Thanqol

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

"I love you," said Robena.

And that is all that remained to her. The words of a ghost, come from a heart twisted with far too living pain. She does not, cannot move and nor shall she till the dawn arises beyond that distant window to send her spirit on.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Morality does not come easily to Robena. Many other things do - music, riding, killing. There was not a knight as gifted in form and instinct - all but the morality. That is a thing that must be taught to her, though she has long been a poor student.

You can see it in her eyes, Constance! She does not feel guilt. Her conscience does not twist and writhe. She is not consumed with inner agony. She could stand up and shrug off the chalice like a bear shaking the snow of winter from its back. To confront her with the morality of the hunt is to beseech the lion to lie down with the lamb. Amidst the smooth and sharp lines of Spanish steel, Germanic wood, Turkic leather and English bear hide there is no softness and no kindness.

And yet the pilgrim's armband shows not a blade or banner or roman Chi Rho, but the chalice. And here is a moment where that amoral bear looks away from you to gaze upon the chalice as though listening to it. And now she looks upon you again.

"Constance," she said, that eternal and musical voice of the forest. "I have sinned a great many times in my life. What you saw upon that cursed night was not a momentary lapse, it was the conclusion of a long and dark road. Judgement has already been passed. I have been found guilty. I have accepted my sentence."

She stands, tall and dark and melancholy. "I have since existed in a strange twilight state, a ghost unbound between worlds. I do not pretend that I shall find forgiveness, and I will not torment you by asking for yours. If it comforts your mind, think of me as I think of myself - a restless spirit loose upon the world, doing what good she can because she finds herself enjoying it on its own terms. Because I do enjoy it, Constance. I have found a quiet joy that I never found at the bottom of the tankard. And I will enjoy it as best I can for the few weeks I have left."

Despite her peaceful words - or perhaps because of them - her voice has gone quiet and her eyes distant. A sadness hangs deep and heavy upon her. And perhaps there is something beyond the forest there after all.

"I have but one request," she said. "And that is that you be the one to bury me when this strange dream comes to its end. Not for my sake. Hate is a heavy burden to carry, and I pray that you would be able to bury yours along with me. You are too beautiful and pure and kind to have your life twisted by hatred for the dead."

Breathless Dead

Redana!

If there's an upside to the Order of Hermes it's that they make it a point not to pay attention to imperfections. If someone stutters, fumbles their words, becomes emotional or is habitually clumsy priests of the Order will patiently wait for them to finish with no commentary or reaction whatsoever. It's a militant, doctrinal sympathy - underneath each set of robes each priest is fighting a conflict that nobody else can understand. If anything, Iskarot seems more sympathetic due to the fact that all of your conflicts are out in the open.

"Of course," said Iskarot. He pauses for a minute, chewing over the thought - you could tell he was about to launch into a long discussion about the minutae of Azura techno-religion and it's developments, but showing an uncharacteristic awareness he changes course. "When the Rift opened the Shah was on the other side and remains cut off to this day. There was a period of devastating civil war immediately prior to Imperator Nero's assault, and her retrieval of the Azura human population left the nation in disarray. The Endless Azure Skies are strangely empty even now, many cities left as ghost towns. The Azura always favoured individual excellence but that is pushed to new extremes. Refusing to accept decline, each Azura now performs the work of five or ten and devotes their life to almost artistic mastery of their chosen field."

He takes a seat and it's no longer a formal briefing or a lecture. The energy has changed in a way that is holy to the Order - this is one traveler telling a story to another. "It's the most desolate, haunting place I've ever seen. Architecture of unknowable size and grandeur, intricate monoliths balanced on a trick of gravity and physics, a city that seems in the process of falling but in every moment resisting. You can walk for hours before seeing another soul and where you find them they burn bright and radiant, and they have been burning that way for a long time. The people felt like the cities - on the verge of collapse but held aloft by will and magic. They are proud. They are proud because the alternative is to break, and so they are very proud indeed."

You can imagine it. Nero consolidated all of humanity on Tellus - but what if she hadn't? What if the empire had refused to take one single step back and stubbornly clung to every scrap of land? How thin must it be stretched? More of the map might be coloured in Azura blue, more of the stars might burn Azura purple, but that does not make it more free than Tellus...

"Five Shahs have risen and fallen since Nero took the throne. The latest was a low ranked soldier, favoured by Dionysus and Apollo, who seized power in a harem coup. Like her gods, her reign is likewise a thing of madness and serenity in equal measure. Now she carries the name Xerxes CVI and has sent waves of roving warbands into the black to capture people - any people - to fill her empty cities."

Alexa!

You're down on a planet, one of many brief stopovers. The sky is brilliant with the reflected light of broken orbital shipyards and solar mirrors. The ground is wet and loamy, and here grow apples.

The Alcedi play, laugh, woop and fight, their ceremonial battles taking on new joy and life as they take wing and engage each other in the air. Tangles of feathers fall on soft soil. Hermetics march all about in their strange organisation, breaking open large rocks to reveal geodes filled with magnificent crystals which are sorted through for those of exceptional colour and quality.

And still you wander, alone and without answers. You are in the shadow of the ruined sky, in the shadow of the clouds, in the shadow of the warship that bought you here, in the shadow of the Alcedi...

And in amidst these shadows you find something as incongruous as a simple apple grove, left to run wild and sweet.

Vasilia!

"Wait, hold up," said Hestia raising a finger. "When the opportunity came up to dare the wrath of the most powerful organization in the galaxy and it's star-shattering armada of billions, you volunteered? Uh, Vasilia, I get that you're saying you never had a normal life, but you are aware that's crazy, right? You're going to have to unpack that one for me. Why does some two-bit space pirate from nowhere decide that she's going to be the one to overthrow the space government?"

Dolce!

Hestia walks past briefly in her bear hoodie, scribbles a note on a post-it before tucking the pen behind her ear, and keeps walking without pause for comment. Her advice is fairly straightforwards: 'Mynx hates eating because she's used to her food being poisoned. Give her an opportunity to snatch a meal meant for someone else'.

And that's it! Hestia doesn't waste time, she knows you've got places to be.

Her casual approach does nothing to dim the splendour of Hera, who even in this quiet place comes in her full divine radiance. She is not a thief or a beggar or a fellow put-upon servant. She knows what she is not and does not pretend to be like you. Instead she shows her respect by coming as what she is, in her full radiance and panoply, with a mighty ox and a splendid peacock by her sides. She got dressed up for this, for you. She takes your problems as seriously as she might take a king's and she sits in unhurried ritual. All her glory makes it all the more wonderful that she eats your soup with appreciation - she is not too good for it either.

And Hades is there too. Unbidden, unasked for. With his bloody-throated bow tie and shining crystal eyes he walks in and begins adding milk and sugar and butter to a bowl. You can see the shape of the cake he's making already and you do not think he's going to make it right.

"Thank you for the offering, Dolce," said Hera. "You're carrying a great -"

"Why are you bothering?" said Hades.

Hera snaps around on him, eyes flashing fire. "What did you say?"

"It's happening already," said Hades. "They're falling apart. Even the sheep can sense it."

"That does not give you the right -" Hera said, voice ice, but again Hades interrupted her. This time his voice had an edge of passion, even fury that sent a dampening shock through the room.

"It's the same story each time! Dissolution! Despair! Betrayal! Death!" said the God of the Dead slamming and pounding the cake batter with his bare hands. "Artemis hunts and Demeter rages but it is Aphrodite who time and again murders my crews! You can't hold their hearts together, Hera! You can't save them! They've already failed and -"

Hera slaps him. Hard. He staggers and touches a powdered-white hand to his crimson cheek, and then a faint flush of pink rises to his other. His eyes descend and he returns to his miserable work.

Hera takes a dark and imperious breath, straightening her dress with a dramatic flick of her shoulders. "Please forgive my brother for his insufferable and loutish manners. He is, however, correct," said Hera quietly. "You are cursed, Dolce. All of you are. Aphrodite has cut the galaxy in two and his rift is not just a physical thing. You draw strength from your relationships but those are exactly what is under threat. If you are to survive you must find some other source of strength."

Bella!

The ship has it's own secrets. All ships do, even a populated one. Entire decks lie empty, given over to the strange below-deck combinations of stowaways, parasites, hidden altars, love nests, moonshine distilleries, exotic beasts...

To an outsider like you even the quarters of the Coherent seem just as strange, snapshots of lives abandoned without warning. Here is a movie set where some of them were working on making a feature film and posters for it cover the walls with amateur enthusiasm. Prion Paula VS Djemento 2!. You've seen the posters so many times by time that if you don't make time to find and watch the damn movie you'll go to the grave wondering if it was worth the hype.

The empty artifact containment bays - the Hermetics outfitted their treasury with escape pods which seems like some sort of metaphor - are places of strange bureaucracy. Papers scatter desks along with cigarette butts, family photos, an entire tombstone being used as a writing desk as part of some obscure joke you'll never be in on. The Magos' quarters are harder to reach, the passageways to them deliberately obfuscated or requiring either inhuman anatomy or a willingness to punch through walls to access. When you find these they're so personalized as to be either fascinating or embarrassing - all the secrets a Hermetic hides beneath their robes can find full expression in their room; everything from walls covered in equations, to postcards from a hundred different worlds, to attempts to engineer synthetic hands, to a room that's just full of unicorn themed merchandise.

It's hard to see this as just another starship by this point. The Order of Hermes, for all their mumbling and ritual and knowledge games, were people with their own weird and mundane lives and communities.

Sunshards

Fox wishes are perilous things.

Any fox, even one as allegedly new to this whole business as Cyanis, is dangerous not because they might twist your wish like a surly djinn but because they might slip past your defenses and grant the wish that you did not dare to speak. They will grant it so perfectly, so magically, and so undeniably that you'd feel like a bit of a churl for observing that they picked your pocket or stole your heart in the process. But then, if a fox is going through all this trouble to grant your wish then isn't it only fair that you grant hers along the way too?

(Daily Affirmation of the Way <3: Really when you get down to it, this is why foxes don't get trials. If a fox doesn't get what she wants she'll make you feel like a miserable, awful, terrible jerk who is slandering and oppressing a poor innocent vixen. The problem is that foxes want everything and so after a certain point you'll just have to put your foot down and hold your nerve no matter how many tears fall from pleading fox eyes.)

It is, however, too late now.

Princess Chen glitters. Cyanis may have a hazy grasp on the biology and mindset of dragons but what she does know is that they're absolutely loaded probably. So in service to that dimly remembered mythic stereotype she has rendered Chen opulent. Her hands shine with rings, her hair braid is magnificent and run through with gemstone butterflies, her ears shimmer with rubies and her neck is alight with opals. The dress too is a magnificent ballgown complete with hoopskirt, and sparkling glitter makeup surrounds her eyes. Just as much care has been given to the choice of rope and knot, and in Chen's case it's a brutal one. Rough fiber and tight fits gives just a touch of red to wrists and neck, emphasizing the paleness and delicacy of Chen by placing her in contrast to such harsh restraints; she appears as a princess captured by an ogre.

The chains given to Rose are more subtle. Cyanis in her foxy wisdom knows that she can't simply tie up a creature like Rose. To someone of her strength and power a knot would be more fashion accessory than restraint. No, here she is at her most wicked and her most magical and you only realize too late what a fox can get away with if you don't think to stop them. With a click of foxy nails and a glint of wicked teeth Cyanis steals Rose's very mind. All of her wit and cunning and ability to stop foxy mischief - plucked from Rose's head as a thread of hair and transmuted to a ransomware encryption lock. She returns this to Rose, in the form of a candle with the hair as a wick. For so long as the candle burns - which could be days! - her intelligence will be kept at a basic level, all your advanced functions and centuries of experience denied. Only basic obedience functions remain.

To complete the effect Cyanis has dressed Rose as a beautiful priestess all in white, and had her kneel down and await. If a royal princess snatched from a castle ball is one worthy type of bait, a noble priestess sacrificing herself to a monster is another - or at least it is if your understanding of dragons is entirely ripped from the covers of trashy romance novels. And by that standard there is only one more piece of classic dragonbait to cast Yue in: the injured knight. Dragons and knights, Cyanis reasons, have an intensely sexual dynamic which will no doubt be inflamed when one finds the other wounded and vulnerable. To this end she has dressed Yue first in shining armour, hair tied back in a practical ponytail, with a cloak of yellow and blue (this part was easy - the ancient hero's armour was half the way there, Cyanis just made some adjustments). Then she scuffs everything up. Smoke, grime and ash dim the shine of armour, and then everything is tattered and torn so that the straps are hanging immodestly loose. Then she injuries you.

It's a very strange thing Cyanis has done here because it does not involve violence at all, or any sort of specific injury like a broken bone or an actual cut. Instead she has somehow created the impression of being nonspecifically 'injured', like how a character in a show might hold one side and wince and walk with a limp. It's an intensely fake feeling (and if we are to be honest, it is because Cyanis has lead a charmed life that has never seen so much as a stubbed toe, so her entire understanding of injury is based on aforementioned shows) and while it's not really painful it still prevents you from doing things. This is ultimately another knot, after all, transmuted into a romance novel injury that can be wiped away by a tender scene that ends in kissing.

This all done, and the distressed heroines artfully arranged on the hilltop, Cyanis retires to a sunbench nearby to put on sunglasses and rifle through everyone's purses for spare change and makeup. It's not clear if she has a plan for actually attracting Princess Jessic other than assuming that dragons have some sort of sense for this kind of thing, so you've got a while to squirm and acquaint yourselves to your new roles.

(Hyra, for her part, lurks in the shadows, an ominous silhouette in the trees behind Cyanis. With the setting of the moon the curse has reverted her to a wolf once more and now she keeps a grim eye on the fox's inevitable treason).

Breathless Dead

Redana!

Time passes. Regret just burns it all away. If you had a mind to listen to Iskarot's theorizing about the nature of time and the secrets to Birmingham's technology you'd perhaps draw a parallel between that and the weaponized heartbreak at the core of the Yakanov.

And perhaps you do. It's easy to be drawn back into the world of machines by Iskarot as he is now - bright and vibrant and full of life and power. His age-old rival is dead and he is now the master of a contingent of powerful magi and has the allegiance of a full unit of the Coherent. His saffron robes are now fresh and fine and covered in elaborate codes in black and white mismatched checks. The faint whirring of his hidden augmentics is quieted, all his machine aches tended to and upgraded by expert ministrations. The Priesthood has accepted that he is to be the sinister left hand of an Empress and has poured their wealth and knowledge into his hidden form that he might honour their Order through his magnificence. You've never seen him so animated, so energized, such a perfect version of himself before and his mood is contagious.

"The Empire of the Azura," said Iskarot, tapping his new black wooden techno-cane on the beautifully illuminated hand-drawn star map. He is indicating massive expanse of violet stars on the map - bisected by the great tear of Aphrodite's Rift - but now, from your window, you can see that those colours are extremely literal. It's beautiful - the void gleams in strange uniformity, each star haloed with a shining ring of energy.

"The mechanism by which they energize these stars is still poorly understood," said Iskarot with his voice full of passion - this is a project that captures his imagination. "My reading suggests a certain hypercomplex hydrogen based life form that contaminates the entire star like a diamond virus - but that's still speculation. It could also be some sort of previously unrecognized boon of Zeus or Apollo. Whatever it is, it is evidently and enticingly replicable given the lengths the Shah has gone through to keep it secret from us."

The Azura. So many of your lessons were about them; the Eternal Rivals, the only surviving peer to Nero's Empire. Her first act of Empire, even before the founding of Tellus, was to engage them in battle at the head of the Armada at the Battle of Watersweld Binary. It was a legendary test of might and tactics, and was what had secured Nero's fragile grip on the Imperial Throne - to take an Empire devastated by civil war, an Armada of extremely fragile loyalty, and use it to defeat the Empire's only peer power in spectacularly decisive fashion - it was perhaps one of the greatest acts of strategy and statecraft in history.

Of course, Iskarot is only tenuously interested in the history, politics or grand strategy that formed the backbone of your education. He's just here to talk about their technology.

"But that, of course, sets the tone for all matters with the Azura," said Iskarot. "Their technology is different from ours. You will see wonders there, and their tricorns," you've gathered that's some sort of Hermetic slur for their Azura opposite numbers, "will not for a second allow you to forget that in many ways they are superior to us. Oh, yes they are! Their greatest trick, and one they make ostentatious and excessive use of, is the technique of the Gravity Railing."

He gestures at a diagram of what you presume to be an Azura spacecraft though it looks nothing like what you're used to. Rather than a sharp and deadly knife, perfect for cutting through the void at infinite speeds, it's a massive and crude meteor. Around the centre band is a carved ring a repeating pattern of >>>>>. Iskarot then gestures at another diagram, this time of a shield - again with that >>>>> pattern all around the edge.

"Gravity Railings are evidently trivial for the Azura to produce and accordingly they place them on everything. Perhaps due to astrological correspondence they work best on spherical objects, partially on flat cylinders, and increasingly less well on anything that strays from those shapes - though size is evidently not a factor. An object with a Gravity Railing on it can be manipulated spatially with exquisite perfection. They are, simply put, masters at levitation. They can make matter move to wherever they want it to be seemingly with a gesture. Azura starships are astonishingly maneuverable, able to turn on a dime, and their warriors use these devices to mimic flight - often powered by a device worn as a belt - or will strike out with sling balls that can change course mid-flight and strike again and again as the distant warrior directs. The technology is the centre of their art, warfare, architecture, society and culture and its ubiquity will make you feel at first as though you are in a land of fantasy. Do not be fooled!"

He's in full flow now. Iskarot Has Opinions About Technology. "The great limitation of Gravity Railings is that they're enormously dependent on local gravitic conditions. The higher the gravity of the planet, the closer to the star, the stronger the Azura technology will be - and in the vicinity of a massive stellar object like a black hole they're unstoppable. And while Gravity Rails can support each other they're in just as much danger of interfering with each other. A cliche in Azura movies is whenever there's a duel in the throne room the whole castle collapses because the duelists' power disrupt the supports to all that fancy levitating architecture and that is rooted in truth. The Azura love their displays of power and complexity but frequently the ability to manage that complexity escapes their mortal minds. They will show you wonders when their phalanxes drill in the yard, but when it comes to battle nine in ten of those soldiers will retreat so that their real champions will have room to actually swing their blades."

He is not gesturing at it directly, but behind him there is a hand-drawn illustration of an Azura - tricorn? The hat has three points, but the robes otherwise say 'grand vizier'. She's smiling but her eyes are cold and wicked and the caption reads DON'T BELIEVE HER LIES.

While perhaps the talk of technology interests you, you have the sense that Iskarot is getting really close to 'ranting against a strawman of my rival techno-religion' and if you want actual information you'll need to pull him up.

Alexa!

You have changed. You're beyond sentry duty. You're beyond engaging in the ritualistic war for dominance with the Alcedi (a bloodless affair - everything is ritual and ceremonial, contests of skill and strength to win the favour of Athena). But where does that leave you?

Athena has turned her face from you. Here and there you glimpse her in the distance directing the Alcedi but she vanishes when you approach. You are bereft from skill, from strategy, from advice. The most basic of crafts end in disaster, the simplest of plans drift and go awry. You've offended Athena, perhaps beyond recovery, but Ares is sealed within her stomach and he can't help either. You have never felt so actively useless. Tell us of this time, after your meeting with Mynx.

Vasilia!

Hestia looked at you with bleary eyes, and the moment it took her brain to process the words was enough to rob them of their humour. She then smiles belatedly in a 'nice try, not your fault it didn't work' kind of way.

"... okay, so more than any awkwardness, the plan to contact the Starsong involves obtaining a void-capable ship, crossing multiple uncharted and hostile systems or heading back directly towards the entire Grand Armada which is currently in hot pursuit. The backup plan is to make a living by performing." She put on a serious face, so serious that she had to finish her cocoa first and set the cup down to let you know that she was serious. "Listen, Vasilia. These kind of hairbrained seat-of-your-pants style antics have been working for your whole life because Zeus liked them. But you're on your own now so we've got to start thinking more seriously. Like, do you know how to weave? How to sequence? How to sell space insurance? What did you do to make a living before all of these adventures?"

Dolce!

Your long, dark fugue is interrupted when you hear a name from Galnius' Imperial Guard. Mynx. Apparently they've captured her and are holding her for the princess. It's useful being invisible, sometimes - you hear all kinds of things like this.

You do owe her your life, though - and if that's not a cause to shake yourself a little and put the effort into making some kind of really special dish as a thank you, then what is? Do you investigate first or do you trust your chef's intuition to tell you what to cook?

Bella!

Any other god would have interrupted at some point. To make commentary, give advice, rise in your mind as thoughts and inspiration. Apollo simply is. His silence and presence fades into the background like the sun itself. Oh, the sun can be spectacular sometime - or so you've heard - but most of the time it's invisible. As invisible as the evercandles that light the halls. Blinding at first, pressuring at first, but eventually you adjust and come to take them for granted. And so you gradually adjust to the fact that every moment somewhere in your presence is a smiling god whose warmth and good humour is too perpetual to be insincere. It rises here and there but it always settles back into that deep eternal contentment. Athena would have had harsh words for your weaving but Apollo just smiles wider and gives you a thumbs up when you are done.

That thumbs up bothers you for a while. What did it mean? It couldn't be the craftsmanship. He'd been so - well, silent and still wasn't correct. He shifted around a fair amount. Sometimes he stood up, stepped down from his cloud, and went for a walk. Sometimes he did tai chi or pushups or practiced archery. He made noise when he did but it too had faded into the periphery of consciousness. In time the question of the thumbs up does too, drifting away to the edge of your consciousness, like a distant moon beginning a new orbit.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Robena, while not the most accomplished knight in the courtly arts, thought that she could sense that something here was amiss.

Should she deflect? Should she explain herself? Everyone had left - did that mean that she had failed some test already? Constance. Was the castle enchanted? Had the soup been poisoned? Was this a ghost or angel sent to judge her at this anointed hour? Had she fucked up the math and miscounted the days, or was this evidence that Pope Gregory's calendar was false? Would it be inappropriate to flirt with Saint Peter's delegate if she was as fair as this? Was she jumping to theories of the supernatural too quickly? Well, she could hardly be blamed for that, considering where failing to take magic into account had landed her.

Perhaps the only thing that her brief flood of increasingly absurd questions told her was that she should not dissemble here, if only because she was unclear who or what she was lying to. And while she didn't know that she was not, even now, under the spell of some powerful demon, perhaps the only strategy she could coherently commit to was pretending that she was not. So she took a breath, touched the sign of the chalice upon her throat, and answered as best she was able.

"Honestly, no," said Robena. "Three times I thought I had the little bastard. Three times it dodged me. The fourth time we were both exhausted and miserable and the hour was late for us both. I might have trembled, he might have bolted, and it is as much providence as my skill that killed the fox."

She looked at the soup again. Xristos, she knew that it'd be inappropriate to start eating soup right now - something even she knew to be inherently unglamourous - but she was really hungry.

"If you want to see helplessness in death, though," she said, "you should have seen the inside of Friar Southy's chicken coop after one of these got in. I'll shed no tears for a fox after seeing that."

Oh Constance. Would that she had that fox's wit, that she might have been able to twist the words into a tale of how she'd grown and changed and repented and still needed to apologize. To find a way to express silent ache and silent tears rather than grunting out some hunting anecdote like the brute she appeared to be, had proven to be. Would that she wore not the ogre's aspect, even now!

Fellowship: The Heart

"The Heart," said Ailee, standing up, "makes one hell of a consolation prize."

None of her daydreaming imagined this; an 11th hour companion, unknown and untested with matters of cosmic importance. She did not know her strengths or weaknesses or her story or the shape of her heart. But something inside of her made her want to trust Surma and Ailee was not experienced enough with that emotion to say what it was.

What she could say is that whoever this girl was, at the least she wasn't afraid.

"I'm going all the way down," she said. "And I'm not prepared for it. I think that's the only reason I made it this far. Preparing for a journey like this drives you mad, I think." She thought of the ancient and fossilized academics and scientists, the professor driven to clown worship as the grand achievement to a lifetime of study. "So this is the smash and grab approach to reality. Trying to break a game played by ancient wizards and devils by way of berserker rush. The odds suck but they're better than I'd ever get by playing fair. So, that's the pitch - do you want to bet your life on trying to out-stupid the smartest being in the cosmos?"

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"That's the good ending!" said Mynx. "Did you not notice that the Master of Assassins has gone fucking rogue!? That she wants us all as compost for her bonsai garden!? Does that not strike you as an extremely realistic possibility and exactly the sort of thing Bella is worried about!? Did you not at any point think to pull Redana aside and say, hey, listen, we tried to keep all this shit away from you so you could have a happy childhood, but now that we're here maybe it's time to tell you about how fucking dangerous everything is!?"

Vasilia!

All that is left of the Thunderer is the smell of ozone.

Hestia took a moment to blow on her cocoa to politely give Zeus a moment to return if she desired. She did not. Then with a long sigh she set her cup down on one of the bridge's map desks and pulled out a notebook.

"Okay, so, listen," said Hestia. "This may not be what you want to hear, but right now you need a plan. We'll start by taking an inventory - what assets do you have that can be sold or traded for coin? The pistols, definitely, and the uniform maybe... Do you have any useful skills or business connections that could get you employment? I know you're going to want to set your aim at civilian merchant captain but let's be real - with your history as a pirate there is zero chance of that happening. And after the recent run-in with Demeter I don't think farming is on the table either."

Bella!

Whatever the secret to making Apollo go away, eating a delicious meal didn't seem to be it. Now he follows you wherever you go in the ship sitting in a meditative posture atop a golden cloud, shining radiance lighting your way.

It's deeply unsettling. Having someone important follow you at a respectful distance was the opposite of how the world was supposed to work. Nor too are you able to count on the basic escape of the god getting bored. It's not clear he's capable of it.

You are, though.

There's no one here. No one to protect. Nothing to hunt. No one to terrify or be terrified by. A lifetime of frenzied activity and constant stress is all somehow on hold for the first time ever, and it's the first time you've ever been truly alone with your thoughts. Unspeakable emotions boil inside your mind, steam from a crack in some deep pressure cooker, too much to possibly confront or deal with or be alone with. You need to find something to occupy your mind or else it'll all come rushing out.

Sunshards

The moon is gigantic and blood red as it hangs over the castle of Princess Qiu. Apparently she's decided that she likes it up there and so has doubled down.

*

Assault Ribbons soar in the cool dawn air like kites. In the distance formations of Princess Qiu's guards march in formation or roar along the roads in technicals (a category that includes horseback and light mecha). The spread out formation, the nonlinear movement and the tall banners that raise from each unit gives the impression that the entire landscape is overcome with Qiu's soldiers. She's on the march.

With the ribbon road occupied, the safe path leads along the river, keeping close to the undergrowth to avoid the eyes of passing patrols or the detection of streaking assault ribbons. It's cautious work, and tense - scurrying across the open while glancing everywhere for Qiu's black and gold banners.

The Sky Castle is the goal - but how to get there? There are some stories everyone knows - that a magical ladder hangs from the bottom of it, always just touching the ground but still a multi-kilometer climb; that to reach it by plane means dueling the skyfighters; that some chase it for years without catching up with it. It moves quickly and unpredictably and for this reason has only been conquered twice, and both times after Princess Jessic got herself captured first.

The internet provides some clues. Jessic's website is something of an adventure photography blog - she makes elaborate preparations and explores exotic and unreachable locations. There is a great deal of territory that only she can easily reach - other sky structures, or unreachable mountain valleys. Sometimes she faces terrible monsters there, creatures she spends as much time observing, researching or trying to socialize with as engaging in combat. Perhaps one might be able to predict her future movements from that but you'd need to be far more traveled or technically minded than anyone here is. Perhaps Princess Kikil or Jezara would be able to help with that.

Of course, there's also Cyanis' suggestion, which is to sacrifice a princess to tempt the dragon out. "Dragons love princesses," she said, looking at Chen with the confidence of someone who has learned everything they need to know from trashy romance novels. Then her gaze turns to Yue. "And maidens~," she said with a wink. And then she looked up at Rose and added, "and priestesses. You should absolutely let me tie all three of you up, there's no way Princess Jessic would be able to resist."

Her tails swish-swish-swish at the thought of committing fox crimes being so helpful!

Breathless Dead

Vasilia!

"Oh, is that what's bothering you?" said Zeus. "Why didn't you just say so? Hestia? Hestia? Where are you, girl?"

And there she was, slouching into the room. Her knee-length hoodie had bear ears, her mug of hot chocolate was held in both hands up to her lips, and her slippers were bright white unicorns. What hair fuzzed out from amidst the hood was black and tangled - everything about her was soft and cuddly.

"Nyah?" said Hestia, rubbing her eyes.

"Vasilia here wants to check out," said Zeus. "Humble life for her, building olives or farming automobiles or whatever it is that you do."

"Sure," said Hestia with a yawn. "Hi. Hestia. Goddess of domesticity here. Don't think we've met. I don't know if you actually want to hang out or if my little sister is just making a point. In case it's not clear, destiny isn't real, the call can be refused, and you can give up any time. And not a moment too soon if you ask me," she said. "I mean, you almost died. Holy shit! I'm exhausted just thinking about it."

"Well, it's been fun," said Zeus, ruffling your hair and setting you down. "Off you pop!"

Alexa!

"Doesn't that scare you?" said Mynx. "How does that not scare you? Bella... she's the only one responding rationally to all this, right? This all happened because we fucked up."

Bella!

Apollo picks chopsticks out of his sleeve with a swish and picks a piece of mushroom from your plate. He takes a bite and his closed eyes crinkle in delight. He picks a potato next and bites into it and joy of taste is the whole of his being. He wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin and then starts to shake with a quiet laughter, rippling out from his belly and up to his eyes causing mirthful tears to roll.

It's difficult to project malice on the smiling god - every bite stuns him into silence, and then joy overflows within him until it can only come out in that soft, wheezing laughter. It maintains the gentleness of an aesthetic used to long silences incongruously paired with the delight of a child to whom all things are new and unbelievable.

The solar god samples everything widely, chopsticks click-clacking, marveling in every new taste. After a while he dries his eyes and blows his nose and hands you a pair of simple black chopsticks engraved with gold. One has the character for STILLNESS and the other MOTION. Still gently trembling with mirth, Apollo gestures for you to eat too.