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In Return to Thellamie → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
Injimo!

"The assassin?" Aadya blinks a moment. "I... did she go out and kill someone?"

A beat. The Civil's mouth slowly opens, and she eventually manages to find the words. "No, she... she attacked the Goddess?"

"What? After I let her go?!" The stylus proves its good manufacture by not snapping under the pressure of Aadya's forefinger and thumb. "I should have known something was wrong when she ran off... damn!" She gnaws on the stylus, glaring at the tablet like it was what convinced her to let Eclair Espoir go.

Then her eyes flick back to you, and she stands up a little straighter, tucks the stylus behind her ear, and actually tries to look like she's trying to be respectful of the Hero of Ages. "She was harassing a dyemaker, trying to get information on Sister Tammithyn Murr. When I arrived, she beat me in a fight and then made me help her clean the dyemaker's shop, and she tried to convince me that the whole thing was a big misunderstanding and that she wasn't stalking the good sister. Then she took me by the hand, ran out with me into the street, and finally jumped off me to start using her board. Now she's gone, Tammithyn's gone, and you're telling me she found time to attack Holy Civelia along the way?"

She stands even more at attention. "Eclair Espoir is a talented and dangerous opponent, happy to use her body and her skateboard to fight even more than she uses her sword. She's capricious and erratic, obsessed with cleaning, good at using her tongue. Appearance-wise, she's a violet-haired Avel in plate-and-apron."

Didn't Civelia's attacker have carrot-orange curls?


Cair!

As Kalentia tries to get the Lunarian to relax, or at the very least stop being as stiff as a board, all right angles and scandalized shivers, we turn our attention back to you. You've been dealing with the armor, right? We may as well talk about that for a moment.

The Lunarians are geniuses when it comes to technology, and this armor's proof of that. It's designed to be a self-contained lunar environment, and it's very hard; whatever cracked open the vambrace must have been very dangerous. Either that, or she pissed off someone with the world's largest crab cracker; the way that it interlocks, the shape of its various pieces, has a rather carcine air beneath the bamboo-stem elegance. When you slipped your hand into the gauntlet and tried to pick up a sword, it made you strong enough that you left the imprints of your fingers in the metal as if it were made of sponge.

The most you'll be able to do on it is a patch job, and it's possible that the pure essence of the moon has already leaked out of the suit. This could have... ramifications on the Lunarian's continued health, if she doesn't figure out how to survive down here where everything's dirty and messy.


Yuki!

Well, for starters, you should mark a Need for Aadya. Poor dear. We'll just have to see if we can avoid having her turned into a pincushion, won't we?

As for Sulochana, something in your words or voice seems to touch her. She hesitates for your sake, darling. For your sake and for the sake of a boy she still hasn’t properly met in person.

“…Yuki, I would appreciate your help,” she says, banking the fires of her intensity. “You’re right. I— what if coming with as many guards as I can just scares him? What if he’d be uncomfortable with riding in a palanquin or on the back of a goblin? Would it mean more to him if we disguised ourselves and went alone? He’s your friend, so please help me tame him in… the nicest way I can.”

What this means, dear, is that you now have a lot of power over how Suli intends to go forth. You can pick names, make requests, and otherwise take responsibility for making this happen, too. But that’s better than scaring Hazel, right?


Eclair!

For most hubs in Thellamie, there are two means of entry: via the Roads or by daring the Outside and coming from without. However, this latter, more unusual method hits several snags when an attempt is made to enter Vespergift thus. Snags, roots, walls and boiling oil. Or so the excitable rumors of childhood go; every child knew someone whose cousin knew someone who got locked out after sneaking out of the city, and when they tried to get back inside: slosh and splash and sizzle.

What this means practically is that you may enter the city into the Marché Couvert, which feels as if it is subterranean despite merely being at ground level, a maze of stalls and carts and cafes where Timtam might play cat and mouse— or you may brave the walls that the trees and the dead have broken themselves upon time and again, clambering from gargoyle to arrow-slit to oil-vent, all to try and outfox Timtam.


Anat Amora-Ugari!

There. There it is. The starlight inside of him glimmering, winking, bright and full of wonder. You caught a glimpse of that when Keli was dancing with him: that passion. The gesture you make with your fingers, for but a moment, is only for you and Amali and me; he doesn’t know yet what it means. But in this moment, you believe that one day this boy will know me the way that you do. (Oh, if only you knew!)

“Like you,” you say, taking a guess, “I could feel it inside here.” Your touch to your breastbone is gentle. “That feeling needs to be shared with others. By doing what we do, we help others touch the dance that is happening above us all, even if it’s only for a moment.”

Then you begin to prime him for initiation: you tell him about the places in every hub that welcome artists, but not about the symbols etched into doorframes. You tell him about paying attention to the calendars of the hubs and chasing festivals and parties, and how the Civils always have some sort of event they can point you towards, but you leave out the fact that you sometimes receive polite suggestions on where to go and who to speak with. You mention that the ashiq were the first traveling performers, and you do a little shimmy of demonstration that makes him nearly bury his face into his curry, but you do not talk about who taught them.

Good girl.

“…and I do have an apartment in Turquoise, though I spend only a few weeks out of the year there. How about you? Where are you from?” And you ask it with more innocence than anything else you have said, not knowing why Amali kicks him under the table.
In Breathless Dead → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
It would be very easy indeed to assume that the bride is completely helpless; is petrified with fright beneath her wedding veil; is a posable doll ready for the ceremony, barely audible even without the sound of Summerkind drones clapping and weeping to see the grace with which she takes such small, dainty steps across the room. At this point, anyone would have given up, and isn’t it obvious that Ember has succumbed to the inevitable?

Ember has succumbed to the inevitable her only lightly singed ass. She is a Ceronian scout. Her ears twitch under the veil, triangulating the positions of the audience, the shape of the room, the offerings before each shrine. Her nose twitches and sniffs, taking in the scents of the room, the air currents which flow through it, the emotional shifts of the crowd. Her arms tense; if she needs to buy time, she will have to toss them over Liquid Bronze’s neck and start strangling him with her bound wrists while wrapping her thighs around him to share the electric shocks and beating him in the face with a lovely bouquet of flowers[1].

Really, the most unfair thing about all of this is that if anyone, Bella should be at waiting at the shrine. Would that mean anything to Bella, if they were to…?

The thought makes her miss a beat and grunt in alarm as her rump becomes slightly more singed.

Would Bella even be on this journey if not trying to marry her princess? But she often seems so pragmatic (even when she is grinning, sweating and naked), and perhaps she simply needs to ensure that the princess’s mother and the gods do not curse the marriage together. Would this ceremony mean anything to Bella’s heart? Would she wish to see Ember— that is, the Princess— come down the aisle in a dress hung heavy with pearls and white lace? Would that make her eyes widen, her mouth open, her tail twitch?

The thought of it fills every bit of free space in her mouth. Suddenly, this entire plan — from start to finish — feels like a gamble too far. How dare she risk her own wedding as the stakes of survival? How could she let herself be trapped in a position where Liquid Bronze of all people might take her special moment away from Bella? And doubtless the pack hasn’t yet informed the Lare about her predicament, since the Sunshark is actively imperiling the ship— but will it disrupt the wedding in time? And will Liquid Bronze stop preening and ignoring just how pretty she looks coming down the aisle? Bella would never.

…does she even deserve salvation? She’s not really Bella’s princess. She’s just an echo, a new drink in an old glass, trying to live up to all the memories that her girlfriend has of that heroic, swashbuckling princess. Redana definitely wouldn’t have ended up in a position like this[2]!

Oh, if only Bella would swoop out of nowhere, scoop her up in her arms, and declare the wedding canceled! If only…


[1]: hopefully she can keep the flowers. Maybe put them into a vase in her cabin? Surprise Bella with them?

[2]: a thought which has all the certainty of dramatic irony.


[11 on Look Closely. Tell us about the wedding! Tell us about Liquid Bronze! And tell us about what is hidden!]
In Return to Thellamie → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
Aadya!

The chamber is empty.

In fact, it looks like it hasn’t been used at all. No, better. The sheets on the bed are neatly tucked in. The flowers were watered recently. The floor’s swept and the windows were left open to air out the room.

Sister Tammithyn Murr is nowhere to be seen.

Sure, there’s some sort of excitement going on today. Some venturer kid became the Queen of Light? And Civelia was attacked by a maid-knight while you were sparring with Eclair Espoir.

The possibilities writhe like snakes. The maids could have been working together, but why was Eclair chasing after a Civil— no, she wasn’t, at least according to her. What evidence is there that there were only two possible liars? Why did she run off last night? Where is Tammithyn Murr?

You have got questions to ask the monastery staff. Wait, no, she’s just at the summit, maybe? You should go and ask…


Eclair!

Ruthmoreness is clumsy, enthusiastic, and a little smug. It remains up in the air how much of her Herness is deliberate and how much is just her natural state, and it’s a distinction that many of your sisters-in-lace would regard as being nonsense. We are the personas that we adopt. (Down south, we have a similar-but-distinct philosophy surrounding masks and veils.)

Her hand finds the weak points in your armor, and acknowledges them: that you, Eclair Espoir, you have skin. Skin that has known rain many times before. Skin wrapped tight around a heart too big to fit through your lips.

Eventually, she sneaks your tablet out of its holster, while you cannot adjust to stop her, and smiles up as she awakens it. “Here, say—“ But she does not complete the thought, tell you to say “Teaaaaaaas!” for the photo, or take a picture. She instead frowns. Then her eyes widen. Then she flips it around for you.

>[.tmtwo]

There are no words. Just two pictures.

The first is of a ticket, covered in delicate scalloped chrysanthemums. It sits on a table of wood whorled in a way that is subtly, irritatingly discordant from the pattern of chrysanthemums. Full Service - 3-Day Stay is written in a flourishing hand across the face of the ticket.

The second is of an envelope. It sits on the black stone tongue of Sayanastia the Dark Dragon, frozen in a snarl. The irregular edge of the envelope in the sketch suggests that it has been pasted in place. “EE” on the front, in Timtam’s hand.

Of course you recognize the flower, even if only dimly. And you recognize the grotesque, too. Did you ever tell Timtam about those childhood memories? The lights of the Chrysanthemum glittering on the snowdrifts, only to get swallowed up by Vesper Victoria’s rising on the other side of the street like a black spear stabbed into the earth, its walls covered in figures of heroes wrestling with vines and skeletal hands just as Heron herself wrestles with Sayanastia, her jaws wide enough to swallow any child (if she were to bend her stone neck down and do a big stretch, and also you obligingly hopped up into the air for her, but that likely didn’t factor into the calculus of childhood fear).

Timtam is in Vespergift. How long has it been, Eclair?


Injimo!

On your way out, you pass a Paladin (tall, broad-shouldered, moving a little stiffly) looking through a Civil’s tablet, flicking down the list and frowning.

“And you’re sure this is everyone?” She’s asking the tablet’s owner. “Is there a way I can sort alphabetically— oh, here?”

She taps, taps, taps, then starts chewing on the stylus and staring a hole through the tablet. Her tail flicks in agitation.

Actually, out of any of the Handmaidens, you’re the one to ask: have you met the Rock Upon a Mountain before?


Kalentia!

The Hero’s Shadow drags one talon through the water, almost idly. No… visible changes occur.

You are helping a shaky Fallen Far into the hot spring. The pupils of her eyes are wide and dark, with a sheen to them like the wings of a beetle. She is clinging to a linen towel wrapped around her as if it were a talisman of good health and modesty.

Please tell us all about the hot spring, and the difference between how various members of your team enjoy it.


Yuki!

First of all, it must be pointed out: from the blush and the way she looks away and smiles, it’s unusual to say what you just said to Pasenne, and she very much appreciates it.

Suli blinks, however, and raises one hand to her mouth. “Oh, Yuki,” she says. “I mean the Aestivali High Council. They’re the puppet rulers of Aestival, and we all know who they work for. What we don’t know is how many people are on it: there are twelve masks, but the people behind them could be anyone. And they likely are stretched thin trying to defend Aestival from a possible attack from the Khatun.”

She pauses a moment, watches to see if understanding blooms on your face. Either way, she continues: “Because she’s so good at navigating through the Outside, an attack could come from anywhere, not just from the Roads. Anyone who ends up with their hands on Hazel will have to deal with her threat one way or another— and if she gets him, she might just withdraw to some hidden camp out there until he’s… tamed.”

She leans forward. Ambition glitters in her lovely (intense, enthralling) eyes— though you can certainly look away, as she’s not trying to draw you in intentionally. “There’s only two places in all of Thellamie that could stand up to her: the Civelia Subluna in Kel, and right here in the Viperiat. Not those beachfront maze-towns.”

(She’s wrong, mind you.)


Hazel!

I regret to inform you that, eventually, when the hot wings have been reheated and the curry’s been poured onto flatbread, you will have to make a choice: to squeeze in right next to Anat, to climb over Amali to sit on top of her knitting project, or to just stand like a very noticeable weirdo.

“…had to cancel my appearances in Garnet,” Anat is saying, talking with her hands as much as with her melodious voice. “That’s almost certainly going to be the next flashpoint. But Insela managed to get me set up with a few special appearances at the Chrysanthemum, especially since she knows my cousin’s Kysa Amora-Kallos…”

“Oh, fancy that!” Amali says, not giving away anything.

Do you give away anything, given that Amali is, in fact, taking you to whatever this Chrysanthemum is?
In Return to Thellamie → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
Eclair!

Well played! You are, despite yourself, despite the things that isolate you from those around you, a good player of the Great Game- and any other player can see that. And Ruthmoreness, with her clumsy-cute charm, has to concede that, too.

So she cracks open the book and makes... let us call it an attempt at reading. You're quite distracting, and she reads the same sentence over and over, and she reads the same sentence over and over, and she peeks up at you, and she reads the same sentence over and over, and she flutters her eyes, and she reads the same sentence over and over... but eventually she manages to get some headway.

"She's making a mess," Ruthmoreness concludes. "She's making herself some sort of... antimaid? Negamaid? Unmaid? Daim? Dame?" Her brow scrunches up with the effort of thinking about a maid outfit where all the whites are black and all the blacks are white. While she does that- what do you think of that theory, Eclair? Is there something to it, or is this just another tree that Timtam has you barking up?

Perhaps she's sent Ruthmoreness here just to convince you that she's an antimaid so that she can then wrong-foot you by being extra-maidy the next time that you meet. How far do her plans reach? Was she ready for this very moment? For all you know, she could be out there in the rain, tucked neatly underneath an umbrella. Don't look. You'll just be disappointed by the shape of her absence.


Yuki!

"Thank you, Radiant Edogawa," Pasenne says, with a flick of her rattling tail. That must be very tricky for her to keep quiet as much as she does, and perhaps the ribbons wrapped around it are meant to dampen the sound. "Since you asked," she says, a little daring, "I'm so glad that you're going to help our Princess get her crown." There's certainty there; she refuses to even consider anyone else the rightful Queen. "Once we expand Crevas, some of the floodwater will drain out of the housing market, and I might be able to get my parents their own place in a few years."

(And in that, the implicit: of course Sulochana will tend to Crevas's needs first.)

>[.rockamt]
>Well, you come over here and deal with my thing instead of getting dragged into the magical deerboy, obviously.

>[.praxispacksis]
>Aadya!! That...!!
>...means you wouldn't get involved in this, I guess.
>The Khatun's assembling for
>Well, I mean

>[.rockamt]
>Wait, you're friends with that deerboy people are talking about, Yuki?

>[.praxispacksis]
>WAS THAT NOT CLEAR????

>[.rockamt]
>I've been busy. But, hey, good to know you're friends with the Queen of Light, Yuks.

>[.praxispacksis]
>HUH?????

>[.rockamt]
>?

>[.praxispacksis]
>oh shoot I have to go Yuki just please don't
>let's not
>going with Aadya sounds great!!!!

Sulochana peers over your shoulder, having made her grand entrance just a moment before while you were engrossed in the weird vibes Juni was giving off. "Or you could ignore her and come with me. It sounds as if the High Council will need our help repulsing the Khaganate, and we could use your axe on our side." A very high-minded plea... with no mention of the fact that she'll want to snatch Hazel out of Aestival herself.

Since your friend group's at loggerheads, on this subject at least, you can get your benefits by either going to Aadya or sticking by Sulochana's side, and doing anything else (like, say, going and learning how to juggle, or sneaking into Aestival on your own) will get you the consolation prize.

Sulochana gives you a reassuring shoulder squeeze. "Yuki and Suli against the world," she says, and does the hip bump that you used to do together before she slithers into her couch and starts eating like someone who is struggling to maintain proper manners in the face of an empty stomach.


Hazel!

You're a bright young boy. You've played video games before. So you're familiar with loading screens.

The Roads are loading screens.

The skies above are black. On either side of the widely-paved road are evergreens: pines, spruces, firs, and (oddly enough) bamboo, all of them sharp black on black, refusing to be properly illuminated by everyone's lanterns. There are two lanes, and usually you're supposed to hug the left and let traffic pass by on the right, but foot traffic's overspilled onto the right for today. All trudging along, stuck in the same liminality as a long airplane flight by night. There's no sense of distance, of how far you've come or how far you're going.

We're closer connected than your world, but that doesn't mean that it's a casual thing to go from one Hub to another.

Eventually, Amali taps your shoulder. "This is a good place," she says, pulling out some tins from under her seat and hanging a red lantern on the side of the rickshaw. Almost as soon as she does this, you notice that there's a rest stop up the Road. (And before you ask: yes, it did just appear, and no, it wouldn't have appeared if she'd just hung that lantern up right as soon as you got onto the Road.) You pull over into this side street, park the rickshaw, and help Amali down the steps into one of the stations. As this isn't your first trip on the Road, you know what happens next: someone has to join you in here, this cramped barrow which smells of Christmas: pine trees and the crispness of snow and the curry that Amali's cracking open and the crackling, smoky hearth in the center of the station.

(Oh, this is one of our sources of, as you call them, urban legends. Stories about people who think they can just ignore the need to pull over and eat. About people who start eating before someone comes to join them. About people who are violent here. The rules of the Road are drilled into children's heads with as much strictness as your teenagers are taught to respect cars capable of traveling dozens of miles per hour, and for similar reasons.)

"I hope you don't mind," says a melodious and familiar voice, and your heart skips a beat, doesn't it?

Anat Amora-Ugari is here, tossed in with you by the chance of the Road, and she's brought a tin of hot wings for the table. Like most Nagi, she takes up so much of the station, as if it was built for people smaller than her. You'll have to squeeze in. Maybe there won't be enough room and you'll have to sit on her. Plenty of things to think about.

"Come in, dear," Amali says. "Don't you mind my great-nephew here, he'll behave himself."


Tsane!

"Our recommendation is as follows, Lady Civelia," the General Secretary says, summing up the past... hour? Closer to two. "Firstly: that our priority for the sake of Thellamie's stability must be ensuring that the conflict over the Golden Fawn is resolved without lasting violence. Secondly: that in the light of her actions last night, the Khatun of the Khaganate must be formally censured and informed that we reserve the right to take actions to bar her from the contest to tame the Golden Fawn if she continues to act in a way that disturbs the peace of the Hubs. Thirdly, that the Hero of Ages be dispatched to discover the identity of the maid-knight who attempted to lay hands on the Goddess herself. We thank you for taking the time to consult us and for blessing our efforts to come to consensus."

This is typical. The Civils are great for charity, construction, bureaucracy, anything that requires planning and hard work and big hearts, but they're spooked. And a spooked Civil is one that's going to minimize action, urge for patience, threaten vague consequences, and generally wait to be rescued. To be fair, Heron's usually pretty good at rescuing the church when necessary - and Civils tend to be in need of saving when she's around.

"I, in turn, thank you," Civelia says. The Sleepless Charm has been lying inert and dead in front of her for the past forty minutes, but now she gestures and draws it to float just above her palm. "Let us carry this out with all due determination- but there is one thing that I would have my dearest Hero do for us all before she pursues her Quest."

The Civils start to hum, looking for the right frequency to match the way that the charm spins. "There is a boy lost within Our world, ensnared within prophecy, bound by the will of the untouchable Stars. He must be fearful, desperate, lost, in need of solace." Chains- silver and gold- glow on the surface of the charm she is creating. "We shall not let this be so. We shall not. O Golden Fawn, for you alone I grant authority."




Injimo!

If you ever had to fight Civelia, which would require her to actually be willing to fight in the first place, this is how she would fight. You'd have to close in fast before she could command you to kneel, or command others to defend her on her behalf. But that would be a betrayal of the bond between the Goddess and her Hero. A white room fight.

The charm falls to the Goddess's palm as if too heavy to hang in the air any longer. Mana rises off it like smoke. It is a badge in the shape of a shield, one half silver and the other half ruby. The silhouette of a stag's head is done in onyx limned in gold, the tips of the antlers rising above the shield's rim.

This she offers to you. Its magic (and its Move) will not activate for you; it will be heavy and slightly too cool to the touch. "My most beloved champion, I ask you to deliver this to the Golden Fawn and teach him how to use it. By this gift he may dictate the contests of his taming. Once this is complete, seek out the maid who your handmaiden fought last night and learn her purpose."


Kalentia!

"This is the sickness," Fallen Far says, laying her head back down, though still trying to cover herself up. "Thellamie is the impurities of sickness. You are the infecting of passions." She says it like an obscenity, but not one directed at you. "The detestation of passions are the murdering of me. Your cha is the disordering of passions; the desiring of action both unbidding and unwanting. This is the cessation of my deserving: the nakedness and the wanting and the... and the..."

She sniffles. She raises her good hand to her face and turns it away from you, shoulders trembling.

"...I am not deserving the presence of her. I am the risk of infection, the punishment of passion. I am the murdering of her if she was present. But the wanting of her is, is, is. I am the impurity."

That's a familiar bit of self-loathing, isn't it? Even through the language barrier, that kind of raw you-are-perfect-and-I-am-garbage longing is... well, better that you're here than anyone else.
In Breathless Dead → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
Ha! Heh! Ember's tail wags eagerly as she slips effortlessly out of a door, leaving a dozen dozen Summerkind milling confused in the pheromonal research annex. When they try to come after her, they'll accidentally destabilize the vats and flood this entire section of the Sphere with a hundred thousand contradictory commands! Now, on to her next scene of mischief, of chaos, of innocent mayhem! All she has to do is scamper helpfully down this corridor, take a sharp left to avoid the security checkpoint down the hall, and--

It should be impossible for materials to fail her. Clothing is about form and function, each perfected since before she was born. The world is full of useful and wonderful things just waiting for her to figure out how to use them.

And yet the heel of her shoe twists underneath her and the perfect dance of chaos comes to a sudden, yipping, undignified halt.

She stares up at the brown, slowly dripping ceiling, and too slowly realizes that the grating is dripping the peanut butter from the Heartwarming Wedding Cake Disaster. Ah. Well. In the last moment before being buried underneath a wave of Summerkind, she folds her hands and considers how all mortal endeavor is ultimately its own sort of farce--

[3.]
In Return to Thellamie → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
Yuki!

When the tablet shows a new message at breakfast, you nearly knock over the chai while trying to check it. It's just you and a Nagi maid in here, for now, and not a maid-knight either: just a girl about your age by the name of Pasenne who's handling setting the breakfast table and bringing dishes over. (A seven-course breakfast- expect nothing less from Sulochana.)

The Princess herself is still finishing up attending to her morning routine: hair wax, scale cream, killer eyeliner, a facial scrub followed by sunscreen, and then putting her hair up in an elaborate set of braids. That means Pasenne (and the private chef in the other room) are the only possible witnesses to you fumbling for the tablet and nearly spilling your drink all over yourself. But it's fine! You've got it! And...

>[.praxispacksis]
>I am so, so sorry about what happened last night!!
>I won't be able to talk much, but...
>Is Sulochana okay? I heard from Mekesh that she fought with the Khatun, and...
>Do you think she'll be angry with me if I DM her??
>And are YOU okay??

Also, unrelated to Juniper's guilty worry, palpable through the screen, a different message pops up.

>[.rockamt]
>Hey, squirt. Something's come up. I'm covering the Civil meeting this morning, but I need your help with an investigation. Think you can swing by so we can talk?
>Also, bring bruise cream if you've got it. I'm out.

(There's a non-zero chance that she'll pull you into private and strip so that you can slather it onto hard-to-reach places to soothe and heal bruises, let me be clear. Not in a flirting way, just in a "shit, can you get this for me?" sort of way. Right? Not swooning at the thought, are we?)


Tsane!

"...sending the Hero of Ages against the Mansion of the Dragons is unprecedented, Mason."
"So is a blatant attack against the Goddess in broad starlight, in the middle of a disruption of the proper order that the Stars had to mend! We do not know to what degree they are involved in this, to what degree they may have had a part in causing it, and to what degree they plan to take advantage of it!"
"Permission to interject?"
"Granted."
"It is precisely because we do not know that we cannot open a war on two fronts at this time, Brother Mason."
"We do not have a first front to begin with, Sister Emella. Despite the ill-conceived actions at last night's event, which the goddess was prevented from addressing due to Eclair Espoir's attack, the Khaganate is still under the guidance of the Church. Notably, no Khaganate member attempted to assault the Goddess last night."
"Counterpoint."
"Granted."
"Brother Mason, it is time for us to recognize that the western monasteries are at risk of being suborned by the Khaganate, if they have not already been. We will have time to reach out, formally make a complaint, and if necessary make disciplinary moves towards the Order of the Aurora if they are, in any organized way, involved in this event. The Golden Fawn's theft by Aestivali ashiqs is far more pressing, and we must face the fact that we may see open war between the Khaganate and the Aestivali High Council. We must make it clear that we disapprove in the strongest terms the disorder and misrule we saw last night at the feet of the very Goddess herself."
"Secretary, may I respond?"
"Granted. Brother Oli, you will then have the floor for the Highcrag Temples' delegation response to these issues."
"As the Goddess once said herself in the Third Incarnation, at times attempting to circumvent a coming event merely brings it to fruition..."

It's going to be like this for a while. The Kel haven't really made their rhetorical thrust yet (see Oli there, adjusting his spectacles and bouncing a little on his heels, eager to make the case that his delegation has agreed upon), but there's definitely a shearline through the assembled group on whether the Khaganate or the Order of the Aurora is the true threat that deserves to have Heron pointed at them. Do you happen to have any opinions on the matter yourself?

(Civelia is slowly disassembling the Sleepless Charm with her bare fingers. Motes of starlight float up and rest against her skin like reverse snowflakes. This is inefficient, entropic, and yet she seems to have something very deliberate in mind.)


Kalentia!

So this is a Lunarian, then.

Slight of frame. Willowy, even. Skin so pale that the intricate branching blue veins underneath it look like swirls in porcelain. The cut is all the more severe for contrast. Her severe bob of green-black hair was cut with absolute precision, but it's clear that she hasn't taken the helmet off to care for it in some time. Her fingers are long and slender. If Tsane were here she would likely be scribbling frantically, adding to the world's sum total of knowledge about these famous isolationists.

You, instead, are focused on the task of figuring out what sort of poultice would work on this injury that when she closes her fingers around your wrist, it's a complete surprise.

"Yaguka-omehi?" Her voice is weak and painfully aching with longing, but her eyes are bleary, right on the edge of waking and understanding. "oto-oloroametinakamato, oku-umetekiniqitoma..." The way she glides her thumb, gingerly, along your hand is the kind of thing that you were once super incredibly prepared for Heron to do to you.

And then her eyes open a little more, and a dark nictitating membrane flicks across them, and when it retracts she snatches her hand back like she suddenly realized that you were actually a goblin-bear made out of angry bees which were also Miaou-worshippers wreathed in the unholy fires of the underworld. Her cheeks flush indigo.

"...you are the mistaking of being before me," she says, hoarsely. "You are the, the, ika-tanatafekuixa, disallowing, unauthorization, the..."

If she gets overexcited then that is likely to make inflammation worse. As far as you know! Maybe their bodies are so different that it speeds the healing process! But down here, with the kind of people you're familiar with, that will make things worse if her heartrate and breathing spike like this.


Eclair!

Ruthmoreness being who she is, three things happen.

Firstly: the corner of the book's spine smacks her right in the middle of the forehead, sending her head back and the book straight up.
Secondly: Ruthmoreness's heels go out from under her and she sits down on the ground hard.
Thirdly: the book succumbs to the idea of weight and hits her right on the head again.

"Owwwww," she whimpers, rubbing at her forehead, even as with her other hand she fumbles it open. "Ma'am, I'm owed a forfeit for that." And that is... arguable! The sort of statement that would make other members of the Order, were they around, chime in either out loud or in their body language. On the one hand: you have acted in anger towards one of your fellow maids, knowing that once matters had left your hand, you were no longer in control of their trajectory. On the second hand: it is on Ruthmoreness, especially as a junior member and one only recently permitted to leave on missions, to have the necessary poise to catch the book out of midair. On the foot, it is unworthy to challenge a fellow maid in their weakness unless you are intending to assist in improvement.

She drops next to you in a clatter and shows you her strength in turn, her eyes wide and soft, her ears cocked just so, her smile crooked just the right way. "Won't you make it better, ma'am?" She holds up her bangs to show you exactly where you can perform the Ritual of Mending a Minor Hurt with your lips. She's well within her rights to claim that as a forfeit, if indeed her forfeit was rightful in the first place.

Out here, though, your comaids are not here to witness and weigh in. It is on you to uphold the standards of the Mansion. And it is up to you how you respond to her retort, which places you on the back foot in the Great Game. Certainly, you are a formidable piece, but if Ruthmoreness was not willing to make her plays where she saw the opportunity, she would not be in the Mansion to begin with.

To wit: you may give her that ritual kiss and a String, or you may spurn her and slide further into your own isolation.


Hazel!

"Oh, well, see?" Mel pouts as the Serigalamu touches his hat in apology. "Sorry for that. I'm Jaks--"

"OHOHOHOHOHO, do you not know who you see in front of you?!" Purnima Karn-Pana's voice bursts out over the crowd, and already the crowd's stirring into movement, trying to get out of the way of her... chariot?! Yes, a Nagi-designed chariot, pulled by three mismatched goblin-deer, each one with golden paint on their antlers. Long-suffering guards, at least one of which is definitely Gemes, follow in her wake. "That's right! Out of the way! I must be off to Aestival at once! Fear not, my loyal citizens, your compliance will be remembered when I come into my power and glory! Some of you will likely be fortunate enough to come to our wedding!"

She is. Definitely coming your way. You'll most likely have to Defy Disaster here one way or another, unless you want your little adventure to end in her coils. And you wouldn't want that, would you? Whether you want that or not, Amali is definitely prodding you with her foot, trying to get you to leap into action.
In Breathless Dead → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
This, too, is a magic spell. It's one of the ones that the scouts of Ceron know, but which most shed as quickly as they can once they are proper knights and can pretend that they have never staked their dignity on a ritual approach to warfare.

This one is called "Oops!" when it is not called "In Sheep's Clothing."

One scout behind enemy lines can drive them into confusion, turmoil, and logistical bleed using this approach, as long as they are willing to both hide themselves in the servile busyness of the Synnefo and leave a trail of messes behind them. Do you have any idea what one innocent bride, taking it upon herself to help whenever she sees some place to step in and provide assistance, can do if she is deliberately clumsy enough? Even with no one to watch, she must (in order to do this properly) exclaim in dismay whenever a line gets cut, someone is sent the wrong way with a nonsense missive, volatile explosives tumble out of a crate and block a corridor, on and on and on, a zig-zagging path cut towards Liquid Bronze leaking chaos in its wake.

What ridiculousness that she mixes up her suit jacket with a domestic servitor's plain apron! How could she possibly mix up sending a message up to the kitchens and tripping an evacuation alarm on multiple sublevels? How easily she ducks out of the way of patrols, squeezes past drones while carrying a tray of meat smothered in Liquid Bronze's Epic Boarbristle Barbecue Sauce with an apologetic air, and then fumbles the tray all over the ship's inner shrines- but not to worry, she'll make it to her darling eventually.

Once she's run out of disasters to cause, that is.
In Return to Thellamie → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
Hazel!

It's morning.

The rickshaw is balanced really well, all things considered. Amali is seated under the canopy, knitting needles clacking away. All around her, bolts of cloth and balls of yarn are heaped up, bagged, stacked, tucked into corners, and tied down to the roof. And you? Well, you're a strapping young lad, aren't you? And the desperation to help that you exude is palpable, particularly for the daughters of Aestival.

The crowd is packed in the streets; it's like trying to get up onto the highway after a music festival. You're rubbing shoulders with people from all over Thellamie, trying to fit that little rickshaw between wagons and families and the great goblin riding-beasts and Nagi who don't live in Crevas in ponchos and loose fur coats and beaded capes and veils and why are you staring shouldn't you be looking down at the cobblestones very seriously?

"Hey, venturer!" There's a couple next to you, lugging backpacks as the line to get on the Roads inches forward. Their tops have colorful repeated arrow patterns, zigging and zagging. "Do you happen to, like, know the Golden Fawn?"

"Mel, you can't just ask someone if he knows the Golden Fawn just because he has, you know...!" The Serigamalu man of the pair gestures awkwardly at your antlers, blushing as hard as you are. "Sorry," he stage-whispers, even as Mel looks up at you with wide and curious eyes.

Click, clack, click go the needles.


Yuki!

Sulochana is cuddly in her sleep.

The pajama top is, fortunately, long on you: designed for serpent-bodied Nagi. The sun filters through the gauzy curtains, bringing with it a warm breath of wind. Its rays touch you between the rare gap in Sulochana's coils. Somewhere nearby, Crevas-brand chai tea is being steeped, the spices tickling at the nose. But Sulochana's body pillow is on the rug and instead she's holding you fast.

You agreed, at some point last night, exhausted and heartweary and shuffling to bed, that you'd for sure get up early and be right onto the Roads to pursue Hazel! Surely you did. But despite your guilt, it's difficult to even think about getting up out of bed. That's just how it is. Sulochana is warm in the sun, her mattress is absurdly soft, and she's incredibly safe. Go ahead. Snuggle a little before you try to wake her up. She's the one who got stabbed, after all, and she needs that rest to recover properly.

After all, once you wake her up, she's going to have to decide what she's going to do about Hazel, and...

Maybe you can wriggle an arm out of her grasp to check your tablet, if you rest it against your breastbone?


Tsane!

Heroes.

Civils are taking their seats, a semicircle facing Heron, Civelia and a small sculpture of a chisel (itself representing the First Fallen). Almost nobody here has a free left arm: not at a meeting this important. Notebooks and tablets are sitting in laps as an expectant hush falls over the room. Very notably, there's a large gap on one side where the western monasteries should have sent their representatives.

They love heroes.

Kalentia and Cair are back at the Nexus, caring for the Lunarian (who, it turns out, was running a fever). Which means that it's you here, and naturally your old man, and likely... well, where are Injimo and Sayanastia? They could be in either place, I suppose.

They love the light of their hearts, cast by their shadow.

"Ten thousand thanks, my loyal servants," Civelia says, rising to her feet. Her hair's been elaborately styled, all ringlets and curls that are still as stone when she turns her head. "Once again, we find ourselves in the midst of crisis and tumult. Where the chaos of the Dark Dragon rears its head, there we shall be-- must be-- to restore serenity in the Hero's wake and to make her path clear. Upon this meeting's concluding, we shall have decided the course of action to bestow upon her as our sacred duty. I once again offer praise to the First Fallen for preparing for a moment such as this."

Heads are bowed for a moment, pens stilling and tails stilling. It's appropriate to take this moment to thank the First Fallen for creating the world and to consider your place in maintaining his creation. Such as, say, doing your best to understand creation and to catalogue its manifestations and shapes.

General Secretary Dasheka steps forward from where she stood beside the goddess. "We have three points of interest for this meeting. Firstly, the unexpected outcome of the Queen of Light ceremony, and the Golden Fawn's status as a person of interest in resolving the uncertainty around the Queen's identity. Secondly, how we as a body should respond to the actions of the Khatun of the Serigalamu last night. Thirdly, the attempted attack on the person of our Goddess by one of the Maid-Knights of the Order of the Aurora that also occurred last night..."

The arguments about what to do will go on for a while, but the Civils will be trying to adhere to Civelia's own rules of debate, so at least it'll go somewhere. She doesn't abide wasting time or not trying to apply logic properly to a problem.


Kalentia!

So here's the major question for you and Cair. Given that Fallen Far's arm has an infected cut, right where there was a rent in the armor: what have you removed in order to give her treatment? On the one hand, the Moon's got insanely strict purity and modesty laws, and you'll probably be risking further infection, but on the other hand... well, you've got to apply treatment somehow.

The Shadow's still watching you, but they seem content to coil up in a corner, mirror-eyes unblinkingly keeping vigil, drinking in everything that you do.


Eclair!

In the midst of the Outside, you find a place which has the weight of reality, at least for long enough to sit underneath a palm tree and drink from a stream. It is wickedly cold, and tastes faintly of basil. The light of the distant sun is golden and buttery where it filters through the leaves.

The crunch of brown grass underneath brown shoes. The logic of the half-real insists that the most important place be the most memorable, the most real, and what's more important than a meeting? For a moment, the black and white and steel makes you think, certainly, that you've somehow lured Timtam out to fight with you between home and the world, but no, it's not her.

"Well met, ma'am!" Ruthmoreness O'Tara waves with her whole arm at you before shouldering her board on its strap and clattering forward. Charms jangle on that strap, both to keep her safely on her way and because they're super cute you know? Her bonnet is strapped under her chin to keep it from falling right off her mop of hair.

You cannot confirm for yourself that she has not been suborned in whatever game Timtam's playing. But she brings with her petrichor and the kind of chill wind that brings strength back into the limbs, and she's barely avoiding tripping over her own feet (as usual). "Any messes to report, or aught of that sort?"
In Return to Thellamie → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
End of Session 1 (Crevas): Mark 3 XP.
In Return to Thellamie → 5 mos ago Forum: Tabletop Roleplay
Yuki!

“…what do you mean you arrested Yuki Edogawa?”

It’s later! A serpentine cordon has been placed around the entrance to the Crevas Stone, barring entry. See, the thing is, those fireworks have some enchantment on them which triggers if you get too close, which we all know because you got too close and nearly set off a disastrous chain reaction of explosions, and then you got tackled by a Nagi guard.

(They’re not quite the same as cops, incidentally. It’s technically a volunteer position, but it’s a power move for the ruling families to have enough members of their client families that they can make some take shifts in the city watch, and enough resources to pay them for their work. This also means that unlike cops, there’s a bunch of city guard cliques that don’t work together well, and like cops, some of them are thugs for hire on the side.)

So here you are, handcuffed and stuck under someone’s tail, and who’s come to save you but Sulochana? Okay, technically she’s here to figure out what happened, but—

“—she saved Thellamie and you decided it was a good idea to arrest her, do you have the brains that the First Fallen gave an ant—“

You have, unfortunately, had time to stew— to plead and be ignored— to worry about Hazel, gone with Seli and Keli and that villain maid— and to get a cramp in your shoulders.

That sounds like time enough to have taken a Condition, don’t you think?

But here’s the tail of Beti Karn-Daga slithering off you sheepishly, and Sulochana pulling you up onto your feet and sweeping you into a crushing, desperate hug. And she looks like she’s had as terrible a night as you have.


Eclair!

The wind kisses your face like the breath of slumbering dragons.

It’s later. The edge of a Hub, any one you care to name, tends to be rundown and poor when compared to the rich urban center. But you’re past even the shacks and the guardposts and the fertilizer warehouses now, staring out into the desert, its colors pale phantasms under the light of the judging moon and stars.

The Khatun and her pack have already had their tracks be blown away by that wind; on the horizon, they might as well be tricks of the Outside. They ride furiously, having lost whatever dispute they were having with the city guard of Crevas. But this barely matters to you, Eclair.

What matters is that you must pursue Timtam. Now, perhaps it would be more sensible for you to go back down into the city, examine crime scenes for clues, and be methodical about this.

But you’re not feeling particularly methodical, are you?

Because she’s out there. She’s played you for a fool. You’re no closer to understanding what she wants, why she’s betrayed you, or what she was doing in Crevas. And on a night like tonight, that might make a Knight of the Aurora march out into the desert, on the edge between the real and the half-real, chasing until she finally admits that she’s let the trail grow cold.

Not that Timtam will let— but I get ahead of myself.


Hazel!

Tsk tsk tsk young man. Thinking you could get away from Amali that easily! “Nonsense,” she says, with the sternness of (comparative) age. “You don’t know the first thing about evasion, stealth, or Stone-navigation! You’ll be snapped up as soon as a wink. But not to worry, Auntie knows a safe place to stay, one of the most comfortable and luxurious places from here to the Moon! And I’ll get you there, see if I don’t.”

The Chrysanthemum. Oh, I could roll that name (and more) around my tongue all day long.

She putters off (to check the locks on the door) and leaves you to your tea, and your tablet, and… oh, looks like you had a message from Yuki! Had, mind you.

Your fate’s in your hands. And Yuki, oh, she’s with a hunter. And you’ve just been promised comfort and luxury. Surely it wouldn’t be too bad to let that offer pass you by…?


Tsane!

What does the Hero’s Shadow want from an encounter? This. This moment of conviction. This unfolding of knowledge. This willingness to act. The Outside exists most strongly when it is being observed and has a frame of reference to be defined by. And this is their frame of reference.

They unfold their talons, holding out to you a folded square of palm leaves. Inside: the Sleepless Charm that Civelia once made for Heron when the Hero of Ages expressed a wish to be able to work around the clock. (The aftereffects, mind you, were detrimental enough that she went back to stimulant drinks in the end.)

Its chain is wrapped around a tube of resin.

“Cair should present as my shadow,” they say. They are filling the whole of the corridor. Their heat is suffusing clothing and hair. “Go before the Doll and fear you not.”

This is when the Lunarian’s knees finally start buckling, seeing as the fever’s really started to kick in.
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