Thanqol

Breathless Dead

Vasilia!

"I agree!" said Zeus daughter of Cronus, slapping Molech on the back so hard that he jumps. She then glances at her hand, grimaces slightly, and wipes the dead lice off on Hades' shirt. "It is a time for feasting! It is a world for feasting! What do we have here? Sandwiches? I love sandwiches!"

The Thunderer beams at Dolce, and goes to ruffle the fluff atop his head but is thwarted by the fact that she holds a sandwich in each hand.

"Little sister," Hades said quietly, with thin-smiled grimace of someone who was doing their absolute best to be polite. "Are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is!" said Zeus. "Hospitality has been offered and accepted. Alliances are being negotiated. Peace reigns, Hades! Do you have any idea how tired I am of war? Dionysus? DIONYSUS! Get down here!"

With a shock of violet, the God of Madness is amongst you. A mirrored glass face with painted eyes sits atop a beautiful androgynous mechanical body, wearing a flowing cape of cold violet and purples. Zeus beams and offers a high five. Dionysus silently meets it and then sits cross-legged at the table and pats the ground for Liu Ban to sit next to them. The former Emperor sits as directed.

"Little sister," said Hades again, reaching a new record for the smallest possible upturn of the lips. "I do not think this is a good idea."

"Oh, psh, Hades. This poor man has been tormented for nearly three hundred years!" said Zeus through a mouthful of sandwich.

"He has not suffered enough," said Hades whose voice was all the icier for the fact that he forced so much warmth in it.

"You don't think anyone has suffered enough," said Zeus, rolling her eyes. "If it were up to you we'd all just sit about contemplating our sins while playing Russian roulette. Come! Food has been offered and you will join in, big brother."

Hades' eyes burned a brilliant blue as he sat down next to Dionysus. Immediately the Strange One threw their arms around him and kissed his face and neck and whispered into his ear. Hades' expression did not change an iota, even as Zeus gave him a thumbs up with hands filled by her third and fourth sandwiches.

For the part of Liu Ban, he is not aware of the gods. His mind is still on the machine, still on the challenge, still far away as it focuses on a problem he has been absorbed by for -

Then he takes a bite of food and all else is forgotten.

He eats in a frenzy, prompting Zeus to beam and slap him on the back again - and wipe her hand off on Hades' shirt again. This, at last, is how one brings an emperor's dignity low.

[Mark off two units of food - one for yourself, one for Liu Ban - but by sharing a meal with another you can heal two instances of damage]

Alexa!

It's more still than anything you've seen from this world so far. The spirit of madness has lifted; Dionysus has been summoned elsewhere. Instead you face the soft whirring and clattering of mechanical minds, so still and familiar they seem entirely like what they once were. This is no longer a party, a riot of colour and motion. Now these are machines wearing clothes, as emotionless and alien as you must seem to others.

Cavel-4954 speaks to you not as a mistress of the dance, not as a wife, not as an individual. She speaks to you in the voice of a standard issue Cavel unit giving a report, and though that voice is as emotionless and mechanical as any of her kind it feels all the more raw and emotional for that. This is the most honesty she can give.

"It was not a waste of time, Palas Rex," said the Cavel unit. "We had to know. We are not separate entities, you and we. Together we form a complete engine of war. You are our speartip, our champion, our avatar. If you were perfect then we would have wailed and gnashed our teeth and tore our clothing and become perfect in turn. We prayed to all the gods that when we found you that you would be as flawed as us, as broken as us, for if you were broken then we could remain so too. A galaxy where the greatest killing machine ever built functioned properly would be a terrifying one indeed."

Aphrodite nods at that, and glances aside at you. Molech was always obsessed with Ares, but it was not Ares who wrought this fate.

Breathless Dead

Vasilia!

"Fascinating," Molech grinned his metal grin. "Of all the petitioners who have approached me, your request is by far the most humble. Two lives and a shuttle? A request of insulting triviality to an Emperor, but a feat perhaps that Liu Ban might accomplish with effort."

Yet he hesitates on the threshold. He pauses to mournfully contemplate his broken, dying machine. Even to a casual observer the thing is as far beyond repair as Earth is from Tellus, but still he hesitates. Centuries of his life have gone into fighting back the inevitable and here he is on the verge of abandoning it. In this moment he does not look even like a reflection of an Emperor. In this moment is a mere mortal contemplating finally, truly accepting defeat and that is such a different thing to do than to speak of.

*

Alexa!

Aphrodite is old. He is old in all the ways a man can be old.

The kind of old where the muscle has faded from his frame leaving hands of slender bone and skin that wrinkles like a suit a size too large. His throat has wasted away to reveal his adam's apple; his hair has thinned and gone as white as a blank page, his suit has faded from an eternal black to a dark rust red. He is undesirable in a way that makes him seem faintly distasteful. Who is this strange, decrepit old skeleton who all the bards sing of? How foolish are those who leap to do his bidding? What role does this crumbling relic have here, amidst the stars of empire, in the twilight of humanity, on the broken crownworld of Barassidar?

He might as well be a museum exhibit. A curiosity for the kind of person who becomes very worked up when it comes to beetles. And to some people, he remains so for all their lives.

But when he looks at you now you know you'll never see him in that way again.

He is old in all the ways a man can be old - but he is not a man, now is he? Zeus cloaks herself in a shape of power, as eternal as the skies themselves. She is as ageless as the colours and full of power because she knows no other way to be. When you look into the eyes of the God of Love now you see an excitement and youth you have never known from the divine. You see in that aged shape not a warning of the grave but a strange kind of hope. If you are very, very, lucky you might wind up like me: with a life so full of friends, so full of romance, so full of love that your heart grows larger than death itself. This is Aphrodite, at last! He is old because love is measured in years! He is aged because every wrinkle was once a smile! He is alien because he has a happiness that you do not yet understand!

"Listen, dollface," said the God of Love, pinching your marble cheek affectionately. "All I ever wanted from you was for you to turn your back on everything you ever knew and cared about and devote your entire life to my service. All I ever asked of you was to rise above your own nature, destroy the empire that created you, and say a few silly words. And all I'll do if I don't get my way is snap the galaxy in half, take back Prometheus' fire, and leave humanity to freeze alone in the dark until you're a memorial statue commemorating a species that went extinct for the crime of failing me."

He smiled to let you know he'd done it before.

The world outside loomed, as though through frosted glass - vague, indistinct, like time was slowed to a crawl.

"So tell me, Alexa, now that I've set the stakes - do you take this robot to be your lawfully wedded bride?"

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Ah, thought Robena. The soothsayer was right. This was how she was doomed to die: beneath the trampling hooves of her own horse.

(It had been less of a prediction, to be fair, and more of an angry 'That bloody horse will be the death of you'. It had been given when Robena had returned from a three day expedition to recover Apricot who, upon feeling a pang of homesickness, had broken the stable restraints and walked back north, only to be waylaid by a cunningly placed apple orchard.)

Well, such were the wages of sin. This was the justice of the Almighty made manifest in this world. Now she had to confront the vice of gluttony directly and take a stand for the righteous.

A coil of rope is in her hand as she dives to the side. Instincts honed from many long hours of observing this horse's manner and habits let her predict the skitter and turn and cast the lasso about his neck. As she applies her strength against the colossal bulk of her sinful mount and his unwilling passenger. He bucks! Oh, Constance, you will be hard pressed to stay on the back of this horse as he struggles against his master. The struggle is great, the stuff of songs, the strength of giants in opposition - heaven and hell wage war, and poor mankind is caught between them!

But Apricot slows in the end. Although he was blinded by greed, in his heart he knows better - and he knows better than to truly throw Constance. He slows down to a stomping stand-still, facing the determination in Robena's eyes, snorts miserably, and then feigns losing interest and lowers his head to eat the road-side grass. Robena then offers the prize to its rightful owner who bites it gratefully, and then comes across to help a shaking Constance down from Apricot's back. Her arms are strong and her biceps shine with sweat from her exertions against her horse, and she lifts the girl effortlessly.

[Undertake great labour: 14. I do it, and make it look easy.]

"As I am a knight who fights for justice," she said to the merchant, holding Constance in her arms, "I shall rescue your cat."

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

It is not merely the donkey you must contend with, Constance. You have perhaps grown used to the gradual and cold-blooded pace of Apricot. Perhaps you have come to see him as an aspect of the hills, peaceful and eternal. This is the same mistake a younger Robena made in the land of Anatolia where she was asked to choose one horse from amidst six while being too naïve to perceive the gleam of gluttony in equine eyes.

Apricot spins, craning his neck back, body-blocking the donkey from getting any closer to the carrot. He twists his neck backwards that he might assault his rider and steal the carrot of this innocent traveller. As he is not quite flexible enough to reach he starts to spin in circles in the manner of a dog chasing its own tail. While this began as greedy reaching, you have the undeniable impression that this horse is aware enough of his bargaining position to continue to spin around and around until his demands are met. No innocent victim is he; this is a bandit who knows full well that he commits theft, kidnapping and blackmail, and his heart is unmoved.

"I apologize, lady, for I cannot intervene," said Robena with false remorse. "If I were to assist you feeding the donkey, I would make an enemy of my horse. If I were to assist Apricot in his criminal grasping then I would be breaking my knightly vows. This matter falls to you to adjudicate."

Breathless Dead

Vasilia!

You are a fool for even imagining you can know the mind of an Emperor.

You play your game of posture and bombast. You play your game of bargains and exchange. You play your games as the hound believes earnestly that the master cares as much about the stick as it does. He is playing a game too, but a very different one: he is pretending that he is a human. A peer. Someone who can experience character growth and come to grips with mortality, weakness, mundanity.

He tears at his breast and laments his loss. He speaks of himself as a human with human flaws and human ambitions. And, fool, you believe him. You look upon that angler-lantern and believe it to have warmth. You believe that this is a mere man with a mere office, and now that the office is removed he can be a man again.

You do not understand what it is to be Emperor. What it is to look down upon the galaxy and call it yours. To stand before the gods and negotiate on behalf of life itself. To see the cravings of billions reduced to a flicker of unrest calculations on a cosmic spreadsheet.

If you truly understood he would not be able to trick you like this. If you truly understood you would have seen through his jovial lies and pretensions of humanity and pressed your forehead to the ground and prayed that would be enough. But then, if you truly understood you never would have let Redana aboard your ship either. Her illusion of humanity is just as deadly as his.

But, you do not.

So he is as he appears to you: a mere man. Broken and wretched and tired of fighting. A man who has been a prisoner and craves to see the stars. A man who was Emperor for forty years and Sisyphus for three hundred. Exhausted. Malleable. Looking for a new start.

"Of course," he said, "for cautionary tales and abject examples are my final Imperial duty. But a captain and a princess do not seek out an emperor for tales and advice. Tell me, what humble service might I do for you?"

Alexa!

Dear Alexa

That is all there is time to read before the constructs burst through the door, polychromatic eyes and salmon bridesmades dresses carefully tailored to render boxy infrastructure even less flattering than it was to begin with. This is all for the service of Aphrodite, after all, and it he is known to level particular unkindnesses at the bridesmaid who outdoes the bride.

"It is time. The ritual shall be conducted," said one, a towering giraffe-like gardener with blades and saws. "A day of war shall be concluded with a night of wedding celebrations, that tomorrow the war might resume. Before Apollo, battle. Before Artemis, revelry. In each, joy. So shall Elysium be built. Come."

Fellowship: The Heart

Ailee Sundish demands a certain internal intellectual rigor. She's better than everyone/everything else because she is smarter - and more determined, more powerful, and significantly prettier. Her arrogance stands upon solid foundations and there is nothing better than destroying those whose arrogance is built upon nothing.

The problem with reasoning yourself into pride is when that logic is undermined your whole sense of self can come crashing down.

Now in the shadow of the dragon she is no longer a genius, no longer an archmage, no longer a diligent and beautiful young woman. She's just meat with airs. She feels the crushing weight of King Dragon's presence on her soul, driving her ears back, her neck down, her hands meekly behind her back. This is the price of being magnificent. This is the price of taking the ideology of power. It means having no defense before your god.

She is very scared.

[Damaging Pride. Next roll is made with hope]

Breathless Dead

Vasilia!

Liu Ban leaned back, thick hand coming up to stroke his beard in an exaggerated gesture of thought. "Ah, the gods!" he said. "If there is one thing that does not change it is that their gifts do not come without consequence. In exchange for your company I must contend with a unit of the most deadly stealth operatives in the galaxy - a frightful bargain, because it seems too good to be true!"

There is a disaffected air to his oratory. His eyes are not sharp, his gaze is not searching, his mind is clearly not calculating. That itself is an act of profound self control, and that itself portrays some manner of his true feelings. To show such an utter lack of desperation, such an emotional detachment from his circumstances - one must care with searing intensity to seem so careless.

"You must have a great many tales," he said, gesturing for Vasilia to walk besides him as he lead deeper into the pit of his dying machine, "whereas I have but one. I was vanquished in strategy, vanquished in oratory, vanquished in personal combat. My life's work collapses all about me as my life's blood escapes me. This fiery pit in which you find me is but a twelfth-part of what I had built when I was whole, and now even it is upon the brink of ruin. Weep not for me, for this is all a comedy - a man who out of stubbornness and pride denied the reality of the most comprehensive defeat ever inflicted upon a human soul and threw centuries away in a vain attempt to undo it. It is only now that I realize the magnitude of my hubris, the extent of my narcissism - and that my years of torment were entirely self inflicted. Laugh! It takes an Emperor to make such an example!"

Alexa!

Death writhes before you with a wolf's skull grin. A miracle crawls before you, dragging behind shattered golden limbs behind it.

It once posed as a Ceronian but that disguise is long shattered. The skin is torn open with blades and the fur a mange of bloodless rents and where bones should be there is treasure. Underneath the fraying fur-cloak disguise is a marvel - glowing emeralds in gentle orbits, cascading a wave of energy out to aurite bones and wires as sweet and clean and striped as candy. A Thunderbolt still pierces its body, still live after blowing out its left arm from the wrist down and left leg from the thigh. This broken wreck that drags itself towards you, hand over hand. It is so worn and weathered you know it must have been waiting for this for two hundred years, it is so new and clean you know a God wrought it to do all this and more if required. Upon its crystal skull is an insignia in gold - the caduceus of Hermes.

It holds a letter in its machine steady grip. Upon the letter is written your name in gentle calligraphy. The divine messenger reaches up from the ground to press it to your hands. Then it shudders, the orbiting crystals still, and it goes to its long-deferred end at last.

The handwriting is familiar. Only one person ever wrote you letters. Only Minerva.

Breathless Dead

Vasilia!

Molech smiles when the glave hurtles towards his face; he smiles more when it stops.

"Azura technology," his voice left no doubt as to why he was called a sage. Such wisdom and careful contemplation in each tone! Such precision in enunciation! "But that is not how the Azura use it. I should know; I destroyed the Meridian Arch after dueling each of the Cobalt Ancients, and none of them took the stance you took there. Hmm... I sense individuality about you. Individuality and a determination like few others, for few in this ancient galaxy would even dream of creating something new."

Bloody feet sizzle to a halt on burning metal. The soles of his feet are as blackened as stone but and the steady drip of blood from his eternal wound surrounds him in wisps of cigarette-fine smoke.

"I was once known to this world as Imperator Molech, as the Warsage. No longer. I am defeated and ruined, cast down and left to ceaselessly tend my wretched machine lest I be crushed under its shattering gears. I no longer deserve my grandiose titles, so please refer me to the name of my origin: Liu Ban."

He spread his arms expansively, and in that moment commanded absolute attention. It was impossible for one to become an Emperor without knowing how to be grand. "And yet I am all the more sorry for you, unfortunate stranger! For if the hospitality this wretch can offer you is the finest you have received on your voyage you must have walked a hard road indeed! Well, come then! Come and sit! Let us lick the condensation from the steam-pipes for wine! Let us chew the lice that roam across my back for meat! For in you I believe I see the Thunderer in disguise, as mighty Zeus often walks in the world of men, and she shall know that for all the burdens she has given me to bear she has not yet made me a mean host!"

Alexa!

It was never asked of you to learn the expressions of machines. Of all your studies, contemplating the hidden or subtle expressions of a Cavel unit was never one of them. Are there emotions that swim under those painted eyes? Is there a heart, a soul, a pounding tension, a manic boldness? Are you dealing with a thinking being or are you talking to Dionysus' puppet as he whirls it about on strings?

If there was a question as to Dionysus' manipulation of the situation, there was none when it came to Aphrodite's. The God of Love saw no need to conceal his good humour as one ten after another was raised by the judges.

"It seems," said Cavel-4954, "we are to be married."

The Chamber of Aspects

The Kaeri arrive in flits and starts, taking perches at random before the statues, hunching above like gargoyles. One after another they bow their heads and close their eyes. For all that they have followed their orders and achieved their aims, they now wait upon the Imperial Princess, and it would not do for them to show anything other than flawless respect.

In turn too comes the Kaeri Giatros - feathers striped ochre yellow and blue-black beneath pristine white robes. They approach the Imperial Princess without waiting for the Praetor's leave, carrying their tools and ointments and incenses atop velvet cushions. They are closely watched for any sign of deviation. Doctors are dangerous for they might see Empresses as simple girls. The rituals of care are necessary to remind them of the semidivine nature of the one they tend to, and so they silently bow and offer their sacred surgical instruments to Princess Redana for inspection.

To Bella, they pay no heed. They are under no obligation to obey her orders any more, and so they disregard her command to bring the Princess' belt. The hunt is over, and the Kaeri have never forgotten that their prey will be Empress someday.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

"Nothing burns," said Robena habitually. A Roman saying, all's well.

But then she glances aside at Constance. Ah, well then. Already the habitual taciturn silence had crept back into her, letting herself fall into a guarded silence not seconds after she was invoked to share her knowledge. It seemed religion dictated that she spit out a few more words even against her nature.

"A cursed knight fought at the tournament, though, and was defeated," she added, using the most passive voice she could in a vain attempt at modesty. "I was curious as to what would inflict such a beguilement."

[I invoke my right to be known by reputation, and hit a 9. They know to be impressed by me, though I have no control over the specifics.]

Breathless Dead

Redana!

You might have done it.

Your body is adrenaline and instinct and data. You've never been so in tune with your Auspex. You just need to run until the gods smile upon you. The spirit of the swift messenger who carried the warning to Marathon runs with you, mother Zeus runs with you, perhaps even the touch of fallen Hermes' caduceus touches your heels. You run with Imperial grace and the Kaeri formation stretches just a little too far as it flocks to keep up with you. For a moment you see the weakness of the formation. Zeus, Auspex and instinct unify into one. You move. You might have made it.

But too late you see Aphrodite standing in the shadows.

One of the Kaeri moves impossibly. Her limbs extend like rubber, extending a meter in length to catch you by the shoulder. All your momentum goes wild. You're off your feet, falling, flying, flailing - and landing softly in familiar arms. You're being held in a princess carry far too gentle for the black-feathered Kaeri blinking at you with reptilian eyes - and yet so firm that all your strength couldn't tear you from it.

"Shh," whispers Mynx. "You're safe now, Princess."

She opens the door into the Chamber of the Aspects.

Alexa!

You stare into the optic lens of the crane. Then you let your eyes trace across to the painted on eyes somewhat to the left. Neither of these feels correct. For its part, the Pisel lets out an industrial klaxon blurt that... sounds friendly?

"Instant chemistry!" said Cavel-4954 from below, gesturing for the crowd to applause. "This sure looks like a power couple to me! But don't get your hearts too aflutter, shippers and spaceships, because we have plenty of more candidates! That's right, we're going to discover Alexa's true love even if we have to go through every single machine on Baradissar! So what do the Augurs say!?"

Spotlights are swung around to focus on a council of four machine intelligences - one of whom is a surviving member of Molch's Board of Omens, and the remainder of which are random constructs haphazardly dressed as the originals. They buzz in conference and hold up signs to express the score they're giving to the match - 9.8, 4, 7, 8. Cavel-4954 makes a disappointed sound. "Oh, I'm so sorry Pisel-1132, it looks like they just don't ship it! Everyone give her a big round of applause, and don't worry - there's sure to be someone or something out there for you!"

The crane lowers you to the ground with slight regret. Okay, so that took about... a minute or two? So if there are a billion machine intelligences left on Bardissar you'll be out of here in a reasonable 2,000-4,000 years at worst.

Vasilia!

A silhouette looms out of the dark of broken lights. A giant of wild fur and gleaming metal, a machine beast. The musculature is herculean, a warrior in his prime. The mane of hair and knee-length beard speaks of a primordial savagery, and the spanners, screwdrivers, and plasma-cutters braided into it speak of the height of civilization. He is naked but for his hair and his scars which are as plentiful as his hair. Many of them are burns, come from plunging hands deep into the flaming wreck of this half-shattered machine that you see all about you. One wound is fresh - a glowing, brilliant and golden sword fit for an Empress, broken in half and still lodged inside him. Blood drips steadily from the wound and every footstep is marked with red.

You know this face.

Empress Nero, the great humanitarian who declared war on death and denied the lord Hades with all the might of Empire, was not about to start her reign with a murder.

Emperor Molech, the Warsage, looms out of the dark. A giant of the savage future and civilized past. He grins at you with mismatched metal teeth; all the silvers, golds and coppers the stars could provide. "Ah. Guests. In the name of Zeus and Athena I bid you welcome to Baradissar. Come in peace, depart in friendship, and leave behind a little of the happiness you bring."

"It rather depends," murmurs Hades quietly, "which part of the machine you take."

Bella!

The Chamber of the Aspects is a testament to Athena. It's a great hall of sculpture where hundreds of visions of the goddess are depicted; renditions of every form she has been known to manifest in. The same face in a thousand different ways, male and female, young and old, gentle and ruthless. Here she is a craftsman, there she is a warrior, now he is a philosopher. All the faces of civilization, its magnificence and its depravity, are collected here.

The room itself is far more vertical than horizontal; a narrow cylinder, each statue in a wall alcove with an ornate balcony. The walls move frictionlessly with the slightest touch, thousands of tonnes of stone and marble rotating with a casual brush against the wall. It carries the strange impression of being on the inside of a rubik's cube, and indeed the Emperor used it as such - rearranging the placement of the statues from highest to lowest depending on what aspect of Athena he sought to invoke. Now, at the top of the chamber, the warlike aspects of the goddess are entirely ascendant, and their faces are cruel, calculating, and hateful.

Omn seems to have come into his power here, shining with an energy that is more than just its restored cleanliness. Revealed from beneath its burdens, the core machine is bright sphere of orange plasma energy, encircled by containment rings that diffuse the intense heat into a harmless glow and gentle rotation. It is not humanoid, it is an orrery of stars and assets, matter shifting so that it can provide information at a glance. As you observe, it becomes an impressionistic map of the palace as a gleaming star is driven closer, closer -

The door flies open, and Mynx carries Redana in. She sets your princess down in front of you upon a cushion laid out by a servile machine and steps back. Her clothes are torn to the point of uselessness, barely even modest, her strength and defiance tempered by exhaustion, her golden hair loose and cascading.

Everything as you ordered. Exactly as you ordered it.