Thanqol

Breathless Dead

Aphrodite!

A moment of perfect despair.

Exquisite.

Everyone knows the story of Cronus devouring his children. Fewer interrogate the thought. A brutal giant, snatching helpless babies with raw strength and shoving them into a bloody maw - a simple and uncomplicated vision, a memory of a neolithic past, a vision of the creator titan as an idiot monster. No moral. No warning.

Aphrodite knew better what devoured children looked like. They looked like arrows. A straight-backed quiverful, bundled together for strength around the father's axe. He had once fathered upon the Earth arrows enough to satiate an eternal hunger, and it had not been an act of muscle and teeth and jaws to devour them. Arrows were whittled. You carved away at them, bit by bit. Then at the end they had become so desperate to receive anything at all that they would not care when they were fitted with a blade and used to kill.

Love. Love would bring the prodigal sons back home. They would be embraced with love and forget their defiance. It wasn't their fault, after all. It had been a mind virus that had murdered and castrated his most beloved son, who had in turn murdered and castrated him. He would not make that mistake again. He would hold his children close and control their every desire, control all the channels by which they might see and experience the world, banish the corrupted love that had woken them from their peaceful slumber.

Here again was his moment. A child's flesh consigned to the fire, a narcotic smoke rising up to be fed into the lips of a patriarchal idol. True devotion. True desire. A seed nurtured in the empty places where a childhood should have been. Breath deep, granddaughter Hermes! Understand that you alone can repair the family line broken by your father Zeus! Give your devotion and love instead to Father Time!

Ares puts his spear through the thigh of the Shogun. War betrays the Ceronian as she lunges to intervene, sending her to the ground. Artemis puts her arrow through the shoulder of Redana as she lunges to intercept Bella. A perfect shot from Demeter's perfect disciple. The awesome might of all the gods aligned to a single desire fills the screaming air as Bella reaches the edge of the flames. Aphrodite's breath, hot with the ashes of slave kings, comes hot and heavy with the shockwaves of artillery fire through paper screens.

And then some fucking sheep comes out of nowhere -

Bella!

You cannot block this strike with claw or bone. But block it you must. If that silver sword should reach your heart then everything you have fought for your entire life will be lost.

"Defend yourself," said the God of Love, hand firm on your shoulder. "Defend yourself with your heart. Your love, your desire, is stronger than this blade. You have nurtured it since your earliest days and its roots run deep. In your heart exists a perfect world and a perfect family. That is your blade in this battle, my ultimate gift to you. Reach deep into yourself and draw it, and go to battle as my champion."

Dyssia!

"If I've forged these chains myself," said the Lawgiver, "then I can forge a couple more."

You smell the cigarette ashes. Aphrodite pulls the leash.

Everyone is familiar with the Flux, and everyone understands that it is important in preventing the return of the Tyrants and their engines of slavery. For the most part, martial technique has moved on - there are more advanced weapons suited to the current age, and the Flux has become more and more of a sidearm and distraction. But the Lawgiver Dekal fought the Tyrants of the Atlas Cultural Sphere at the height of their power and, to her, there was never any weapon more perfect, necessary and holy than the ELF.

Black spikes emerge all down her spine and then, BANG, BANG, BANG. Point blank thunderbolts, electrical discharges made for turning Knights into statues and cities into rock formations. They come from every angle, seething and instant connections that cannot be blocked - only endured.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Oroboros silently chomps down on her own tail, and that is the end of that.

There's nothing to say to the sheer brute stupidity of that motion. Oroboros is known for one thing and one thing only, and that's shoving her tail in her mouth so that there is no beginning and no end. The perfect prison - the limits of the world itself. Nothing born of this world can escape her grip.

A faint green light begins to emanate from within her.

Her horns begin to grow. Simple, smooth draconic horns begin to extend and fracture apart, like antlers or like branches. A crown of leaves begins to open atop her head, even as her claws extend and begin to burrow into the earth like roots. Still she stubbornly bites down upon her tail but all along her back flowers begin to bud and open and shockwaves of grass run down her spine.

Still she does not speak, struggle, or remove her tail from her mouth. But it is becoming increasingly clear that the World Serpent has bit off more than she can chew.

Return to Thellamie

Injimo!

A girl walks alone through a deep, dark forest.

"... Sayanastia?"

Sayanastia!

"So, this is because you like her, right?" said Cair as she did the Dark Dragon's makeup.
"Hardly," smirked Sayanastia. "Though I am surprised you do not understand. You are also an immortal, are you not?"
"Not in any way I'd admit to," said Cair shiftily.
"Of course," said Sayanastia. "Well, consider - there are no physical wounds we could do to each other that matter. This has been firmly established at this point."
"What about her arm?"
"That was an offering not an injury, though I did not realize at the time," said Sayanastia. "Which goes to further my point. The point is that she, the Hero and I have been locked in a struggle of wills since the dawn of time - a struggle that I have finally conceded in. Perhaps I was simply the weakest of us three, and thus was first to flinch - but if I flatter myself, I can say I was the first to acknowledge reality."
"Which is?"
"Once I beheld a fish," said the Dark Dragon. "Orange and shy, fat and squirming at the base of its pond. A pet thing, a play thing, a meal waiting to happen. I despised it, but I despised more the creature that would devour it and continue to sin against my restful slumber. So I cursed it with strength and power that far belied its size while allowing it to keep its appearance, and without second thought moved on in my trail of destruction.

"I only learned later that when Princess Heron had encountered the fish she spent over a week trying to catch it. She broke a dozen fishing rods, three fingers, and in a fit of rage even the filter of reality above her. Thrice she swore it off as a worthless insect, and thrice she came back to it to test her might again. She never did capture that cursed fish, but the knowledge of it has grated her forever. Of all her enormous trophy gallery, there will ever be a single missing entry. It is the most harm I have ever done her."
"So that's where you're at with Civelia?" asked Cair.
"I am not the only one who has spent millennia denying the truth," said Sayanatia, rising.

She was Princess Heron, wearing a battlegown forged from the scales of her defeated nemesis. A cascading cloak of black scales, as smooth and sharp as midnight, rises from the floor up her back until it melds seamlessly with long black hair. A shoulderless silken black dress is held in place by a dragonbone corset, and a long V-cut along the right thigh reveals a leg wrapped with belts containing endless green poisons. From the depths of a necromancer's eye shadow, faint flecks of glitter shine like stars in the void. When dark eyes open then they shine just as deep and dark.

Heron dressed as Sayanastia. Her own corpse on her enemy's skin. Her own heart beneath her enemy's bone. Hero and villain blurring together until the barrier between them ruptured.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Injimo!

"Hello? Is anyone there?"
...
":<"

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Well, actually --"
"The Brothers Grimm were born after your canonical end-date, making this --"
"Time is an all-devouring god and you must respect --"
"Ow ow ow ow fuck did you hit me with a mirror that hurts so much --"
"You can't just --"
"Are you listening to me!?!?!"

The answer, obviously, was no.

How could you, when the music was so bright? How could you, when your dance was so loud? How could you, when all the world was just how it always should be? Sometimes in the battles of this world, scissors lost to bigger scissors. After hundreds of years of waiting for a moment just like this there's no one and nothing that can stop you. And then, right as your triumph approaches -

chomp

Did she?

You can't believe it!!

Oroboros just came out of nowhere and snapped up Lancer in a single bite before you got to finish her off! That - that big, oily snake! How dare she steal your moment!? And not even that, she's just settling back down to rest like nothing's happened at all. And the worst part, the worst part, is that you saw in Lancer's eyes - you saw, right the second before she got snapped up - that you'd got her. You'd broken her resolve and her pride and she was a fan. She was looking at you with the kind of miserable simp-awe that she undoubtedly had only ever fluttered towards statues of that jerk squirrel thief Empress. You'd taken her and she was yours - and now she'd been stolen!!

How dare!!!!

The Namespace of the Rose

Ramona!

"We of the Adeptus Mechanicus believe in the Quest for Knowledge," said ZBD_ZEN sagely, palm pressed against fist. "We believe in truth. Evidence. Data. If data indicates the involvement of the Astartes then we cannot allow political considerations to corrupt that."

[Bullshit Detector] Ha ha ha, wow, okay.

"Perhaps you should present your findings to the Council immediately?" said the Electromancer. "A swift and decisive resolution to the matter would surely be the best solution for any uncertainty."

[Negotiation: 1 point spend] This isn't a carefully thought through coverup. This is someone who thinks things look really bad for them desperately throwing the first available scapegoat under the bus. Sure it's bad for them if Eunicornus gets the blame, but it's way worse for them if they get the blame - and they seem to think that's a live possibility right now.

You need to redirect this - present a valid alternative suspect who'll take the fall. Do that and ZBD_ZEN will throw their full support behind you. But you don't have that in hand yet - they're not going to entertain a fishing expedition or offer any data that'd open up the case even a fraction. This feels like someone to come back to once you've got an alternative suspect.

Virgid!

[Tradecraft] You're right buddy, the vibes are rancid.

Nobody's taking a shot at you right now. Right now you're where you're supposed to be, following the trail of breadcrumbs, right up to the people being framed for the assassination. But you've got a shiver up your spine like you're being watched, and that could very easily turn into you being dead.

All I can say is choose carefully when to go off script. When you do, move fast and move hard.

[Reassurance] So, Eunicornus is standing up there on the stairs in silence like a total badass, right? Helmet on, not saying anything, classic Dark Angel. But something about that stance strikes you less as 'cold-blooded killer' and more like 'awkward pup'. Some Brothers get like that, particularly after long solo missions - spend a decade hunting Tyrannids in a swamp with only your bolter for company and it gets hard to open up afterwards. That's why the pack is so important; swapping stories and drinking mjord helps an Astartes remember who they are underneath all the armour.

It'd take a bit of work to ease them into it, but you get the feeling that they'd really like someone to talk to.

Breathless Dead

Redana!

"Of course you must love!" said the ghost of Nero, reanimating a smile. "You have no choice. See there - I have tamed one of the greatest heroes of the Publica by giving her what she wants, even though it renders her an arm of the Empire she hates. How can you not want what you want? Even Zeus Skyfather cannot escape her own desire. Relative power is irrelevant; the only question that matters is what do you want."

She raises a hand, casting an oath to the corrupted heavens. Her smile turns daemonic.

"As with this: Whomsoever shall quench this fire that entraps me, I shall embrace, I shall love and I shall call my daughter."

Bella!

You have waited all your life for this chance.

Dolce!

Artemis looks at you strangely for a long moment.

Then she gives you a sword.

It's a strange thing, simple metal, beautiful in its plainness. You have seen something like it before, a toy in the hands of Gemini, a blade for cutting the heart. It doesn't fit your hands, isn't weighted for you - but eventually you might learn how to fit yourself to it.

Dyssia!

"That sounds so wonderful," sighs the Lawgiver. "Do you think..."

You know the legend of Heracles and Atlas. A myth devoured entirely by the Skies during their first triumph and exalted to the titular narrative of the Atlas Cultural Sphere. The ideal of a hero so great that she carries the burden of a God, mortal flesh holding up the Sky. The Endless Azure Skies has been built on that premise, self-organizing all the matter in the galaxy to strain against the weight of Zeus.

She can't finish the thought. Can't ask for you to take this burden, given that you both know once it is transferred she will never come back for it.

So instead you see the faint shift of stance and readiness. The faint shimmer of gravitic distortions.

"... I just need a little while," she said. "A few days."

This isn't a pleasant conversation any more. This is the beginning of a fight. She intends to force this burden upon you instead.

After all, when Heracles held the sky for Atlas, Atlas did not take it back willingly.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Emerald eyes raise.

"Of course it's ugly," said Lancer. "It has to be ugly. This is the lance that killed me. This is the lance that ended the glorious future I was going to build before I got the chance. This lance is the hole in the world left by the Christian Dark Ages, the legacy of division and chaos that ended with a final civil war between the provinces of Gaul and Germania that slaughtered millions."

She coughed, bloody, but didn't blink her eyes.

"You, yourself are part of this legacy of darkness. A blood-soaked serial killer sheltered by provincial nobility? Those privileges would not exist under a centralized Imperial state, and a reformed Censorate would investigate your twisted appetites before they had the chance to crystalize into a legend. You are already a footnote, but had I lived you would be a blip on the crime statistics for the Danubia province."

Oh, how frustrating! Bringing her back to herself lets her focus her Noble Phantasm, and that weapon is powered by a truly transcendent vanity. You may have a justifiably high opinion of your own abilities but this Lancer believes that her reign would have been so good that it would undone your entire legend over a thousand years later. It's the Charybdis to the Scylla of her Berserker power.

But there is an angle there that can be navigated. You learned how to be an idol after your death, after all, and that seems to be something her powers have absolutely no impact on.

The Namespace of the Rose

[Flirting] It's almost a disappointment, the way those shots land. One, two, three, aimed vaguely for center mass, detonating in a functional but uninspired line. All that's there is the same basic training any Marine goes through, enough to not embarrass oneself on the battleline but no more than that.

Still, it's to be expected. You can feel from the way they move that they're used to using their right arm to carry a storm shield, making the pistol a true last resort. This is a close combat specialist through and through and there is no way in hell they could have made the shots that killed the Archmagos.

That's the last you're able to process before the shock wears off, Eunicornius rolls forwards, and delivers a rolling kick to your body that sends you crashing down two dozen stairs with a sound like an earthquake hitting a blacksmith's shop.

Ramonia!

"I - cannot," said ZBD_ZEN. "The Dark Angels keep their own company. Eunicornus only arrived at my dojo some time after the alarms sounded. I can provide them no alibi."

[Bullshit Detector] One of the lovely things about Tech-Priests is that they all seem to think that voice modulators and masks is all that's required to cloak their intentions. But with this offered for free without any tech decorum or bid for even token payment, it's almost like actively throwing the Astartes under the bus. You smell fear.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Don't -"

Composure breaks like glass. The block comes too hard, too fast - she's out of position for the tail slam. She hits the ground with bone-crushing force, ruined mana exiting her body like breath from struck lungs.

Then she's back up.

She isn't even appealing as a duelist. It's like fighting a Berserker - pure numbers to make up for the fact that there's nothing going on beneath the surface. She whirls and strikes as predictably as a novice and with enough speed and force that a grandmaster would struggle to keep up with.

"Don't!" she hisses through grit teeth. "Talk about! This stupid!!!! Lance!!"

A nerve has been touched.

The ugly, stifling mutter has gone. She doesn't have the focus to maintain it. Those vines extending down from her flowering wreath are growing around her arms, gripping the lance firmly in place, wrapping around her chest in a weave part bondage and part armour. As she fights, she's becoming less and less of a hero - in a way that Elizabeth Bathory, Best Dragon Idol, actually knows something about.

See, Elizabeth knows something about vampirism - about absorbing the power of others to reach beyond your limits. It's a powerful technique, but there's only so much blood you can drink at a time before you start risking your girlish figure. Those calories all add up! Put another way, you can get very, very intoxicated by power like that. And that's what you're seeing here - there's so much power pouring into that Spiriton frame that it's starting to displace the original identity to make room. Give it enough time and this won't be a heroic spirit at all, but simply a monster - a puppet to be operated by whatever is pouring all that power in.

The lance, though? That feels like something with some real emotional investment. It'll be the last thing to go.

Return to Thellamie

"Oh good!" Tsane! said. "Because now you've accepted the idea that ruin, destruction and war are what you are going to get if you do not comply with my perfectly reasonable demands for courtesy and hospitality. As the representative of the Civil Church and Princess Heron -"[1]

[1] Tsane was awful at pretending to be Princess Heron. She was extremely good, however, at pretending to be the Hero of Ages disguised as Tsane. That fire in her eyes, that unending determination, the confidence that there was nothing she could not bring to an end - all of it made her seem less like a mere handmaiden and more like an unconvincingly disguised comet.

"- I am going to get to the truth. Your argument hinges on would, and would is a question of motive. Is it impossible she gained a new one? After all, I just told you that the Fire In The Wood has returned - how would you describe Ms. Espoir's resistance to poison? The False Fire is still at large - does your companion have a heart of stone? Your organisation has been around for centuries, dutifully serving the lands of Thellamie - we heard such words from the outraged monks of Shindenbutai even as the mark of the Demon Queen burned upon their hearts and their teeth curled into the tusks of boars. You tell us that you deal with tasks beneath Heron's notice - well, you are now the subject of Heron's notice as she deals with threats above your station."

"Is there something here you need to keep secret?" asked Kalentia quietly. "Or are you trying to defend something? Because I am a healer; if I go in I would pose no threat."

There was kindness, but also firmness there. She wasn't contradicting Tsane. They had a duty, and some things could not be taken on trust.