apply instantly, preempting damage on a target by either taking it herself, or redirecting it onto an enemy. Cannot pass damage freely between targets without first going through herself.
Healing
Iaomai As long as she remains alive and is not silenced, Hecate’s mana regeneration is vastly increased, and her body will reflexively use it to repair itself. The rapidity and cost depend on the amount of damage taken, but if she is rendered unconscious it will burn through mana much quicker. Lost limbs can be reattached with less effort, but fully regrowing body parts takes more time and much more mana.
Passively grants her Narkosis, which allows her to divert mana towards reducing her sensitivity to pain.
While this makes her deceptively difficult to kill, she is no more durable than your average caster. As well, she is unable to heal severe damage to her brain and heart, making her entirely unfit for close combat.
Anodynamic Hecate takes a target’s wounds and ailments onto herself, healing them in the process. This can be done gradually, or rapidly.
When Martyr’s Rhetoric is active, Hecate does not need to wait for a target to become wounded or afflicted, and can instead redirect the damage or effects to herself. Unlike with the standard version of this spell, she takes this damage instantly.
Charity of Wounds With great pains, Hecate can apply Anodynamic in an aoe to heal multiple targets.
This spell works identically to Anodynamic when Martyr’s Rhetoric is active, however, when used on two or more targets she can temper the amount of damage directed to her, rather than tanking multiple attacks wholesale.
Damage
Symalgesia Targeting an enemy, Hecate can harvest the damage from her own wounds, manifesting it as a bolt of angry shadow.
Panthysia Hecate channels briefly, then divides the damage gathered from her wounds amongst multiple enemies.
Veteran Janitor : Hecate has been around the block, has seen just about every dungeon and raid encounter Pariah Online has to offer, and could probably explain the mechanics of most bosses with the accuracy of reciting her social security card number. She won’t, but she could. She’s not a great teacher; she can’t always tell you the right way to do something, but she sure as shit can tell you exactly what you’re doing wrong.
Who Asked : Hecate doesn’t talk about herself too much. Maybe one or two people in Pariah know her real name, and that she finished college early, but the information train usually stops there. It’s not that she’s paranoid, or wouldn't care to learn about others, it just hasn’t occurred to her. When your online career consists mostly of pugging with strangers, there’s not a lot of reason to get buddy-buddy.
I Want My Mummy : For as acrimonious as her interactions can be, Hecate is rarely short on invitations. Being a healer gets you invited to groups, being a really good healer gets you invited back even when you call the raid leader a skin toilet. Hecate has been kicked from a fair few groups, but she’s been reinvited to many more, and has garnered a small celebrity status for her capabilities. As long as you don’t mind getting your mistakes called out in less-than-delicate ways, you probably won’t have to worry about wiping to healing.
Brainy : By design, Hecate’s role in Pariah shares some overlap with her real life trajectory. While she’s no savant, Albie Klein has an unbreakable work ethic and a knack for learning. She’s good at problem-solving on the fly, and has eagerly implemented much of her medical knowledge into her kit. While ethics are paramount in medicine, she's glad she doesn't need malpractice insurance in Pariah.
Weapon of Choice Asclepian Dressing: Vestments of arcane bandages which act as both a spell-casting focus, and serve to hasten the regenerative process of her self-healing.
Albie, who was very nearly “Albert” and who will only ever answer to “Alberta” under legal compulsion, has always sort of known what she wanted. Born to a nurse father and a therapist mother, she grew up surrounded by and constantly reminded of the absolute importance of empathy. No matter what, they said, she should always strive for kindness. People came from all walks of life, from all manner of circumstance, and though she would meet some she liked, and some she didn’t, it was imperative that she try her best to understand them, no matter what. Human interactions were ephemeral, and precious, and connections were made to be cherished.
She thought that was bullshit. People sucked. They were loud, and inconsiderate, and when they weren’t literally killing each other, they were arguing over the dumbest shit. Her middle and high school years were a protracted angsty, broodingly emotional not-a-phase spent lamenting that everyone else was just so annoying and couldn’t understand her. Except Linkin Park. And the people in the comments section of her Linkin Park AMVs.
Eventually she did grow up. With graduation approaching, and the fruits of her exceptionally studious labor opening the doors of higher education to her, Albie realized she didn’t really hate people—at least, not sincerely. Being annoyed with someone didn’t mean she had to treat them like shit. But being kind didn’t mean grinning through the things that annoyed her, either.
She finished undergrad early, and didn’t think twice before throwing herself into medical school. Surgery seemed to be her destiny, where her bedside manner wouldn’t matter and she could do what she ultimately had always wanted to do, and what her parents had wanted her to do—help people. That was her kindness. Not fake smiles, not endless patience or empty platitudes. Action.
H E C A T E : W O U N D T H I E F H E C A T E : W O U N D T H I E F
Actions have consequences. If you stand in fire, don’t pop your defensives for tank-busters, or drop aoe in the middle of the raid, your consequence is an irritable healer calling you a moron as she puts your stupid little body back together.
Hecate has been joining pugs since Pariah launched, and while she finds herself malding every session, healing for the walking contraceptive endorsements that make up her groups, there is something strangely addicting about the whole ordeal. She’s not particularly interested in teaching, or lifting bad players up into competency, but no matter how bad a run goes, no matter how much yelling and fighting there is, she is the last to call for kicks and the last to vote for disbands. Apologies and removals are just band aid fixes; an entire gaming career correcting the mistakes of people who shouldn’t be able to tie their own shoes without medical intervention has taught her that any group is capable of clearing any content. No one is uncarryable.
But some people are much heavier than others.
Her reputation formed quickly. She was not a lone wolf; she was a healer, by definition she needed people to heal. Despite her prickly nature she was rarely seen alone, always tagging along with some group or another, having a small circle of regular players she ran with but never committing to something as serious as a guild. It was true that healers enjoyed a certain priority, but invites shriveled up quick if you were bad at keeping people alive. Hecate was not. When she joined a group, more often than not they cleared whatever dungeon they set off to challenge.
Climbing ranks didn’t matter much to her, she wasn’t competitive in the way some people were, which perhaps made her rise that much stranger. Despite being on the shortlist for some of the most prestigious guilds in the game, she could just as often be found healing for groups of nobodies who couldn’t move and breathe at the same time.
To her credit, she treats them all equally.
Signature
Martyr’s Rhetoric Hecate’s signature ability, which defines her spell-casting style. Passively allows her to both heal targets by transferring their wounds to herself, and damage targets by transferring her own wounds to them.
When activated, allows Hecate’s spells to apply instantly, preempting damage on a target by either taking it herself, or redirecting it onto an enemy. Cannot pass damage freely between targets without first going through herself.
Healing
Iaomai As long as she remains alive and is not silenced, Hecate’s mana regeneration is vastly increased, and her body will reflexively use it to repair itself. The rapidity and cost depend on the amount of damage taken, but if she is rendered unconscious it will burn through mana much quicker. Lost limbs can be reattached with less effort, but fully regrowing body parts takes more time and much more mana.
Passively grants her Narkosis, which allows her to divert mana towards reducing her sensitivity to pain.
While this makes her deceptively difficult to kill, she is no more durable than your average caster. As well, she is unable to heal severe damage to her brain and heart, making her entirely unfit for close combat.
Anodynamic Hecate takes a target’s wounds and ailments onto herself, healing them in the process. This can be done gradually, or rapidly.
When Martyr’s Rhetoric is active, Hecate does not need to wait for a target to become wounded or afflicted, and can instead redirect the damage or effects to herself. Unlike with the standard version of this spell, she takes this damage instantly.
Charity of Wounds With great pains, Hecate can apply Anodynamic in an aoe to heal multiple targets.
This spell works identically to Anodynamic when Martyr’s Rhetoric is active, however, when used on two or more targets she can temper the amount of damage directed to her, rather than tanking multiple attacks wholesale.
Damage
Symalgesia Targeting an enemy, Hecate can harvest the damage from her own wounds, manifesting it as a bolt of angry shadow.
Panthysia Hecate channels briefly, then divides the damage gathered from her wounds amongst multiple enemies.
Veteran Janitor : Hecate has been around the block, has seen just about every dungeon and raid encounter Pariah Online has to offer, and could probably explain the mechanics of most bosses with the accuracy of reciting her social security card number. She won’t, but she could. She’s not a great teacher; she can’t always tell you the right way to do something, but she sure as shit can tell you exactly what you’re doing wrong.
Who Asked : Hecate doesn’t talk about herself too much. Maybe one or two people in Pariah know her real name, and that she finished college early, but the information train usually stops there. It’s not that she’s paranoid, or wouldn't care to learn about others, it just hasn’t occurred to her. When your online career consists mostly of pugging with strangers, there’s not a lot of reason to get buddy-buddy.
I Want My Mummy : For as acrimonious as her interactions can be, Hecate is rarely short on invitations. Being a healer gets you invited to groups, being a really good healer gets you invited back, even when you call the raid leader a skin toilet. Hecate has been kicked from a fair few groups, but she’s been reinvited to many more, and has garnered a small celebrity status for her capabilities. As long as you don’t mind getting your mistakes called out in less-than-delicate ways, you probably won’t have to worry about wiping to healing.
Brainy : By design, Hecate’s role in Pariah shares some overlap with her real life trajectory. While she’s no savant, Albie Klein has an unbreakable work ethic and a knack for learning. She’s good at problem-solving on the fly, and has eagerly implemented much of her medical knowledge into her kit. While ethics are paramount in medicine, she's glad she doesn't need malpractice insurance in Pariah.
She hopped up onto the boat’s railing, looking out over the lake and mangled shore. Every inch her eyes passed over gradually began to mend itself. The bottomless schisms knit themselves shut, the unseen gale quieted and the waves moved unbothered, until the water eventually settled into the familiar black mirror it was always. The moon’s reflection coalesced before the moon proper, but soon enough the sky did heal. Quinnlash reached up and pinched a few shivering stars from the blackness. They fizzled on her fingers, unfixable or excess, and so she flicked them into the water where they were quickly swallowed.
The restoration seemed to calm her, or perhaps it was the other way around. “It was dark,” she said again, steadily. “We’re not scared of the dark. It’s what the dark means, that’s what’s scary. It’s not about what’s in it, it’s about all the things that aren’t there. All the things outside of it we’ll never know. Darkness is a cage.”
Her eyes turned ashore, and up, to the cliffs where there was no house. Her face twited into a scowl. “We spent our whole lives trapped. Blind. Stupid. We escaped. Maybe it didn’t like that. Maybe the dark wants us back.”
Walking down invisible steps she made her way onto the deck again, and back over to Quinn. Her face was a portrait of determination, but there was doubt in the depths of her eyes, a seeking uncertainty.
“We’re happy now. We won’t go back. We’ll fight if we have to, we’re good at that—it’s what we were made for,” she said. “I don’t…want to be scared. We don’t deserve it.”
Viddle had been through her fair share of icebreakers and introductions as she’d circuited the various courts of the Empire. She’d heard no small number of bold, heroic claims of glory, or suave attempts at mingling, or curt and unaffected dismissals. The nobility in Adrestria could at times be stuffy and overly formal, but there was a familiar comfort in being around countrymen, even those you didn’t particularly like.
It was clear to her that comfortability was continent-wide, simply by its absence among the students who introduced themselves here. It reminded her less of the socialite’s dance of a court, and more of the guarded, gaudy masks worn at Ulrich’s estate in the earliest years of his game. And how could she blame them? As exciting an opportunity as this academy was, who wouldn’t have doubts being surrounded by strangers from foreign lands. Many of them might be like her, never having stepped foot outside of their own countries. A degree of sympathy was in order.
The leaders of the other Houses introduced themselves. Auberon seemed knightly much in the same way Johann did, which was to say, outwardly. Where Johann had a myriad of dependable rumors supporting his character, she had no such network prepared for the Galatea heir. Was his piety a front, or did his beliefs lean closer to her dear cousin’s?
Conversely, the leader of the Golden Deer, Jorah, was much less reserved, which she almost instinctively took to mean the opposite. But she stopped herself there—she had promised herself she would not be unfair. Instead, until proven otherwise, she would take his joviality at face-value. Something told her levity would be a precious commodity within these walls, and she was glad she wouldn’t be attempting to distribute it alone.
Though they were not house leaders, Clarissa and Lienna were intriguing nonetheless. Viddle found the Edmund girl to be endearingly straightforward, almost soldierly, but was pleasantly surprised to see the sort of fluster and exasperation the Riegan heir afflicted her with. Lienna, on the other hand, seemed starkly out of place. She liked warmth, she disliked cold, she hoped for things that sounded like they had been written out for her on a card. New to the noble stage, perhaps, but unshaken by it. Hopefully she would not be overwhelmed; Viddle doubted the courts of other nations were any kinder to newcomers than the Empire.
A part of her thought she ought to wait until Adelaide went, but when her cousin did not move to introduce herself, Viddle decided she would go ahead. Standing, she smiled to the others and gave a polite bow of her head, hands clasped together.
“Hello! My name is Widolaic von Vestra, but most just call me Viddle. I hail from the Adrestian Empire, and bear the crest of Lamine. I’m quite fond of magic, but I’m even fonder of conversation. I think most of all, I’m excited to meet so many new and interesting people, and it’s my sincerest hope that we might call each other friends by the end of all this. Please, consider my hand always extended.” She nodded, content, and started to sit before jolting and rising quickly back up. “Oh—and I very much dislike insects.”
She sat down again, smile still lingering on her face. Frankly, she didn’t think she could do away with it even if she wanted to.
The saying came to mind: ‘Never attribute to malice what can be explained by ignorance.’ In House Vestra, the rule was often inverted, as those who played the fool were likely just as much of a threat as anyone else. In her years at the estate, Viddle had grown accustomed to the depth that lurked beneath meek surfaces.
As she watched Rudolf von Bergliez smush his nose into Adelaide’s hand, shaking like a shaved dog in the winter, she saw no such depth. And much like a shaved, shaking dog, she hoped someone would come along to drape a blanket over the poor thing and bring it inside to the hearth. She would admit, much of her information on the Bergliez heir came from second and third hands; no one seemed to have very much to say about him, which was usually the case with closely guarded secrets or the unremarkable. It vexed her, for Rudolf seemed like neither, if for different and intriguing reasons.
She let his dismissal of her greeting go without pressing further. This part at the beginning, feeling out first impressions, it could be tricky, and among the last things she wanted to do was upset a future colleague.
And speaking of…
“Ah, Johann,” she said, nodding respectfully as the young man approached them. “A true comfort indeed. And, if not a coincidence, then certainly a wonderful opportunity. Your family has much to look forward to this year.”
Viddle shot a brief, subtle glance at Adelaide, trying to gauge her reaction. Passable as his reputation was, just as with Rudolf, it was his introduction that mattered most. Adelaide likely wouldn’t mind an awful marriage if it meant achieving her vision, but Viddle had no desire to see her cousin endure.
Viddle was glad to hear Adelaide take the assessment in stride. When it came to the marriages of royalty, ‘tolerable’ was certainly on the higher end of outcomes, though she knew her concerns had been largely unfounded to begin with. Adelaide would be cold underground before she let some arranged spouse stand in the way of her future. Johann would realize that quickly, and accept it with grace, or he would be in for a rather miserable marriage.
When the topic turned playfully towards her own prospects, Viddle couldn’t help laughing just a little. Not so much at the idea itself, but the thought of uncle Ulrich playing matchmaker tickled her. She’d never seen him so much as smile since they first met, and anyone who came to his seat intending to ask after marriage proposals might already be unsuitable by way of insanity.
“Uncle Ulrich isn’t very romantically-inclined these days,” she said casually. She’d never known his wife, though in her more daring escapades within the estate, she discovered he still kept a lovely portrait of her in his chambers. Perhaps theirs was indeed a passionate union. “Though if you have anyone you’d like disposed of, you should consider sending them to him to inquire after my hand. Besides,” a mischievous grin tugged at her lips. “There are much more interesting things to prowl these halls for than marriage, wouldn’t you say—oh!”
Having grown up surrounded by those who would one day make their trades in shadows and subtlety, Viddle prided herself somewhat on being hard to sneak up on. However, when a small voice popped up before them, she jolted, finding it attached to a young man who she had not even noticed approach.
It was a face she recognized least among the imperial heirs at the academy, but still recognized nonetheless. Rudolf von Bergliez, future heir to the seat of the empire’s military, and something of a social recluse compared to his peers.
“Rudolf!” she beamed, cheery again once the surprise wore off. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise! Please don’t go, we were just talking about how fun it will be, getting to know all our future allies. Your Highness,” she said, catching herself before calling Adelaide by name so casually. Perhaps once the introductions were done. “Have you met Rudolf yet? Heir to House Bergliez, and quite the capable mage, I’m told. We share a passion for magic, it would seem—I’d love to trade notes some time!”
mickilennial
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