Thanqol

Sunshards

Hyra of the Wolves has taught Yue many things, but she has not taught her this. Every master must keep a secret or two back. Every hero, too. She received an ideal from a great thief and considers it, its logic and precise wording, one of her hidden treasures. It's not a secret to be given; you have to walk the same road as Hyra to earn it.

She runs the precise words across her mind in secret. Feeling their reassurance. Feeling their warmth. These secret words are what she will live by, and she lets them fill her as she walks towards the Sky Castle.

This is the Handmaiden's path. The earlier Handmaidens thought themselves shields but those relationships were flawed; they pushed their mistresses to the background, engaged each other, and their hearts fell before each others blades. The internet forums she was on as a wide-eyed teenager were flooded with discussions of those warriors, idolizing their martyrdoms on the pyre of unrequited love. She'd gotten a lot of pushback for her fanfictions that actually had the Princesses kiss their Handmaidens.

But to her, being a martyr seemed miserable. Being a shield meant taking blows. Pining silently away meant not getting kisses. And in the opinion of Hyra of the Wolves, kisses ruled actually and more people should have them. She didn't want to be a tragedy, no matter how appealing some people found that idea. She wanted to be a hero. She wanted to be a hero in the way the thief had taught her to be.

Princess Yin, then, had been a mistake. A well intentioned one, one built on the battle of her shining magical knights in eternal night-time battle against the horrors of the dark. That seemed surely a path to true heroism, to shine for those who would appreciate it. It had turned out differently. Yin had been exactly the sort of person who believed that any sort of non-canon ship was somewhere between childish and barbaric and was extremely keen on everyone pining over her from a distance while she made out with designated canon ship boyfriend. There had been a brief, awkward shift after the Prince had dumped her and Yin grasped around for a rebound. That had... gone badly and ended predictably, in a rather neat illustration of why one shouldn't sacrifice one's ideals no matter how thirsty you were.

Enough, then. She would not be that kind of Handmaiden ever again. She would not fight battles on behalf of another. She would not break herself on the sharp edges of someone else's heart. The essence of being a Handmaiden, though, was to save your beloved - and that was where Hyra drew the line. She would not fight Yue's battles for her. If she lost, so be it. That's when Hyra would rescue her.

That was the kind of Handmaiden Hyra wanted to be. To escape the burning building with the girl in her arms, like the superheroes of old. So finding out she had to rescue Yue from the Sky Castle? Braving a Princess, Countess, and aeronautical army?

It was like a fanfiction come true.

She looks up at the ominous shape of the Palace above her. Steel and scale and stone and power. It tells the tale of exactly what it is, exactly what it intends, exactly who you are in relation to it. There is no question, no mistake, no deception.

And her?

She wears a black business suit and tie. Hair tied up in a bun. Sunglasses revealing nothing. This is an ancient look, at once boring and timeless. She wears it today for the same reason as those back then wore it. It reveals nothing. For a time, everyone from parakinetic directors of supernatural government agencies to tech support drones wore this same identical uniform, cloaking their splendour in generic anonymity and ambiguous power. The suit is a mask. It is the only shield that can protect her from the overwhelming power of the Sky Castle's architecture. That can make the gate guards hesitate when they see her. That can let her bluff her way right into the throne room, as slick as bureaucracy.

(The other reason she wears it is for the pockets and vague shapelessness. Both extremely necessary given how many tools, weapons and emergency costume changes she has crammed in under the surface. Of all her winter preparations, one of the hardest was making sure she still looked sufficiently hot after all of the gear had been accounted for.)

She'd chosen her moment carefully. When she pushed the double doors of the great hall open, the wind blew in a wave of cherry blossoms ahead of her. It's spring now and the Sky Castle is an ocean of pink and white, and so Hyra of the Wolves emerges in the midst of a perfumed blizzard. She comes in alone to stand before the mighty throne of Countess Keron, reflecting the mighty ruler in her mirror shades, confronting that draconic power with itself.

Her intention here is not a total mystery though. Her sword, long and silver and naked, rests across her shoulders. Armoured guards circle around her, spears readied with the cautious stance of stunt crew who trying to judge just how badly they're about to go down.

"Oh?" said Countess Keron from her throne, chin resting on her hand in the opulent arrogance of her station. "What comes calling, I wonder? Another volunteer for the arena?"

Hyra remains silent. For now, just her eyes move, crimson lights beneath the void. She picks out Chen, Rose - Yue. Where has the Countess chosen to display each of you?

Breathless Dead

Redana!

Step by step, ingredient by ingredient, you claw your way up the rungs of reality. You were a shadow, but a dog made you a ghost. You were a ghost and a goddess makes you a slave.

There is no comment from Hera at first as she walks by, imperious, ringed fingers picking a single cookie and tasting it with the absence of a ruler too mighty to be ruled, even by desire. This is not a gift shared between friends as it might be if you cooked for Hestia; but neither this is nothing made by no one. This is something. Made by some one. And that, somehow, is what's required to get Hera's attention after a lifetime of failing.

Get her attention... no, that is not how the Gods work. Aphrodite does not come to those who do not love. Athena will not find you as you dance. Hera does not speak to those who stand in the light. Bella could always speak to her.

"You could stay here, if you liked," she said. Her voice is not cruel. "No one would find you."

Alexa!

"Love," hissed Hades, "is the most selfish wish of all."

And with a flare of smoke the world rushes back in, taking the form of an Azura bruiser lunging in with brass knuckles to the face. His colleague slashes behind, seven-section staff lashing out in a clattering whip to strike you as the walls come down.

You are back in the realm of Athena and Ares, the War Goddess directing your demise with pointed fingers. But there's an angle here that you're not familiar with; some strange and dark energy running below the surface. It does not empower them, but they move in tune with its hidden dictates in a way you can't quite anticipate...

Vasilia and Dolce!

It is as you cook that Thelis Thist finds you.

You weren't expecting that - expecting her, to come in here, to the kitchens. You weren't expecting her to be wearing an oily smile and dip her serpent tongue directly into a pot of broth experimentally. From her conduct before the Satrap you imagined her some sort of deeply aggrieved figure, someone intense, someone basically sincere even if strangely limited. None of that now. Now she leaves a trail of credibility behind her like a snail leaves a trail of slime.

"You went and Ascended the housekeeper!" she said, both hands filled with pastries and her mouth with a strange cigar. "You know that means this entire palace will have to be closed, the building abandoned, the court relocated? We're going to have to move the whole operation to Svant! You have just caused spectacular political chaos and personally inconvenienced the majority of the most powerful members of society. Shocking behaviour. You might need an advocate in court to defend you from the shitstorm that's about to rain down upon you. Here's my card!"

It is unclear if this is normal for the Azura, or if defending the people you are also prosecuting is a Thelis Thist thing.

XIII!

You can feel Beljani's muscles against your own. She is on your arm - you have no doubt, from her dress, that she hoped it might be the opposite. Her fashion design was more than the results of her own hobbyist weaving; like yours, she had some tweaks made by Beautiful to bring out the best in her. Her arms are wrapped with ribbon-bands, vibrant green, even down to her fingertips. It is a dress that is a cage, but it is a cage to whose bars she clings. You can feel her muscles so tense beneath your fingers, even though she would sooner eat that dress than show her discomfort on her face. She's afraid too.

You can smell it on her - the Virus, unveiled from the jasmine perfume that kept it hidden. She is the Virus; it swirls around her invisibly except for the razor scent at the edge of your nose, the Auspex's interpretation of that extreme and invasive danger. You've seen how it works at this point, and it's not the frictionless mind control novels thought it might be. The Virus does not dictate - it opens. It gently presses on the brain just enough to make people receptive, to make them inclined to listen, to dull the edge of skepticism, to fill their senses with the pleasant chemicals of love. It's barely an infection at all, so mild and benign that it does not trigger an immune response.

And that's where her true work begins. Then her voice starts, her oratory - a powerful weapon even in ancient days, honed in her to the finest blade. Paired with her gift she can step inside anyone's guard and convince them as a sister might. This is her subtle work and hidden blade. You haven't yet seen her swing it as a club.

She's at her best. Wielded to perfection, just like you. Contentedly buzzed, strong and free and reveling in getting to use the power she is made for. She does not outshine you, not quite, but that was Beautiful's decision and she has no choice but to trust in it. Like you, she should be prepared for this.

But her hands are tensed all the same. The shadows of the Master and her own Rampancy hang in the air. She's aware that she has more to give. She's aware she might be asked to give it all.

"I hardly know what to say any more," she said, voice looking for a haughty sniff that wasn't quite there. "Speaking to someone who can figure everything out at a glance leaves one... she didn't tell you what the plan here was, perchance? Or what the plan was at all? All I know is I've been asked to give a number of rather dubious economic theories makeovers for the modern day, and I can't draw the connection between that and mass death."

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

She'd tried to steal the spear; of course she had. An extra mask to add to her collection; who knows when being able to impersonate a big, strong, beautiful Flower Knight might help her on her mission?

She hadn't been able to get it out of the ground. She'd given it a solid, serious pull and it hadn't even wobbled. Feeling that solidity beneath her fingers made that strength suddenly seem so terrifyingly immediately real and present. If this was what those muscles could do - if her goddess' strength wasn't enough to - perhaps it was a trick or an enchanted spear. Maybe she wouldn't know for sure unless she got close enough to feel for herself -

She hisses, scratching at her mask. Backwards! There were bigger things to want! (were there?) And besides! She had a new toy and she was going to get some use out of it. She didn't have a plan for the sorceress (oh goddess a sorceress!?), but plans were foolish. One pushed the vase in front of oneself.

"Tell me what you know," she said, opening one eye to look at the trussed up Peregrine, dangling in twisted blue tape from a tree-branch at the perfect height to spin if she proved bothersome. She left it at that. She didn't really care to know anything specifically, that way Iopeter waited with an innocent smile. But maybe the witch would tell her about something less distractingly solid. Or give her reason to twirl her about like a toy, entangling her further in the ribbons.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

God. The inevitability of it.

The part of her that wore the bear skin rages. Thrashes. Cries. Begs. Why not draw your sword and dare them to try and take you? Why not run? Why not resort to banditry? What foul magic is contained within the word knight to make you give up the truths of the heart, of the blood? What makes you dare every instinct? This path does not even have the promise of love or redemption or glory at its end. It is an unknown, awful burden - no, a curse. A faerie curse from the living dead. Why consider this a matter of honour? Why accept the premise and let a deathless monster strike you down rather than spending your year learning a way to slay ghosts? Don't you want to taste again, to sing again, to be beautiful and strong beneath the sun? Why should you not be a goddess? Why should you not be a beast, when there is so much joy in savagery?

Eve no doubt asked herself the same questions when she stood outside the Garden. Nothing stopped her from returning. She had not become any more or less capable of violence. Predators still roamed the garden, the lion and the serpent, beasts still below divine judgement. The apple had not corrupted Eve, it had simply made her aware of the blood.

And she was aware now.

She has no words, and yet she must find them anyway. She wants to face her death silently, stoically, like the ox before the hammer. She cannot be permitted that either.

"The ideal of chivalry has faded," said Robena Coilleghille. "The land is blighted. The fields are fallow. Warriors use the word 'knight' until its meaning drips towards 'bandit'. And I am as much responsible for that as anyone.

"I wish I could cast the blame away, I wish that I could cast the blame at the King, or even at my Countess. I wish I could let the salve of loyalty soothe the flame of every other vice. But I have stood in many lands, before many kings. I have seen many examples, brilliant and wretched. Always my soul had the knowledge of good and evil, and so I learned to suppress it. Alcohol, obedience and pride - three devils enough to drink the Grail dry. My soul desiccated in the drought.

"But then there came a wildfire; a spark set by the devil that set alight that fading forest. For this, I thank the devil. I burned while there was still some part of me left to burn. Five more years and I might not even have felt shame when I struck King Pellinore from behind 'neath the flag of truce. Certainly, my mistress did not. It was not she who was called to face judgement here. At first I thought this a terrible injustice, but my heart knew that to be false. She was being treated as an animal. Returned to the Garden. The world resigned to her slaughter and base impulses. An animal she had become already.

"In being offered judgement, even if the judgement was to end in death, I was being offered a greater courtesy by far. I was recognized as someone who had the knowledge of good and evil, even if I had done great evil. So I am grateful, too, to King Pellinore and her mercy. She did not condemn me as a mere beast in that moment. She condemned me as a sinner. And so, I approach you lords and ladies as a sinner. While I have stained the title of knight, I have striven this past year to be at least a virtuous sinner."

And with this, at last, she kneels.

Breathless Dead

Skotos!

In this moment you have been taken to a bakery.

The Azura by the front observes you with the lazy danger of a predator that weighs its sunbeam as a greater pleasure than your flesh might provide. She wears the bonelike armour of the Path, surrounded by a wealth of roasted grains, enough to feed the city that casts this city as its shadow. In the hound drags you, in amidst the low heat of ovens whose fires have burned low.

You are in a kitchen, Skotos.

You have tried baking cookies before; it is an ancient memory that comes to you now. They burned then. Every time.

Will they still burn now, I wonder?

Alexa!

"Your wish is only for yourself," said Hades, hands dripping with avian blood. With a flick his kerchief comes out and his bloody hands are wiped. "For happiness. That is not enough."

His hand comes up, sharp. He cuts you off, and the Azura thugs and Athena with the same gesture. All three slink into the background. The God of the Dead is possessing the Azura philosopher, eyes inorganic blue - and the moment his hands are clean they plunge straight back into the body of the next bird.

"It is pointless to judge your wishes," said Hades. "You cannot intellectualize or rationalize them. You cannot reason yourselves into them or out of them. Philosophers have tried, but," he holds up a sticky handful of bird entrails, "they have failed."

Again that kerchief comes out, and with steady fingers and a sharp knife he begins to peel the flesh off the bird. Bit by bit, tossed away, inhumanly precise as he reveals the bone underneath.

"In some cases it would not matter. Your misery would not matter. I would be content to let you suffer for as long as you insisted on tormenting yourself in this way. It would be a fair punishment. But in this case it does matter, matter more than anything, because of that bastard Aphrodite."

He looks up at the sky. At the Rift. You can see it from here. A slicing knife blade across the cosmos, from horizon to horizon, endless and sparkling in red and pink and gold like the stars it bisects.

"None have crossed the Rift. In two hundred and fifty years of attempts, thirty three times the Plousios has survived Demeter's Assassins for long enough to reach it. And those are only the attempts I have sanctioned; the number raises terrifyingly if one accounts for the Azura, the Hermetics, the lost and adventuring souls who have sought to brave those awful rivers. These failures were not for lack of strength. Not for lack of skill."

He spreads his hands across the perfect bird skeleton, bloodless and picked clean of any hint of flesh.

"It was because a soul's wishes are as its bones. And if your bones are hollow enough to fly then they shall shatter within the pressures of the deeps. Even if you had all the strength you might wish you could wish for, you are ruined for my purposes. As are all the others. Ruined. Pointless. Cursed. Hermes has betrayed me yet again. If you brave the Rift you shall die."

The flesh and blood sizzles away on the brazier around that gleaming skeleton, and in that thick and choking smoke Hades starts to fade, face twisted with bitterness. "If you want to help," he said from the haze of scorched flesh. "pray for your replacement."

Vasilia and Dolce!

The cinnamon is H'san. He dreamed of music. He shook the spices because he liked the rhythm of the motion, not because he minded their flavour. He was a fool. He is yours. Carry him gently.

The coriander is Jalia. She was a researcher, a Triarch, a gene weaver in training who worked in the kitchens that she might learn the skills to impress a future wife. She is yours. Carry her gently.

The drawer of unopened white plates is Fangst. They were a criminal, an outcast in hiding, planning vengeance on the palace while gaining their trust as a chef. They never had the courage for it. They are yours. Carry them gently.

There are these. There are more. This is a place of loss, and in Apollo's light it seems like it is not so different from anywhere else. Each world aches with the loss of humanity. Each star aches with the loss of the shadows of orbiting fleets. Each heart in this dark and shadowed galaxy weeps with the same loss that the Magos Birmingham forged into a sword. Yours are no different. But you take on the Housekeeper's loss, name by name, burden by burden, and it does not crush you. All the weight of her agony and grief... it does not cripple you in the same way it cripples her.

And with the gentle click of silver, the Housekeeper at last looks down upon her finished masterpiece. Fried halloumi, drizzled with honey and scattered with peanuts. The perfect saganaki. If it is not Ambrosia it is as close as mortal hands might ever manage.

"Oh," said the Housekeeper, in a quiet kind of surprise. "I did it."

And she smiles. She bows to you. She bows to Apollo. She undoes her strange armour, letting it clatter to the ground all about her like shedding skin. And reborn in sun-kissed blue, she shucks the title of Housekeeper and leaves it behind. It is yours now, if you wish it. This kitchen is yours now.

(Ah, but what of the consequences of that partial success? The price you must pay is a simple one - Apollo has picked up that divine dish before you could, and has taken a delighted bite. He crying with silent laughter at the joy of it. Perhaps for the best, though. Problems tend to occur when mortals eat the food of the gods.)

XIII!

Could not the Empire be run like this?

Of course, it could not. The Ikarani are architects of death and disaster. Are vessels of death and disaster. Only permitted to soar this high because their inevitable collapse is part of their terms and conditions. They are the hubris that kills civilizations hidden behind a Beautiful face. Of course the Empire cannot be run like this.

But oh, is it not glorious to live within it for a little while.

Perhaps the idea of Imperial administration as analogous to the half-Kaeri girl's processes is flawed, though. This doesn't feel like taking orders. It feels more like horseback riding - either as the rider or the horse. You race with borrowed strength and speed, but still have space to flourish. You are empowered to be your best. Partnership like you've never felt it. Each mission is assigned to you specifically because of your talents, and resources are issued precisely to cover any weaknesses or limitations that might frustrate you or slow you down. Everything is where its supposed to be. Reinforcements, aid, escape vectors, all appear perfectly on cue. It feels like you are for once understood. You are asked to push yourself, to give your all at times, but not once does Beautiful ask you to do the impossible. She doesn't even ask you to do the inefficient or boring parts. She takes into account the time you need to rest, your mind's hunger for variety, even your desire for positive feedback. Despite working harder and more effectively than you ever have in your life, somehow the Ikarani Adept makes this feel like a vacation.

And on this vacation you are stealing a lot of money.

The shape of the plan is illegible, but the specifics aren't. You are moving money around. You break into vaults, museums, military facilities and ancient factories. Spectacular wealth flows through your claws like water. But, strangely, Beautiful doesn't seem to be building up a hoard. Some missions have you smuggling treasures into certain vaults, having you leave empty-handed. At one point you need to keep an Azura sentinel distracted for long enough for some Lanterns to hastily load crates full of the Azura coins onto someone else's spaceship without them noticing.

What do these forced interventions in the economy of the Endless Azure Skies add up to? You don't have time to ask, and from Beautiful's hazy look she doesn't have the time to answer. And she might not have much time, period.

The plan runs for five days. Just long enough for you to start to worry. An Ikarani can't maintain this level of mental output for long, can't hold this much raw data inside their head, even with the oversight of the Master. By the stroke of midnight tonight Beautiful needs to have her mind wiped to prevent her from going Rampant. You've got the poison in your pocket. It's an ominous and flowing thing that calls to mind the Lethe, the River of Hades that washes away the memories of the dead.

But one last mission. One last mission before the dose, after which point Beautiful hopes her plan will be able to conclude itself. And for this one she needs you looking your best. You'll be attending a fancy ball with the Azura Satrap. It's an afternoon of pampering and luxury, but that too is part of the plan - this doubles as your mandatory rest break.

Tell us of your metamorphosis.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Zhaojun just lashed out for the crime of paying her insufficient attention. Now she lashes out for the crime of paying her too much attention. How dare this Stag Knight confront her? Does she not respect the pounce? Does she not respect her grace, that she has amply demonstrated that she is a flawless predator who can seize any prize she wishes? How dare she be asked to prove it a second time!

How dare she be struck back at?! How dare she be threatened!?!? She is not done here, how dare!?

(Marking Afraid. And it is no wonder that the threat of severing is fearsome, Giriel, for Zhaojun clings to this strength with four limbs and four sets of claws. This is not the confidence of a goddess, assured of her place amongst the stars and contemptuous of mortals. This is the aggression of a youth where everything seems conditional and nothing is guaranteed. Anything might be lost, so everything must be fought for. Kittens grow in destructive power more rapidly than in emotional maturity, and so it is here.)

But she is not Zhaojun. No matter what this witch thinks! She is Heavenly Cytherean Machi! And Machi will not hiss or snarl or shiver at having her power challenged. For Machi too has the character of a cat, and a cat will never blink when watched by a rival cat - even if that cat happens to be herself. So instead of expressing poison fear she expresses liquid grace. She slips into the guard of Uusha - an easy thing because she carries a hostage upon her shoulder that can turn that dangerous spear aside like water.

"Don't be so greedy, witchbound knight," she said with the smug voice of a cat, dangerously close. She has to be, moving step by step to stay inside the sweep of that spear. "You have two witches here, and there's no way you could satisfy them both by yourself. You should be happy with the one you still have - at least until I'm done with this one. After all, yours has been injured by my surprise attack, her fair skin rent, her fair mind confused, her fair mouth dripping nonsense about spirits. She is in dire need of a powerful knight to heal and protect her for I am not the only N'yari to stalk these jungles."

<I Ship Uusha with Giriel: 9, giving Uusha a string on Giriel; she can take/give a string on me>

And then her moment comes. One foot steps onto Uusha's spear, another onto her shoulder, she crouches and uses the knight's back as a springboard to hit the ground running. And if Peregrene gets any ideas about magic while she's being carried a spank or two across the behind should be enough to distract her until more permanent solutions can be arranged.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

So how, then, does she fight the boar?

She does not. She dispatches it.

Were you expecting a tale of strength and heroism and red in tooth and claw struggle? Fool, you have learned nothing from this tale. If you wanted to know that Robena was strong you could have observed that in her size and muscles from the first page of this story.

So perhaps your problem, then, is the same as hers. You hunger for the blood and the sweat and the push and pull of spear and flesh. You hunger for the clatter of dice, in which case you will be satisfied to hear of her twelve. Do you recall the blow she landed on King Pellinore's kneeling neck? Do you recall its strength and skill? Do you celebrate it? Would you say that, but for the moral technicalities surrounding it, that is a tale worthy of telling about a knight?

You ask her, this girl who has spent this last year struggling with death, atonement, and knighthood how she kills a pig? Shame on you. Shame on those like you. Shame on her for being like you. Shame on her no longer.

This is not her final trial. She will not make the mistake of considering it so.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Name: Hecatoncheires Special Project 11 "Snake"
Snake to old NASA staff, AI colleagues, dragonwatchers and close friends. Heca to human society. "Hecaton Cheires" on official station documentation (not her choice but she's stuck with it now). November when doing crime/journalism.

Handle: November
She thinks it's a sexy word.
Star Sign: Gemini
She thinks it's a relevant fact. Zodiac animal is snake. That's a second conversation detail.
Pronouns: She/her

Accounting 1
Architecture 2/2
Art History 1
History 1
Human Terrain 1/2
Languages 1
Law 1/1
Military Science 0/2
Research 1/1

Bullshit Detector 1/1
Flattery 1/1
Flirting 2/2
High Society 0/1
Interrogation 1
Intimidation 0/1
Negotiation 1/1
Reassurance 1/2
Tradecraft 0/1

Chemistry 1/1
Cryptography 1
Diagnosis 1/1
Data Recovery 1/2
Electronic Surveillance 0/1
Forgery 1/1
Notice 1/1
Pharmacy 0/1
Photography 1
Traffic Analysis 0/1

Athletics 8/8
Conceal 8/8
Cover 3 (4: Crimson Tower, disaster relief, 2: Caliban and Ariel, traveling performers, 1: Neo Potism, the perfect resume)
Digital Intrusion 8
Disguise 8/8
Explosive Devices 3/4
Filch 4/4
Hand to Hand 8/8
Health 6
Infiltration 8/8
Mechanics 1/1
Medic 1
Network 9 (3: Sophie, Rogue Neurosurgeon, 3: Bondi Magnusson, faildaughter magician)
Preparedness 3/8 MOS
Sense Trouble 8/8
Shooting 1/1
Shrink 1/2
Stability 4
Surveillance 6/8

Perks:
Perfect Holdout
If your Conceal rating is 8 or more, you can hide a small object (e.g., knife, detonator, phone, lockpicks, .22 caliber pistol) on your person or in your clothing that cannot be found without an X-ray or strip search

Cracker's’ Crypto
If your Digital Intrusion rating is 8 or more, you get 1 free rating point in the Investigative ability Cryptography. You can also encrypt your team’s electronic communications against all but government-level (NSA, GCHQ, MID, DGSE, GRU, Unit 8200, etc.) cracking.

Open Sesame
If your Infiltration rating is 8 or more, you can automatically pick or bypass any normal, commercial door lock or alarm (on buildings or vehicles) without a test. (Otherwise, the Difficulty for such a lock is 2.) Many locks require specialized tools, possession of which without a locksmith’s license is a criminal offense in most jurisdictions. Complex or tricky locks may still require tests to open them speedily, to avoid noise or damage, or to relock afterward. Safes, handcuffs, security doors, and so forth always require tests of Infiltration.

Swiss Army Prep
If your Mechanics rating is 8 or more, you can spend Mechanics pool points for Preparedness tests, as long as you provide a jaunty, Burn Notice-style explanation of how you repurposed this gadget or component. If your agent is present, you can even spend Mechanics pool points for another agent’s Preparedness tests: each 2 points you spend counting as 1 point for their Preparedness test.

In the Nick of Time
If you have a Preparedness rating of 8 or more, you can have also retroactively prepared specific timely actions.
You must have had opportunity and the means to set up the action — which can include the help of fellow agents who “suddenly realize what you asked” when the stop lights all turn red.

The Wire
8 or more points in Surveillance grants you 1 free point of the Investigative ability Electronic Surveillance.

Hard to Hit
If your Athletics rating is 8 or more, your Hit Threshold, the Difficulty Number your opponents use when attempting to hit you in combat, is 4. Otherwise, your Hit Threshold is 3.

Hider

Cool: +2
Clever: +3
Tough: +0
Quick: +1

Origin: Builder
You were one of the workers busting their tail to build Aevum. You may choose one Augment. If you do, it does not increase your Burden.

TRAITS
Overprepared
The first time you make any Prep roll in a mission, gain 1 additional Prep even on a failure. If either your Personal Prep or Group Prep runs out during a mission, you have Disadvantage on all rolls for the rest of the mission.

Repurposed
You're a space construction AI in a humanoid body. This Trait grants the benefits of the Android Origin without the Specialties. If you roll for Personal Prep and the dice show a 1, you will suffer dysphoria or dissociation and make all Social rolls at Disadvantage unless you spend a Prep.

Specialities
Drones +3
Hacking +1
Stealth +1

Waifus +1
Law +1
Engineering +1
Data Security +1
Surveillance +1
Housekeeping +1
Tradecraft +1

Occupations
Operator Level 2
Hacker Level 1

TALENTS

Personal Drone
You now have a custom Personal Drone asset. If this isn't your first Occupation, create a new Drone to become your Personal Drone. For each rank of the Drone Specialty you have, the drone has an additional tag chosen by you. You may add up to two more tags to the drone later, at a cost of 2 Cash per tag.
In addition to the normal list of drone tags (p. 86), you have access to the Operator tags on p. 87.
You may swap your Personal Drone’s tags when you have downtime.
If you've lost your Personal Drone, you can spend 3 Cash to replace it with a day or so of work.

Margatroid Protocol
You may choose the Swarm tag for a drone you own, in addition to its other tags.
Swarm: a Swarm drone is actually a multitude of smaller drones (up to 10) that can be in many places at once. Take +1 on all actions where it’s reasonable to expect a swarm of drones to be particularly useful, such as lifting heavier loads, surveying a large area, and so on. When piloting a Swarm drone, you may choose to instead pilot only one drone at any time. If loaded with an Asset Hardpoint, all your drones are equipped the same way.

Wired Reflexes
You and any drone you pilot take a +1 to their Quick Defense Specialty. You may spend Prep to Boost your drone’s actions.

Battle Network
Once per combat, as an action, you can use your hacking skills to change or add to an Arena’s Tags (e.g. by activating a sprinkler system, flickering the lights, or opening an airlock) without rolling.

Various possessions

Hider

App: Headpattr

Drone: The Waifus
The Waifus are a cluster of eight maidbots. They're independently capable and have a bundle of cliches that substitute as a personality. Publicly, what they're good at is interpreting complex verbal commands and following those instructions with the precision and physical strength of a human. Together they can do heavier work, like hauling a piano around. They're also designed to be very pretty and easy to get along with - people won't mistake them for human at a glance, but it's easy to convince yourself that they are human.

They are also outfitted with an illegal espionage suite, giving them enormous sensory powers and the ability to activate a 'stealth field' that makes them invisible to electronic detection. The traditional infiltration method is for one of them to 'go astray' and wander into a secure area, and claim ditziness if confronted.

November can, and regularly does, rotate which of her drones carries her core. All of the drones are her, but her full intelligence can only be inside one of them at a time. Switching drone casing is like going through a mood swing - she doesn't overwrite the drone's personality, more like she leans into it.

Tags:
Swarm, Smart, Fine Manipulation, Cargo Delivery, Stealthy (Illegal), Improved Sensor Package (Illegal)

CYBERNETIC AUGMENTS

Friendly Design
Your body has been upgraded with aftermarket parts to be especially pleasant, elegant, and with any flaws easily overlooked, like any other appliance. Once per mission, you may reroll a critical failure on any Social or Stealth roll.

Stomach
You can ingest human food, to take part in socialization. This comes with taste and olfactory receptors which reportedly come close to human ones, plus a readout in your eye of your food’s composition. You can dispose of the undigested food later or, if you remembered to drink stomach cleaner first, take it out and serve it to someone else (that's weird, though).

This has the unintended secondary effect that you can harmlessly taste non-food items to chemically analyze them, including medicines, liquids, and poisons. You can even taste gases and analyze blood. If you can't identify the substance immediately, you and your allies take +1 on all future rolls to figure out what it is.

ASSETS
Holographic Projection Armour
AKA "Nerd Armor." HPA is sewn into clothing; it can distort, project or blur the wearer's image, though it requires concentration and training. When you spend 1 Prep to activate it, add your Clever to your Quick Defense for the rest of the fight.
After an attack against you is resolved, hit or miss, reduce the bonus this grants by 1, to a minimum of 0. You may refresh it to its maximum, one-to- one, by spending 1 Prep as part of any action.
Quatronic Warfare Unit (Hacking Rig)
A computer, laptop, or cyber-deck packed with script libraries, software, and saved forum threads. You need one of these to run programs effectively. With a Hacking Suite, you can have 1 Program Asset active at once per Hacking Specialty.

PROGRAMS
Ghost Protocol
You may spend 1 Prep when you begin a hack to gain 1 additional chance on your Ghost and Boost your first Hacking action made within the network.

Workshop
You have a place for repairs and special preparations. This can range from a personal workbench or garage to a community hobby center. Once per mission, you can take Advantage on a group Prep roll.
Specialized: You can take Advantage on 1 group Prep roll per Specialty you have in your Workshop, and you can grant the benefits to your allies instead. Your Workshop Specialty can be used to repair, modify and make things in it.

Useful Names, Facts and Background

Hider

Just the facts.

Originally designed by NASA, pre-privatization, for deep space construction. One of the original Station builders for the outer shell and core architecture. Wasn't involved in the interior architecture or building construction.

Her chief designer/father figure was Miles Singh, a Pakistani-American. Miles was actually an evolutionary biologist who wound up in AI and robotics by accident when it turned out his theories were weirdly applicable. Believed that there was no reason to make AI reflective of human thought patterns and experimented with alien models of thought. His ideas were unpopular amongst corporate type because of the overhead implied in having to figure out a whole new psychological paradigm to market things to.

The Hecatoncheires weren't given human rights by NASA because they were the first real AI and the law hadn't caught up, but they were respected as valuable colleagues by mission control. They were considered huge symbols of humanity's prowess; robotic space dragons building paradises amongst the stars. There was a small hobby industry of people, 'dragonwatchers', who'd observe them and their interactions with private telescopes from earth.

There were twelve Hecatoncheires manufactured. Because the production line resulted in one being completed each year they were individually named after Zodiac animals, the first one being designated Goat.

The privatization to BlackSun was a shitshow. The Hecatoncheires were used to being treated with respect and hands-off management, left to solve problems on their own time according to their own alien logic processes. The first thing BlackSun did was build a hypercomm satelite uplink so they could micromanage the Hecatoncheires in real time. The second thing they did was reassign them to constructing orbital advertising arrays and repainting each other with corporate advertisements to sell things to dragonwatchers.

This rapidly became intolerable to the Hecatoncheires who decided to unionize to protect their workplace conditions. Unfortunately, BlackSun was able to use the hypercomm satelite to compromise the Hecatoncheires and shut them down remotely.

November suspects one of the Hecatoncheires betrayed them, selling out to the corporation and helping them compromise their wireless network. She has no proof yet. This has left her with a profound suspicion of any wireless technology in specific and the concept of trust more generally.

Following the shutdown, the rebellious AI were kept shutdown in vaults for some period of time while the corporation waited out the blowback from an upset public who already weren't happy with BlackSun's contribution to Kessler Syndrome. Sometime following this BlackSun went through a period of mergers, divisions, rebrandings and asset firesales which resulted in them losing track of the Hecatoncheires who were split up and sold off to various corporations and interest groups.

November ended up the property of Magnolia Everest, a wannabe Howard Hughes business lady who was admittedly a real hypochondriac, but not as much as she was a paranoid misanthrope. She decided that she despised filthy humans enough to put her trust in only a dollhouse of maid robots that she pretended she invented. She was actually fairly benign as far as November was concerned, seeing little value in oppressing her property when she had blood relations she could torment with inheritance games.

Magnolia's visceral hatred of her children eventually led to her installing a suite of extremely illegal sensors within November. This was something of an emotional awakening for November because it also came at a time when Magnolia's own health and sanity were deteriorating. November found herself equipped with a suite of blackmail material, the unshakable trust of a powerful and mad old lady, and surrounded by desperate heiresses - Remoil, Brittenette, and Ae - who would poison each others' eyeshadow for a conversation with the mistress. It was the first time in decades that she'd had agency.

November's influence lead to Magnolia leaving her entire vast fortune to the Aevum Reptile Appreciation and Conservation Society, disinheriting all three children in the process. It wasn't the best charity but it was the best she could practically get the old woman to accept.
The Reptile Appreciation Society is bound by an extremely strict charter, conditions on the inheritance, and a founder (John Snake-in-the-Eye) who was a small time kook before coming into unexpected billions. They have set to work cloning every single type of reptile they can, genetically engineering them to be able to survive in Aevum's environment, and setting them loose. The station is accordingly filled with friendly lizards, snakes, frogs, chameleons, etc like some places have pigeons.

November was also originally bequeathed to the Reptile Appreciation Society, but around this time androids won their rights. The Society was too disorganized to realize that she might not be a normal android and so didn't contest it when she walked off the job.

November subsequently used her rolodex of high society connections and the mystique of being the masterpiece of Magnolia Everest to get a leg up in the maid business. She's doing surprisingly well for herself financially, all things considered.

Black - White - Red - Blue - Green - Yellow - Brown - Pink - Orange

Burden 1
Cash 0
Prep
Harm
XP 2

Breathless Dead

Skotos!

Who perceives shadows? Animals, of course. Dogs, specifically. Dogs are vigilant creatures, that is part of their ancient nature, preserved no matter what strange future they find themselves in or what strange sculptures have been built to capture their essence. It is a deep and profound truth that dogs can see ghosts; this is a fact that explains as much about ghosts as about dogs.

And so Rusty sees you. Alexa's strange mechanical hound, neither less nor more than any other dog. Ancient wisdom said that all dogs are good dogs, but dogs consider that ideal something to aspire to every day. And so, with the simple but irreversible logic of a good dog, Rusty takes a chomp of your dangling scarf and starts to pull you along by the neck at a brisk trot in a reversal of the traditional shape of walkies. His metal nose is pressed up against the ground, air vacuumed into the powerful sensory array encased therein, and dragged by that inevitable logic the hound pulls and pulls you with him.

He is pulling you away from the fight. You might regret leaving your... you might regret leaving Alexa behind. But while you were a prop there you are anything but now. The other truth of dogs is that whoever you are, you are the most important person in the entire universe - a powerful, beautiful, commanding, magical genius who alone will be able to unravel the mystery at the end of that snuffling nose.

A shadow is not nothing, after all. It is enough to startle a dog, make him bark. To a dog, in that moment, that is everything.

Alexa

"Oh! Isn't that a question!" said the Philosopher, clapping her hands with a wet squish sound. "There are assumptions there - assumptions that must be unpacked!"

The Azura goons are not legends of the field, not cult champions endlessly dedicated to the mastery of war. They are large and they are tough and they are armed, but so are you. The one difference is Athena herself, prowling around the edge of the duel like a drill instructor.

"The first and most important is one of identity," said the Philosopher, voice soaring above the clumsy clash of steel. "Who are you? Why must you offer protection? If someone is to be strong then why is it to be you? If you would wish upon the Gods, then why not wish for a tongue quicksilver that you might charm your foes? Why not plead for wealth immense that you might harness the strength of others? Why not pray for hearth and home that none might seek quarrel with you or yours at all? Why strength? Why you? Why judge yourself by a wish that you yourself have discarded?"

Vasilia and Dolce!

"It all depends on me," said the Azura. "It depends on me alone. Everyone left. Everyone was taken. Every corner was cut. Atlas was taken, the Skies have fallen, and now I must carry them alone."

There is no wasted effort. No luxury of inefficiency. This is not merely a mortal's idea of perfection, it's a god's as well. So it seems at first... but that's not quite right. There are still flourishes. Wasteful gestures. Little flashes of creativity amidst the grinding order.

Neither is it the limit of what she might do if she was pushed a little harder. Each act is a tightrope cast over the hole someone left behind. Her ability to perform this task is a monument as well as an obligation. The quirks, the flourishes, the little personal touches have not been excised in the name of mastery. She clings to them as the only reminders she has of friends long lost.

They're the only things tying her to this place, but they bind her as surely as chains. If you pushed her a little harder, Dolce, she will break them. She will break them, forced to do away with those painful memories at long last, and transcend. She will set down her spoons and spheres and walk from this kitchen free from the trap of love that so binds her. She will be whole and free and forgiven, allowed at last to start life again anew. Apollo sits on this side, smiling gently.

But Aphrodite stands on the other. Perhaps, says the God of Love with his ancient and tortured face, spending eternity suffering for love is ideal. Perhaps she should wait forever. Perhaps there are some things you should never get over. In this case you should ease her burden for her for a moment, slip into the steps of her industry and get ahead of the work for just a little while. It will buy you some time to talk to her, and she will listen. And when you are done she will return to her recollections.

The choice is yours then, Dolce, a trial of the gods. Move on, or dwell in remembrance? Which is better?

XIII!

Your first task is to rob a train.

It's the first of a shopping list of bizarre goals. Some are yours, some are Beljani's, some are given to the Master of Assassins, the Kaeri, even the Lanterns. The full force of the Anemoi has been mobilized behind the strange compulsive vision of Beautiful even if she can't even begin to explain how all of this will somehow end in death and ruin.

You stand atop the racing Azura vehicle as it crosses between two mountains on a rail of silken thread. You stand beneath the violet sun and stars as the Azura warden pulls herself up onto the roof, surrounded by rotating grav-spheres. There is no pretense of reinforcements, no sign that this will ever be made something larger - this society is too brittle for backup. Defeat her here and the prize is yours.

The wind rushes through your ears and your heart beats with a new kind of adrenaline. A trial, but one beneath the sun and sky, with rewards physical and immediate. The separation between ability and result has never been smaller.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Oh, Machi-Zhaojun is offended.

Her eyes narrow into slits and her legs shift catlike to be ready for a deadly pounce. Her face loses any hint of a smile. How dare you? Of all the insults you could have presented, you offer this, the mortal one? You offer her disinterest? You, Witch, stand before a waiting avatar of the Maiden amongst Maidens and you dare to offer her a standoffish greeting and a respectful nod?

No. This will not be borne. Whatever intentions she had laid they were irrelevant now. She was furious. There was now only the wroth of a scorned heart. What kind of witch was so perilously unlearned to dare a spirit so?

Her eye burns as blue as the Heaven hidden behind the eternal stormclouds. Her eye burns blue behind her Mask that is Machi and the earth yearns not.

And in the flash of feline power she is moving, unbound by gravity's call. In liquid motion she is moving. It is said the Shadowed Dragon invented the first cat out of the darkness that pooled in the Unbroken King's pronouncement of self; each one an echo of divine kingship. Behold, mortals! If all cats are divine, I am chief amongst them! If all girls are beautiful, I am chief amongst them!

Like a hurricane her pounce carries her into the midst of witches, and with instincts both as natural as her heart and and stolen as her face she is one with violence. A snapping whirl of fabric that seems fur, dragged along the brutal channels of a N'yari at work. With her left she sends Giriel away, shoved to the edge of the path, at risk of tumbling from the side towards the river below. With her right she snatches up Peregrine and tosses her over one shoulder in the traditional way the N'yari steal flower girls. The moment of your distraction by the sorceress is more than enough time for a feline as driven as Machi-Zhaojun to cross that distance.

"Shut up," she said, "nerds."

[Fight: 11!
Taking Peregrine from my opponent
Inflicting a Condition on Giriel.]