[X] Sun. You can choose to radiate sunlight in an aura around you. The intensity of the light, and thus effective range, can be anything between a soft glow to a near-blinding radiance. This is natural sunlight, and has all associated effects on relevant creatures or magic.
Alright, I'm going to call the vote there, since the deadlock is broken and has been fairly consistently for the last few hours. The winning option for your Purview is Artistry, while you are choosing to ask Myrmidia how she met and fell in love with your father, and why she abandoned you after you were born.
Scheduled vote count started by Maugan Ra on Nov 25, 2021 at 1:26 PM, finished with 126 posts and 76 votes.
[X] Romance. How did your parents meet? What was it about your father that drew even the eye of the Goddess Myrmidia? You would never have thought of the divine in terms of love and affection - is it a legacy of her time spent as a mortal?
[X] Artistry. Your artistic performances or creations really speak to people, conveying your meaning with impossible breadth and depth; a painting might convey a speech, or a statue a heartfelt appeal. Such works are always masterpieces, equal to those of the finest artisans or performers in the realm.
[X] Absence. She called you beloved, and you can hear the affection in her voice when she speaks of your father. Why, then, did your mother disappear after you were born? Why did she leave you alone?
[X] Sun. You can choose to radiate sunlight in an aura around you. The intensity of the light, and thus effective range, can be anything between a soft glow to a near-blinding radiance. This is natural sunlight, and has all associated effects on relevant creatures or magic.
[X] Epic Dexterity. Your movements are impossibly fluid and effortless. You may stand on any surface capable of bearing a feather with perfect balance, scale and descend vertical surfaces without a handhold, and perform other feats of grace and dexterity without difficulty.
[X] Order. You have an intuitive and encyclopedic knowledge of the laws governing any jurisdiction you happen to be standing within. Mortal law enforcement cannot obstruct or punish you for lawful acts, nor may they overreach their authority or abuse their power when you are involved; their bodies betray them in the face of true justice.
[X] Regret. In that cellar, when you were lost in darkness, Myrmidia said she had hoped to spare you from this. Why? Is there some secret to your power, some drawback to your inheritance, that she would rather you not have?
[X] Divinity. What is it like, being a god? Are there rules which must be obeyed, which prevent Myrmidia from resolving the rift in her cult, or limitations on divine strength which mortals cannot perceive?
[X] War. People who fight at your side, or at your command, are divinely bolstered and empowered. Their strength, speed, resilience and skill are all augmented to the pinnacle of human capability, and they may serve as the vector or target for further miracles without cost.
[X] Enemy. The Purple Hand seemed to know of your existence, or had some reason to target you. Can you expect other foes to know of you as well? Will you spend your life looking over your shoulder in fear?
[X] Beauty. You have inherited your mother's looks; even covered in engine oil and half-asleep, you would still be the most beautiful person in any room. Miracles based on your personal appearance, behaviour or body language are free to use or repeat, be it silencing a room with a smile or terrifying a hydra with a smile.
[X] Plan: Lovers And Haters
-[X] Enemy. The Purple Hand seemed to know of your existence, or had some reason to target you. Can you expect other foes to know of you as well? Will you spend your life looking over your shoulder in fear?
-[X] Romance. How did your parents meet? What was it about your father that drew even the eye of the Goddess Myrmidia? You would never have thought of the divine in terms of love and affection - is it a legacy of her time spent as a mortal?
-[X] Epic Dexterity. Your movements are impossibly fluid and effortless. You may stand on any surface capable of bearing a feather with perfect balance, scale and descend vertical surfaces without a handhold, and perform other feats of grace and dexterity without difficulty.
-[X] Order. You have an intuitive and encyclopedic knowledge of the laws governing any jurisdiction you happen to be standing within. Mortal law enforcement cannot obstruct or punish you for lawful acts, nor may they overreach their authority or abuse their power when you are involved; their bodies betray them in the face of true justice.
However, all scions possess both an inate purview specific to their parent and one that everyone in the pantheon gets, so we will end up with two in the end.
Yeah, I'll be writing up a character sheet next I think, but your innate pantheon purview is essentially "Devotion", which allows you to undertake rites and rituals to gain temporary boons and blessings of other gods. So you'd be a Blessed Priest of... well, Myrmidia to start, but with a path to gain the acceptance of other members of the Pantheon in turn.
Well, potentially. I'm considering a few other options, such as stealing the Gallic one and giving you a private Sanctum with its key, which would be the foundations of a godly realm all of your own. Anyway, as I said, there will be a character sheet hopefully tonight to lay all this out.
Yeah, I'll be writing up a character sheet next I think, but your innate pantheon purview is essentially "Devotion", which allows you to undertake rites and rituals to gain temporary boons and blessings of other gods. So you'd be a Blessed Priest of... well, Myrmidia to start, but with a path to gain the acceptance of other members of the Pantheon in turn.
Wait wait wait! we are automatically a priest of Myrmidia?
Does that mean we can eventually use all these spells?
Greater Magic spells of Myrmidia
Blazing Sun: The Priest calls on Myrmidia to scour the battlefield of dishonourable foes causing a blinding flash of golden light to burst forth. All non Myrmidian's looking in the priests direction are blinded by the blazing light, while foes close to the priest are burned by the shining flames emanating from his body. Eagles Eye: The Priest calls on Myrmidia to send a Divine Servant to grant him knowledge of his enemies. A spectral Eagle manifests, soaring into the sky above. While the Miracle is in effect, the priest can see through the eagle's eyes and control its flight, surveying the battlefield and spying upon his enemies. Fury's Call: The Priests passionate prayers instill allies with a furious disdain for their foes, filling them with righteous hatred which helps them fight even harder. Inspiring: The Priests rousing prayers inspire discipline and coordination within the ranks, turning even militia into well drilled soldiers. Shield of Myrmidia: The Priests stalwart prayers incite Myrmidia to shield his/her allies in glittering, gossamer strands of light, warding enemy blows. Spear of Myrmidia: The Priest imbues his spear with the power of Myrmidia, empowering it to hit enemies with the power of a ballista. Command the Legion: The Priest prays to Myrmidia to lend her strength to his words, when the priest shouts the army can hear him no matter how far away they are, and feel compelled and inspired to obey. Dismay Foe: The Priest takes on the wrathful aspect of Myrmidia, any foe hit by the priests weapon is filled with terror at Myrmidia's ferocity. Inspired Leadership: The Priest takes on an aura of authority, his prayers inspiring allies with faith in his abilities, increasing general morale and instilling the priest with an inspired sense for tactics and strategy. Quick Strike: Infused with Myrmidia's power, the priest strikes with incredible speed and deadly accuracy. Shieldmaidens Devotion: The Priest's chanted prayers fill Myrmidia's children with the devotion of her bravest Shieldmaidens. All Myrmidians within range become fearless in the face of even the most horrific enemies. Skill of Combat: The Priest instills allies with the combat skills of Myrmidia, turning even amateurs into expert swordsmen. Vengeful Wrath: The Priest fills his allies with a strong sense of vengeance, they charge at the enemy in fury, yet still hit with unerring skill and accuracy. Bless Armor: The Priest blesses a piece of armor with the power of Myrmidia, tremendously improving its quality and granting it magical properties so as to protect the user from the deadliest of blows. Bless Weapon: The Priest imbues a weapon with Myrmidia's power, granting it magical properties and a supernaturally keen edge that can pierce even thick armor. Greater Bless Weapon: The Priest imbues a weapon with a tremendous amount of Divine power, granting it potent magical properties and an edge that can pierce some of the strongest armor the world can offer. Confounding Prayer: When enemies hear the priests prayer, they become demoralized and begin to lose their will to fight. Divine Prowess: The Priests allies can donate their skills in battle to help him wield weapons he has never used like an expert. Inspire Self: The Priest fills himself with a sense of purpose and inspiration in preparation to face a deadly foe. Eagles Stoop: The Priest expends divine power to ensure his blows hit with more power, thus inflicting deadly wounds. Rousing Prayer: Upon hearing this prayer, exhausted allies are filled with energy and are ready to fight once again. Tactical Mastery: Before a battle begins the Priest utters a prayer to Myrmidia, she grants him with knowledge of the best tactics for the battle ahead. Weapon Mastery: The Priest prayer tremendously increases his own skill in wielding weapons.
And most importantly we get this spell
Eagles Eye: The Priest calls on Myrmidia to send a Divine Servant to grant him knowledge of his enemies. A spectral Eagle manifests, soaring into the sky above. While the Miracle is in effect, the priest can see through the eagle's eyes and control its flight, surveying the battlefield and spying upon his enemies.
Which means we not only get to command birds but also get the advantage of our memory.
All in all it's a very civilian build, no great abilities in combat, survival or leadership.
I'm sure we will fare well in Nuln's society with it, though I really don't like not having many options for personal defence where it becomes necessary. Feels too vulnerable.
All in all it's a very civilian build, no great abilities in combat, survival or leadership.
I'm sure we will fare well in Nuln's society with it, though I really don't like not having many options for personal defence where it becomes necessary. Feels too vulnerable.
The winning votes for conversation topics were "Romance" and "Absence".
The winning vote for Purview was Artistry. You can find Valeria's character sheet on the first page, threadmarked under the informational tab, but here's a copy of the purview related parts of it: Innate Purview: Artistry
Valeria is an engineer by training but an artist by inclination, driven to exceed the merely functional and pursue the refined and beautiful. The Artistry purview governs all forms of creative expression, from poetry and prose through to painting and sculpture.
Motif: The defence of culture is the purpose of war, the creation of art the greatest triumph of civilisation.
Innate Power: Your artistic performances or creations really speak to people, conveying your meaning with impossible breadth and depth; a painting might convey a speech, or a statue a heartfelt appeal. Such works are always masterpieces, equal to those of the finest artisans or performers in the realm.
Boon: Heartfelt Expression. When creating a work of art, you can imbue it with your emotional context and strength of feeling (either at time of creation or relating to what inspired the work). Anyone who looks upon or experiences the art will feel the same emotion stirring at their soul; this effect is irresistible, but the imbued emotion must be genuine, and the reaction depends on the viewer's belief and personality.
Pantheon Purview: Civitas
The "southern pantheon" of Myrmidia and her family concern themselves with the cultivation of civilisation and the enrichment of one's life through worth pursuits. Learning and etiquette are prized, works of intellect and emotion a sure path to prestige, and barbarism shunned in all its forms.
Motif: Good Thoughts, Good Words and Good Actions are the foundation upon which all worth and righteousness depends.
Innate Power: Miracles enacted to uphold and exemplify the teachings of your patron deity (Myrmidia at present), or to directly defend their faithful, do not count towards the usual 1/scene or 1/story limit.
Boon: Know the Natural Order.Valeria is deeply attuned to the cosmic order and concept of civilisation that her mother prizes, and can sense disruptions to it on an intuitive level. Such disruptions include but are not limited to:
The existence and rough location of Creatures of Chaos or their direct servants (this only applies to those who work within the fabric of society, such as cults, not roaming beastmen warbands etc)
Disruptions of peace and order within her local area. Riots, obstructions of justice and corrupt officials can all cause such disruptions, as can subversive magics.
The most flagrant and malicious of lies, deception or fraud.
There is so much you could ask, so much you could find out. Practical information on what it means to be a child of the gods, unique insight into the nature of the cosmos that only a god could share, a thousand other things besides… but somehow you can't bring yourself to care about any of them. Somehow, the only question on your mind is the one that has stayed with you since you were old enough to understand what it meant.
"Why," you say, your throat dry, your eyes hot with grief and yearning, "why weren't you there? Why did you leave us alone?"
Myrmidia sighs, and before you eyes she seems to age drastically in the span of a heartbeat. It's nothing overt, just a slight change in the shade of her hair and a modest shift in her stance, and yet suddenly you can tell she is feeling every one of her years.
"I wanted to stay, but it would not have been safe," she says, and before you can voice the protest that bubbles up from your heart she holds up a hand and says "For either of us."
"I… I don't understand," you say in a thick voice, your thoughts roiling like the ocean. That your mother might have enemies who strike at her by proxy you can well believe, but… to imperil her? A goddess?
"Then allow me to demonstrate," Myrmidia shrugs her shoulders, straightening up in place. Then she reaches into the sky and cups the sun in one calloused hand, light streaming between her fingers in brilliant rays that paint the world in black and white.
She twists her wrist, and below you the city of Nuln collapses into ruin. You stare, your jaw hanging slack, but… no, wait, your mother hasn't destroyed it, the stones below aren't the same as the ones the Nuln of today is built from. They are pale and gleaming, and when Myrmidia twists her wrist once more they fly together into a series of elegant towers and soaring bridges, a colony of the elvenfolk in this distant land.
Again and again Myrmidia turns back the clock, night and day rolling past in flickering succession, trees sprouting like weeds and primordial wilderness spreading across the land. When at last she stops there is no sign of habitation at all, only dense forest clinging to the slopes of stubborn mountains, subtly different in form from the ones you know. You stare in awe and terror at the display of divine might, and when you lift your eyes to your mother once more you see she too has changed with the passing of years. The goddess before you wears a toga of pale cream and keeps her raven-black hair tied back in a long tail, her spear and armour discarded and her skin smooth and untouched by scars. There is a great horn in her hand, ivory chased in silver and hollowed out to serve as a flask, and when she tilts it you hear the crashing sound of distant waves.
"Godhood is power in its rawest form," Myrmidia says calmly, "and power is as water."
She tilts the horn, and from it pours a steady stream of crystalline water. It broadens and multiplies as it falls, becoming first a waterfall, then a tsunami falling from on high, and when it strikes the earth only distance makes the crash of impact anything less than deafening. You swallow, watching as the torrent of water gouges out a great rent in the ground, uprooting trees and washing away mud and stone in an expanding ring. There is nothing left behind but ruin and devastation.
As metaphors go, it's blunter than most.
"Your… your presence is dangerous, then?" You say, when you can trust your voice not to crack again, "Even if you're careful?"
"Valeria, beloved, I am taking such care right now," Myrmidia says softly, "But to be a god is to influence the world. The changes accelerate with proximity and time, and especially with the exercise of power, but they cannot be halted entirely."
You nod slowly, your thoughts racing along the corridors of memory, grief buried for the moment beneath fascination. You have heard of such things before, though never framed in such neutral terms.
"I… have heard that the blessed priests sometimes change, marked by the favour of their god, but…" you hesitate for a moment, trying to work out how to frame it. Can you truly call it blasphemy, if it is inspired by the divine's own words?
"We shape our worshippers, body and soul, to empower them and expand their ability to draw upon our strength," Myrmidia nods, releasing the horn and leaving it hanging in the air, still spewing crystalline water upon the distant landscape. "A rare gift, carefully bestowed."
You hardly need her to explain the consequences of less than careful bestowment. The evidence can be seen in every squirming mutant, every prowling beastman, every lurching abomination of the north. You've never seen any of them, but your father's stories were disturbingly descriptive. The thought that such things could happen to you, if your mother had remained close for any length of time...
"And what of you?" you force yourself to say, trying to force the images from your mind, "What on this world could possibly threaten you, that you would need to stay away?"
"Tell me, Valeria," your mother says with a soft, sad smile, "Where does the water flow? Or rather, where does it not?"
Frowning, you look down through a gap in the clouds, studying the lay of the land and the devastated terrain. It takes you only a moment to place the shape of the flowing water, the echo of the Rivers Aver and Reik from many years in the future, but why would that matter? Unless… Yes, now you see it. The water falling from the drinking horn lands upon the ground and scatters in all directions, but by simple matters of gradient and geography it is swiftly constrained and begins draining into the river basin. You're no fool, you can guess what your mother is referring to, but… surely not?
"Are you saying it constrains you?" you frown, looking up at the goddess before you, "But what could possibly bind the divine?"
"Itself," Myrmidia explains with a sad smile, "Godhood is power, but power is the capacity for action. The more one exercises it, the easier it becomes, but the harder it grows to change course. To even think of changing course. The weight of expectation, of destiny, binds us into our assumed roles as surely as any chain. Had I remained with you and your father, had I been the mother you wanted, I would have lost the ability to be anything else."
A pragmatic reason. A sympathetic, understandable reason, one you can almost agree with in the most abstract of senses. And yet your heart aches, and your eyes prick with tears, because of what it means.
"Would it have been so bad," you whisper, "to stay? To let yourself love us?"
"Oh, Valeria," your mother sighs, and she is by your side now, her arm wrapped around your shoulders like a blanket, "I do love you. I always have, I always will. No matter what happens, no matter how far our paths may diverge, I will always love you. Believe in that, if nothing else."
You cry. You can't help it. There's nothing elegant or beautiful about it, no single teardrop sparkling in the light. You stand amid the clouds, side by side with a goddess of war and beauty, and you cry. For long nights and hollow days, for the pang of jealous longing whenever you saw another child with their mother, for the look of yearning in your father's eyes when he stared towards the west. Your mother holds you in her arms and you cry.
Eventually you stop. Eventually you find yourself breathing easier again, your store of grief expended, your heart raw but unburdened. Myrmidia says nothing as you pull yourself away and wipe your eyes, and you're not sure what you want her to say but… no, you can't get lost in that kind of spiral.
"What about father?" you say instead, taking refuge from the tears in the pangs of curiosity, "You love me as a daughter, I get that, but I always wondered about the two of you. He never liked talking about you, but a blind girl could have seen how much he loved you."
"Well now," Myrmidia smiles, but you know you're not imagining the brief flash of pain in her dark eyes, "that's a story that starts far from here. Perhaps we can ask your new friend for a lift?"
Salvatore chirps in ascent at that, and you realise with a start that you'd almost forgotten he was still there. Magnificent and handsome though he is, in the presence of the divine even the mightiest eagle slips easily from mind, and from the slightly reproachful look he shoots you he's trying his best not to take it personally. Then he hops down from his perch on Myrmidia's shoulder and… it's not that he grows, precisely, there's no swelling or expansion to cast you into shadow. It is more that the perspective changes, and between the space of one eyeblink and the next it suddenly becomes obvious that the eagle is now large enough to carry you both. You're still trying to process that when Myrmidia picks you up with one broad arm and hoists you onto his back, a moment later Salvatore's wings spread wide and you are airborne.
You most assuredly do not shriek with glee like a little girl on her first pony ride, and you will slaughter anyone who so much as implies otherwise. Myrmidia, who sits behind you with her arms around your waist, is clearly wise to such things because she confines any reaction to a faint trembling.
How long do you fly? Day and night swirl around you, radiant sunsets and night like diamonds on black velvet, frosted peaks that rise around you like the spears of a celestial army and forests that roll away like oceans beneath you. Salvatore glides on currents of light and magic, the world unfurls like a story, and always there is Myrmidia, warm and constant like sunlight against your back.
Eventually the melange separates and the world resolves itself into fixed shapes once again, the vibrant green and greys of a mountainside shining beneath you in the noonday sun. There is a city at its base, pearl white walls raised in elegant parade around the metropolitan core, delicate fingers of piers and wharves grasping the azure seas that roll to the horizon, but where you would expect to hear the clink of trade and laugh of games there is instead only a blanket of anxious dread. The city is under siege, ships with red sails beyond the bay working in concert with a glittering host beneath a thousand flags to keep it penned up like a beast for the slaughter, and somehow you know without asking where you are - Tiles, land of a thousand rivalries, where vendetta blooms into bloodshed on a scale otherwise unimagined.
"Your father was a great general in his day," Myrmidia says with evident fondness, the eagle banking beneath you and swooping down towards the growing siege works around the city walls, "a strategist and leader of great prowess, but it was his common touch that set him apart."
She points down at the siegeworks, where men labour in the scorching heat to dig trenches and erect palisades, and you spot your father immediately. It's been at least twenty years since then, but Kazir looks much as he does in your memory - tall and broadly built, with a cheerful grin beneath a thick black beard that spills halfway down his chest. He's labouring with a shovel in his hand beside his men, his exposed chest glistening with sweat as he raises his voice in a work chant alongside a thousand others, and you can see in an instant the camaraderie that binds him to the soldiers all around him.
"I knew his name from a thousand prayers spoken by friend and foe, but he was not the first to make a performance of his virtue," Myrmidia says with a thoughtful smile, looking down from on high at the man who will be her lover. "Great men often confuse arrogance with charisma, performing camaraderie like an act to bind others to their banner. I have seen such distasteful pretensions to humility before, more than once, and so I chose to test him."
You're over the mountain now, the soaring slopes that could offer even the dullest observer an unparalleled vantage point on the city below. Your father must have thought the same, donning his armour of shining brass and clambering up in the early morning calm to plan for the day's endeavours, willingly placing himself outside the protections of his companions and his army. Now he wrestles with a lion twice his height and thrice his mass, the two circling each other with wary focus in a small clearing on the mountain slopes.
"Surely he did not climb the mountain alone?" you say, heart in your throat as you watch your father strain to hold razor claws away from his face and neck, gut roiling as you see him struggle to find the room to use his heavy mace.
"A small band of loyal companions, well used to his impulses and flights of fancy. They were easy to separate," Myrmidia replies, squeezing your shoulder in brief reassurance. You shouldn't need it, you know for a fact that your father survived this, but it is still distressing to watch. "Alone, in mortal peril, men reveal their true faces to the world. Your father was… surprising."
He's laughing, you realise. That's not a grimace of determination on his face, it's a smile, and when he manages to twist his shoulders and hurl the lion to one side there's nothing false about the way he spreads his arms and beckons the beast to try its luck once more. Perhaps he has deduced the significance of this seemingly chance encounter, perhaps he takes it at face value, either way there is a pure and genuine joy to be seen in his movements as he fights. He makes no effort to escape or find refuge, just throwing himself into battle with the lion over and over again, and though he is clearly doomed his valour does not waver.
"It is rare to find a man so true to himself, who embraces the day of his death as he does every dawn before. He… intrigued me," Myrmidia says with a throaty chuckle, as below you the fight comes to a sudden and painfully abrupt end. The lion lunges, throwing your father to the ground and settling the great weight of one paw on his chest. Kazir just grins, and when the Lion shimmers like the air in a summer haze and is replaced by the brazen form of Myrmidia, still pinning him to the ground with one elegant foot, his smile only grows wider. "He passed my test, and so earned his reward."
Matters proceed from there in direct fashion, and soon your cheeks are burning with embarrassment and you cannot help but look away. Your mother laughs and nudges Salvatore to bear you away from the mountainside, dawn sliding into evening as the sun arcs across the sky, and soon you are back over the grassy plains once more. There is a great assembly of men on the field below you, all glittering in their armour beneath a rainbow of different flags, and at their heart Kazir faces another man across a marble altar. A priestess in white runs the proceedings, and as you watch the two men nod and clasp hands before bending to sign their names to long rolls of parchment.
"I had planned on a simple union of passion, a singular embrace never to be repeated, but your father had other ideas," Myrmidia says with a wistful sigh, looking down at what you recognise to be a treaty signing. The priestess bows to the commanders of both men, and with great ceremony takes a copy of the agreement and commits it to the flames of a great bronze brazier. "He offered the city a ceasefire the next day, honouring my 'intercession' for his change of heart and merciful generosity… and, between the pages of the treaty, tucked a sheath of love poems in his own hand. From there, well, I suppose my fate was sealed."
Salvatore banks away on the hot evening air, heading north once again and leaving you to wrestle with your thoughts. Myrmidia waits patiently, her heart exposed and open but the furthest thing from vulnerable, and in the end you force your mind into some order and regain the wit to speak.
"I admit," you say, a tad awkwardly, unsure whether you should sneer or smile, "I was not expecting something quite so… sappy."
"Hah! Yes, I dare say your father would fervently deny he was ever the sort to whisper sweet words or bare his heart to a lady," Myrmidia laughs, a rolling sound of smoke and honey that snares the senses and addles the mind. "Then again, how many would think that I could love a man so ardently, much less come to bear his child?"
You pass back through the mountains now, the air growing increasingly chill as you head north. "Is that why he retired, then? I would have thought the love of a goddess of war would have the opposite effect."
"He didn't want to at first," Myrmidia nods, holding you close as Salvatore banks around a particularly impressive spire, the sun on his feathers drawing howls of challenge from bestial trolls that climb its flanks. "He had dreams of installing you as a princess, raising you as his heir, but half a dozen assassination attempts in as many months made him reconsider. His enemies could tolerate temporary defeats upon the field, but the prospect that he might begin a dynasty and over generations finish what I began? The thought was anathema, the vendettas without number. For a time, it almost looked as though Tilea would drown in blood."
You nod slowly, understanding the criticism even as you sympathise. History is always full of those looking to repeat the deeds of their forebears, and in the doing inherit their legitimacy. Emperor Magnus welded together the remnants of Sigmar's empire during the Great War by walking in the deity's footsteps, and was acclaimed to the throne as reward. How many would want to claim Myrmidia's mantle as the true ruler of Tilea and Estalia both? How many others would shed blood to prevent that throne from falling to a foe or rival?
"In the end, Kazir chose to fake his death instead," Myrmidia continues, and there is no condemnation in her tone, only understanding for what might otherwise appear an act of cowardice and retreat, "He left Tilea behind, settling down on the border of Wissenland, shedding the prince to keep the merchant. I kept an eye on you both, of course, steered a few friends his way and nudged his enemies apart, but in truth I hardly needed to do anything. People were only too happy to believe that their enemy had fallen at last."
You're back above Nuln now, the jewel of the Empire spread out beneath you like clockwork, and with the return you can feel the story of your reunion drawing to its end. Your mother's power is carefully constrained, tightly leashed, but it still feels warm in her presence, like you're standing before the sun. If you linger too long you will burn, and she… she will be the goddess who burned her daughter. Neither of you want that, but still, somehow, you wish...
"Hey, none of that," Myrmidia chides you gently, stepping off of Salvatore's back to hang suspended in the air, leaving you alone once more. "We'll see each other again. In time, as your power grows, we will be able to walk together as equals. Perhaps you will join me in the sky, or stay among your people, but know that… that…"
She sighs, and shakes her head, and instead of words pulls a ring from her finger and offers it to you in an open palm. It's a simple thing, a humble band of bronze supporting a signet etched with a stylised eagle and spear, but when you take it your skin prickles at the contact. Your inheritance, she said, and as you slip the ring onto your finger you begin to understand what that might mean.
Article:
Relic Gained - Signet Ring of Myrmidia
This simple ring, granted by a goddess to a beloved daughter, legitimises the bearer as one of her blood. Should Valeria display the ring and proclaim herself the daughter of Myrmidia, the fact becomes incontestable truth to all onlookers - their reaction may vary by allegiance and faith, but they will not deny her heritage, and will respond appropriately. This legitimacy may be used to perform other feats of authority and command as desired, or to simply support them.
Beware - if stolen or lost, the ring retains its authenticity, and there is much that a villain could do with a symbol of Myrmidia's unquestioned legitimacy.
"I love you," you force out, desperate to make sure your mother knows that before this ends, "I love you, and I wish…"
You don't know what you wish. You don't know how to frame it, how to explain it, how truthful your fleeting impulse even is. Your hesitation costs you the chance, and though Myrmidia smiles at you and speaks, you are already falling. The world rushes around you, shadows creeping in around the absence of the sun, and then… and then…
You land on your feet, stumbling on hard stone and momentarily blind to the gloom, only to catch yourself at the last second. Salvatore chirps to you in greeting from his perch by the door, and - yes, the stone walls, the iconography over the windows and the distant babble of conversation are all familiar enough to place you. You are back within the Aquila Academy, returned to safety and sanctuary as a last act of kindness from a distant mother. Judging by the strident voices raised in anger from the next room over, you dare say the fact that your strike force returned without you has caused a bit of alarm.
Slowly you straighten up, only to pause and look around. Something is different, something has changed - no, not changed, everything is the same as it is in your memory. The only difference is the significance, the meaning behind what you can feel, the impressions that now stretch back through your memory with new clarity and context. You can feel the structure of the Aquila Academy around you, the tightly woven network of patronage and tutelage that binds the graduates together in common knowledge as they head out into the world beyond, and beneath it the subtle connections woven by the Knights of Magritta, a design concealed in the details.
It feels… stretched, somehow, like an old shirt worn thin and ragged by overuse, pulled in far too many directions and in danger of falling apart completely. Or perhaps it is a river delta, a thousand streams running together and clashing in maddened swirl before begrudgingly flowing together towards the sea. Or perhaps… no, you can't get lost in this, you close your eyes and take a deep breath to clear your mind. Your inheritance, Myrmidia said. The ability to see the world as a god does, in even the most shallow of ways. A sense of the patterns and loyalties, the ebb and flow of civilisation in all its forms.
Civitas.
Well, that is going to take some getting used to, and you won't learn how to handle it by standing around in an empty classroom. You straighten up, bracing yourself as best you can, and check to be sure - no, there's only one doorway, the one that leads to the angry shouting, and you're not enough of a coward to just hide in here and wait for it to stop. Salvatore flutters across the room to settle himself on your shoulder, razor-tipped talons poking at your skin in a kind of encouraging goad, and when he nips at your ear you grumble but agree. Not giving yourself time to second-guess, you cross the room and open the door.
The shouting dies in an instant, a conference room full of officers and conspirators reacting with perfect discipline to the sudden breach of their privacy. You see them wheel around to look at you, and then a heartbeat later double-take as they realise who just walked in and where you came from. It looks like all the commanders of the Knights have gathered once more, just as they did this morning, and on the far side of the room Markus has drawn himself up into rigid attention beneath what was probably a harsh debriefing indeed. His eyes widen at the sight of you, then soften with sudden relief.
"Miss Bordo!" Gunthar Ostermann exclaims, his walrus mustache rippling dramatically as he breathes a great sigh of relief, "Thank the goddess. Markus said you just… disappeared during the extraction. Given what you apparently found in the judge's chambers, you can see why we would be concerned. What happened?"
You open your mouth to reply, and then hesitate. Standing here in the company of all these men and women, at the very heart of the Knights of Magritta (the northern branch, at least, you can feel a sense of greater numbers and separate structures far to the south), the impression of conflicting drives just about held in balance, the circling of wolves for an advantage in contests of dominance. There is no corruption, at such, you think you would recognise the stench of sickness… but neither is there any kind of unity.
And what war do you fight?
That is… a complicated question. The answer is not something everyone agrees on.
The Knights of Magritta are divided, sure of their allegiance but not of their direction. You are Myrmidia's heir, you could give them that direction, could gain all their assets and support at a stroke, the network that you can feel stretches all across the Empire and belong… but then you will be at the heart of it, your word given weight and your decisions a matter of politics, your consent a prize to be won. You have no enemies here, but you most assuredly have friends in competition, and that might in many ways be worse.
On the other hand, you can also feel how rare a gathering like this is, how scattered the officers and masters of the order normally are. More than that, you can feel the weave of the story - if you step back now, concoct some other excuse and take your time to feel out the intent and nature of the organisation and its aims before revealing yourself, you will have to give them an answer as to why. There will never again be a moment quite so suited for assuming power and influence, should you decide you want it later.
"Miss Bordo? Valeria?"
Article:
Choose one:
[ ] Display the Signet. You are Myrmidia's daughter, and whatever else these Knights are, they are faithful and true. Claim your heritage, and with it the support of a network near unparalleled in scope and resources. A position of influence is safer by far than cooperation in ignorance, and will encourage answers to many more questions.
[ ] Better Part of Valour. This is not the time to commit to a new course, not from a position of such ignorance. That you are favoured by Myrmidia is undeniable, but shelter is enough, you do not need the Knights' patronage beyond that. Not until you have the answers necessary to make an informed decision on your future.
[X] Display the Signet. You are Myrmidia's daughter, and whatever else these Knights are, they are faithful and true. Claim your heritage, and with it the support of a network near unparalleled in scope and resources. A position of influence is safer by far than cooperation in ignorance, and will encourage answers to many more questions.
Seeing the story of how her parents met, what he saw in her - and her in him - yes. Let us reject the path of faux-independence, of the idea that Valeria is not Myrmidia's daughter. For she is also her father's daughter, and her father was a leader of men (she now knows) and these knights loyally serve her mother and so they have common cause with her.
[X] Display the Signet. You are Myrmidia's daughter, and whatever else these Knights are, they are faithful and true. Claim your heritage, and with it the support of a network near unparalleled in scope and resources. A position of influence is safer by far than cooperation in ignorance, and will encourage answers to many more questions.
[X] Display the Signet. You are Myrmidia's daughter, and whatever else these Knights are, they are faithful and true. Claim your heritage, and with it the support of a network near unparalleled in scope and resources. A position of influence is safer by far than cooperation in ignorance, and will encourage answers to many more questions.
[X] Better Part of Valour. This is not the time to commit to a new course, not from a position of such ignorance. That you are favoured by Myrmidia is undeniable, but shelter is enough, you do not need the Knights' patronage beyond that. Not until you have the answers necessary to make an informed decision on your future.
[X] Display the Signet. You are Myrmidia's daughter, and whatever else these Knights are, they are faithful and true. Claim your heritage, and with it the support of a network near unparalleled in scope and resources. A position of influence is safer by far than cooperation in ignorance, and will encourage answers to many more questions.
[X] Display the Signet. You are Myrmidia's daughter, and whatever else these Knights are, they are faithful and true. Claim your heritage, and with it the support of a network near unparalleled in scope and resources. A position of influence is safer by far than cooperation in ignorance, and will encourage answers to many more questions.
[X] Display the Signet. You are Myrmidia's daughter, and whatever else these Knights are, they are faithful and true. Claim your heritage, and with it the support of a network near unparalleled in scope and resources. A position of influence is safer by far than cooperation in ignorance, and will encourage answers to many more questions.
We seem to be bold, but the other option seems to be creating a mystery as opposed to just fading. Being at the heart of a school of those who drive to excel is a good place, and this is a small enough group to try to keep a secret. I think civitus is a draw to structure and organization, and I don't think we can do much better without far greater loss of freedom.
[X] Display the Signet. You are Myrmidia's daughter, and whatever else these Knights are, they are faithful and true. Claim your heritage, and with it the support of a network near unparalleled in scope and resources. A position of influence is safer by far than cooperation in ignorance, and will encourage answers to many more questions.
