Thanqol

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

There was no friction in Molech taking command of the Plousios. In fact, it feels like a strange relief to the structure of the ship. All questions are resolved. The path is clear.

The Alcedi cannot be faulted, for they are as much the children of Molech as you are. When he reached his hands into their genetic code and wrote the rhythms of war into the tempo of their hearts he left a hole that could only be filled by fealty to legitimate authority. With one breath he announced himself, and with the second he announced their target. And that is all that was needed.

Thunder rumbles down the corridors of the Plousios, as it always does as the Kingfishers prepare for war. The Alcedi are creatures of Zeus even more than they're cogs in Athena's engine. They are the glory of battle from the skies; a thunderstrike of unstoppable destructive force. They are the saviours, reinforcements, the fall of the hammer against the anvil of the machine phalanxes. All across the galaxy, battle cultists lose themselves in emulation of the gods in their most martial aspects: The legendary Azura bridge keepers, the mad cults of Ares, the Codexia of Athena, and many more besides. The Alcedi were unique amongst the battle servitors and their divine traditions for drawing the open favour of Zeus. They seemed to be Molech's masterpiece, displacing their elder sisters, the Kaeri.

(Unstoppable until the howls of the wolves of Ceron drowned out even the crash of thunder. How had Nero beaten him? You still don't understand it.)

The Order of Hermes, likewise, fell into place easily. In their case, though, it seemed less a declaration of loyalty or the fulfilling of a genetic sequence so much as it was carefully placed submission. The Order of Hermes is, from what you've learned about them in your time with Ramses, overwhelmingly aware of what they have to lose. Their society is deeply materialistic and categorically resists displays of noble self-sacrifice. The loss of the Yakanov, one of the flagships of their civilization, to the crossfire unleashed by a single Imperial Assassin was another data point to emphasize just how bad an idea it would be to start raising questions if a human - and an emperor, no less - showed up and started issuing commands. So they fold, having endured enough displays of force in recent days to make another one undesirable.

Your role, then, is to talk to the Assistant Secretary of Fear and Doubt. Molech does not understand or appreciate the organization or relevance of the creatures of Poseidon, but cannot overlook their military potential for the looming battle. And so you are sent into the lower depths of the ship which have begun to look curiously like the mangrove forests of the Eater of Worlds, thick and humming with life and the clack-clack of battlecrabs at every stage of development. The Assistant Secretary's home is in a massive pavillion, red and white striped, surrounded by ranks of crabs holding flags and banners in massive pincers that look one errant twitch away from severing in half.

Vasilia and Dolce!

There is music. Someone is singing. They've got the voice of an... the voice of a...

You don't have time to listen. You already spilled a quarter of the soup as the music hit you. There are polite coughs and your throat is itchy. But some attention turns from the dance floor and to you - and your meal. Some Azura seem to awaken as if from a deep sleep when the smell of your cooking touches their flickering tongues.

Bella is here. She is dancing with a dark stranger. Thist did not lie when she said the assassins were close.

But that... music. It's getting into everything, infectiously, hypnotizingly good. If you're going to keep bringing this meal out, and potentially distract the Azura from it, you'll need to roll to Overcome.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Would you believe her if she said she had no idea who The Green Sun was?

The Lore of Demons is forbidden. It is power wrapped up within the Bureau of Secrets; the lore of names and power and ancient terror. Zhaojun is the connection between Heaven and Earth, but the mysteries of the underworld are not for her to know. Perhaps it is a joke of the Maidens; one final twist of the knife that such a profound entity be forgotten.

And so, Zhaojun finds herself tongue tied and outmaneuvered. Peregrine has snatched a question, and the Green Sun has let slip a poison answer. A tension coils at the base of her spine, tying into her jaw. Somehow she has become weak. She had called upon the greatest power she knew to ask and now she was learning that there were powers beyond that. She was being threatened, bullied, ignored, disrespected. She'd come all this way and it still wasn't enough.

"You know what my question is," she huffed, bluffing. Her muscles strained against her attempt at relaxation, at confidence. This was the only escape she could see; to shrink back behind her stone mask and force the demon to bargain as though a greater power than he were underneath. "So stop playing dumb, go ahead and answer it."

Don't see me. I need you to see me as something else.

[The Mask to persuade the Green Sun of a lie: 6]

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"I command you to address me as Molech," said the living dead. "Preceded by emperor, master, or father, as the context requires."

And this is his answer. He is not interested in your complaint. He is not interested in addressing himself to you, or explaining his motives or your fate. Already his mind has moved on, discarding your complaint like the grinding of an engine that needs naught but oil.

"Furthermore, I command that should I die, you are to kill yourself," he went on. "If I become imprisoned or lost you are to find me and return to my side. If you hear someone discussing how to kill or overthrow me, you are to kill them on the spot. If you see that child Redana you are to kill her before she can use her command seal on you, and bring the seal to me."

And that is you, Alexa. The problem you present is solved. His machine mind whirs on to the next problem.

"We must consider the battlefield," he went on. "That an Ikarani is unleashed means that our ship will be a target, and there are few pieces on the board that can threaten it. The Alcedi will answer the call of a true Emperor; they shall be both shield and sword, and you shall lead them. We will rally the tribes, thwart the assault that is no doubt directed at our ship, and use the intelligence gained from our victory to pinpoint the Ikarani's true location."

Vasilia and Dolce!

Thist gives a strange look. It's surprised; surprised that would even be a question.

"She wasn't special," said Thist. "It's like that for everyone. Everyone is cursed, Reacher. Haven't you heard?"

She stops when she reaches the kitchen doors, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Ask Hades when you reach the Tunguska, he'll tell you all about it."

You have a meal to prepare, Dolce.

Sunshards

And once again the world has come back together. It's no fluke, this time. Whatever force tries to break you into three different stories, be it Qiu's blade or simple time and distance, cannot maintain its hold in the face of such harmony. These are not independent moments existing in parallel; they are one moment. One dance. And the partners switch as naturally as rhythm.

Cyanis is squealing through her gag as she is dragged along by Yue, Princess Jessic in hot pursuit. It's not how you might dream a dragon chase might go; there are no snapping fangs or fiery breath. Jessic may be a dragon, after all, but she is a person as well and people use their mouths for eating, talking, kissing, and sometimes holding swords as Yue has demonstrated. You don't just go biting strangers! And so Jessic's pursuit is more catlike than anything, bursts of lightning speed followed by swipe-blows with dragon murder-mittens that bat the poor fluffy tails of girl wolves and fox girls about as she follows so close behind, distracted only by the sudden and unconscionable spillage of her secret notebooks across the floor.

And then in the next moment Yue is racing between the whirl of scattering guards, cast aside by the wroth of the Rose from the River. And that, Rose, is when you find yourself face to face with Princess Jessic; your mistress' mistress. She is momentum furious and focused, secure in her own power - and blind to yours. She has seen you soft, but has not seen you sharp. She is a Princess, one of the greatest dangers of this surface world, but she has no handmaiden here to shield her - as you are here to shield Chen.

And Chen, you do need shielding, as an arrow soars through the air inches away from your leaping. The only reason it doesn't hit you is because it was not intended for you - but the only reason it wasn't intended for you was that it was intended for Hyra, who has run and dived mid-air to take cover behind you. The Maiden of Wolves grins up at you. "Hey. I'm Hyra. Nice to meet you." And then she's off a-scampering with a speed to match that of Yue, a speed that takes time as a wolf to truly understand. She's quite cravenly left you facing down an determined Countess Keron, armed with greatbow and naginata. The Countess draws another heavy arrow, and aims it at you as her guards form a shieldwall around her.

And then, Yue, for a moment you're running alongside Hyra. She grins at you as she goes, feet flashing across the floor, as you rush together for the end of the hall. It's such a grin, too. You know this is her moment, still, but she's not using it to fight Keron, or continue her game of wits, or to defeat a hundred guards, or anything else that seems obvious. She's still got something else in mind. She's got her own story, told to the beat of her own secret ideal, and you somehow know all the important parts while knowing none of the specifics. And right now that story tells her to run alongside you - leaning down as she does to take the protesting and gagged Cyanis from you and heft her over one shoulder with strong arms.

And oh. Maybe her plan has her carrying you the same way? Or perhaps a different way?

Breathless Dead

Skotos!

"Ahhh, at last," said Aphrodite. "I thought I was going to die of old age before you got there. But then, I've always had trouble with time. Did you know, I used to reign supreme across the whole cosmos? I did not need thunder, or warfare, or virtue to do it. No, I needed merely two things: desire and time."

He gave a wry chuckle. "And then daughter dearest over there cut one from the other. Now I still have that supreme power over desire, but I'm... stuck... waiting. I'm stuck waiting for everyone to realize that I am all that matters. I'm stuck waiting for everyone to find their matches. I'm cut in half, like the galaxy, like you and Bella. Tick, tick, tick, I've waited for you to ask me for something. For you to realize that I've got the only thing that matters."

He rolls his shoulders. Straightens his tie. He looks younger. Not a lot, but the dust seems to fall away and there's a new health to him now. A streak of black amidst the grey.

"All my children only had claim to you before you realized it, before you said it. Now they command you no longer. Now you are mine. But... hmm, no girl of mine can be a mere shadow. Let me fix that."

He pulls a silver casino token from his pocket and gives it a fond flip. "You can borrow this," he said, tossing it over to you. When you catch it -

Skotia!

You are a shadow no longer. That silver token was a name, one of Aphrodite's. Where Skotos is a shadow, Skotia is the Dark One. The night-time stranger, dressed to steal dances, roses, hearts. An edge of danger. An edge of passion. It comes with a wardrobe change, worthy of a formal Azura party. You must look the part, after all, Aphrodite would allow nothing less from himself.

Alexa!

"Oh, you betrayed him? Interesting," said the Azura, though he didn't sound in the least bit interested. He made a note in his notebook regardless. "He didn't mention that."

The Shahrak keeps you waiting for a moment as he adjusts the magnification lenses on his glasses. Age is a tricky thing in a galaxy where eternal youth was mastered many aeons ago. For a creature such as he to appear this old implies one of a number of tales; it speaks of poison, the sacrifice of his beauty and strength to the Gods, or having reached an age where Hades' pull begins to outweigh even the gene-alchemy of the Splicers.

"It's a fair question," he said. "But the Eater of the Dead believes it is precisely your increasing irrelevance which will allow you an outsize impact on the game being played. Precisely, the deal is thus: Emperor Molech, if you bring me the head of the Ikarani adept operating on this world, the Skies will provide you with a new body and a one way trip to lands beyond Our sight."

"A body of my choosing," said Molech sharply.

"Oh, really now?" said the Shahrak. "You believe this is a negotiation?"

"You taught me to watch my words around you, snake," said the Emperor.

"I told you to learn some manners," said the ancient serpent. "And the correct protocol when your betters offer you charity is to smile and say 'thank you'."

The mad emperor seethed and ground his teeth. The Azura scientist waited for a moment, and then turned back to his book.

"I accept your terms," said Liu Ban.

The Azura kept reading.

"Thank you," Molech spat.

"Better," said the Shahrak. Without looking up he raised one withered hand. "Alexa, I bind you with this command: Do not harm me or my property," he thought about it for a moment, and you're surprised when he leaves it there. No additional qualifiers. "Secondly, obey the commands of Liu Ban. That is all."

"My first command," said Molech. "Is not to harm me either."

Vasilia and Dolce!

Thelis Thist held up a hand, looking away in faux hurt disgust. "Woah! I'm sensing a lot of negativity flowing my way, a lot of questions, a lot of equine dentistry if you catch my drift. I'm hurt - but you know what, I get it. You've been through a lot, so, cards on the table," she raised her hands to either side of the two Tunguska tickets. "A few quick answers and then we have to get to work. Hmm?"

"So, to cut a long story short, I am that rarest of breeds - a predator that preys entirely upon other predators. And you are, and forgive me lady for so saying, prey creatures. Sure you might have a little cat in you, but that's not the same thing as being sweet enough for my fangs. I wouldn't eat you if the sheep did you up in herbs, no offense. Instead... well, I reckon two well traveled souls like you might know that there are two paths to wealth. You could sweat and slave over the chisel for years to make something new from nothing, or you could arrange for a little hostile redistribution, am I right?" She took a deep inhale of her cigar smoke. "So it is with the gifts of Artemis. And I'll swear in Artemis' name that my only interest in your lives is to catch the ones trying to end them, may my fangs fester if I lie."

She leaned back, pulling a large mechanical pocketwatch from her toga pocket and glancing at it. "There should be two assassins arriving around now, one you know and one you don't. Distract them for a bit. Make them feel at ease. And listen closely for further instructions, the lives of everyone you know will depend on your swift obedience."

Bella!

"Yes, you know where you belong, and it is to my mother," said Redana, passion ice cold. "Of course you are not loyal to the Empire. Nobody could look at the wretched hive of Tellus and call it good, especially after seeing the stars beyond. Of course you are not loyal to your friends, for they are simply tools to get what you really want. No, loyalty to me, the Imperial heir, because I have no power yet. You only worship at Nero's feet. You only care about power."

Her teeth clenched, and then relaxed. There was a distant, angry sympathy there. "And of course you do. Only power can keep you safe, after all, and that's what you really want. You're so afraid and I'm so..."

Redana's cold anger hesitated, trembling, lost. A dark shiver ran through the hall, the rattle of wine glasses. And then, more from decision than passion, she froze over again in your arms.

"But I am trying to actually wield that power," she said, though there was no conviction in those words. "To change something. Because I'm loyal to something even more distant than power."

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Robena Coilleghille sits atop the white cliffs and gazes out across the Channel. Mail and leather lie between her and the soil of fair England. She contemplates a world she didn't realize she'd be leaving forever.

It hurt that there had not been a parade. There had not been a celebration. There had not been gifts of gold handed out by jeweled lords, dressed in dead men's finery. Some deep part of her still craved that, the pat on the head and promise that she was a good dog. Some part of her would kill for that. Die for that. Perhaps it always would. To find someone worthy to drown in...

But there would be no attagirls this time. No one would wipe the blood from her lips and tell her she'd done well. She was not to be honoured with title and land. She was not to be blessed with a faerie sword. She was not to be treated with kindness and love. She'd chosen a path of terrifying isolation. She'd chosen a path apart from every other knight she knew. She'd chosen a path apart from the Kings of Britain, apart from the Duchess, apart from the bards and minstrels and camaraderie of rough women. Nobody gave a damn about her story, she had realized. Nobody wanted to hear it. Nobody wanted to assist in its telling or its aftermath. She was sat here in silence after having dragged her way through a land that had not called for her, leaving ruin in her wake. In the end she had not ascended to the rank of storied hero, she'd climbed to the lofty pillar of performing the basic functions expected of a human being. No wonder nobody stood by her now. They did not make women saints for merely resisting temptation.

Her thoughts were stormy enough to block the channel, dark enough to call for four more weeks of winter. She stared at distant France for a long time, metal hands tapping away at the chalk. She considered departing. Starting again in some foreign land, with a spotless reputation and enough hard-won wisdom to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. What more could she do here, in this country that she had failed?

But then her brooding thoughts asked a different question, and the storm stumbled.

Why is it that I am alone?

She had walked England for years now. She had not yet found a sisterhood of worthy knights to pledge herself to. Lostwithel had faded away into the snow, taking its dreams and glamours with it. Where then were the true knights? The ones who fought with honour? The ones who defended the weak? The ones who spoke only truth? The ones whose wroth undid the wicked? Was she truly alone in all of England? Was she, of all Knights, the greatest among them purely because she had attained basic morality? Was she alone in learning to resist temptation?

Good God.

She stood on the cliff's edge and turned to look back at the green and rotting land that covered the northern horizon.

She had considered herself uniquely wicked. Uniquely damned. She'd stood obediently alongside a woman with the soul of a dragon, even after the devil herself had revealed the wickedness contained within Lady Sandsfern's heart. A morality tale for the rest of England to shake their heads knowingly at. But where were those moral people, those spiritual guide, those ideal role models? Why had they not found her? Why had they not found any of the Knights she'd met? Where in all of Uther's Britain were the righteous?

With that question the storm in her mind finally broke. In turn, the clouds of Britain opened and rain began to fall upon her face. Feather-light and sweet. No cloak kept it from her silver shoulders. No reflexive hatred sent her grumbling in search of shelter. It pulled away dirt and grime and oil that it felt had been there forever. Though it chilled her the sun shone through, away to the east, as though distant Jerusalem was reaching out to touch her.

She was not the hero England needed. But she alone knew what that hero might look like. She was not kind, but she knew what kindness felt like. She was not wise, but she understood foolishness. She was not a great woman, but neither was she a beast. She was not a member of a noble sisterhood of knights... but she could help found one.

She turned away from France for the final time. When she did she froze, for the half-storming sky was kissed with the most vibrant rainbow she had ever seen.

And beneath the rainbow, by a simple lighthouse by the cliffs, came a young girl like an angel from God. She was wet from the rain, but still she scaled the heights step by weary step. Robena stood still as the girl made her way up the endless muddy hill, arms filled with heavy bundles. When she arrived at last, the girl beamed up at her in the mortal reflection of the rainbow above her head. "Heya! I'm Artoria. You looked so cold and lonely, up here alone, and I noticed you were having trouble getting your horse to come up the hill with you so... I bought you a cloak!"

There was no fear in this girl's eyes when she looked up at her. She, Robena, a giant in stature, clad in mail and heavy ax... this wasn't a figure of fear. To this girl, she was just a lonely person who had lost her cloak.

She took the woolen fabric from the girl. It was heavy, and warm, and a deep and simple blue. She actually choked up for a moment, but the brilliant eyes of the girl didn't seem to notice her stumble. Robena swung the cloak around her dramatically, and felt a childish happiness that the girl's eyes went wide at the coolness of the gesture.

"Thank you," she said. "I am Sir Robena Coilleghille, Knight of England. As thanks for your kind gift, I offer one of my own: apprenticeship as my squire, and inheritor of all my arts."

The girl's eyes went wide as saucers. "I! I-I think you've gotten the wrong impression, ma'am," she stuttered. "I don't know the first thing about fighting -"

"But you know about kindness," said Robena. "And I have come to realize that is a far harder thing to teach than war."

Breathless Dead

Skotos!

"She is not yours, Skotos," snapped Hera, dropping you to the ground and drawing herself up to her full, regal height. "You have no claim on her location. I have no desire to tell you. Direct the craving in your voice to Aphrodite, for I do not answer the prayers of the heartbroken and desperate. I have no desire to empower the impulses that have bought you to this place."

"I do," said Aphrodite, lighting a cigarette in the corner. His lined face is a mess of creases that might be a smile. Hera casts him an irritated and disdainful look.

"It seems, then, you have a choice to make," she said, stepping back until she was equidistant between you and Aphrodite. "Never say you were never offered one."

Alexa!

You are in a study; opulently appointed, heavy with books. The fading paper smell has soaked into everything. From the outside you can hear reverent prayers of prospective students; not just Azura voices, but servitor-kith the galaxy over who have come here to beg the aged masters for education.

"We had a deal, serpent," said the voice of Cronus, thick with the blood of children.

"We had no such thing," creaked the ancient voice of the Azura Shahrak. "You dictated terms to me. I laughed them off."

"You did no such thing!"

"Did I not? Oh, my, tragic little warrior king," said the Shahrak. "You do need some lessons on polite society, don't you?"

You can feel the hatred pouring from Liu Ban. It doesn't need to be a big hatred, really, it just needs to be big enough to drown every positive impulse, moral or scruple that might check it. And for your father that does not need much hate at all.

Did you know he never fought the Azura? It's a mark of deep shame for him, the perfect Athenean Emperor. His intention was to win his own civil war first and then, once society was perfected, reforged into a weapon, he would at last destroy the Eternal Enemy. But instead he lost the war, lost his head, and is now being disrespected by an Azura technologist who clearly sees him as an item barely more notable than his treacherous daughter. This is his nightmare, the ultimate crushing humiliation. He'd burn the galaxy to avoid specifically this moment. He'll burn the galaxy to avenge it.

The withered Azura Shahrak examines the Command Seal upon the back of his left palm with rheumy eyes. You can feel the power, the threat. They are as Molech designed them, the secret encoding techniques that contain the key to your unhesitating loyalty. If he could not control you himself he sold you to one who could, one who now looks at you through magnifying lens goggles.

"You are... the Pallas Rex?" he asked. "Tragically so, if true. It looks like you have had post-period modifications made to your mouth that sharply reduce your value as a museum piece. In better condition you might have stood as an eloquent symbol of humanity's warlike folly, but as you are... perhaps it is for the best. The Skies have use for you."

Vasilia and Dolce!

The cards match. Border, calligraphy. THELIS THIST, EATER OF THE DEAD.

You turn the card over. Upon the back of Thist's card is written the word TUNGUSKA, the same as the one you carry. Hers is stamped though; she has used hers already.

"Of course," said Thist magnanimously. Her version of polite laughter is more on the devil grin side of things. "I can sate a little of your appetite. I got my first taste of what was coming when I met their advance scout, XIII. Some sort of feline assassin - oh, I see you know her. Well, you might not know they've unleashed their Ikarani adept. I haven't met her but she," Thist took a deep breath of her cigar, "is a data addict. An intellect enough to snatch fire from the gods, who will then inevitably burn in that same fire. Deadly threats, ordinarily, but this one is fighting blindfolded - Sagakhan has not told her about me. Poor girl imagines she's fighting unopposed. If she realizes that she's been made I imagine she'll burn your ship and butcher your crew in a panic. Who else? I suspect but haven't confirmed they might have an Oratus. You've heard a little of my humble speechcrafting," she flashes another grin; only she is in on this joke, "but she is convincing enough to be literally hypnotizing, right up to the point where she loses track of her body and becomes a deadly disease. Of course there's Sagakhan herself, who keeps her capabilities closer to her chest. I've picked up that she's got the eye of Demeter, though, so... hmm, I'd skip any raw salads, put it like that."

"It's Sagakhan you really need to watch out for, though," said Thist. "Any of the assassins might get you, of course, but I've whittled down her elites over the years. Now all that's left are children barely out of basic training and she's evidently setting them up to fail. I'm happy to take the prey, but your co-operation would make it a more... controlled process."

Bella!

Redana takes your hand. She was always distracted during her dance lessons. She is not distracted now. This is the dance of someone who values the dance above her partner. All eyes on you, and that is perfect, for in the distance you can hear Beljani's voice leading the Azura musicians. Her voice is transcendent, and its notes are the reassurance that the clock is on your side.

"You follow me still," said Redana, voice steeled with conviction. She's so restrained, as predictable as sunshine. "It makes me wonder why you did not simply accompany me when I asked. Do you know that it was you alone whom I invited? You alone whom I trusted? And you betrayed me, just to follow me anyway?"

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Is this what it is to be seen?

Correctly, coldly, dispassionately analyzed from a distance and then dispatched with a single precision strike? Nothing to take back to the mud but the verdict of distraction? If she lets it, this can be true. This can be right. This can be justified, and this story can have a righteous ending.

Some part of her folds before rightful authority. Is it the spirit who collapses, as it is programmed to, or is it the girl who acknowledges that she is a thief who has stolen a place in this story? But the other part doesn't let her. It craves still. It craves to be seen not for what it is, but for what it dreams it might be. The strike finds its mark but it does not split the skin. Accuracy alone is insufficient.

"I understand you perfectly," said Zhaojun, shivering back from the force of the blow to coil her finger under Peregrine's chin. "You say that I am in service to the agenda of Hell? That means the Yozi have an agenda here, and rather than discuss it with me, a rightful representative," of what? "you want to discuss and dictate terms to me. Sorceresses are a disrespectful sort, are they not?"

Her hand flares with peacock blue sorcery. She grasps Peregrine by the chin, throat dry, craving burning in her throat like the deserts beyond the Lap.

"And so I will ask again, this time of the demons you truck with: tell me what you know."

[Invoke a toxic power: 5 woooooooooooo]

Sunshards

"... another volunteer for the arena?"

Hyra's eyes snap back into place - and she grins. "Oh, no, not me!" she said. "Never mind me. I'm just here to observe - just let me pull up a seat!" She walks quickly, hands in pockets, over to the side of the room, takes a finely embellished chair, and drags it across the hall. The wood screeches against the marble, a long, drawn out, disrespectful motion, which ends with Hyra tearing the back pillow out and tossing it aside so there'd be a space for her tail to fall out the back. This is important, because her tail has a lot of wagging to do.

Keron watches all this, looks at the smiling wolf sitting upon her ruined furniture, and decides to take the bait. She raises her hand in the sign that her handmaidens place her laser gauntlet upon her wrist.

... and it does not come. She glances about. Mistrile isn't there, neither is Hena. Where are -?

*

"The Countess wants her balloon prepared at this time of night?" Hena asked, exasperated, brushing her hair away as the wind tugged at it yet again.

"It's probably for something romantic," sighed Mistrile dreamily, working on the rigging.

"Romantic? In this weather?" grumbled Hena, looking out at the windstorm. "I don't see anything romantic about it. Airplanes, sure, but balloons? They're so... cramped!"

"That's the point!" said Mistrile. "Stuck in this tiny basket alongside another person, no matter how your bodies twist they're always touching, a little world in the sky that nobody else can touch..."

"Yeah, the genuine utility closet in the sky experience," said Hena.

"You don't think utility closets are sexy!?"

The argument went on, neither girl noticed the sound of a knife sawing away at the anchor line, even as the wind raised higher and higher...

*

"Oh?" said the Countess, eyes flicking back onto Hyra and staying there. "I see what your game is, little wolf."

"Do you?" said Hyra, red eyes widening in mock surprise.

"I do," said Keron. "This is a magic trick. You're trying to distract me. In fact, I'd guess that another crisis is due to start any second now."

She paused meaningfully. The silence dragged on for just long enough to make it seem like she might be wrong - and then a shattering explosion erupted from the second floor balcony. A huge wash of fire rolled out along the ceiling, sending handmaidens running and shrieking in all directions.

Keron didn't even blink. She smiled, eyes fixed on Hyra.

"There we go," said Keron. "Right on schedule."

*

Smuggling explosives into or out of the castle was a difficult matter - rearranging the flammables already inside was comparatively easier. The airplane hangar was guarded, though, but the bathhouse wasn't. Princess Jessic enjoyed the occasional flame baths and moving around a basket full of ignitable lotions seemed perfectly in character for a handmaiden...

*

"Anybody could have set that bomb," said Hyra innocently. "Why are you assuming it was me?"

"Because I've seen this show before," said Keron, drawing herself up to her full height atop the throne. As she does a hidden compartment on the armrest springs open, the Countess' movement concealing the draw of - a tennis ball. The Countess doesn't even look at it, doesn't even show surprise, just lets it fall from her fingers without breaking her stride as she starts to come down the stairs. "Your plan is based on distraction. Surprise. Keeping me off balance. The same as any magician. Making a show with the right hand while the left hand picks my pocket. All that's required to defeat someone like you is to maintain eye contact."

Hyra continued to smile, but she could feel a bead of sweat run down the back of her neck.

"That," she said, "might be easier said than done. You've worked so hard, you deserve to take a rest..."

*

An evening of hard work in the kitchens, up to her elbows in dough. Everything smelled of bananas. Why was this so hard? Flour-caked, recipe book held open in one hand, trying to retrace her step and reverse engineer why the finished product didn't look anything like the picture.

In the end, she had to run down to the market. Passing off store-bought as her own was humiliating, but the mission demands.

*

"Are you referring to the sleeping poison in my breakfast? My food taster caught that one," said Keron.

"You have a food taster!?" said Hyra. "Seriously?!"

"No," said Keron, "but Wen Zi got up earlier than I did and ate my last piece of banana bread against my express instructions. I do not have Princess Chen feeding me grapes entirely for the spectacle of it."

In the background, a Handmaiden's eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed into the arms of her fellows.

"I thought you could keep them in line," said Hyra.

"Such are the problems of running a household of masochists," sighed Keron. "Everyone wants to be punished."

"So," said Hyra, as Countess Keron drew closer still, "what? Do you intend to fight me with your bare hands?"

"If I must," said Keron, flexing her fingers. "But more likely I will simply take your weapon. Then your heart. Then your dignity."

"What makes you think I'll let you?" said Hyra, looking up at Keron as she drew closer.

"I think that you'll let me because -"

+Keron!+ both women flinched at the sudden sharp jolt of telepathy as Princess Jessic burst into the hall, a rolling surge of sky blue scales. +I saw the fire, is everyone all right?+

"Yes dear," said Keron, looking around. "I'm just dealing with -"

And then her arm was twisted around behind her back and Hyra's sword touched her neck. "Hi there~" said Hyra.

"..." Keron let out an extremely long and testy sigh. "Are you serious?"

"What?" said Hyra. "You said it yourself. Maintain eye contact."

"You went through all that trouble and -" the Countess pursed her lips tightly.

"Oh, I didn't go through any trouble," said Hyra. "I had a girl on the inside."

+Keron! Are you okay?+ said Princess Jessic, flaring her wings out threateningly as she moved towards Hyra and Keron.

"I am fine," said Keron tersely. "But can you do something for me?"

+Anything.+

"Grab Cyanis. She is the inside girl," said Keron. "You get her and you have leverage."

In a flash of blue lightning, Jessic is moving. She leaps, clapping her wings to the ground just enough to carry her into a crouch against one of the hall's marble pillars, eyes scanning the room. With predator's swiftness they lock onto the wide eyed fox standing trembling in the midst of a rapidly departing circle of handmaidens - and then the dragoness launches. Like a thunderbolt she crosses the distance, knocking Cyanis to the floor to the sound of a terrified and indignant shriek of "It wasn't meeeeeeeeeee-"

"Ooh, good guess," said Hyra.

"Thank you," said Keron.

"This is an injusticeeeeeeee-" said Cyanis.

"Wrong, though," said Hyra.

"No, I stand by it," said Keron. "Jessic, darling? Make sure to bind and gag her."

"Fox is innocent of crimes! I demand a - mmph!!! Mmph!!!!"

"I'm being serious, she's not actually my agent," said Hyra.

"Listen," said Keron, "I understand that you're desperate, but this ridiculous bald-faced lie has run its course. Release me or the fox will never see the light of day again."

"Whatever you say," said Hyra. "Sorry Cyanis."

"Mmph! Mmph!!!"

The Countess doesn't look around, even as the spear of Vogodoris, the stone warrior god, comes down to shatter the chain that binds Yue to the throne. She doesn't blink as the master thief Elkibrant pulls off her veil, draws two swords from hidden folds beneath her dress, and tosses them to Chen and Rose from the River. Guards yell and draw swords and race to the alert, looking to recapture the Countess' treasures in the finest traditions of martial arts movie extras. Indeed, the Countess appears serene. She has made her decision, and she stands by it.

Breathless Dead

Skotos!

Hera shakes her head. "I do not come in Hestia's place," she said. "I do not come in Aphrodite's. I do not come to talk of motivation and wishes and dreams. I do not tell you to trust in your heart, for it is broken, or your mind, for it is simple. I come to talk about of decision."

She took a deep breath. Like some part of her didn't want to do this. She still does not like you, Skotos.

"The lives of mortals are beyond their control for so much of the time. They follow destiny, duty, inertia, day after day with not a single choice passing through their minds. Kings and slaves both live their lives without change. They follow their hearts, and are at the whim of their hearts. They follow their social caste, and so are enchained by their society's expectations. Gods, too. I lived for many years with an anger I did not choose. It grew into a hatred I did not want. It became cruelty I never intended."

From behind her unfold the feathers of a peacock, a thousand gemstone eyes. "I!" she cried, voice as the stampede of cattle. "Even I! Who defines Hera, Queen of the Gods? Who can make her into something she does not intend? I am not the shadow of Zeus, I shall not throw my identity on the pyre of her neglect! I realized then my true power and true domain. I am Choice! The ability that lies within the soul of every mortal to stop. To declare themselves unsatisfied with who they are and where the path before them leads. To transform."

She took a deep, slow breath. The radiance around her slowly began to dim.

"In XIII... in Bella, I saw a younger version of myself. Someone trapped within the radiance of another, letting her soul fester if she thought it was for love. Where I sat enchained by my pride, though, she was imprisoned by terror and that was a more terrible chain by far. For her the choice was between prisons, one physical and one metaphorical. No wonder her soul became jagged, too hurt to see the choices even when they came."

"And... I do not hate you for your neglect. Though you tempted me many times," said Hera. "You owe no one your love. I do not hate you, for once you saw the shape of the problem you determined to cut it out at the source. I cannot fault your heart, as much as I might wish to, just as in the end I could not fault Zeus. You are a good person, Skotos."

And then she seizes you by the neck with taloned hands and slams you against the wall.

"But you do owe her an apology," she hisses. "Chose as you will. Chose to shrink from your duties, your morals, that pure heart that started all this. I do not care. But if you abandoned your childhood friend for a cause you no longer believe in, knowing the suffering you caused her, then the least you can do is look her in the eye and confess your shame. Leave this story if you must but do not leave a hole in that girl's heart. If you confess, I will turn you over to the protection of Hestia. If you ghost her I will ensure you regret it."

Alexa!

Something is wrong.

You are wrapped in coils. You have a strength, a talent for enveloping people in your arms and keeping them helpless. This is what it is to be on the other side of that. You're trapped, the Azura's breath on the back of your neck, her fangs against your marble spine.

Athena stands over you impassively. Her face doesn't have respect, pity, or contempt. She should have at least something, surely. Even she is not so cold hearted as to -

You freeze.

That is not Athena.

None of this made sense as a battle. It's something different. She produces a pocket watch from her silver suit pocket and glances at it. One, two, three -

A sphere drops down from above. Seated enthroned upon a velvet throne is an aged Azura in robes of highly respectable sky blue. Upon his head rests a three-pointed hat, as magnificent as a crown. One of the Azura technologists, a member of the Shahrak Society - though the Hermetics always called them the Tricorns.

And on his withered hand is a command seal. The same as the one Redana wears. It's not attuned to you yet, but the intent is terrifyingly clear.

Vasilia and Dolce!

A chill walks up your spine, like a flower sprouting on the soil of your grave.

You've dealt with con artists before. You've met Azura warbands in the dark before. You're familiar with their narcotic of choice, those eerie cigarettes they call senth. And the smell from the smoke Thelis Thist blows in a long, satisfied cloud from her nose smells nothing like senth. It smells... if anything, like the power wielded by that priest of Hades, Ivory Smile.

Thist looks at you with heavily lidded eyes. The cigar in her hand smoulders in dark promise. It's the chill of spotting the yellow stripe running up the back of a serpent you were about to pounce on. A lot of your ancestors had to die for you to build up a fear like this.

"... no, you're not the assassins," said Thelis Thist, fangs tracing swirls in the smoke that rolls around her. "You're the victims. Excellent."

She shoves a pot aside and leans in over the stove, resting her elbows in the open flames. The flames surround her from below, burning away the rest of that cigar in a sudden and violent cloud of billowing smoke. Amidst the haze, up to her neck in fire, Thelis Thist looks suddenly more like a devil - though her cheerful, oily patter continues without hesitation.

"Sir," she said, "ma'am. You are being hunted. Sagakhan, the Telluric assassin, has once again decided to brave my realm to keep her own in order. Once again she sends children to fight me. I swear, they get younger every year..."

She smiles, smoke coiling around the edges of her mouth. "If you'd like, I will help you. You will have to follow my instructions without question no matter how illogical they may seem. We are up against a foe who works in prediction and it would take me months to explain the complexities of the plan in motion."

She offers her card again, unburnt despite the fire that wreaths it. "And don't worry about my fee," she said. "I'll take what's mine from the assassins."

XIII!

Of course the first thing you see in the hall is Redana. How could you miss her?

She looks... good. She looks better than she ever has, actually. It's been so long since you've seen her but at last she's come into her own. She looks like her mother. Dressed in white with a golden wreath upon her head, golden hair done up in a braid worthy of Mynx. Perhaps being away really has been good for her...

And then her glance meets yours across the hall and there is no warmth in it at all. That is an expression you've never seen on her at all. It's serene and steel, determined as ice as it breaks the boulder.

She's surrounded by her retinue; Hermetics, battlecrabs, Alcedi, an a small army of retainers in organized array and full grandeur. Surrounding her even further are the Azura; hundreds of their great and good, conveniently sorted by colour in relation to the spectacular Satrap upon her throne. Your nose twitches. You can smell the smoke from Thelis Thist's office somewhere, though you can't see her. Some of the other Azura in the galleries are also smoking, but whatever they're using is... different from what she used.

Your name is announced. The Satrap gestures, and Redana is drawn aside as you are called to stand before the apex of the Azura's society-wide dictates on colour. You have no orders from Beautiful here, she must be relying on your instincts.