Thanqol

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Birdsong in the Northern Hemisphere is beautiful. Soft, lyrical, sedate, the twittering of thrushes and the chirping of robins.

Birds from the Southern Hemisphere sound like angry dinosaurs.

The sky fills with screeching. There's nothing like it, no human throat could make a sound as harsh and metallic. One could wake a drunk from sleep. A flock could raise the dead. White birds emerge from every tree, blotting out the sky. Ten thousand pairs of wings fill the air, ten thousand throats screeching their warcry. Together their sound shakes the underworld. These are the soldiers of Princess Jezara, a weaponized mass migration, the swinging jaws of a trap meant to isolate a foe most terrible.

Fallweaver smiles mutely and gives you the thumbs up. Blue lights in her ears - some noise-cancelling technomancy? A weakness. Leaving her unprotected would have left you with no way out.

But before you can exploit it, the machete swings down. One of the screaming birds has transformed into a warrior, bright in full-body warpaint. She attacks in chereographed sequence before taking wing and rejoining the whirlwind of the flock, lost in the storm of birds - as behind you another bird changes into a second handmaiden who launches her own offensive. This is the shapeshifter's chosen battleground: to hide amidst a storm of birds, where any feather might conceal a blade.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Saber... wait..."

Diaofei watches them leave, too weak to follow, too weak to raise her voice. She'd seen the curse in that kiss - seen it for what it was, realized what it represented. Her Servant had started to look to humans to drain.

That had been her first duty. To maintain the barriers of the spirit world. To prevent demons from preying upon the innocent. She'd thought that it wouldn't matter, that she could burn out Saber in one foolish act of revenge, removing her and Actia's servant in mutually assured destruction. She could confront Actia in the aftermath. That would have been enough.

But things had gone wrong. Her creature had slipped its leash and was growing more powerful, not less. What had she done? At this rate...

With aching arms she clawed her way forwards. She had to stop this...

*

Cyanis, dressed in the silken costume of a dancing girl, staggered into the kitchen. Hair frizzled, clothing torn, hickeys on her neck and sunglasses missing, she looked a mess. She limped over to the refrigerator, threw the door open, picked out a bottle of oat milk and drank directly from it.

"Um," said Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, looking at the bowl of dry cereal she had just poured for herself.
"Want some?" said Cyanis, shaking the bottle.
"No thanks..." said Katherine.
"Or do you want some of that?" Cyanis asked, gesturing back at the bedroom she'd emerged from.
"Um," said Kat, blushing furiously.
"Why not?" said Cyanis, taking another sip of milk. "Lot of benefits to it. Mana transfer. Educational. Get to practice your dancing moves. And I've already tired her out for you so it'll be an easy ride."
"Uh, um," said Kat. "I'm kind of saving myself for... someone special."
"So what?" said Cyanis, wiping her mouth with her sleeve before dropping the veil back into place. "I am too."
Kat looked at her with incredulity. She opened her mouth, spread her hands, and gave the expression of someone who had been pushed well past the limits of what could be passed off as a foxgirl lie.
"What?" said Cyanis. "It was in the butt. It doesn't count if it's in the butt."
"Um!!!" squeaked Kat.
"That's fox law probably," said Cyanis.
"It's probably not!!!" said Kat.
"Anyway, I'll have you know I did a stint in the Sky Castle," Cyanis said, fishing her sunglasses out of the tail fluff where they'd gotten stuck. "I learned a thing or two about hypnotizing dragons while I was there. Important foxgirl skill! You've just got to convince them that you're valuable, powerful and theirs you can get them in the right headspace, and then a charm collar will lock them into that mood. She was eating out of my hands," said Cyanis smugly, "because I was serving her grapes. Speaking of, did you peel all those grapes like I said?"
"Yeah..." said Kat. It had given her something to take her mind off the sound of... Berserker's construction efforts outside as she fortified the shrine.
"And did you get that big palm leaf fan? Because man, it's hot in there -"
"That isn't necessary!" said Kat, clenching her fists in embarrassment.
"Suit yourself," said Cyanis, laying out a cushion and gingerly sitting down. "But I need a while to rest. So it's your turn to distract the prisoner!"
"What!?" squeaked Kat.
"Archer's still fucked up so we can't go anywhere until he heals," said Cyanis. "Berserker's all in on castle building. So we're stuck here with a bored and hypnotized dragoness who can physically overpower us the second she gets her wits about her. So - we keep her entertained. You don't have to do exotic dancing but you do have to figure out some way to seduce her into quiescence."
"... maybe she'll like watching speedrunning with me?" said Kat.

*

Baroness Fallweaver!

It was a popular misconception that Baronesses were, themselves, violent people. This came of the fact that they tended to be at the centre of whatever princess battle was happening, glowing and radiant. The truth was that Baronesses were always at the centre of great battles because they were what was being fought over.

Fallweaver herself had the oblivious eroticism of someone completely unaware of their own beauty. Her jeans were torn at the knees and thighs because she spent a lot of time kneeling down to look at new mushrooms and couldn't be bothered replacing them; the holes showed off the tanned, firm legs of a career hiker. Her shirt held her chest tightly; it had shrunk in the wash, skull and pentagram logo straining against her chest and biceps. Her black and orange hair was framed perfectly by the bright white lab coat, making her seem like an otherworldly angel, surrounded by a halo of ever-falling autumn leaves.

She was a witch and scientist both, her black cat familiar wearing an adorable utility belt filled with glowing chemical vials. She traced the growth of mushrooms according to mathematical curves before choosing the best ones to enhance as arcane lynchpins. Her goal was to expand her sphere of influence and terraform Qiu's kingdom into a beautiful autumnal maze, drawing out the Threeshard Princess to a battle on Jezara's terms. She was the centre of the art and the bait for a trap, safe under the distant but watchful eye of her Lioness. All she had to do was put up enough of a fight that she didn't get immediately captured.

Breathless Dead

Mosaic and Ember!

There's so much to say. Beneath the light of a single, unglamourous moon, beneath a sky of inaesthetic clouds and satellite stars, on a sad little hill with a boombox playing music you forget as soon as you've heard it, all of the mundanity and disappointment comes together to make something awkwardly memorable. A date night. Not a thing of romance and passion, but an unglamourous freedom to be mundane with each other. Here Empire only exists in dream and aspiration.

Dyssia!

"Of course, we are grateful for the removal of the Ceronians," said NBX-462. When had he - !? If he wasn't so obviously soft, small and harmless his sudden appearance would have been startling, but the tension of his appearance disappears as quickly as it came. Even a Biomancer wouldn't have been able to fit an assassin into the helplessness of that ball of wool.

You've just stepped out of your Plover and are on your way back to your room. It's kind of the perfect moment to catch you - plenty of people around but quiet enough that you can talk, you're already moving so it's not taking any of your time, you just had a rest on the way back up here. Perfect timing. "And of course, we will maintain our existing commitment to resupply your ship in full. But an opportunity has arisen in the form of that Esoteric there," he nods at the lethal little nightmare gun that you are carrying. "The Service would like to issue a formal request for that item - and I have been advised that it has been appraised at about the same value as the entire planet you were just on. If you would like to sell it to us, I have the authority to redesignate Portugal according to your designs for an interval of two hundred and fifty years."

Dolce!

At some point during the conversation, Iskarot picks you up. Light as a bag of wool, he lifts you over the counter and puts you on the stool next to him. Then he clambers, three-legged, over the bar and stands behind it so that he can serve you drinks as you tell your tale.

"I can tell you that there's no way your friends will evade Liquid Bronze militarily," said Iskarot. "Killing him wouldn't do it. I mean, he had a divination shrine set up just in case a three hundred year dead colleague should mysteriously return to life, and a commando squad who could find me on a trackless wild. He's a bloodhound and I don't mean that metaphorically. There has to be a way to use that against him but I can't for the life of me figure out what. Vesper would see it, though. She always knew how to get people to consume themselves on her behalf."

He tapped his fingers, brass and gold, on the counter. "Well, that's my request. You figure out how to give me... a week would be excellent, but I'd need at least a day. A day with Vesper and I can find out how to break this chase. But you'll need to get around your little nemesis for that - 20022? I don't doubt he'll be looking to make sure everything goes smoothly for Mr. Bronze, and while Bronze might not notice a day's delay I am sure he will."

Breathless Dead

The Star King!

The Weapon was perfect. It had never failed. It would never fail. The craftsman who had built it had worked back from this effect to whatever causes would make it so. But to kill with Regret meant having to be free from Regret; the faintest flicker of imperfection was like the line of water linking the wielder to the open power socket. All that power needed somewhere to earth itself.

The Weapon was perfect. It had never failed. It never would fail. This was not a promise, it was a threat. To wield it meant having to maintain the same perfection the weapon embodied. If this perfection faltered then, rather than allow itself to be stained, it erased the corruption from its own timeline.

The Weapon falls to the floor in front of the Star Kings. It was pure and untouched. It had never been wielded, a gift from the Gods. It was free to anyone who would pick it up. Of its former owner(s) there was only a fading memory. And a fear.

None of the Star Kings moved. Their pseudowolves shifted, uncomfortable and confused - they did not understand like their rulers did.

Dolce!

"Ha!" rasped the Ancient Craftsman. "You! I dreamed of you. Funny thing, isn't it? To meet a friend from a dream? Peach schnapps, please, and chocolate and chili pretzels. You know these bastards don't have the slightest taste for the finer things in life?"

He unbundled himself, bags of tools filling the chair next to him. Hestia sat down next to him, mug on the table - black coffee for her, she didn't even need to ask. "Do you remember our conversation? I told you how I sought to merge life and energy, stormclouds caged in matter? Well, here we are," he laughed. "Amidst the Funko Pops of my dreams."

He slammed the schnapps down, wiping his scarred lips with the back of his hand. "You - you wouldn't know that, that's a Liquid Bronze saying, the bastard. A man who was so right about his opinions he needed to re-invent his political opponents so he wouldn't have to change what kind of right he was. I worked with him on the Ikarani project now, I remember - well, he remembered. He's a man who forgets nothing and learns nothing. The moment the Underworld coughed me back up he sent his people to collect me so I could see how history had vindicated him. The Summerkind!" he laughed. "He solved the problem of energy based life burning through their physical shells by calling it a feature! He mass produced and militarized my malfunctioning prototypes! There's a genius to him, no mistake - nobody works harder than him towards the goal of avoiding work."

He pursed his lip and tapped his fingers on the table. "That girl - Vesper? I remember her now. I didn't have all the pieces before, I didn't remember, but... I left her in a bad way. I'd like to help her, if you can help me do that."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Aeglesia took the axes. She held one in each hand and briefly felt silly. She should have, like, a belt or a pouch or a big magnet stuck to her back or something for situations like this. She couldn't put these in her backpack, right? That seems super disrespectful. Well, she had a sheathe for her sword, so she was just going to have to stick one awkwardly into her belt where it'd flop around dangerously against her leg and hold the other in her hand all the time.

"Princess Jezera is a shapeshifter lioness," said Aeglesia, clinging to conversation topics she knew about and doing her best to keep eye contact (or, more realistically, throat contact, but oh wow that jawline...) "She's very mobile, but she's her to raid Princess Qiu's territory and to do that she's bought her retinue. You'll probably want -" there was hesitance in her voice, a girl about to choose the coward's path - but then she swallowed, gripped her axe more firmly, and filled herself with determination. "- You'll want to take Fallweaver! Fallweaver is Jezera's Baroness, she's a witch of autumn. She's not any good in a fight herself, but she creates all kinds of monsters to protect her. She wears a bright white lab coat and has black hair with an orange streak. She'll be wherever the trees are most, uh, autumny."

She knew even more - she was an avid reader of Princess Jezera's fan websites. Not because she really liked her - though she did! Uh, that was she liked her, the normal amount. But because she'd been opposition researching Jezera for an opportunity like this. She had to pick a Princess as her target and Jezera had seemed the least scary - and fighting a lioness felt like the most Roman thing to do.

"If you take her, then Jezera will come for sure!" said Aeglesia. "And I won't waste the chance you give me!"

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Hmm?" said Lancer. "Oh, sorry... I was just reading about a historical nation called "Nippon". Did you know their "Samurai" had blades called "Katana" that were folded over 10,000 times and could cut through the armour of modern main battle tanks?"

What had she placed her trust in? Perhaps it simply been herself - which was a frightening prospect. Everyone hedges, worries, calculates contingencies and backups - and in that split attention they create weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Every so often someone arose who did not have any of that hesitation, and they were the greatest and most terrible rulers all throughout history.

Perhaps, though, it was her books. That might somehow be scarier.

"I..." gasped Aeglesia, still touching her chin where Saber had held it. "I think that's a myth?"
"Nonsense, it's cited by numerous historians," said Lancer. "Now, the Varangian is right about the axe and the shield. Will you listen to her?"
Aeglesia fidgeted, looking down and holding the edge of her shield tighter.
"What about a "Wazikashi"? I read that those also pair well as an off-hand weapon." said Lancer.
"I want to fight as a Roman!" Aeglesia blurted out, staring at the ground and blushing.
"Hmm," said Lancer. She glanced again at the samurai illustration in her book, then sighed. "All right, we don't have time to fully retrain you anyway. But if you want to fight as a Roman you'll need sisters in the line; you have an implement for formation fighting and the formation will be essential. Varangian, we will both bear shields identical to hers, and we will cover our faces with helmets identical to hers. Though the rules prevent us from intervening directly, if the enemy pri - royal is confused and strikes at us by accident then we can get away with some aggressive self-defense."
"Really?" said Aeglesia, eyes sparkling. "You'll be handmaidens for me??"
"I think the term "Kosho" is more appropriate," said Lancer. "But anyway, no, we cannot demand the field of battle. It is part of the system here that Princesses -" she froze and looked at Aeglesia, who stared at her blankly. "- do not battle decisively unless stakes have been selected. So we must kidnap one of the enemy royal's "Kashin" in order to draw her out. You will handle this, I will prepare the field of battle."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Alright!" said Aeglesia, taking a deep breath. "Here I go!"

This was not an age that had forgotten its swordsmanship.

Aeglesia had been studying the blade since she was a child - most people do to some extent, it's part of gym class. If you're particularly into it then you can take various elective classes with your local blademaster - maybe the local Queen runs a course, or there's a Handmaiden passing through town who'll teach advanced techniques. Many kids study the blade to some degree or other, but to stick with it as long as Aeglesia has and taking the princess title... well, for all her nerves about being in a genuine war of spirits, she's also a regional bronze medalist in dueling.

That is to say that her bladework is good. She knows how to stand and how to move, she understands reach and distance, and she's even not entirely surprised by fighting someone whose size is unpredictable. Dueling is a mixed martial art where shapeshifting, magic and various unique heart weapons are all permitted so she's got an eye for tricks and is quick on the uptake. Even the fact that she's evidently not trying to kill doesn't seem to hold her back at all; the level of control she has over that in particular seems unreal.

So, a solid foundation. A perfectly respectable warrior. But it's definitely not enough.

The first reason she'll lose is because she's not a Servant - simple differences in experience, composition and raw power means that she's just not on the same playing field. The second reason she'll lose is because you're not wearing a shirt (isn't she cold? oh. oh yeah, okay, she is). The third reason she'll lose is an array of minor flaws, mostly coming from overthinking things and trying to come up with clever plays in situations when solid fundamentals would do her better...

But the main reason she's going to lose is the shield. It's a stupid weapon, a heavy Roman style tower shield made for formation fighting, and sized too large for her. She's out on a limb with it, too - it's clear that her swordfighting classes didn't involve the use of the shield, and what moves and techniques she does have are ones she came up with herself. But at the same time it's clear that this is where her heart is. She's inscribed the exterior of the shield with runes of health; an opponent who strikes them heedlessly will break them, invisibly weakening themselves until they're too sick to fight. That's a cunning move and you get the feeling there are a lot more ideas like that banked up inside her.

So the shield is at once her biggest limitation and the source of all her potential. Without it she's a solid 6/10 swordswoman and isn't likely to be any more than that. With it, she might flourish into a legitimate combatant - eventually.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"The Gods of Rome are not dead," said Lancer. "Distant, perhaps. They were so in my time - withdrawn to the stars and planets, waiting for us to rediscover the rituals that might summon them. But instead I have found here a kingdom of Epicurians who do not even attempt to win their favour - though neither, I suppose, do they anger them. A curious bargain for the world to have made."

She snaps her book closed and turns it over in her hands; the colour shifts to a deep and warlike red, expanding three times in size. She opens it and places it on the stump of a fallen tree, revealing a page of maps. "There are two sources of mana I can identify on the board, both controlled by our foes. The first is a Sunshard, the catalyst for this ritual. The second is the temple shrine that even now will be fortified by Archer and, I expect, Berserker. However, my Master presents a unique opportunity for us to acquire a third. As a Princess -"
"A princess," corrected Aeglesia.
"That's what I said," said Lancer, irritated. "A Princess -"
"I'm not a Princess," insisted the centurion girl. "I'm only a princess."
"Please," said Lancer, touching her head. "What?"
"If I was a Princess we wouldn't even need the plan, we'd have already succeeded," said Aeglesia.
"Am I having a stroke?" said Lancer.
"It's very simple!" said Aeglesia. "I'm a princess, which lets me fight Princesses, and if I win I'll get to become a Princess and they'll be demoted to princess. And when I'm a Princess I'll have all the mana we need!"
"... Perhaps you are right, varangian," said Lancer. "Perhaps the Gods are dead."
"Anyway, the only one nearby is Princess Jezara," said Aeglesia. "I mean, Princess Qiu is also nearby, but she's the strongest and I don't think we could fight her. But with your help we can probably beat Jezera!"
"The nature of this conflict means we will only win the prize without friction if the victory clearly belongs to my Master and not either of us," said Lancer. "Our roles in this battle will be to lend her all the indirect support we can manage - sharing our arsenals, disorienting and goading the enemy, manipulating wind and weather. Success will secure our strength for the remainder of the campaign."

Breathless Dead

Bella!

Blurring of the light. The touch of water to burned lips. Still relevant, despite everything.

"Love and hate," said the Uncrowned King. "The Gods love and they hate. They hate and they love. They build terrors so they can raise us above them. They raise us above so they can smite us for our hubris. Is this the secret of the galaxy? Perhaps I understand now. We thought what happened to us was a curse. Perhaps it still was, but not for us."

Four assistants came forwards and built a tent over you; a thin layer of fabric, but it took the edge off. A mercy.

"Thank you for your insight, Praetor," said the Uncrowned King as warships began to lift from desert bunkers behind him. "It is clear. The Gods had a purpose for you. In following it, you paid the price of suffering. In following it, you came far and were raised high. The suffering is the point. There can be no greatness without it. My people will remember this lesson during the trials ahead."

Ember!

"Once, there were sunsets on Capitas," said the Star King.

"There aren't now. They've engineered them out; multiple suns have been put in place and networks of star amplification light and wavelength diffusion have made it so the stars can be seen even at the daytime. The colours of sunset have been spread out and deployed aesthetically for maximum effect. But once the Azura capital was a normal planet, rotating a star. There were beginnings and ends to every day and every season. And of all these days, one of them had to be the final one. When the Grav-anchors, orbital Megaliths, and Reality Edicts were due to come online there was one final sunset and one final night to wait. There was anticipation. There was joy. There were not celebrations of this final death before immortality. And for failing to mourn this final death of day, Hades cursed the first city on Capitas to behold the ever-day. The earth opened up, the citizens transformed into crystal statues, and one of the great cities of the Azura was petrified in violet amber. And so it remained -

"- until we came.

"When the Star Kings invaded Capitas, my ancestor Kohil the Bright fought on the streets of the frozen city. She climbed the Waterfall Throne and prised these gems from the unweeping eyes of the Azura Vizier who sat there. These she reforged into weapons of regrets that would consume the destroyed in nightmare contradictions of lost chances. She wielded them until her own regrets caused her to banish herself into a world born from them. I took them from her void because I alone amidst my pack had never made a mistake and so had nothing to look back upon, and I still have not."

The pattern, the story, it's war cant and affirmation - as much braggado as it is the very nature and secret that lets her wield such a terrible esoteric. Goaded into speaking it she is also goaded into coming into the open, crystal weapons held high, ready to finish this in glory to the Gods.

Dyssia!

The Generous Knight dies. And dies, and dies, and dies, and dies.

And howls with laughter all the while.

The ship shudders and writhes. Spectacular explosions of blossoming branches erupt up through the floor. Acorns fall like rain, hatching into flightless birds with vicious spurs. Each drop of blood transforms into a wasp and together they swarm in vast clouds. The Generous Knight is the world, and the world is a monster.

"Die?" she half-barks through a wolf's jaws. "Die, I? Oh, you do not understand, child." She raises a twisted bird talon and tears off the mutated part of her face. She takes a moment to calm herself, and then continues in a voice ragged and wet "The Gods love me," she said. "The Gods love the Skies as much as they hate us. They can't help themselves. They torture us and they exalt us. They kill us and they make us..." tens of thousands of butterflies swirl behind her in the shape of wings. "Immortal. Enforcing beauty is insanity? Does this galaxy look sane to you!?"

She ripped open her dress. No longer perfect blue scales, but a monstrous, chimeric combination of every animal and monster. In this deathless galaxy, she dies not by the power of Demeter.

"We believed in the false lights of science once!" screamed the Generous Knight as enormous insectoid limbs ripped themselves out of the hull of her starship and began crushing Portuguese ships in their talons. "But we are wiser now!" colossal muscular legs shattered her Warsphere, smashing it from the inside like an egg. "We thought that we were being punished!" a twisted, nightmarish head ripped its way up out of the last fragment of clean, white armour. "But we are the punishment! The Endless Azure Skies is the instrument the Gods use to end corrupt civilizations!"

The Generous Beast looms above the tattered remnants of the Portuguese fleet. It was never worth learning their names. They were always going to end like this, torn apart by the greatest surviving monster of the Age of Knights. The Eater of Worlds and the other horrifying warbeasts of the Tides trace their lineage back here, to this prototype pilot in her newly enhanced mech suit.

"And the Skies," she rasped, this bloody avatar of an interstellar titan monster, abomination against everything she held dear, "will be our reward."

Dolce!

"Oh yeah, for sure," said Hestia, taking a bite of ice cream. "It fuckin' sucks here, I don't know what to tell you."

*

The light begins to fade from the Cancellation, the dying days of Summer. As the heat fades and the noise quiets the Biomancers come out. Ones and twos, groups and legions, flocked in their white coats. They perform tests and take measurements of the Summerkind eggs, they direct drones to clear graffiti and dismantle monuments, they talk in the low, soft voices of scholars and work with the steady diligence of engineers. They're all so inoffensive in speech and shape, all so invisible in their obsequient lack of personality. There's no friction within them. Their whole ideology is to make the galaxy run as smoothly as possible, and that starts at home.

Except. For one.

The sharp voice rings out like a bell in a ship of quiet consensus. The grumbling stands out like the ringing of a bell, the splash of yellow like a black sheep's wool. It's a matter of degrees - he's still quiet compared to what he used to be, more conforming than you ever imagined him, but some part of the Ancient Craftsman - of Iskarot - of a friend you knew in another life was always touched by the contentious energy of Ares.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Lancer held up her hand - wait! She was, after all, changing.

Shining light burned away her armour and panoply. In its place she adopted modern civilian clothes - a soft violet vest over a crumpled white shirt with rolled up sleeves and a partially undone forest green necktie. A laurel wreath sat atop hair that artisans might have worked for hours to get so casually messy; a tangled bun pierced through with multiple hairpins. Green-edged half-rimmed glasses took the glare off the dark circles beneath her eyes and an old and heavy book appeared in her hand. The combined look came together to imply that she was a librarian and a scholar, but with an implicit Imperial destiny - like the 'nerdy' girl who only needs to take off her glasses and let down her hair in order to become a heartstopper.

"I have no interest in your death, Northerner," said Lancer, snapping open the book and reading from it as she spoke. "But I read that your people became loyal friends to Rome. That is all the recommendation I need."

She snapped the book closed and looked up, green eyes burning bright. "This world sought to crush us. Four Servants in alliance sought our deaths as their opening gambit. I say they did not bring enough! So I offer you an alliance: swear by the Old Gods to fight as my Varangian and I will exalt you and yours above all others."