Tatterdemalion

Fellowship: The Heart

Ailee!

When the dragon’s head lifts, there is a triumph to his bearing; he has exposed part of the station’s spine. Now his victory is inevitable. No, that’s not right; his victory was assured the moment you allowed him entry. There is no overcoming power like this; how can you even hope to redirect it?

His eyes fix on you for a moment, searing, piercing, headlamps twisted into burning diamonds. And then they sweep on by, having regarded you as nothing particularly of interest.

No, he’s distracted more by other things, slight changes in the station. But you have a right by his own laws, as his vassal, to be heard. To make a petition. And it’s because no other laws can hold him that King Dragon will keep his own.

***

Coleman!

You emerge into a killing ground. Robots and rats lie scattered all about this promenade, sparking, cracked, dripping with... lemon custard and giant centipede acid.

Ah. Right. You haven’t seen the Professor all this time.

There is a bleak and ominous honk that rings out from the shadows. But, you know, if you can point him in a better direction, maybe he won’t try to twist Sasha’s head off in the throes of his pieserk rage.

Breathless Dead

When Redana uses the Command Seal implanted under her skin, it’s not because she’s afraid that Bella really will do what she just threatened, and she needs someone to save her. She’s not thinking that clearly at all. She just can’t bear to be alone.

She’s alone with Bella. For the first time in their lives, they’re together and apart. There’s no safe haven here, no softness she can touch. The face in front of her belongs to a stranger. Her Bella is gone. Spittle trickles down her face, beads against her lips. The magic throbs and lances under her skin, a command, inexorable and inexplicable.

Come to me. Stand before me.

The air shimmers into impossible angles; the world warps. A transposition of necessity. A miracle. Owls shy away, ready themselves, as an impossibility steps through under compulsion: Pallas Athena in a wedding gown, sculpted from the finest stone.

“Alexa,” Redana sobs. Again. Again, her friend sees her like this: weak, humiliated, helpless. Wasn’t the last time enough? “Tell her she’s wrong, please.” She tries to turn her body, to look, and the Kaeri keep her feet from touching the ground, from finding any sort of leverage. “Tell her... you’re my friend, aren’t you?”

Then she does manage to get a look, courtesy of a scan from the Auspex, and her train of thought derails spectacularly. “Wait, Alexa, you’re getting married? Why didn’t you tell me? Am I invited? Did you not tell me because you didn’t want me there? Oh no. Oh no no no. That can’t be right because if that’s right—“

Then Bella is right. Alexa doesn’t even want Redana to attend her wedding. The betrayal stabs deep.

Breathless Dead

“I’m a moron, huh?”

Redana’s voice is shaky, but there’s a triumph to it. The triumph of a winning move in the strategy exercises she had back home[1]. That should be just the warning Bella needs, but the princess is one step ahead already. Did you think she would just curl up like a frightened chick and wait for your claws, Praetor? She’s irrepressible.

Turn, Bella. See Redana silhouetted against the doorway. Realize that she picked her way through your trail of destruction to loop back. She might be reckless and silly and a bad friend, no, not a friend, your prey, your enemy, but she is glowing with triumph and does that door lock from the outside?

“Then how dumb are you?” Redana says, and slams the door shut[3]. There’s a bar on the other side which she sets in place, and then she stumbles back, trembling from the adrenaline. She got out. There’s something else that’s a problem, but she can handle that when she gets to it. She did it. She stopped Bella. She didn’t let Bella win and take her and hurt her. She didn’t let Bella win. She didn’t prove Bella right.

Which means Bella’s wrong, and she doesn’t have to worry that Bella might be right.

[Redana rolls a 7 to Overcome, very very temporarily. This also heals her Blood stat.]

***

[1]: But this time, there’s no best friend leaning over the table and asking, always so curious, how it worked, what Dany’s plan was, oops, sorry, of course you’re not supposed to reveal your secrets in the middle of a match! That whole time, lying[2].

[2]: it hurts. so don’t think about it, Dany.

[3]: It’s as dark in there as in the inside of a box. Or so we must imagine.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

”Robena!” That is the most scandalized, the most impassioned, you have sounded in quite some time. How dare she betray you like this? Blackguard, scoundrel! The only fortune remaining to you is that this wicked horse has blocked the donkey, which means you can push its head aside and snatch up the carrot triumphantly! What a prize!

In response, the horse begins to turn faster, and you shriek and half-collapse on his neck, barely holding the carrot out of reach. Out of a mixture of pique and uncharacteristic vengeance, you throw the carrot, with all your might and valor, at Robena.

Breathless Dead

Who! Puts a sacred divination maze[1]! In the temple of Athena!! A very clever and conscientious architect! But also this is not what Redana needs right now thank you very much! Especially the part where it’s one-way and once she gets to the end, all she can do is sit down and wait for her ex-best-friend to hurt her more!! That’s pretty terrible actually!!!

It’s hearing glass splinter and smash that gives her the idea. That, and how her heaving, exaggerated breaths for air fill the entire maze. And also the part where Bella smashed through a wall next to her head and now she’s crawling on her hands and knees trying to get out of the radius of the Bella Danger Zone.

“At least I have friends now!” The words (hopefully) hit Bella from every direction at once. The words also hopefully hide the sound of her heartbeat, which is as loud as the guitar solo she played in the arena. “When I asked them to follow me, they did! They haven’t hit me, they haven’t torn out anybody’s throats recently, and they didn’t lie to me for my whole life, so, wow, it turns out having friends is great! I wish I’d gotten to learn what that was like instead of buying your shit my whole life!!”

Redana doesn’t even know how much of what she’s saying is real and what’s just wanting to hurt Bella for hurting her, for wasting the pills, for not coming with her, and what’s hoping that if Bella smashes all the walls she can sneak around to the entrance and lock her in[2].

“Yes, milady! No, milady! Fuck you, milady, I’m a backstabbing heartless bitch who tricked you all this time! Would you like tea or poison, milady? Are you going to be a good girl like me, milady?” There we go, don’t think, just be angry. And definitely don’t wonder what happens if Bella catches you...

***

[1]: a specially-trained priestess walks to the center and back while reciting a mantra. Due to the acoustics, the words uttered here hem you in on all sides; the mirrored walls take light sources and magnify them to infinity. It is a way of disassociating yourself from regular contexts, even regular thoughts, and opening yourself up for revelation. It is also fucking terrifying to be chased through.

[2]: and then she’s totally and completely, as they say, “home free.” Owls don’t exist and are fake, actually[3].

[3]: Bella is the most real thing in the universe. Everything else is negotiable.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

The laughter bubbles out of you like water from a spring. You are, after all, a keeper and companion of cats; you are well acquainted with hungry and insistent animals climbing into your lap. At least donkeys don't have claws!

"Stop that," you say, grinning, lifting the donkey's head so that he doesn't eat your dress. But that keeps him away from his beloved carrot, and so he shoves his head further and further forward, complaining that you are heartless, that you are starving him, that you are wasting him away to skin and bones and that he will drop dead this very moment if he is not given his rightful carrot.

"Robena," you say, still laughing, "come and feed this poor dear his carrot before he eats me all up, too?"

Breathless Dead

She wakes up early, for once. Maybe it’s a dart from some mischievous spirit that wakes her up before dawn. Maybe it’s just her hot stomach complaining about last night’s fish. But she wakes up into a world of broken stillness.

Bella’s still here.

She’s curled up around a pillow, back to Redana, hair loose and messy. (The bun last night had been so precious. She should wear it more.) She’s having some sort of dream; her tail twitches, its tip smacking the lavender sheets, and little clogged growls escape her lips. Her precious fluffy triangles lie flat on her head.

Not knowing what she’s doing, almost dreaming herself, Redana scoots closer and drapes one arm around Bella, pulling her in closer. The growls diminish until they become little nasal purrs, and that ticklish little tail drapes itself over her ankle. And Redana lies there until her stomach settles and she falls asleep to the sound of ragged, soothing snores.

***

“GET OFF!”

Redana pushes back against the crushing weight of her... of Bella. It’s funny, isn’t it? She can’t do it. She can’t get the leverage to get Bella off. She’s weak and useless and stupid and— there. Bella arches her back for a moment, redistributing weight on Redana’s wrist, and Redana acts on instinct. Knees go up, ramming into Bella’s stomach; legs go out, and up, flipping her over. Pain sparks at her wrist and cheek where claws try to dig in.

Up on her feet, turn, back away. Bella’s going to pounce. Bella, the predator. Bella, the liar. Bella, who never really cared. Dany’s face is hot. It’s the sting of pain from those narrow scratches. That’s why her eyes are so hot. That’s why.

(I trusted you. From the first moment I saw you. I just wanted a friend. That’s all I ever wanted.)

“Wuh-watch me,” Dany stammers, almost naked, flushed, crying (stop it stop it stop it). And she flings herself away, because Bella can’t look at her any more, Bella isn’t allowed to be with her anymore, she shoves aside a fluttering of owls and forces open a door.

She does not know what is on the other side. But even if it flings her into Tartarus, it would be better than staying here. Let the Furies take her; they would be kinder.

[Princess Redana Claudius rolls snake eyes to Get Away.]

Fellowship: The Heart

Ailee!

King Dragon.

There's lots of different theories on what exactly the King is. The Oneiric theory is that he is the dream of all dragons; he is the beating heart of their drive for power, wealth, and control. The Progenitor theory is that he is the god that birthed the first dragons, imprisoned by a mighty hero of bygone ages for that crime. The Exemplar theory is that all dragons could be King Dragon if they pulled themselves up by their talons and really focused on being the biggest monster they can be.

This isn't King Dragon. Not really. The monster tearing down, down, down into the heart of the station to claim it for his own is just a projection. (The real King Dragon is buried deep, deep, in some infernal crevice, the weight of the Heart crushing on every side, as untold thousands of his cultists work to free him. They never will.) The problem is that King Dragon can still incinerate everybody. Except you. He wouldn't destroy an asset, after all. Not unless he was very, very angry.

[Mark damage.]

***

Jack--

Nope. You're Carinadir the Skill-handed. The name was buried in a book on Kobold folklore of the railways, a figure of terrible genesis and art. You made the Vermissian Line; your design made the tracks, made the trains, made even this station. Stand taller, stand prouder; when the Fool prances in, curl a lip and sneer. You are a genius. You are superior. The station is operating as designed. You always knew this would happen, and now this dragon thinks it can damage your handiwork?

Deep down, you're aware that Carinadir is fictional; that he is almost certainly a composite figure of the vast number of mystic architects and geomancers that designed this place. But if you blink, you will lose. If you lose, you will die, all of you. So rant. Sneer. Inform everyone exactly who they are dealing with. Halfwits! Bashibazouks! Barnacles! You are Carinadir, one of the Elder Race, and you will not let some overgrown vermin damage your designs.

Declare how it may be set to rights. You will be correct; or you will become correct. This place is malleable, after all. But be aware that you want this station to run. It is, after all, one of your masterpieces.

***

The Fool!

Well, well, well! It seems changing your nature is in fashion! Someone should have said! What if you have to go home and change?

But Carinadir's here. How do you feel about the Architect?

***

Coleman!

"Idiot!" Wolf scrabbles for control, trying to take Sasha, curled up with you in the cabin. "Can't hurt it!"

You've bought a little bit of time, but, honestly? From the sounds that are emerging from the burning, rubble-strewn room? Eventually you will run out of robots. It's an Angel, after all. Sasha can't handle it, and Wolf knows that; that's why she's trying to grab the controls before you get any more Smart Ideas.

Breathless Dead

”But it’s not like I’m going to die.”

Redana’s leg is the color of dying nebulas. The pillow underneath is the color of the night sky at dusk. The musty, ornate sheets are the color of deadly orchids blooming in the heart of a far-off jungle. Hades pauses his shuffling and raises an expressive eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” Redana huffs, leaning her head back against the headboard, arms crossed, precious Paragon pill[1] in one loose fist. “It’s stopping me from healing, but... it’s not like it’s permanent, and I’m not going to die. Once we reach a planet with a medical suite, or even a doctor, we can do a reading. But nobody else on board is like me. Dolce is so soft, and Vasilia’s so reckless, and Galnius wouldn’t complain if we ordered her to march into a dragon’s mouth, and Bella...”

There’s a table in the lavishly appointed[2] cabin. There’s always empty chairs pulled up, and a bottle of something sweet on hand, in case the gods wish to have a word with the ship’s champion. Dolce might be in charge of placating them, but Redana is, in some ways, their lightning rod. When those so, so white cards are rapped against the table, the sound is that of knucklebones scattered on dry earth.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine, I really will.” She doesn’t get up. But she does take that pill (as precious as the heart of a star) and slip it back into her belt. “Even one might be the difference between life and death for a member of my crew, and doesn’t a princess know her responsibilities to her subjects? Besides, it’s not like I can go home and ask Mom for more.”

***

“Bella, no, stop, don’t you dare—!!”

Redana fights back like a wildcat, throwing her head back and forth, forcing Bella to exert more and more strength to hold her still. Maybe, maybe if she wrenched her head away and spat the pills out, they’d be salvageable, and both pills (both pills Bella what are you doing) wouldn’t be wasted on her leg, pills that could cheat Thanatos, literal miracles of technology primed and ready to burn through her and shine light in a dark place, she could save them for her friends, her crew, even her...

Bella’s hand is almost feverishly warm clamped over her face, fingers digging into her cheek, and the world smells like rotting grapes and the tang of sweat that wrestling oil was designed to hide. Every time she thinks she has leverage Bella rips it away, pushes her down harder, and she can’t do everything, she can’t fight back and stop herself from— there. It’s done. She swallowed them.

Then she arches, and buttons come undone in a shower.

The nanites spark in her blood. It starts in her heart and travels through her, electric, furious, almost too much (two pills, she shouldn’t have used both), hot and wet. She begins to sweat, uncontrollably, eyes shut as tight as she can manage. It drips from her leg, and hisses where it meets the marble tile. It pools beneath her, steaming, purple so dark it might as well be black, as Redana shakes and moans into Bella’s crushing grip, until she melts into whimpers, quick and high, through her nose. Shivers run through her like aftershocks, goosebumps rising on her clammy skin.

Light rises from her breastbone and passes through Bella. Above the servitor’s shoulderbones (it passed like a cool breeze on a balmy day and left shivers behind) the light unfolds into a perfect lotus. Then it fades until there is nothing left.

When Redana opens her eyes again, there is a surfacing fury there alien to the both of them. Redana has rarely been prompted to this sort of anger[3], and Bella...

Bella has never had this kind of anger directed at her.

Not even when they fought on Tellus and Bella was left behind. Not even when she killed Jas’o. Not even then.

[Princess Redana Claudius rolls a 6 trying to Overcome this peril.]

***

[1]: Paragon comes in a little grey pill
(a little grey pill? a little grey pill?)
and the little grey pill goes into your mouth like an offering
(offering~)
Then the little grey pill melts in your mouth without suffering
(suffering~)
and when the nanites spark, Apollo is ready to heal you, heal you.
(paragon, paragon)

[2]: by the standards of spacers. By Redana’s standards, this was Roughing It. The lamps were blackened with age, the bed was only large enough for two, and there was only one wardrobe!

[3]: barring the occasional argument-turned-screaming-match with her mother.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Lostwithiel. A sudden foreboding strikes you then, doesn't it, Constance? That somehow, this humble and good man (or so you must assume) will be drawn into the coming disaster if he goes there with his master of a mule. Nonsense, surely! You don't even know if he is headed for Lostwithiel, much less if he intends to stay there long. Yet it is impossible, once you take up that thought, to put it down again. So you look at him, intent eyes like still forest pools, your inner turmoil carefully hidden beneath your noble mien.

"The prayers are said, the fair complete, and we'll see what this year brings," you say, carefully. "And as for yourself, good man, how turns the Wheel of the seasons?"

It is your right to be recognized as a keeper of the Old Faith, after all, daughter of giants; and who would fail to recognize you? Who would fail to offer an account of their days, or then surrender some small thing or prayer or question that troubles them, some small and wonderful matter between the two of you, a burden to be lifted from them. So let us wait for an answer, and do your best not to get distracted by that mule still reaching for the carrot. (Will he get it? He must-- certainly he will-- won't he?)