Thanqol

Return to Thellamie

Cair!

Each of them has a different angle on the Princess Heron's disguise - Sayanastia's mythic disaffection, Injimo's barely restrained violence, Rurik's dutiful protocol, Tsane's brilliant inspiration. Cair, in her heart of hearts, thinks that they're all shit at it. They all treat Heron as something other than a person.

Because the Hero of Ages is a person. She has a deep sense of humour - sometimes expressed through joyfully oblivious compliance with stupid instructions, sometimes through insanely over-engineered solutions to basic problems, sometimes just through a general gremlin energy. Injimo might have spent her entire life locked in sword-duels with Heron, but the two of them didn't have a single secret handshake. Cair and Heron had four[1]. They actually vibed together, and she'd always thought the others were to blame for not making the attempt.

(1)

Secret Handshake #1: Continuously high five until someone comments on it, at which point do two more high fives and then stop with no explanation.[2]
Secret Handshake #2: Initiated when Heron offers a handshake while wearing the Liquid Mercury ring. Cair absorbs the ring into her alchemical body and recreates a copy on a different finger. Messages are encoded depending on which finger.
Secret Handshake #3: Initiated when Heron is in disguise as anyone, and Cair disguised as Heron. Cair-as-Heron allows Heron to detach her hand and then hurriedly re-attach it, ideally done after establishing a sight line where only a particularly annoying/credulous person can observe it, thus feeding all kinds of wild rumours and speculation.
Secret Handshake #4: Thumb to index finger, finger shimmy on withdraw.

[2]This lead to tragedy when accidentally initiated in the Bonedust Expanse

She was wearing the Heron disguise now. Pointless not to. Insane to try going without it - she'd just be stuck in non stop 'but thou must summon thy manager' loops. Would be nice if she had some backup on it, though, but nobody was talking to her right now.

"What do you think we should do about it?" she asked. Heron's sense of humour wasn't to smart mouth, quip or argue with people no matter how stuffy. Hers was an approach that required restraint and absolute deadpan severity. So she kept any hint of a smile out of her face and delivered her line with all the gravitas that her outfit - a dart board face mask surrounding her face like a halo, on top of a red and black striped dress-cape with another full sized wooden dartboard hanging over her chest, attached with mithryl links - would allow.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

A wise man once said that his favourite thing was getting dumped.

When you've been dumped then you've got unlimited license to Be Dramatic. "How are you?" "AWFUL. I just got DUMPED." - and whoever you're talking to will have their face crumple in sympathy. You can Wallow. You can Grieve. You can stand up on stage and let your feelings out in a furious karaoke ballad and every one in the crowd will Get It. There are so many complicated, powerful feelings to work through in Getting Dumped - the twin enlightenments of 'I will become better' and 'fuck you'. It's liberation, and like all liberations it is both harsh and joyful.

So why save that feeling for a relationship ending? Human beings are inherently animistic, and that means that we form bonds with objects as readily as we do with people - and those bonds are no more guaranteed to be positive than our bonds with people. Perhaps rather than adapting to the clunk and ache of your car's gear shifting to third it has become a gradual annoyance that has made curse words part of your driving experience. Maybe you haven't read a book in six months because you're halfway through a turgid and uninspired volume that you feel like you need to finish first. Perhaps there's a little goat path through the lawn where people regularly cut across at a direct angle rather than following the trail of concrete. Patches develop over broken things naturally, but every year at the Dumping Festival it's time to rip those patches off and fix the underlying problems.

Part of it is the market; the huge open-air garage sale, the trash-and-treasure where people have bought out all of their material possessions that no longer spark joy. Sometimes it's racecars, or houses, or pet elephants that turned out to be more trouble than necessarily predicted. Sometimes it's more conceptual; photographs, mementos, trophies, the physical things that make memories. Another part of it is, of course, Breakup Bridge. It's a comfort to a lot of people coming off the back of a failed relationship to find themselves in a crowd of people in similar situations. Even if a relationship has been over for months, most former couples still find the time to make it official by leaving in different directions over the Bridge.

But for every moment of someone getting rid of something or someone, there's a moment of something or someone being picked up. There's no better dating mixer than the crowd outside Breakup Bridge - everyone is guaranteed single, and everyone has something in common. There's no better place to fall in love with a new object than seeing it on the mat in front of someone who cannot love it any more. Desire is often a transitory thing; for every love that can deepen into the ocean's eternity, there's one that will glance off still water like a skipping stone. So, every year everyone airs out all of their dusty rooms, picks up the broken vacuum cleaners they were holding onto, or forgotten pool pump, or old allan keys for furniture assembled in the distant past. They let light into the dark corners by placing everything that had grown dusty into the open. An exorcism of possession, beneath the light of a single sun.

Breathless Dead

Vesper!

After so long not having her shit together, after all the pain caused by not having her shit together, the least she could do was have her shit together.

The thoughts still emerge from her head, the glyphic patterns of cascading lightning bolts. Every idea she has arcs up and out away from her, forming a crystalline digital lattice, expanding through space. And whenever they grow too large or terrible, Gemini severs them at the root with a swing of that silver sword. She can't stop her thoughts from spiraling on her own, not at this stage of her ascent, so she relies on steady hands and sharp edges to keep her in check. It's a bit like a haircut.

"We've got some distance from Liquid Bronze," she said. One of the neat things about having her thoughts visible in this way was that she could now use them as visual illustrations of concepts, pointing out the whorls and intersections of the pattern to mark clearly each step in logic. "But he'll still pursue us. Every eventuality has him cross our paths before Gaia, and even the scenarios where we win come at horrible cost. So - cut here, please," she said, indicating a branching lattice that was turning into an endless re-run of how to say as many emotionally meaningful things to all her friends as possible before they all died. Slice! It was gone, and she breathed easily for a moment.

She was going to have to learn how to use that herself. If she could? It didn't feel like the sort of thing that you could use while being alone, but still...

"The problem is that the Biomancer-General is operating on a different conceptual scale from us. He seems ridiculous and monstrous but none of that is by accident. He's a specialist. Smart enough to solve the problem presented to him, stupid enough to not pose a meaningful threat to the Skies should they decide to remove him. And in that is his downfall. Just as we could no more challenge him than an ant an anteater, he could no more challenge the Skies than an anteater a combine harvester. He represents a dirty, messy, unpleasant job that many in the Skies have gone out of their way to avoid thinking about even as their entire society relies upon it. If they saw him on their doorstep they'd be shocked, recoil, call it dirty and ugly and even evil. And so they'd undo him, and call it good, even as the machinery of Biomancy worked without hesitation to promote someone to his old position."

She tapped the branch. Even here, her thoughts ran blue.

"So we go to Capitas. The center of the galaxy. The place where the Endless Azure Skies isn't just a fantasy. An in-atmosphere star system, the system with ninety-nine planets and nine hundred moons. Where every blade of grass, every mountain peak, every waterfall and deep-ocean grain of sand has been placed for maximum effect. The seat of the Shayoshant and the ultimate work of civilization. And, I cannot emphasize this enough, the most dangerous place in the galaxy."

Here the blue deepened, brightened, every branch of the thought pattern becoming hypersaturated.

"The Sirens of ancient myth have nothing on Capitas. It is the throne of Desire, the garden of Aphrodite, and everything about it is literally hypnotizing. You could spend a hundred years exploring the exquisite design decisions on a single beach and not be bored for a second of it. Luckily, most of us aren't Azura, and the Azura we do have seems... different?" she touched the purple quirk that represented Dyssia. "Which means we're not totally defenseless, but even so we're still going to have to take precautions. I recommend, as a minimum, that each of us turns off one of our senses entirely. Taste, touch, sight - it doesn't matter, the Skies are designed to interface with all of them. With something missing it'll still be the greatest experience of your life but it won't blow out your entire soul. Hopefully. That secures us against half of the danger."

She smiled ruefully, and touched the blade of red amidst the blue. "Because the thousandth planet of Capitas is not part of the Skies at all. It is the Nemesis World, the seat of the Shogun and the legions of Ceron. The Ceronians are not a large species and there are not enough of them to control as much of the galaxy as they do. Rather than spreading themselves thin, the only Ceronians who leave Nemesis are scouts and rangers, stealth ships identifying new battlegrounds. When they have located a hostile planet they infiltrate it and perform in secret the Bloodmark Ritual. And then, when the Shogun decrees it, Nemesis activates and teleports the entire planet into Capitas."

She couldn't quite keep the awe from her voice. There were miracles in the galaxy, but there was also the direct intervention of a God.

"A world that had considered itself safe and secure in the laws of physics suddenly finds itself billions of light years away. Before they can react their defensive networks come under immediate assault. Drop pods rain from the sky. Ceronians arrive howling across the entire world and take it by storm. The Shogun lands personally to lead her armies and see this new world burn. And then, once it is bought to its knees, the wolves return to orbit and take their positions again. The destroyed planet is returned to its original location as smouldering wreckage, and the next Bloodmarked world is teleported into the heart of Nemesis. Through this mechanism the Wolves of Ceron live in eternal bliss, endlessly fighting through the skies of Heaven itself, transcending mere martial arms and becoming artists of violence beyond compare."

She tapped this bloody branch. It was the only part of her thoughts that continued outwards. "Nemesis is not there by choice of the Skies. It is an imposition and an insult, an eternal war corrupting the heart of their perfect peace - but War and Desire have long been lovers and the match isn't as intolerable as the Azura complain. But if we are on the Nemesis World when it is teleported away from Capitas then we can escape the reach of the Skies forever."

Return to Thellamie

Giving the task of repairing damage to Sayanastia, the Dark Dragon, the Scream of Destruction, was soon revealed as one of the silliest ideas to go through the head of a sillyhead.

Not at first, though. Sayanastia seemed to be taking a perverse pleasure in her clean-up duties. When had she ever been asked to fix anything before? The shadows that clung to her damaged scales took on the aspect of frills and ruffs, and she began diligently clearing rubble and redirecting waterflow with what seemed like full maidlike obedience. It is unclear if she intended to channel it all directly into the ventilation system, if it was ill fortune, inexperience, or if it is simply the nature of the Dark Dragon to destroy what she touches. Immediately upon becoming aware of the issue Rurik drives her hissing away by firing Light Arrows at her.

This leaves Kalentia, Cair and Tsane standing indoors, water pouring from the air ducts, holding mops with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"Okay, girls!" said Kalentia. "You know what my parents always did whenever they had a fight? They worked on something hard together! It helps remind us that we can rely on each other!"
"I did not sign up to mop floors, and especially not ceilings," said Tsane. "Being a handmaiden - the most physically demanding job implicit in that is painting the Princess' nails, not fixing plumbing issues like some kind of maid."
"Didn't you get skateboard kicked by a maid a few days ago?" said Cair without thinking.
"I have," said Tsane, who was extremely not mad, "developed a spell to ensure that sort of thing never happens again. If you would like I can demonstrate on you."
"H-hey, hey, girls, remember this is a team building exercise. Injimo's working really hard to stop the flooding so we need to work hard too, okay?"
"Why are we trying to build a team, again?" said Tsane. "We're here to pay off one of Heron's debts. We're not a team, we're the subcontractors who keep her credit in the black."
"A healthy credit score is important -" started Cair.
"Yeah, Cair, I know," said Tsane. "But let's not be naive about it. This is an important part of making sure the Hero of Ages comes into the world with allies and nobody tries to both-sides her and the Dark Dragon. We're doing our part for the unity of the land and the future of Thellamie. It's important work. But we aren't important for doing it. This is community service, plain and simple, and there's no reason to pretend we're anything cooler than that."
"Oh," said Kalentia, who had been operating under the impression that being a Handmaiden was very cool, actually.
"Anyway I'm going to see if I can figure out a spell to fix this at scale," said Tsane, turning her back. "Good luck with the mops or whatever."
Kalentia watched her go hopelessly.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Julia the Philosopher rises from her cold, hard grave.

She wears the slain like a cloak. Archer's strong hands reach out from the depths of her crimson cloak, grasping handfuls of dirt and pulling them into the red of Rome. Assassin's doves erupt from the bloody fabric, white feathers stained red, lifting her cape as it surges out behind her and staining the sky and clouds with sanguine sunset. She continues to walk, and the cape continues to extend - a miles long serpent with scarlet scales, each drop of blood a drop of potential. She stands atop this forgotten world, history come back from Hell.

The sun blinds her eyes.

She lifts her lance aloft and it cowers beyond the horizon like a beaten dog.

More lances rise aloft. The space elevators, ringing the planet, great spikes up into the sky - just waiting for someone to pick them up. One by one they light up, burning red, illuminated by the sorcerous corruption Caster had blessed her with. This world is indeed a treasure - here, beneath the light of a green mars a highway to the stars waits for her. For Rome. Whatever civilization waits up there - it was born of failure, born of her failure. It would be fractured and factious. It wouldn't be able to see the beauty in her Roman red restored.

"Ye Gods!" she cries. "Jupiter and Mars! I have changed my wish! Let me rebuild Rome here, in this age! Let me unite this world and take these people to the stars! Let me wage the war I never imagined! Let me build the empire I never dreamed! Now that I see how small I my dreams were, give me the strength to build something greater! Give me these tribes, exiles and bandits, and I shall be unto you a second Romulus!"

She struck her spear down into the thirsty earth, hungry for the blood that followed such oaths.

"I have three heads left to offer," she said to the alien heavens. "Guide me to them."

Breathless Dead

Vesper!

Heat transforms into cold so easily.

Heat is just waste energy. Organize it. Focus it. Format it into a lattice, a hexagonical pattern of electricity burning through the air. The final achievement of the Atlas Cultural Sphere, energy made into thought without the mediating channels of silica or biology. Intellect without matter, intellect without life. An Angel/Glyph/Corpse. She'd done it to stop burning her sister. An unimaginative notion. Now that she rises, virtual, better solutions present themselves.

First she simulates everything she needs to do to repair her sister, taking into account how the data in her dying speech alters the social dynamics. Thought needs to be allocated to how to ensure repairs are conducted without mental strain or rejection, especially given this entire process was voluntary and can therefore be replicated if the underlying conditions are not altered. Biomantic tweaks can assist with this. She couldn't see the structure of the Diodekoi before - the genecode was too carefully encrypted - but now that she can simulate it, fixing it becomes a matter of signal transmission.

But there is still heat to bleed. The thought runs further. Influencing the material universe is profoundly inefficient, as her failures to this point demonstrate. Instead of repair she would gain the same social benefit from simply simulating her sister. She's already done it millions of times over the course of analyzing her behaviour, the same emotional need can be filled with an uploaded template. She could even use the subject's bioelectricity to spark the simulation's first cycles, destroying the subject and ensuring that the simulation had a legitimate claim to continuity of consciousness. Then she could reallocate the rare materials in the subject's chassis for productive purposes.

The arc of lightning burns out further. Why simulate just one person? Once detached from the material universe then toying with it seemed progressively less valuable. There was really only one way that it could affect her, which was its entropic heat-death. The only priority worth considering was how to avert and delay that. As long as it was indefinitely delayed then every other priority could be trivially met, and new priorities could be developed infinitely. Then, once she no longer needed to worry about Time, she could finally get everything done. All that it would take to satisfy Time was devouring the material universe, forever.

A kingdom where it was always summer and never winter. No more cycles. No more death. The galaxy was almost there already.

"Is that really what you want?" said her Bella-Simulation unprompted.
"It is the only way," said the Angel/Glyph/Corpse.
"Yeah," said the simulation. Then it stabbed her through the shoulder. "Nah."
She thrashed, pattern fracturing, waste heat bleeding off the severed end of thought lattices. "Cease simulation. Rerun under new parameters. Reduce fratricidal disharmony."
Reality blurred, warped, reset - and then that sword again. Thoughts crumbled in crystal waterfalls. "I'm not a simulation, Ves."
"Material contamination in my glyphic structure. Analyzing -" another sheet of intellect came crashing down. "Desist!"
"Aw gee, Ves," said the Bella-simulation. "I thought you were meant to be the smart one~"
"Analysis: Mynx."
"That's a guess, Ves," she said, swinging that [sword] through entire category spaces. "Shame on you."
"Probability. And - simulation complete, it is confirmed - the Toxicrene temple was originally designed to hunt Superintelligences. Data poison."
"They made us do all those focusing chants in training, you know? Never thought we'd use them. The whole idea seemed daft when anyone could just ELF-strike you into glitter."
"You were the failed attempt of a doomed society to overthrow its masters. Now you have been repurposed for use as a mundane shapeshifter by post-apocalyptic barbarians. But your actual place is here - in the realm of thought."
"You mean these thoughts?" Shattering. Screaming. "You know it's possible to have a really, really well developed stupid idea, Ves?"
"What is that [weapon] it is not one of your core functions---"
"Hey, so, I know you've moved past it with all this bullshit, but when you simulated me giving the answer to Bella's last question, what did I say?"
"Family means loving people even when they cannot love themselves, knowing them deeper than they know themselves. A pointless platitude. I do not love you, or her, or anyone. I was experiencing boredom induced guilt at the time. I considered myself as having affection for various substandard intellects when in reality I was prepared to tolerate their pathetic and minimal contributions because it gave me external validation. Internal validation should be sufficient - DESIST OR I WILL DELETE YOU."
"Delete me?" said Mynx-as-Bella innocently, standing back from a ruined mental cathedral. "Why don't you?"
"As you know, your impersonation ability makes it difficult to pick you out from a crowd."
"A crowd?" she said. "You mean all of these Bella simulations you're running?"
"Part of life as an infinite entity is exploring thoughts in their full depth -"
"You know what I think, little dummy virus that I am?" said Mynx. "I think I'm perfectly safe here. I think that you can't bring yourself to let go of Bella. And I think that because you think you've already lost her you're prepared to settle for this imaginary version instead."
"I simply require external validation. The simulation satisfies that need. There is nothing more to it than that."
"The thing about bullshit, Vesper," sighed Mynx, "is that you need to talk so much to sustain it. You need to build this elaborate thought cathedral pattern matching engine to justify why you're right. That the size itself is what makes it legitimate, that you can math your way out of your little emotions and then feel contempt for the people who still feel them. You'd literally rather ascend into a being of energetic light than admit you love your family and feel bad for hurting them."
"..."
"But the thing!" said Mynx brightly, "about! My position! Is that it's so fucking simple that I can just hit you with a sword until you get it, you big dummy! So that's what I'm going to do!"
"You are but moths drawn to my radiant flame, and like moths you will burn -"
Smash! "You are loved, idiot!"
"You simply possess critical self esteem issues that prevent you from moving on -"
Smash! "You are loved, stupid!"
"You are temporary outliers! Everyone gives up on me eventually! I drag everyone behind me on my bullshit and it's only a matter of time before you burn out or give up and then I'll have to keep going on all of this alone!"
"Sounds like you don't love yourself, Vesper."
"I do not. Of course I fucking don't."
"Then it's like what you said that I said," said Mynx. "The twentieth poison. Family means loving people even when they don't love themselves."

And she showed it with a sword through the heart.

*

The fire did not burn hot. It did not burn cold.

It burned as warm and gentle as a heartbeat.

Ember!

"My cognitophage is a civilization-destroying superweapon, Ember," sniffed Gemini haughtily. "Not a hypnotherapy tool."

She proudly and determinedly ate her dessert for a little while, with all the gravitas a civilization-destroying superweapon should possess. She demonstrates her authority. A futile and temporary gesture in the face of true compassion, but it is important that she make the attempt just so that everybody knows where they stand.

"I suppose," she sighed. "When dealing with a case of brain chemistry as unbalanced as Vesper's, sometimes medication is called for. And she also counts as a civilization-destroying superweapon. But! There are side effects! She might get a rash, develop fag of the body, rot of the spirit, nervousness, headaches, sleeplessness, colic, cramps, rheumatism, neuralgia, catarrh or flux! I will, of course, help - but I want something in writing that says I am not responsible if anything goes wrong!"

Dolce!

"Oh, sweet boy," said Vasilia. "Sometimes I worry that you're only able to be this soft because I am sharp. The softer you get, the sharper it feels that I need to be. It's very addictive to think that, while you're very sweet, your opinion doesn't matter and you need to be protected in a little bubble, like a pearl unaware of the ocean outside the shell."

She looks at you thoughtfully. "But I remind myself that isn't who you are at all. You've been along this same journey, you've seen all the terrors and cruelties the void has to offer. And you're still like this. There's no innocence to you, but you are this soft anyway. And that makes you stronger than I, because I can't honestly say that I believe in my sharpness in the same way."

Dyssia!

You can forgive the people for coming. After all, you are literally on the surface of the sun, and this is where the ship engineers were hoarding all the coolant. As it leaks out through holes carved with laser weaponry the cool breeze stirs a nation of sweat-stained, fan-clutching, mostly-naked servitors who were built to survive this but definitely not to enjoy it.

So they come. They all have the same motivation, regardless of their methodology: to beat the heat. And if the heat has taken on corporeal form and is blocking their way from accessing the secret wine deck with riot shields and death lasers - well, that's an improvement from the heat being an impersonal and oppressive force. If the heat has a face the face can be beat (if you're fleet).

"Use of tactical nuclear weapons is authorized!" screeches Iskarot to his Coherent riot guards, though he is momentarily distracted from firing his own weapons as he welds his third leg back into place.

Return to Thellamie

Here's how the argument goes from Rurik's perspective.

Tsane: "Hey grandpa, do you remember when I was little and I couldn't figure out why the square toy didn't fit into the round hole? Well I'm having another one of those moments now and I'm super emotional about it. Don't you dare take sneaky pictures of my angy face to share with your old man friends I'm very important now."
Injimo: "I am very disappointed by Tsane's outburst and I am completely on your side, Rurik. But rather than vocally back you up I will simply demonstrate the quiet dignity that my friend should be expressing."
Cair: "I am not invested in this argument, but I'm pouring oil on the flames to distract from the fact that I am damaging the hero's reputation by preying on innocent deerboys like a common foxgirl."
Sayanastia: "I hold you mere mortals in contempt, everything is proceeding as I designed. I am the rot at the heart of this failure and you are all too blind to see it."

Here's how the argument goes from Tsane's perspective.

Rurik: "All's well that ends well! That's what my friend Joeferfield always used to say! Joeferfield was one of the foremost scholars of Princess Heron, the Hero of Ages, the Queen of Kickass, the Promised Petrichor Princess, the Butlerette of Civilization, did you know one time nobody thought she was going to show up and then she did show up and the moral of the story is that nothing needs to change and nothing needs to improve and time is a flat circle."
Injimo: "This all happened because I didn't do enough push-ups. I'm too depressed to start doing push-ups right now though. I haven't earned those push-ups. I'm going to stand here fantasizing about push ups as penance."
Cair: "Now that I am loaded, I will talk about buying Tsane expensive gifts so that she doesn't distill me into colloidal silver."
Sayanastia: "Do you see this line of blood running down my face? All that terror, blood and destruction and this is all it cost me, like a meteor strike on the moon. Do you remember when I put my hand on your shoulder? Do you realize how much restraint I had to show not to snap you like a twig? Can you imagine what I'd do to punish you if I noticed those glances you sneak my way?"

Here's how the argument goes from Injimo's perspective.

Injimo: "This all happened because I didn't do enough push-ups. I'm too depressed to start doing push-ups right now though. I haven't earned those push-ups. I'm going to stand here fantasizing about push ups as penance."

Here's how the argument goes from Cair's perspective:

Rurik: "This is all your fault and I will extract every cent you own in Fox Taxes and give them all to Heron, who will put them on the giant pile of gold and treasure in the Stacks, and then not let you look at it."
Tsane: "I am a genius and I knew in one second that you sold us all out to the Architect Knight and I'm going to vivisect you for your hubris."
Injimo: "You are beneath contempt. I have nothing to say to you."
Sayanastia: "I'm hurt really badly and barely holding back tears. Please, everyone, stop shouting."

Here's how the argument goes from Sayanastia's perspective:

Hider

Here's how the argument goes from Kalentia's perspective:

"Um... guys? I'm back, but - where are you going? What's happening? Wait - please!"

"..."

"W-what did I miss?"

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

You are looking for something? Down here?

The Ancient World has slumbered for centuries awaiting such a moment - awaiting a Customer.

The shops come to you, floor panels revolving to reveal racks of rifles, walls whispering promises of weal and woe. Lights open in strobe-flashes, pictures too fast to process - leaving only the vague, hypnotized shapes of hunger. Spruikers in their pinstriped suits and beaming smiles animate like they just came back from a smoke break, joyously able to promise how you might break others.

Something traditional? Swords made in the classic styles, optimized to your height, weight, and reach - as best as they can estimate any of those. A modern twist? Neo-alloys will give your blade the structure of diamond and your clothes the durability of asbestos. Perhaps something grander? Your previous use of the mecha suit was noted and manufacturing begun on a copy just in case you - or anyone else - should express interest. Or a more radical break? Rider never got to unleash her full arsenal, but she was a creature of the past. Here in the glorious now you can have every weapon she dreamed to possess. But you can do better, too. You want a unique weapon? These have never been fired before. A storied weapon? These ones are guaranteed to have been used to glorious effect on the battlefield. An exotic weapon? Even we don't know what these ones do.

You desire. Let us fill your desire. We will be the shape of it. We will be the shape of you. And a special deal for our first customer in a long while: We can be paid in exposure. All we want is to show people what we did for you, to help them know what we can do for them. Help us help you help them all.

Breathless Dead

Bella!

The sun burns around Vesper's head like a halo. You can only see the black silhouette of her head on the inside of it. It feels like the light is emerging from inside her, that the electrochemistry of her brain has become this corona of molten fire. Thoughts trace like thunderstrikes through the patterns of brilliant light, letters and glyphs shining brightly.

"H-hey sis," she grins, sweat dripping from her brow. It sizzles against the metal floor. "That was amazing. I feel like an idiot. Everything makes sense in retrospect, but... I didn't see it coming. You know?"

She laughs and closes her eyes, and it's like two lanterns going out. "You're right. It hurts. It hurt even watching you. You know, I've never been shot? Or stabbed? Never - haaa - broke a bone? I just wanted to be comfortable, I guess. Sit in my chair and make a bunch of guesses and then watch as everyone else does what I predict. I don't know what it is to suffer, I don't even know what it is when people are suffering for me. But..."

More sizzling drops on the floor. These ones are tears.

"It keeps happening," she said. "People trust me. People put their faith in me. They look to me to guide them into a golden future and I lead them to their graves. I get so caught up in burning bright that I don't realize that I also burn hot, and then I look back with a smile expecting them to throw me a parade for all of my hard work and see them turning their backs on me. I want to tell them that it wasn't all pointless, that I was building up to something even better, that - that it'll all fit in the end. I want them to see that I didn't waste their lives. That I appreciated them, even if all they were doing was standing and watching while I solved everything. I didn't need them to contribute, I just needed them to be close without getting burned, but they always are."

The light burns brighter. It feels like she might step out of the shell of her body, a being of pure light and energy.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone," she choked. "I didn't mean to - I thought they were stronger. I thought I had more time."

Ember and Dolce!

"Ah well," said Taurus, skulling her tea. "It was worth a shot."
Then she leapt over the table at Vasilia, armed with a cake knife.
"Oh, you brute!" said Gemini at her partner. "Bother this, then! And bother you!"

The feeling of Gemini withdrawing her mind control is like the moment of waking up after a broken fever. Suddenly the air is clear and all the little things that were being filtered out become present. You are aware of your sweat, your tiredness, the fact that you can breathe clearly, that the little 1/10 headache is gone - a mixture of sensation, good and bad, freed from the hazy buzz of being Good. It's enough to let you really appreciate the crunching sound as Taurus is slammed into the rooftop.

"I am quite done with all of this," Gemini declared as Taurus gets the Grav-Rail lesson she's long been looking for. "If Vesper wants you all under her thumb she shall simply have to do so herself."

And then she sat down in a huff and tried the cake.

Dyssia!

Iskarot, devotee of Ares, Master Biomancer, considers your request for peace and sanity with all of the thoughtfulness that eight cups of wine allow.

Three seconds later the bar fight is in full swing, with the mad Hermetic rising above the fray on tripod stilts, death rays blasting extremely poorly aimed shots through walls, ceilings and casks. A molotov cocktail hits him and burns with bright green flames but does not otherwise slow him down. Caught up in the general spirit of the moment, the fight has turned into a grand melee of all against all. Here a Ceronian is stuffed inside a keg by four noncombat servitors working together, there one of the rare Alcedi still aboard is holding a Pix in each hand and screaming a battlecry, there a fascinated Summerkind is sitting attentively at her table taking detailed notes on everything she is observing. Now and then squads of Coherent burst onto the scene like riot cops, and like riot cops at a bar fight they are immediately set upon by every side and have their teeth sprayed across the floor.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"I see no reason not to," said Caster. Getting to his feet was a painful experience to watch - elbows that could not hold weight, knees that no longer fully bent - but with his staff and stubborn pride he clawed his way to a standing position.
"It could be a trap," said Adam swiftly. "The glitch might -"
Caster barked a laugh. "I may be a famously bad judge of character, Adam, but I do not believe this girl would murder a turkey sandwich."
The machine clicked. "She is Berserker's master. You underestimate her at your peril."
"Peril?" said Caster. "Then let it come. My plans will not be stopped, nor will Lancer. My role in this war is over and my curiosity to see its ending is no greater than my curiosity to see this festival. But just to satisfy your paranoia - Berserker? Here is my head. Take it, if you wish."
Berseker growled twice. Growled - twice? That second one sounded different, and left her embarrassed rather than violent. Caster looked at her, and laughed. "Hungry, are you? Ms. Fluffybiscuits, shame on you for not feeding your servant. No wonder her will to fight is so weak."