Cold Iron, Empty Throne

[VagueZ]

I'm really sorry for the delay, everyone. November was a rough month for a lot of reasons: family woes, work overwhelming me, trying for a promotion that I didn't get, getting ready for a lateral transfer with a radically different schedule after that... It also probably didn't help that I got back into playing Dungeon Crawl Stone Soup, and couldn't let it go until I fifteen-runed and won a new race. I'm also now officially a goodplayer. So, as you can see, it was basically unavoidable. I'm not going anywhere, though, and my new schedule should hopefully be more conducive to writing time, too.

- -

Despite Ant's talk about ambitious people and scheming, your hope for this summit is, legitimately, that you want it to succeed. You want to see things get sorted out with only minimal bloodshed. Your talk with Samir as you brought him food is a perfect example of this. He's been here, talking to messengers as they come and go. Samir was your choice specifically because he is so unmoved by people's pleas. Here, you can put that to good use. He won't budge an iota beyond what you told him were the minimal terms you were willing to accept, and is willing to barter hard to get you a better deal.

"Both of them have sent around different messengers," Samir explained between wolfed-down bites. "I think just to see if I'd be more easily pushed if I get a huge scary guy or a kid or whatever, but maybe it's just who's available and not too tired. They're far enough away to make it inconvenient for them." He snickered a bit there. "I have all day, of course, so I don't care if it's a thirty-minute turn-around to tell them 'I said no' again."

Samir probably never cared too much about the actual deal, or at least not as much as you, but even with that, enough time has passed for the basic deal to shape up. It looks like the actual agreement is going to be pretty close to your minimum acceptable, which is unfortunate, but also probably unavoidable. Both Lady Adara and the Regency Council can send a delegation, and that delegation can be no more than five people, no more than three of which are to be heroes or other fighters. Technically, your group sort of breaks that, but since you're an unknown factor, they probably won't be able to call you on that at all until the summit's already in motion, and then... well, maybe by then you'll have a miracle.

It would be nice to have one, after all.

The other notable part of the pre-conditions you've had Samir working through is that everyone has to have the complete guest list ahead of time. The Regency Council insisted on that one. It seems that this one wasn't one Lady Adara disliked, and Samir didn't see a reason not to share the unfamiliar names of your forgotten little group. Beyond your five, the Regency Council is sending five, and Lady Adara is sending only three, to your surprise. To your greater surprise, her name is on the guest list (and, to be fair, is the only name you recognize, anyway, so maybe the guest list isn't that helpful, the more you think about it). Apparently you're going to be meeting this mysterious noblewoman tomorrow, when this whole shindig kicks off.

There's more, so Samir isn't going to be bored any time soon, but the guts are there. It's going to happen, you have a good idea of what it's going to look like, and the exact precedence of who sits where or the timing of when people arrive isn't going to change most of it. You left Samir knowing those details would get hashed out.

- -

After your talks with Samir and Ant, you returned to the main room, to discover that Dawn hadn't eaten fast enough for Ant.

From the far side of the room, you see Dawn arguing with her arm. "Ant, stop it! I can't eat that fast. You're going to make me choke." It's very much a one-sided conversation; Ant can't talk without the presence of the pendant, and you seem to be too far away. Ant can just make use of her ten minutes a day.

That's what's going on now, it looks. Since Dawn didn't start her meal in good time, according to Ant, Ant is helping her feed herself. Dawn is resisting, working out some sort of self-takedown where she grabs her own wrist and smothers it on the ground with her body weight, then under Ant's command her arm tries to wriggle free.

Zahira giggles at Dawn's plight. Dawn growls back, still flat on the floor. "It's not funny."

"Oh, yes it is. More than that, this is your own fault."

Dawn's arm wiggles free and grabs for her spoon, but she rolls away until it's clearly out of arm's reach, regardless. "In another eight minutes I'm going to show you some very painful holds."

The mage sniffs disdainfully. "You wish." She waves you over at that point, as Dawn waits out the rest of Ant's ten minutes. "So, those earrings we got off Egon," she says, "I think the principles at work there may not be too far off that crown you burgundy tunics took off of the angel. It's just that the working one doesn't have any more go-juice and the the broken one is ludicrously more advanced. A smith's hammer to a proper water trip hammer, type of difference. Still, there might be something we could salvage there. We're getting a real collection of magic trinkets, aren't we?" Her delight seems to suggest that the 'we' here is more 'me'. She loves any chance to get her hands on magic, of any sort.

Zahira doesn't have a chance to talk you through the entire theoretical backing before Dawn, out of breath, staggers back over to finish her meal. Ant's still staying quiet, apparently happy to get her kicks entirely through deeds at the moment. "When's the summit going to be, boss?" Dawn asks, trying to pretend that nothing particularly unusual has happened. You tell her. "So, we have a bit of time first. We should put it to good use." Dawn doesn't suggest what that good use is immediately.

[] You need more personal power, and you just figured out a technique for developing heroic powers. Put yourself through the wringer, see if you can develop some power of your own.
[] You need more magic on your team. Try to find some place to teach Dawn elemental magic.
[] Try to help Zahira. Between the broken crown, Egon's ring and jewelry, Ant's prison, and the potions, there's something to be learned by studying your magical items.
[] ...No. It's too much. You need some down time. Relieve Samir, and maybe the two of you can relax. He's a lot less uptight than everyone else.

 

[VagueZ]

You take a deep breath. "You're right, Dawn. We do need to make good use of the time."

Dawn nods. "Maybe training, trying to get someone new to break into the realm of heroes, like we did with Kalju?"

"Right. I have a feeling that we'll get more success again today." Doing it for your own sake, instead of pushing your body to its limit for the honor of dying for someone else, is appealing. You've had to skulk around too much so far, not standing up to anyone with power. The fight with Egon, where you came within a hair's breadth of losing your sword arm, was the first time you were able to do that, and there it was Kalju's superhuman strength that let you overcome him. No more. Now it will be your turn to gain power. You turn to Zahira. "Can you let Samir know that we'll be doing another training session? I don't want him to think he's too forgotten while he's doing door duty." She shrugs and sets off to do that.

Dawn looks down at the arm Ant was just controlling. "I'm going to be a little less than my best right now. Ant is a bit... energetic, so my arm's almost sore."

"That's okay. I'm sure you'll still present a good foe for me, and of course Kalju's going to be able to use his strength to challenge me."

"Oh." Dawn looks away and doesn't meet your eyes. She's disappointed.

- -

The first thing you discover is that, sense of purpose or no, this dehydration technique is terrible. It's incredibly unpleasant to sit too close to a too-strong fire, swaddled in thick, itchy fabrics that wick away sweat and still feel like a thousand spiders are rubbing stiff legs against you. You hate that analogy, but it's the first one that comes to mind, and it's the only thing distracting you from the fact that you really want a cup of water.

After telling Samir what was going on, Zahira returned, carrying two earthenware cups, filled with clear, cool water. One, she placed on the floor some ten meters from you. That one is the goal. Once you are sufficiently dehydrated, you'll need to fight past Dawn and Kalju. You take some comfort in the fact that you're going to get at least one cup before the gradually increasing resistance makes it too difficult, because right now, with your tongue dry enough to stick to the roof of your mouth and your forehead dripping salty sweat into your eyes, you just feel bad.

Kalju and Dawn rest, for the moment, between you and the cup. Zahira lounges on a chair further back. She dragged over the padded chair of a high-ranking priest, and is draped over both armrests, feet dangling off one while her head hangs off the other, observing you three upside-down, her long, dark hair pooling on the ground. The other cup she holds close, just observing.

Finally, you stand up. It's enough. It has to be enough. The point of this is to push you, after all, not to actually make you collapse. Dawn and Kalju stand, too, facing you shoulder-to-shoulder. They have training weapons, something that probably won't hurt you unless it hits just wrong. You do, too. You pick at your tunic, peeling it away from your body to allow some cool airflow.

As happened with Kalju, the opposition isn't too rough the first time. Your squadmates are fighting at half capacity, and not trying to cooperate. You are under no such restraint, since the entire point is to develop crushing individual superiority. You charge with a wordless snarl. Kalju lowers his center of gravity and thrusts his polearm straight at you. You sidestep it. Dawn comes at you next, padded training mace held ready. You ruthlessly exploit the speed difference, hooking the forward curve of your sword around her shield's rim, then pulling back. The opposite side swings the other direction, turning in her handgrip like a lever. It almost hits her in the face.

You're between them. You have to split your attention. Kalju comes at you with another lazy thrust. You try to deflect it with your shield, but pulled in two directions at once, you misjudge the angle and it impacts you hard. Your hand tingles. It gives you a moment, though. You're past them. You spin around and take a couple more steps backward, but on this side of them that only gets you closer to the water.

You bend down to pick up the cup of water.

It explodes into steam. You recoil, and Kalju and Dawn both stop, too. In a couple of seconds, the steam cloud has cleared, leaving a now-empty earthenware piece glowing with heat.

You whirl. Zahira is now sitting bolt upright in her chair, the other cup clutched tightly in both of her hands. That one is still full, so full that it's almost brimming over. You glare at her. She looks back at you impassively. You have to work your jaw a few times to find the saliva to talk. "Zahira! That was--"

"--That was too easy." Zahira cuts you off as she looks down at you imperiously. "If you're going to challenge your limits, you can't do it exactly in a way you expect. It won't work. You'll relax, you'll assume it'll work again, and you'll miss the mark."

You snarl. You're thirsty, so thirsty that it's almost dizzying. You fought for that water. You won it. "Zahira, you can't just--"

Slurrrrp. You cut yourself off this time, as Zahira raises this cup to her lips and loudly drains some portion of the cup. She's not even looking at you any more. It's as if you don't even matter, but you get exactly what's going to happen if you don't play by the rules she's decided to add.

After a long twenty seconds' silence, Zahira stands, her point made. She walks away from the chair, takes a space some twenty meters away from you, and sets the slightly less-full cup on the floor, with an echoing click. She turns to look at you, holding her hands together at the small of her back. "You have one new rule, if you want to win this fight, break your shell, enter the realm of heroes, and slake your thirst. That rule:

"Impress me."

The fire mage stalks away from the cup.

Dawn and Kalju take their places between you and the water. You glare at them almost as fiercely as you had just glared at Zahira. "Did you two know about this?"

Kalju nods slightly, and Dawn more forcefully. She is the one to speak up. "She talked to us while you were sitting at the fire. Kalju agreed with her idea. This isn't something we can just assume we've got a perfect road map for. We need to play it by ear, and... remember? Ant said Kalju had a stronger affinity for enlightened martial traditions than you do. I don't think this is going to work if we just do the same thing. So Kalju and I are going to fight for real now. Including using Kalju's strength."

You take a deep breath, and let it out in a slow, unsteady shudder. "Fine." You take a ready stance, your weight low and poised forward, your shield in front of you and your sword behind you, using your body to obscure your first motion.

The other two wait for you to attack. The world narrows down to a corridor, with you only aware of the ground between you and the cup of water and the two you have to beat to get there. Dawn with her prideful pose, so assured. She's always stood with you before, her large shield protecting you as much as her, but now it's a bulwark you have to break. Her mace never needed the skill and swiftness your sword did. It's a simple, brutal weapon, and even a training mace could beat you down. Kalju's with her. Kalju, with his self-righteous quiet take, and his annoying perfect washboard abs that he always cuts his shirts and tunics to show. Kalju, with a spear that's now pushed by muscles even stronger than ever before, stronger than you could ever hope to match with mere traditional strength training.

None of that is going to matter. You're going to break past them, you're going to get that drink of water. As you steady yourself, you see Dawn gesturing with her mace. It's saying come on. You launch yourself at her, as fast as you can go. She steps forward to meet you. Sword, mace, and shields clash. You're a little taller, a little stronger. Before you can exploit that, Kalju is there. This thrust is not half-hearted or half-speed. He strikes you as hard as he can. You've been hit by it before, when he first found this strength, kin to the Bear's Mantle school. That time you recovered.

This time, you're not in near as good of shape. You're distracted, thirsty, and off-balance. He knocks you down, splintering your shield as you fall. You land on your back. The wind goes out of you. You slide, further away from the water cup. Once you stop, you push yourself up, discarding the remains of the shield as you try to get up. You fail. The back of your head hits the polished marble floor again. The room spins as your dizziness intensifies.

Dawn and Kalju are standing over you. They still look harsh. You haven't given up, after all, so that means that right now you're still the enemy. They won't give unless you give up or are truly incapacitated.

And they're right to. For all your misery, for all the stink of sweat and miserable clinging clothes, for all the frustration and anger they've built in you, there's something more. Something is within your grasp, but still heart-stoppingly ephemeral. If you can just pull yourself together, if the room will either steady up or fade away, there's something.

Hesitatingly, something inside you reaches for it...

[] You see something, with a sight-beyond-sight.
[] ...Water! Water water water...
[] I'm too weak. I can't do it alone. ANT!

 

[VagueZ]

The room snaps into focus, several times. You see Dawn and Kalju standing above you. You see yourself, as if from a high vantage. You see a beat from now, dodging a 'finishing blow' from Dawn. Dawn's attack isn't one that would actually hurt you further, but it would signal the end of the training, with your failure.

You roll away, matching 'now' with what you saw. It seems right and proper to you, but Dawn is surprised. She's right on top of you, now, as she was attempting to strike while you were down, and now you're inside her guard. You strike with the butt of your sword against the inside of her wrist. She loses hold of her shield and backs up.

This time it's easier to get up; you manage to pull yourself to your feet. The room is still duplicated, but it's an advantage. Your physical body, your embodied eyes, are still dizzy from banging against the floor.

Kalju comes at you. Possibilities fork. One has him slice at you, using his longer reach to swing down with crashing force. The other has him choke up the polearm and fight with it as a quarterstaff. Which will happen? You blink. You can force it. You step in close. Kalju's hands shift, and it's the quarterstaff option.

He was hoping to take you off guard, as this is not usually his preferred style. Instead, you're ready for it, and block his first two attacks, one per end, with your sword and shield. You're close. You tangle your feet in his, and he trips.

Kalju is down. It's not that he can't fight, or that Dawn can't fight. They were only thrown off, just long enough for you to get past. You stride towards the cup of water. It explodes into steam. You head that off by throwing your shield like a discus at Zahira. She ducks, even though you missed her anyway, but it's enough of a distraction. You grab the cup, and whet your tongue with a single long draught.

All of maybe ten seconds have passed since you were flat on the ground. Your vision snaps back to normal.

The other three are on the ground, groaning. You join them, flopping down on the floor, lotus-style, almost hard enough to jolt precious water out of your cup.

"What the hell was that?" Dawn asks. "Was that that Untouchable Blade technique?" She looks at Kalju for confirmation; he actually faced it.

Kalju shakes his head. "No. Different."

You drink a little more. "I think it's how I avoided it, actually. I think I was seeing the future. Maybe?"

Zahira snorts. She's puling her hair back, trying to make herself presentable again after throwing herself to the floor. "So you're a seer, and like an idiot you never noticed until just now?"

"...Maybe." You think back over it. "This does seem like the Stroke of Midnight tradition, doesn't it?" Stroke of Midnight is an unusual enlightened martial tradition that blends divination magic with swordplay, focusing all the user's extrasensory gifts on controlling the next minute of close combat.

The priesthood of Tal-Roshath never cared if their burgundy tunic sacrifices were seers. It didn't help. Instead of building a powerful soul worth sacrificing, something like Stroke of Midnight or other applications of divination just made an equally powerful warrior more annoying to sacrifice in combat.

"Well, if you're a seer, how does tomorrow go?" Zahira, ever practical, immediately wants to put your newly discovered gift to work.

You shake your head. "I don't think it works that way. You know seeing the future was never reliable. None of the old seers in the seer network saw the Great Dying happening, for instance. For anything beyond the next few minutes, I understand it's more like... see a possibility at random sometimes, then work to either make it happen or stop it." You drain your cup, then look dubiously at the bottom of it. "I'm going to go draw some more water."

- -

Samir crinkles up his nose as you step out to join him on the temple's front door. "Boss. You look like shit and smell like sweat."

"Better than the reverse." You're still rehydrating, and Kalju produced a little fruit from who-knows-where that was still in decent shape, so you have that with you, too. "Turns out I'm a seer."

"Huh. Didn't see that coming," Samir says, deadpan, before continuing more seriously. "Not something all that good for squad fighting, is it?"

"I'll have to think about it. Not right away, at least. Right now, I'm just going over our training and thinking about how to... move into the state I was in there. Reacting precisely to things with precision and before they happen would have a lot of utility, even if I don't have anything else I can do with it."

"Right." Samir nods. "It's not invincible, though, is it? Even if you do pull that out, you'd be vulnerable to... let's see. Being overwhelmed: too much power, speed, or numbers. An attack from outside of the range you're currently looking at. Taking a hostage." He looks like he's still fishing for more.

You crack a tired grin. "I don't get a 'good work, that's nice' or anything, huh? Straight to figuring out how to kill me."

He grins back, with more energy than you have right now. "We normal humans are getting outnumbered here, boss. It's just me and Dawn now." He suddenly loses focus, looking at something only in his imagination. "Oh, gods, it is just me and Dawn now. When did the world get so screwy?"

"I think it was when everyone stronger than us died."

"That could do it. And here we are, having grabbed just about everything we can from their corpses." Samir hops up to his feet, spreading his arms wide to encompass the entire city around you both. "Magic items, techniques, bending the ear of leaders and nobility... it's great. Boss, I know I had my downturns, but I'm eager to see tomorrow, now. You've got things wrapped up that I never would've imagined we could do. Whatever you've got to dazzle 'em tomorrow, I want to see it."

You look down at your again-empty cup. "More than anything else, right now, I just want to rest."

"That's fine! Do that first."

- -

The night is not a restful one for you. While your body is drained, your mind is still afire, trying to process what you've learned and hopes for what you can achieve in the future, especially with a new revelation about what you can do. Thoughts and hopes and half-baked plans rise up, mostly garbage and all too ill-formed to have any use.

After much tossing and turning, however, you do eventually drift off, and find that the dreaming world is no more relaxing. Unbidden, your foresight kicks in. You recognize this is no random dream, but the possibility of an unwanted future, where you're about to fight to the death with...

[] Dawn
[] Samir
[] Kalju
[] Zahira

- -

As an aside, I'm pleased that so many of you picked this option, but the question is burning me up: for those who did vote it, did you pick up on Azer's prior psychic revelations and play along, or just think it the best option at the moment?

 

[VagueZ]

Her outer defenses are not intended to keep out one such as you. They can't really be; dumb local kids on a dare and thrill-seekers, not to mention legitimate visitors, may run afoul of them, so they can't be too aggressive. That is the downside of her placing her mansion and laboratory in the new capital's outer district this way.

For you, the defenses are less than nothing. Your own insight ensures you hardly put a foot wrong, and your buoying Contracts enhance your physical ability beyond that.

The inner layers are more tricky, but still entirely within your power. Alarms don't ring. Trap spells don't trigger as you brush past, but not quite within, their detection range. The bound demon overseeing this wing remains locked safely within its magic circle. Heavy doors of intricately hand-carved wood open at your touch. Deep carpets of rich fabrics absorb all noise as you pad across them, your dusty sandals sinking deep into them. You'd feel bad about the mess, if you weren't here to cause even more of one.

There is only one point in your entrance where you grimace, a too-late premonition coming to you. You open the last door, into the primary lab, coming face to face with antiseptic white work surfaces and the occasional shelf with neatly-labeled ingredients of a largely unsavory nature. Zahira is here, facing away from you. Her long, dark hair is pulled up into a high bun, the sort of practical concession she'd never let herself be seen in public with. It's the proof you took her by surprise.

Still, she speaks first, without facing you. "Azer. So you've come."

You know how this part of the conversation will go, having just foreseen it, but you gamely play your part. "Archmage. I didn't make any noise."

"You didn't need to. Your detection limit is still about two minutes for non-dangerous things, right? All I had to do was put one detection spell you'd trip over that did nothing but silently alert me two and a half minutes before you'd get here." She seems delighted in her cleverness.

That was the end of your latest glimpse of the future. You strike out into uncharted territory. "I'm hoping we can still talk things out."

Now, finally, she turns. She still gorgeous, no matter how much of a monster she's turned herself into, and your heart beats just a little faster as she locks her eyes on you. They're not quite the same eyes. They're golden, and shine with an inner flame. It's the outer mark of her Subjugation magic, the vile perversion she's unleashed on the Shallow Ocean. "You're harder to read with that blindfold, you know," she remarks, conversationally.

You touch your fingertips to it lightly. "It makes it easier to see. My physical eyes are a distraction."

"'The Blind Prophet', they're calling you on the streets. Preaching tales of woe and ruin if we don't repent, if we don't give up our wicked ways."

"It's not worth it," you say, gesturing at her eyes. "You might win, or you might lose the war, but in the end you're only making a tool that will create a poisoned new order, at best. It's going to cause untold suffering."

Zahira sneers, her painted lips curling up in a categorical dismissal. "Easy for you to say. You abdicated responsibility, left it for someone else. We had no other tools to defeat Granny, and there's nothing better to fight Governor Duilio. After I saved us and provided hope, you don't get to come in and judge the way I saved the day."

You shake your head. "I can hear them. Can't you? The pained whimpers of the innocent spirits you've pressed into service."

"If not them, then someone else would've suffered instead. If I pick, I at least can see to it that those who care for me can be spared. I thought that included you, once."

You cross your arms. "Don't give me that, Zahira. You know you can't lie to me."

She shrugs. "Okay, you're a sanctimonious prick." You don't respond, letting silence stretch on until she continues. "Fine, you win," she eventually says. "Yes, one set of innocents suffers instead of another. I kind of prefer if I get a say and can pick the ones who like me, but all else being equal, I'll always pick the option where I gain power!"

Zahira grows an ecstatic grin as she begins to summon power. Gale force winds explode from her body with a series of screams as the Subjugation magic forces bound spirits to englobe her. Heat, hotter than your family's forge, blazes to life as she calls the flames that were her first and still greatest magic. Other magical sources in the mansion gutter out as she reclaims the power distributed to them. Contingent spells of various types, tome magic she's mastered and engraved into her clothing or jewelry, lash out, seeking purchase on you to hinder your ability to stand up to her. It is a terrifying spectacle. Zahira has grown. Her magic is now on par with all but the greatest of the old angels. Neatly labeled jars and boxes shatter and crumble, their contents scattered and savaged by the scything winds even as the shelving it's on is snapped and stripped from the walls. The carpet in the hallway behind you catches fire. The heat-resistant tile you're standing on now blackens and the top layers begin to curl up.

Your Contracts blaze in response. Borrowed, lent, and freely given power emerges from you, various spirit aids to blunt the worst of Zahira's magical might. You draw your sword. Present you is bothered by how comfortable this grip feels; this long, straight two-handed weapon is not the forward-curved single-handed weapon you feel comfortable with. The blade is one of the new-forged magic items, a black metal razor meant to carve any of the threats that still exist in this post-Great Dying world. "You weren't always like this," you shout at her. "You used to be--"

"I never changed!" The screams around her all pause, suddenly, to echo her three word cry. "I never changed! You did! You wavered, you hit a point where you said 'someone else fix this for me'. This was the only option, and you didn't accept it. Now you're here to kill me, as if that will put the lid on this can of worms. News flash: it won't! I'm not the only Subjugator in this world any longer, and even if I were, people know it's possible now. You're just going to have to accept that the world isn't as nice as you'd like, not as tidy and clean and clear-cut."

You hold your sword up, its tip pointed at her with murderous intent. "It didn't have to be this way, Zahira. I'm trying to fix my mistakes, and you're here making more." Zahira flicks her wrist in response, and bullets of compressed inferno fly at you. Your sword, woven through with spellwork meant to fight other magic, lets you slice apart and evaporate the first few, but she slings more, varying speed and power and size and how dazzlingly bright they are. You take a step forward, then another, even in the face of the building firestorm whipping up around you.

Zahira gives ground. Her magic is all focused on you, and she's shaping spell after spell with uncanny speed and variety. Still, she is no close combatant. This fight will end if you can cut her. This fight will end if she can work past your defenses and incinerate you. Proud as she is, as entranced as she is by the sheer pleasure she feels in channeling magic, Zahira will give ground if necessary, and here she only gains more time and chances if she backs to the far side of the lab.

Even without that, your chances here are... slim. You knew that coming in. You didn't come in intending to fight alone against her. You're the frontal attack, the one that pulls all her attention, all her magic on you.

The real deathblow, if things go as intended, will come through the now unwarded window. Samir--

--Zahira sees your slight head turn, and even with your blindfold, she makes the connection.

--She's whirling, but the arrow is in the air already, there's a frozen moment where you don't know which will make it in time--

- -

You wake up shaking. You sit up, put your face in your hands, and give a heartfelt groan to the empty, still-dark room around you. You force yourself to take a few deep breaths and let your heartbeat slow to something normal.

That wasn't a normal dream. It was... it was a future you don't want to see.

You jump as Ant appears on the foot of your bed. "Well, that was weird," she says.

"'Weird'? Wait, you're spying on my dreams?"

"Oh, it's not the first time. It's otherwise boring when you're sleeping. I think that's the first premonition I've ever seen first hand, though. I liked the part where you were fighting your friends to the death."

You groan. "In that dream, Zahira was using some... I don't know, some completely unknown type of magic, and I think it was hurting spirits like you. Didn't that phase you at all?"

"Not really. I've always known that my probable final fate is being killed horribly when I pick the wrong fight. You, however, have a full day ahead of you, and no time to rush around doing anything else between now and then, or trying to confront Zahira about some potential crimes a maybe-future self of her committed."

"Ant, I say this with feeling: go away."

Ant vanishes, but she's right about one thing: you do have a busy day, and it already needs to start.

- -

Lady Adara's delegation is the first to arrive, showing about five minutes prior to the scheduled time. Lady Adara is unmistakable. She's tall, whip-thin, and clearly a healthy sixty-plus. The scowl on her face could have been there for the last thirty years by how deeply it's lined in. She strides in in an outfit that was clearly expensive once, but now has been worn to the point that it just looks lived-in. She's flanked by two people, exactly as promised. One of them is a gently smiling woman who looks ten or fifteen years younger than Adara. In contrast to her general plump, grandmotherly nature, this woman has a pair of short swords, one at each hip. By the name list, this must be Nokomis. The third is a sour-faced young man, about your age, carting an ostentatious tome along with him, as if he's afraid people might see him and not realize he's a mage. By process of elimination, this is Talib.

You meet them on the top of the temple's front steps, with Kalju and Zahira flanking you. You do your best to greet them politely, but you're rather guessing on etiquette. It was never taught to you, and you haven't had a chance to read up since, and the exact power balance today is not anything any standard text would describe in detail, either.

A side glance as introductions complete shows you that Zahira and Talib have instantly locked eyes and are giving each other death glares that they think are subtle. No special magical sight is needed to tell you that you've just seen two wannabe archmages mutually identify the rival at first glance.

You take the trio inside, and help them find their assigned seats at the table your group has set up. As they do, you notice Adara giving you a piercing look. "Something's bothering you," she states.

Well, that was blunt. You try to play it off. "Merely curiously, my lady. I was wondering why you only brought two aides, instead of four."

She rests her elbows on the table and hides her mouth behind intertwined fingers. "Three fighters, two negotiators, was the deal. I have developed some shadow magic, and my adviser Nokomis came out of retirement. She was the old Untouchable Blade grandmaster's wife. Lost her husband and child in the Great Dying." Nokomis gets a slight faraway look in her eyes at the reminder. "You have something I need. I wished to impress on you my sincerity. Perhaps you would have accepted the two of us are not here as warriors, but this way there can be no claims of duplicity." You nod, keeping your face more even after her reminder she could read you. You didn't know Adara was a conceptual mage.

The Regency Council, on the other hand, is twenty minutes late, presumably making some sort of point that you aren't really in the mood to try to decipher. Right now, it's just annoying and little more. You repeat the greeting on the steps with the five of them. The clear leader of this group is Councilor Omar, who is not yet middle-aged but already going a little soft and broad across the middle. He makes it very clear to you that he is one of the moves and shakers on the Regency Council, so you should probably listen to him. He barely bothers to cloak it enough to give you enough cover to justify ignoring it. The other negotiator is a very quiet man named Kusuma, whom you sort of get the impression is not here to do actual negotiation so much as to be ears for another person or persons. Their bodyguards are an elementalist and a pair of Viper's Kiss warriors. The elementalist is masked and wearing shapeless clothing, so you can't tell much about Paris, and they don't speak to give you any hints as to who they are, either. Tanis and Tanith, the Viper's Kiss fighters, are clearly not sisters, but it's also clear that someone really liked the idea of hot twin warriors, so they're done up as if they are twin sisters, each with a sling dangling loosely from the opposite hip as the other woman's. You suspect that the names are also not their given names. They stick close behind Omar, so it's clear who their patron here is.

Both groups brought their own refreshments. It was just the easiest thing to do to avoid fears of poison. Plus, it lowered your duties as host. Talk doesn't start right away. Both groups have breakfast first, and your squad... well, you all ate before anyone got here. Such as your breakfast was. Day-old fish wasn't the most appetizing thing, but it was what you had. Omar and Kusuma have a much nicer-looking, fresher fish. You suspect they probably had it prepared just before they started out to join you. Adara has some greens and some hard cheese. The greens probably are from somewhere here in the capital, and the cheese is the type that will keep for long periods.

Omar is the first to try anything that isn't just a pleasantry or vague, non-committal non-answer. "So, your group managed to find a mighty old treasure. Snatched it right out of Adara's hands, according to Ariel." He's looking at you.

You nod, slightly. "We did secure a large number of very powerful potions."

"Mm. Enough to burn the island to the ground, or maybe turn every living human here to stone, according to rumors about the vault."

"Close enough to true. It's not my intent that we use it, but it's my hope that it can... help us find common ground. Everyone here."

"You're an idealist," Omar tells you, bluntly. "You came in hoping too much would just be something you could sweep under the rug." He takes one more bite, chews slowly, and swallows before continuing. "I assume from your behavior that it's fair to say you weren't here in the capital during the Great Dying? Good. Let me tell you something of what it was like. Everyone with a view less myopic than a street vendor or fisherman knew what a disaster it was, but we are a minority, and we needed to keep a lid on things to prevent chaos. I'm not sure you ever fully appreciated how important various mages and friendly spirits were to much of our production. Spirits of fish encouraging them to spawn in large numbers to allow large catches. Seers passing along important news and business updates to allow the economy to function. Elementalists and their ilk to speed cargo and allow safe travel and some reasonable consistency in how long trips take. Gods and heroes to maintain order and prevent rebellions and wars. We lost all of that, all at once. The Regency Council was formed as a stopgap. We need to rebuild, make things to replace the old order. We're operating on behalf of Prince Ketut--"

Here Adara, hands still hiding her mouth, interjects. "--who is probably illegitimate, and the ruling was expected just before the--"

"Irrelevant." Councilor Omar waves a fork at Lady Adara. "Let's not pretend Ketut is anything but a pawn, not here where we're all men and women of the world. The point is, we can fix this. That's what we're trying to do. We just need support so we can get temporary solutions in place before people start starving. We've had our quartermasters and others look at this. We can do this, if we don't waste time and lives fighting each other. And assuming that the outer provinces don't decide to go into full revolt from the capital. Which is where Ketut has value; the everyday people will be leery of throwing away the one connection we have to the now sadly deceased Queen of the Gods. For all that Governors like Anong, Duilio, and Wattana presumably have their own ambitions, as do some of our far-flung military commanders, they still need people to follow them. Continuity provides stability, and that stability will allow us to find ways to make it through."

"While lining your own pockets," Adara adds.

Omar doesn't even look abashed. "Yes, once the minimums have been surpassed, why shouldn't the Council and those of use to it see some reward for their hard work?"

"Because it's not enough!" Adara's sudden vehemence changes the flow of the conversation. "It's not anything but a bad excuse to do the minimum while grifting everything you can. We have a once-in-an-era chance to make something genuinely new, something that will actually be better than what we had in the old world. We sent countless people to be blood sacrifices, justifying it to ourselves that it was necessary, or our god would fall behind other gods in power and prestige. We accepted restrictive Contracts that pushed good men and women to bend to strange whims of their patron gods, even when they knew it wasn't for the best. We just assumed we couldn't do better. Now, we have a chance. Why can't we at least aspire to something better than we were before?" She's still scowling, but Adara looks deeply passionate about this possibility of a better world.

Councilor Omar leans back in his chair, unmoved. "If you really wanted to do better, you should have done better. How many riots here in the capital seemed to be driven by agents provocateurs... who I rather suspect reported to you?"

Adara shakes her head. She's lost her full passion; you can't tell if she's telling the truth as she says "We did no such thing. The only thing I and my allies have done is try to gather people who believe we can do better, and try to do so. We can make something better than we used to have, but not if we're simultaneously trying to implement the same mistakes we had before. That's what I'm hoping to see: people who can make something new, make a better world for my grandchildren to live in."

You've made a bit of a mistake, you realize. Lady Adara and Councilor Omar aren't here to talk to each other. They're here to try to sway your group. The potions are the prize that comes with convincing you, and the other side is still seen as just an obstacle. You don't think your allies are showing their leans too much yet, but you can't know that for sure and Lady Adara's shown a certain strength of insight already. You, who know them better, can tell by how she's resting her weight that Dawn is finding something compelling in Councilor Omar's words, while Kalju's eyes aren't resting on Lady Adara just because she's speaking, but because he's really listening to what she's saying.

You're going to have to find something to do to direct this summit, and the wrong move is only going to make things worse.

[] Refuse to let this discussion get anymore philosophical; try to keep it entirely focused on hashing out mutually agreeable terms.
[] Gum up the proceedings; they can't sway your team if the discussion stays petty and pointless until they leave for the day.
[] Show favoritism to Councilor Omar.
[] Show favoritism to Lady Adara.
[] Write in

 

[VagueZ]

"Surely," you say to Lady Adara, "The most important thing you can do for your grandchildren is to find actual solutions, not just state you hope there's something better." Before anyone can jump in, you turn your head sharply to the left, looking at Councilor Omar. "And surely if the crisis is so bad that all we can do is implement desperate measures, there's not room for fighting each other or pocketing extra that doesn't exist." The tension in the room thickens immediately. Both groups are trying to be persuasive enough to walk away with a strong 'win'. A blunt approach is the only way that comes to mind for you to stop them from continuing to make empty declarations and swing this back around to an actual attempt at mediation.

You resist an urge to tug on your collar. Nerves now would just wreck the moment you've created. Instead, you spread your arms. "Philosophy is all well and good, but we need to find something that works. Regardless of how it's going to go afterward, I don't want us to leave without finding some way to... not fight each other. How many people have died directly from this conflict?"

From beside Lady Adara, Nokomis makes a strange sound of amusement, one you can't quite recognize beyond that. "This from the group that killed Egon?"

"Immediately after he killed several other people and then expressed a direct intent to kill me and my friends."

"He was my son's friend, you know." You remember Lady Adara's introduction. It seems Nokomis was deeply involved in the same school that Egon was in; she was the only one in her family to fall below the power line where people died. "I was teaching him our style so he could honor his friend's memory."

"I'm sorry for your loss," you tell her, not letting sympathy into your tone. "But, surely, that just drives home how important it is that we talk this out, now."

Nokomis opens her mouth, but Adara speaks up first. "Nokomis." She doesn't need to say anything else. Nokomis subsides. "So." Adara fixes you with a piercing glare. "You're just expecting us to talk this out now, although it hasn't worked before." Her disapproval is almost a physical force.

You force yourself to rally. "That was then. Things are different now, aren't they? We've seen what happens if we don't all come together, and we do have to sort out things like defense, food movements, and other issues eventually, if we don't kill each other first. Why not now?"

Adara tilts her head slightly, without her fixed scowl lessening to any appreciable degree. "Indeed. Why not now? We'll be much more amenable with the specter of death from a strategic potion reserve held over our head." Was that sarcasm? "I'm not opposed. We can certainly contribute a lot. The few remaining priests who came to my banner are still a good resource for some magical knowledge, and are good at reassuring people who are nervous. In addition, we've even managed to turn out a few replacement magical items, such as the ring I notice is on your short friend's finger." Her eyes find Samir. He grins, completely unashamed. "We're here to help, ultimately. If this is the best we can do, so be it."

Omar blinks, looking taken aback at this turn. You can tell he'd rather bluster, but there's a certain satisfaction below the surface that he ruthlessly suppresses. "Indeed. Well, the Regency Council encompasses more of us than came to the table today, so... I will have to confer with my counterparts to finalize any deal, but if we can come to an understanding, I have every faith they will agree to it, too. I simply mention it as an important formality." He leans back in his chair, using his gut wedged under the table to keep him from toppling backwards. "We've been gathering everything we can to ensure the flow of cargo vessels across the Shallow Ocean. It's a daunting task, but with enough manpower and connections, we are doing all right. Although..." Here he fixes you with a stare. "It's indeed lucky that you mention defense. If you're going to flaunt the power you're hoarding, that includes you, does it not?" You don't respond, recognizing a trap when you see it. "I'm sure I can work out a mutually agreeable deal with Lady Adara, given the chance, but there are things that need to be done. There's a baby kraken off the coast. Just before I came over here, I received word: it attacked a fishing boat. We can't let a powerful monster like that grow and dominate our seas. It would lock us in here if it truly goes after our shipping. Surely you can help us by dealing with that?" He smiles broadly. Though his teeth are merely human, instead of a thicket of needles, you can't help but be reminded of Ant's grin.

You spend the rest of the meeting in a daze. True to their words, Omar and Adara do manage to make some actual headway in terms of coming to operational agreements, but you couldn't have said what any of it was. You were too wrapped up in thinking about what you'd managed to get volunteered for. The simple fact of it was that if you turned this down, you risked being seen as a paper tiger, which could easily break down the entire summit, maybe even have it turn openly violent.

A kraken is one of the Shallow Ocean's apex predators, making "baby" something of a relative term. They grow to colossal size, with the just-hatched ones barely larger than a dinghy but the largest dwarfing warships, with somewhere between eight and twenty muscular tentacles as large around as some tree trunks that lash out seemingly independently as they seize their prey and immobilize it.

They are ravenous predators, too, sometimes trapping whole schools of fish in small lagoons or tide pools and feasting until there are none left. For obvious reasons, they are equally happy to attack fishermen at times, especially after they have finished making their catch and are on their way back to safe harbor. Luckily, they were never particularly numerous, both due to their own low reproductive rate and the fact that putting down any kraken that grew too terrible or aggressive to mortals was one of the 'standard' heroic duties.

One of your favorite stories while you were still growing up with your family was your mother's telling of "Seven Heroes Against the Sea", the tale of a dashing swordsman who had to gather six unlikely companions to save a floating island from a gargantuan kraken that was slowly catching up. As you grew up and realized just how fantastical a tale it was, the less you imagined you would get to star in a version of it. Life has thrown some unlikely swerves at you.

About the only other useful piece of information you manage to retain from the meeting is a plan to meet with Admiral General Hobi, who both Omar and Adara tell you is the man to contact with more information on this kraken you need to drive away or kill.

- -

The Admiral General's office is by the docks. You've never met the man, but you've managed to pick up a few things. The first is actually just from knowing his title: he's managed to reach the rank of admiral while in the service of the old imperial family. That sort of exalted rank was typically reached only by those with some connection to wealth or nobility, but even they would tend to stall out their careers as commodores without some demonstrated competence, as well. The other part is the "General" attachment: he is one of the few who specialized in land combat, and not the ship-to-ship brawls that are more common.

Since the Great Dying, he has been the highest-ranking officer in the capital, holding together most of the military forces that remain without the powerful mages and heroes that made up a lot of the backbone of the navy. Some few had thrown in their lot more directly with either Lady Adara or the Regency Council, of course, but the majority still listened to the chain of command.

The Admiral General hasn't seemed interested in political gain for himself; he had made it clear that he was going to throw support behind whatever legitimate government formed, making his allegiance the prize that the squabbling groups had set their eyes on until you interrupted.

When you arrive at his office, your companions stay outside and you are shown in by a clearly overworked assistant, who has the sort of nervous energy of someone who has a thousand things to do but only the time to do six hundred, assming he doesn't sleep but does have lots of coffee.

He doesn't stick around after introducing you. He just opens the door, says names, and departs.

That leaves you alone with the Admiral. He's reading over paperwork at his desk as you come in. You can't read all of it while it's upside down and this far away, but you see everything from maintenance logs on war galleys to reports of disciplinary procedures. The latter is what he's directly working on right now, with one of the magical pens that regulate ink flow smoothly. Probably it was something that wasn't powerful enough to crack and break in the Great Dying. From what you do manage to read before the Admiral puts down his pen and pushes all the paperwork to one side, the discipline may have come from scuffle between soldiers supporting different flags in the current unpleasantness.

"Hello there," Hobi says, rubbing his slightly gray goatee in an unconscious gesture.

"Admiral General Kihn Hobi," you reply. It comes out in a weird, strangled tone. You cough to clear your throat.

"Nervous?" He give you a commiserating smile. "Understandable. You really gave away the farm today, didn't you?"

"Did I?" You had thought things had gone rather well, apart from the bit where you ended up agreeing to kill a kraken.

Hobi shakes his head. "Well, I imagine you stopped the immediate fighting. But the underlying tension is still there, and that's not going to go away. If I had to guess from what was reported, Lady Adara thinks she can sway one of us to support her before her situation gets too dire, but the Regency Council has too much more money and influence. She's going to lose this fight eventually, unless something changes. Hail Prince Ketut and his regents!" The last is in a sarcastic tone.

A memory resurfaces. A Zahira that should never be, howling "You wavered, you hit a point where you said 'someone else fix this for me'" at you as her golden gaze pierces you. You push the memory down. This certainly wasn't the same event as in your dream, not without you having the slightest idea who or what 'Granny' was or the need for a new type of magic to solve it. Still... it's concerning. "Do you not want the Regency Council to win the power struggle, then?"

"Bunch of greedy pricks who were jerks while I was growing up, though no worse than most. Never mind that, though," Hobi says, brusquely. "By the sound of things, you've got a little squad of people with some power, a stock of powerful potions, and a kraken to kill. Not bad for someone I hadn't heard of three days ago. Now, let's get down to the brass tacks and see what I can do to make sure you can be kraken slayers." You do so.

Krakens are physically mighty, but lack the cunning of dragons and the magic of demons and other spirits. If given a tempting target while hungry, which is most of the time, a kraken can be expected to atack, jetting up from behind and below its prey, then grabbing with entangling tentacles.

Fighting one is usually a question of seeing the ambush as early as possible, then trying to bring enough power at the kraken to kill it or drive it away, even through the salt water it cloaks itself with and its own rubbery bulk. Electricty, poison and vastly oversized weapons are favored in the hunt.

You, of course, have none of those conveniently to command. About all that Hobi can give you is a simple, small sailing vessel you can use for the hunt and some idea of when and where it's been seen. It shouldn't be too hard to find it if you want to.

Unfortunately.

- -

"This stinks," Samir says. You've gotten back with your group now, and are beginning to go over the provided little boat. He's gone up and down the single mast and tested the rudder already. "I really don't want to try to try to fight any sort of giant monster, and this is an aquatic one. You know what happens if you shoot an arrow into water?" He mimes doing so. "It stops quickly. Because it doesn't fly through water. And even if I go get a sling or something instead, you know what happens then? Sling bullets just sort of sink. And I'm not really good with a spear or anything."

"I actually wouldn't mind just abusing a potion to kill this thing," Zahira says, her eyes sparkling. "I could probably deduce a lot about how to make such things by seeing it in action."

"If not a potion, how else could we even fight it?" That's Kalju, who is looking up at the rigging with much less familiarity than Samir has.

Dawn isn't actually helping. She just lounges in the bottom of the hull. "Well, we could do the stupid thing and try to fight it with our weapons and magic, but even the heroes of old would sometimes lose people if they tried to fight an adult kraken. I'm not anxious to try that." She looks at the hand she's bargained away to Ant. "We could... ask Ant, I suppose?"

"I just wish we had a bigger ship than this," Samir says with a sigh, finally stopping his energetic inspection of the vessel. "It's not big enough or seaworthy enough for us to take anywhere far from shore, so I'd expect we would sink if we tried to just run away on this little wooden toy."

"You'd run away?" Dawn arches an eyebrow at Samir.

"Yes, I would rather run away than get bit in half by a monster?" Samir doesn't even seem combative, just incredulous that she would have a different point of view on this.

Dawn snorts and looks away from him. "Boss, Ant?"

You take out the pendant and shake it. "Ant?"

"You summoned me?" Ant appears with a flourish and an overly dramatic kneel, as if you were a god and she were the supplicant. Around you, your companions all react with shock. You realize, somewhat belatedly, that you never had a chance to tell them about Ant's newest form, meaning that all of them are taken by surprise by the half-you/half-Dawn image. Ant's identity being so radically shaped by other people is still hard to process.

Once everyone has gotten their reaction out of their systems, you explain to Ant what you're doing. "So we're exploring our options right now. Could you fight that kraken for us?"

Ant thinks about it, hard. "Yes," she finally says. "I believe I could. I would have two demands, however. First: if I do this for you, I get to show off. No hiding myself. I get to reveal myself to anyone who's watching. I'd still be bound to return to you, but people can watch. Second, I get to destroy that specific boat over there." Ant points.

Everyone's heads turn. What she is pointing at is a hard-used fishing boat, one of dozens of very similar ones owned by someone or some family. It's not large, visibly anything special, or even particularly well-maintained. Sadly, this time of day, there's no one there who's visibly the owner for you to go and specifically ask. "Why?"

"Because it's a little fishing boat that I want to destroy, and I don't want to be any more specific. It's not that bad a deal, you know. Are you sure that you won't spread your potions around too broadly and cause collateral damage? This is specific collateral damage you get to know ahead of time. It also doesn't use up your supply of potions." You don't immediately accept. "One more sweetener, then. I know you keep being suspicious of me, but I would like to stretch myself and do this, so I'll even cancel my control over Dawn's arm. That leaves me with less options."

[] Plan to use a potion to fight the kraken.
- [] Hell's Heart, which burns with unquenchable flames for days
- [] Hydra's Breath, which poisons all it touches
- [] Gorgon's Gaze, which transmutes victims to stone
[] Accept Ant's deal, and let her fight the kraken for you.
[] Fight it with your strength of arms and magic.
- [] ...and I have a cunning plan that cannot fail! (write-in tactics)

Voting will be by top option first, so a vote for any potion is a vote to use a potion. The last option does not require tactics; in the absence of audience suggestions, I'll still be trying to give reasonable tactics for the group, but maybe you have something clever I didn't think of!

 

[VagueZ]

You swallow, hard. This is going to be... different. "Ant," you declare, "I accept."

"Magnificent!" Ant's image smiles, slowly and broadly. It is an uncomplicated expression.

You take the pendant in hand, and hurl it to the ground. Ant's illusory self vanishes as you do. There is no need for such images. Not when her magical prison has been allowed to open its bars for the first time since before your parents drew breath, at the very least. You've finally allowed a brief work-release. The weird shaped little stone on the end of the string begins to warp and expand. Bits slide around and expand. It was always a tiny human form, you realize, just one pressed impossibly far into a fetal position, then covered over. That would be the remainder of the prison working that's kept Ant restrained.

The shape is still amorphous, a blurred and barely humanoid shape. It's the size of a small child before it manages to rise to all fours, but as it unsteadily rises to its feet, it's grown to reach your armpits. Eyes open. Hair begins to be visibly distinct from the head and neck. Fingers separate as the goop covering them together retracts. Still it swells.

The weird stuff that makes up the outer layer begins to disappear altogether. Ant comes properly into view for the first time. A spirit's body is a magical vessel, but no less a physical object for that. Ant's body is as she has shown: clearly inhuman, but not so far different, either, and with the face and features you've seen in her projected image. One thing that's clear now, though, is just how large she is. She towers over even Kalju, a good twenty centimeters taller than he. She raises her arms to the sky, and densely corded muscle shifts under her skin, practically crackling with magical potential. Ant lets loose a deep belly laugh, which echoes off the warehouses and icehouses around you. "At last!"

People are staring. Spirits were never the most common sight, not on the actual streets of town where any nobody could stumble across them, and now their numbers have been so sharply reduced that most people in the capital assumed all of them were gone.

Now, here you are, with just such a being. People tending to their boats, guards outside the Admiral General's headquarters, and various passers-by stop what they're doing and stare, many literally slack-jawed. Zahira is the first to realize the potential symbolism, and draws herself up behind you and to the left, looking as much the official adviser as she can. Samir gives a subtle one-shoulder shrug before taking the other side, then so do Kalju and Dawn. Ant takes the same kneeling pose her image was a bit ago. This one, though, is a little different. There is no mockery in it. "Boss. Give me my order."

She's giving you a chance for public theater. It was in the deal. "Ant. There is a young kraken off the coast. Slay it, and bring the corpse to me." Your voice may not have her ability to carry, but some people will still hear the loud proclamation.

"It will be done!" She draws herself up a little, then jumps, a single lithe propulsion that turns into a stately backflip and dive into the water. You see various people crowd the waterfront, watching her swim away, wiggling her entire body like a dolphin. It's a fairly respectable speed, and it's not too long before she vanishes into the distance.

That makes you, by default, now the most interesting thing for people to stare at if they have nothing better to do. Feeling obscurely drained, you sit heavily on a coil of old, abandoned rope. Kalju glances down at you. "You gave away someone else's boat," he says.

"I did," you acknowledge. "I... think we can give the owner this one." You gesture at the craft the Admiral General lent you. "Hobi probably expected it back if we didn't die, but it sinking in the course of the operation had to be a possibility, so he shouldn't have any room to complain that we're giving this up now. Besides, it's probably nicer than the boat Ant's going to wreck, so it'll be an upgrade for them, so... this should all work out." You scrub your eyes with the heel of your hands. It may be a tenuous justification, but Kalju radiates approval of it.

Zahira looks longingly over the ocean. "I guess this wasn't the stupidest possible solution, but I still kind of wish we were going to turn the thing to stone instead. Wouldn't that have been fascinating to watch?" Around you, people on the docks are egging each other on to have someone else get close to you. You're intriguing right now, but also potentially scary, an unknown person with links to an impossible spirit that has manifested from nowhere. Zahira runs an appraising eye over them. "Well, while you sacrifices sit around and wait to die like you were always supposed to, I'm going to go talk to the crowds and engage in a little shameless self-promotion."

"Dawn, go with her," you say without looking up at all. "Make sure things get credited properly. Samir, stay here and don't say anything to anyone."

"Got it, boss," Dawn says, quietly. Both women move away.

You feel a warm presence at your back. Samir decided to sit down, too, on the opposite side of your rope pile, back-to-back. "Thanks, boss," he says.

"For what?"

"For finding something where I don't get bit in half by a monster, whether or not the plan works."

"I didn't want to get bitten in half, myself."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want that, either."

- -

It's some time later, and most of the people who wanted to crowd in with questions for Dawn and Zahira have done so, when the next thing happens that rouses you from your rope seat. "Kraken!" Someone calls. "I see a kraken tentacle!"

Attention goes to the water. If it's genuinely come that close to the harbor, it's definitely noteworthy. It's also remotely possible that one of the coastal defense galleys might catch it, though that tends to be a fool's errand, as the kraken is swifter in the water than any galley.

You heave yourself to your feet and join the people staring from the water's edge over the harbor. In the distance, you see a snake-like coil rise and extend itself. It is, indeed, a kraken tentacle. Another figure appears, made tiny by distance. It's significantly more humanoid. Ant's showing off, you realize. She's brought the fight over here to show what's happening.

Spirit and kraken both gradually get closer to shore. Ant's mere two-and-a-bit meters of height are dwarfed by the kraken, whose overall length is three or four times her own. Both of them seem to be brutes, fighting with sheer brawn. The kraken is trying to use its bulk and multiple limbs to rip Ant limb-from-limb, while Ant is taking some punishment while pushing or leading the kraken, whichever she can manage. She'll charge it when she has the chance, or else throw straight blows from fist, elbow, knee, or foot whenever she has the leverage to strike with any power.

Between the two, it seems obvious that Ant should have the disadvantage, but, somehow, unbelievably, she's overcoming that and still gradually overwhelming her prey. So shocking is the sight, and so quickly have they come close, that no one manages to rouse any sort of defense to help Ant in time.

When they are within about a sling's distance of shore, Ant delivers the killing blow. The kraken clearly thought it had finally turned the tide, immobilizing both her legs and dragging her close to the hidden beak that was ringed by its tentacles. You couldn't get a perfect view, but as far as you could make out, Ant simply reached out with one hand, grabbed a hold of its rubbery flesh, and, thus stabilized, thrust the other hand deep into its body, piercing vital organs.

The thrashing goes on for a while, but they are clearly death throes, nothing more. Ant drags the no longer resisting body along, and, as they get close to the shore, she heaves the seven-and-a-half-meter-long beast over her head, bringing it down in a convincing smash... that reduces her chosen fishing boat to splinters, few larger than your hand.

Ant pulls herself from the water. There's a satisfied, tired grin on her face, but it clearly was not a trivial fight. Her nose has been nearly smashed flat, one arm is twisted funny, and she's covered with numerous little injuries. She's moving slow, now that the actual combat is over.

You stride up to her, trying to look bold and somewhat aware that you may not be pulling it off because you certainly don't feel it, especially as the kraken still twitches here and there. Luckily, people probably aren't really watching for that. You reach up, holding out your hand to Ant, who inclines her head in response. "Rest now, and heal."

Ant disappears. You tuck the pendant away, mildly confident that no one would have had a chance to see the specifics of your recovery of the spirit.

You turn back around. There's a crowd, now, one much larger than before. Most of the people there are looking at you expectantly.

[ ] Say something.
- [ ] What?
[ ] Leave without saying anything.

 

[VagueZ]

You discover something as you face a curious, concerned, large crowd. You'd never before really been in front of a large group like this. Not at home with your parents and the forge and the consistent beat of the water-powered trip hammer, and not in the temple as you were trained to be a disposable sacrifice.

You discover that you don't like talking in front of crowds.

So that's why you've heard people talk about not wanting to talk in public or how not everyone who wants to be a priest can handle getting up and giving a sermon. It's only a very momentary pause as you try to find your tongue, but you feel a finger being mercilessly driven into your side. You glance back to see Zahira giving you a wicked grin. "Don't worry," she whispers. "Try not to resist my magic and I'll give you a little boost, you shy mess."

A spike of flame jumps from her finger to you. You don't quite shudder, and it does feel... well, it makes you feel fired up. Zahira is pushing the limits of how far conceptual magic can go, not just into the actual control of flames, but also into the associations it can be pushed to. It's not supposed to be easy, and in this case the effect isn't that strong. It's enough, though, especially with the odd moral support you have from her and Samir being right behind you.

You draw a deep breath, but one more assured than before. You raise your sword high over your head. "Not all the spirits are dead. New heroes rise to fill the void of the old. Look about you and wonder, for a new age is upon us all!"

The effect isn't as good as you would have hoped. You do get a few cheers, scattered and brief, then a sort of general polite clapping that slowly builds up over several seconds. You're more street theater than inspiring, it seems--

--A vision comes to you, unbidden. As you look over the crowds, you see faces of these people not as they are now, but as they could be. Their future faces don't show that same disconnection, that same disbelief that you're facing today.

It's not an easy process, becoming a hero for real, but you have taken an important step. You are planting seeds that will bear fruit, and the wording you chose were important in how they see it. In fact, you--

--The split-second vision fades as you hear Samir trying hard to suppress an evil snicker at your lack of a major cheer. Your control isn't any good yet, and now he's distracting you.

There's angry shouting and a general disturbance at the back of the crowd. People part to watch this new interesting thing. It's a burly man who's clearly been drinking since he finished the day's work. There are several similar people behind him, but at enough of a distance that they're making it clear that they're not exactly with him, but just happen to be here for their own reasons, such as general solidarity. He points one massive, hairy hand at you. "Hey! Your pet whatever broke my boat! How am I supposed to make a living now?"

"You shall have that boat!" You gesture broadly at the little craft Admiral General Hobi loaned to your crew.

He looks at it and then looks back at you, considering if you're serious and if this is a good deal. After a good moment's thought, he says "Okay, good. Long as we're clear." Annoyingly, this gets more of a cheer than you got. Now the street theater is playing out for real, and people are much more willing to cheer for a good plot twist or potential fight than just you trying to come up with something inspiring. The other fisher types behind him look a little jealous. He's moving up in the world by pure chance.

Nor does the crowd break up there. There's some official-sounding shouting from another direction and you find a dozen or so of Admiral General Hobi's men pushing a path for their leader. They're outfitted for kraken. They brandish long spears, and they have various inedible-looking spikes on their bodies to discourage the kraken trying to grab or bite them.

The Admiral General himself looks no less like a bureaucrat just because he's no longer behind a desk and now has a ceremonial sword at his side. "What the blazes has been going on here?" Anxious to play up the now-interesting story, dozens of people independently shout out descriptions of what's been going on, complete with pointing at you at appropriate points. It's a wonder anyone can decode any information from the cacophony, but the gist does seem to come across.

Once he understands, Hobi strides up to you with an unpleasant look on his face. In the back of your head, you hear loud peals of laughter. Ant really didn't have much of a plan for the little fishing boat, it seemed. Just breaking it unnecessarily was going to make something go wrong, leading to exactly the sort of strife she likes.

"You're awful free with other people's good, aren't you?" Hobi hisses it in your face once he's close. You stand your ground. "It's probably for the best I didn't loan you a war galley, or apparently the copper would already be on a trade ship out and the lumber would be on sale as fire wood!"

"No one was hurt, and the cost was small. You'd have been lucky to only lose one tiny vessel and nothing else if we hadn't done this."

Hobi deflates. "Next time, ask, at least, or you're going to be in hot water." You sense it's more frustration than anger driving him. He doesn't like being powerless. He doesn't like not knowing what's going on. He doesn't like that you're pulling another unexpected card out of your sleeve in the form of Ant.

There probably wasn't anything you could have done today that would have make him happy with you. This was always going to end with Hobi upset that you weren't in the military hierarchy, at the end of things.

- -

There's a pile-up of things to keep you busy from there, both into and through the next few days. Not only is the story of the waterfront kraken fight and the aftermath spreading, but now Lady Adara and Councilor Omar and their loose alliances are recalibrating. This is now the third rabbit your group has pulled out of a hat in a row: first, there was the fact of your existence and independence. Second, there was the potions, which, while they were investigating them, they had not expected to find, and instead they proved both very real and in your possession. Third, now you've shown a mature spirit that's kneeling to you as a person. Taken altogether, it's not surprising that you have radically upset their plans.

The outcome is a constant flurry of messages, meetings, and couriers. Your name and the names of your partners escape into the streets. With the curious alchemy of the chatter on the streets and in bars, this story echoes and re-echoes, and every time you hear it some previous error has been corrected but some new element is exaggerated beyond all recognition. Once, you hear people trying to call your group "Azer's Aces", but this doesn't survive long because it's not sufficiently catchy. "Azer's Angels" also appears briefly, as does some wag's attempt at humor where he twists it to "Azer's A-holes".

None of the group names stick around, but all of you are definitely going to be much more recognizable to everyone going forward.

It's two more hurried meetings with Adara and Omar before they finally hammer out a basic framework, one that seems to satisfy them... for the moment. Adara will officially join the Regency Council, so your earlier efforts finally do pay off in terms of that. Although technically the Regency Council is larger, there are apparently a triune that had been calling the shots for all practical purposes, with Omar as one of them. Adara will now join them. There's details you don't quite catch, but somewhere along the way you end up nominated by them as a tie-breaker if the now-quartet splits two-two on an issue and can't break the gridlock.

You didn't even officially join the Council, and yet even while officially an outsider you're a potential shot-caller. Power turns out to be a self-fulfilling thing: by having some, you gain more. No one is sure if you do have another unexpected ace to play, and the hand you already have is surprisingly strong now that it's seen. Although Omar and Adara and probably even Hobi could throw more heroes and mages at your group than your total group size, you've managed to gather something of the public eye and the exact powers you've obtained are a good edge.

- -

"Ant, I have questions." It's late and you're in your room alone after one of these busy days. Ant doesn't project an image of herself this time, but you sense her presence. "Are people worshiping you now?"

"A little bit, yes. They don't know what they're worshiping exactly, so the actual magical flow isn't very strong."

"Are you going to be strong enough to break out of your prison?"

"I don't know, are you going to work out enough to fly by flapping your arms?" You stay silent for a moment, and Ant continues. "No, sadly, it doesn't work like that. If you want to break this damn prison, put me under a trip hammer for a few hours, and maybe it'll loosen up a bit."

"How was it, though? Getting out, fighting like that?"

"It was... good." Ant sounds surprisingly human for a moment, just wondering at the chance to do something she enjoys. "I knew you'd get yourself in trouble one way or another, but at least you let me look and talk and sometimes do things. Not like Tal-Roshath and his angels. I'm not actually trying to ruin things for you, you know. I think I said this before, but you'll get in over your head sooner or later. When that happens, remember that I do try to scratch your back if you scratch mine."

You frown at the empty bunk above you. "Your idea of 'back scratching' seems to revolve around making people angry and get into fights that they regret or otherwise making things worse."

"Well, yeah. And a tree-felling axe exists to rip a tree apart, but that doesn't mean it's not a useful tool."

"Are you just a tool, then?"

"Am I not?"

You don't answer before sleep claims you.

- -

The other thing you manage to carve out time for is for Dawn, who has been champing at the bit to start her own path to superhuman might. The actual advancement is not, itself, a direct problem. Things go smoothly, but she ends up even more drained by the process than you, Kalju, or Zahira were.

While she rests by curling up and not-quite-sleeping at the foot of Tal-Roshath's old throne, resting off the bone-deep exhaustion, you hear someone at the front door of the temple that has by now been generally recognized as a sacrosanct mansion for your team. Two different letters arrive with the same courier: one for you and one for Kalju.

You tear open your own letter and look over it. It's over-written and entirely too flowery, and the handwriting is so artistic it's difficult to read, but the summary is clear enough, especially once you read between the lines a bit. The Regency Council (as it is now constituted, which is much changed) is celebrating. The unpleasantness at the capital has been resolved (which actually probably is more that it was pushed under the surface), the seer network is finally starting to reconstitute itself (maybe 30% or so of the old Imperial islands are at least willing to pay lip service to recognizing Prince Ketut), and trade is reopening (with caveats such as a dearth of shipmages, but also some definite up points like a dangerous kraken being taken out of the picture by your group).

So, there's going to be a ball. Important figures will be going to the event. You apparently qualify. You will be allowed to bring a plus one with you. There's an addendum in an additional hand that states in somewhat passively insulting terms that Omar will personally see that you and your date can be given appropriate dress, as you doubtless don't have it already.

You look up at Kalju. His letter must have been shorter, as he finished it before you finished yours. You look at him to prompt him to say what it said. He looks at you puzzled for a moment, as apparently your gesturing is not as clear as you had thought. "What did your letter say?" You have to ask.

"Oh. Ariel is inviting me as her date to a ball."

"Wait, that little twerp?" Samir laughs, crossing his arms behind his head and arching his back in a stretch. "I guess the 'Grandmaster of the Bear's Mantle' still thinks she's pretty hot stuff and somehow on our level."

"I will accept."

Samir lowers his arms, looking a little surprised. "Oh." For once, he doesn't seem to have much else to add.

"What about your letter?" Zahira zeroes in on you. By the intent look on her face, she already intuited exactly what is on the letter, and is trying to pry the confession out of you.

"Something similar to what Ariel got, I think." You turn the letter around to let her glance at how unreadable it is. "I got invited to the ball and I'm allowed to bring a date."

"I am not going," says Dawn, from the floor, with a surprisingly clear and steady voice. "Ugh. I'm just going to be here and... not move."

"A ball! I bet they're going to have really good food." Recovering instantly from his surprise with Kalju, Samir bounds up to you. "Boss, we haven't had any good meals since the Great Dying."

"I could see some real networking opportunities here," Zahira adds, pointedly looking at absolutely nothing and touching up her hair. "As people redevelop magical theory and practice, there's going to need to be some communication between us all."

You glance at the two of them. Despite how they're phrasing it, you get a very strong feeling that inviting either Samir or Zahira will give them a certain impression about, well, the two of you.

- -

Two independent votes this time!

What did you try with Dawn that succeeded?
[ ] Dawn learned elemental magic
[ ] Dawn was put through the wringer for enlightened martial traditions

Who do you invite to go with you to the ball?
[ ] Zahira
[ ] Samir
[ ] ... Neither

- -

If it's not clear, we're just about wrapping up one arc here! This and the next update should basically conclude the first arc (of three) of this quest, where you have come to a divided city under siege and shaken up its order. This means we're almost a third of the way through the story. Thanks for sticking with me so far, as I felt out the quest format and made a certain amount of silly mistakes I'm trying to correct for. There's still a heckuva lot more to come!

 

[VagueZ]

"Why don't you come with me, then, Zahira?" There wasn't really a good way out of that awkward moment, so you try to brush past it as well as you can, instead. Samir falls back, a bit deflated. "I'll make sure to snag some things for you, though, Samir."

"Yeah, sure, thanks." Samir turns around and wanders away. You let him go.

Behind you, Dawn rolls over onto her belly, then, very slowly and painfully, pushes herself up against Tal-Roshath's throne, until she manages a sitting position. "Well, you two have fun." She takes a deep breath, clasping her hands together before pulling them apart.

A little fire gutters there. The elemental gauntlet you'd created had been a serious undertaking. To master elementalism, the would-be elementalist must stand between two threatening forces of nature, and find within themselves the balance to steer and guide both. It is only in that narrow, personal path between extremes that the magic thrives, so there is no such thing as someone who commands merely one element.

The closest anyone could get to that is a conceptual mage binding something close. Zahira thus supplied an excellent source of one of the elements: her magic could allow some tricks related to common associations of fire, sure, but it could also allow her to simply set ablaze a prepared fuel.

The big challenge had been finding something else to pair with it. In the end, the best method you had come up with involved a tremendous amount of pumping water to the temple roof, rigged to a container that would dump it all at once. Water is heavy; a large enough flow from high enough could sweep someone off their feet, break bones, or worse.

The timing had not been easy, but it had, luckily, worked the first time. Dawn had disappeared behind a wall of flame, a huge amount of water had been dumped near, but not on, it, and Dawn had stood in the middle, where either or both could have seriously injured her.

You couldn't see the exact event through the steam and smoke, but it had looked as if, at the very last second, both fire and stream had curved around her.

As if to confirm it, Dawn transfers the sourceless fire to just one hand, and gestures with her other. A puddle balls itself up and hurls itself at her, and she 'catches' it with her gesturing hand.

Holding fire and water both, she gives a smug grin to Zahira. "Jealous, sweetie?"

Zahira laughs. "No, you ass. If I wanted something so basic, I would have gotten it. Elementalism is the province of those too simple to master something that requires a brain."

The magic vanishes. Dawn isn't currently up to maintaining it. She clearly isn't completely done with banter, by the grin on her face, but sheer physical exhaustion is overcoming her. She mumbles something you can't hear.

"I only spend enough time on cosmetics as I need to look this good," Zahira says in response to whatever it was. She shakes out her long hair so it floats elegantly for a moment, then stalks off, out of the hall, as Samir had done earlier.

Dawn gestures for you. You come close, then find a bit of floor that's neither been burnt nor soaked to sit near her. She speaks after a moment, much more serious than she had been with Zahira. "We've got an opportunity," she manages. You let her catch her breath a moment before she goes on. "You showed it. Ant's... trainable. We can make her into what we want. We can make her into a god, even. An enforcer god of a new pantheon, leashed and unleashed as we need. I don't... even think she'd mind, if she gets to fight some." One hand suddenly finds life, and flies to your sleeve and tangles there. "I could do it. I could be that high priestess making a new deity. There's worshipers out there who would be anxious to find that stability, and we can even make a few more changes to her holy writ as we share it, so she's more tractable. It could work, given how much she reflects people. We can make Contracts with her from a position of power, not desperation. That kraken fight? That was her desperate. She would do anything to get her fix." The fingers fall away. "You don't have to come to a decision right now, but just imagine it. We can fix things, and this is key. I do want this to be something we all agree on."

- -

Councilor Omar is as good as his word on supplying outfits. You and Zahira show up at the appointed time at an ostentatiously large mansion, and a servant who seems rather unhappy to be serving people so lowly as to not even have a title or their own ship guides you through.

For you, things happen quickly. You end up with something with more feathers and ruffles and uncomfortable heels than you would like, and which feels weird no matter how you move in it, but that just leaves you standing around waiting for Zahira. She occasionally yells from another room in various muted tones of frustration, so it's clear that she's still there.

When she does stalk in, it's definitely the result of the time she took, though. Her dress is a fairly simple black top without much of a back, but with a muted red to the skirts that probably wasn't intended as fire by the designer, but which looks like the theme on her, especially with matching lipstick. Her hair is even more elaborately done up, with braids so intricate you're not entirely sure how they all come together.

She stops as she gets close to you. She looks up. She's always been on the shorter side, and tonight you're wearing heels and she isn't. You see some thoughts on her face as she tries to decide if she wants to say anything about this, but in the end she doesn't. She offers you a hand to take. "Shall we?"

- -

You don't know most of the people at the ball. You know about them, in the sense that you can sort of identify the likely reason they were important. There's several other people who are here due to their growth as heroes and mages. Some of them look about as uncomfortable as you do about the situation and what they're wearing, though some of them manage a breezy confidence that says they were comfortable in this sphere anyway. Others are merchants and industrialists and the like, whose capital and connections are important, and who are taking the chance to network further. Your family was never high up in that sort of field to get invited to such events, at least last time you were at home. Perhaps the newest water-powered pieces of equipment have changed that.

Others you don't recognize as easily. There's people who are probably nobility, a few who you're not sure exactly who they are, and the servants are in a nice enough uniform that you had a challenging first few minutes as you worked out that they were, in fact, the servants and not some sort of guests in dress code. All in all, there's a few dozen guests, maybe as many as fifty, but you don't take a careful count.

It didn't take Zahira long to abandon you. Shortly after you got here, the two of you ran into Talib and Paris, the mages that Adara and Omar had taken to your meeting. Zahira and Talib had immediately disagreed on some point of magical theory that you didn't even catch, and the three of them almost immediately retired to a corner to argue it out, with Paris acting as a mediator for them. Paris is still in mask, of course, but they have upgraded their clothing to match the swankiness of the occasion. Every so often, Paris is sent to a library that seems to be an adjoining room, coming back with some other text.

That corner gathers a few observers, too, with people watching the new mages argue things out, so you're still feeling too awkward to try to drag Zahira out of her argument just to spend time with you. The main entertainment of the evening seems to be a dance, something very energetic and intricate, where most of the participants exchange partners at some points according to arcane rules. The totality of it is intimidating. There is a section of the dancers that are doing a less advanced version of the dance that doesn't include the partner switching, but Kalju and Ariel are there.

Wallflower it is, then.

After a bit, you notice someone at your elbow. It's Lady Adara, with Nokomis behind her, as well. "Not a dancer?" She doesn't smile. She has a fluted glass (they're serving drinks in actual glass) of something in one hand.

"I don't know the dance," you tell her.

"Of course not. It's deliberately designed to be exclusionary. Something challenging enough that no one can master it unless they have the free time to dedicate to an otherwise worthless activity, or are so gifted that they never need a day's dancing instruction in their lives." She drains her drink in one long swallow. You suspect that that wasn't the first and won't be the last drink for her this evening, but just because she's about three times your age doesn't mean that she can't hold her liquor. "Naturally it's popular among the upper classes."

You give Adara a curious look, not sure what to say to that. Now she gives you a brief, humorless grin. It vanishes almost as quickly. She leaves, heading towards some other knot of guests. Presumably, she's working on her own agenda.

Nokomis, notably, doesn't leave. She hangs out near you. You feel a little awkward about that. "Shall we hit up the buffett?" the older woman suggests.

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, I insist." She takes your elbow and guides you over there, wending past Paris laden down with two more books.

The food is still not the most varied. The immediate crisis is averted, but that doesn't mean wild abundance yet. Nonetheless, expert cooks have done the best they can with the spread they have available, using whatever hoarded spices they have. It's fairly aesthetically pleasing.

You pocket a few things for Samir, and eventually end up grabbing something for yourself, too.

Nokomis takes a few slices of roasted fruit from among magically-conjured ice that's beginning to melt into a drainage bucket under the table, along with what looks like actual beef, not any sort of seafood, in a sauce you don't recognize at all. "I should train you," she says, with a genuine-seeming smile as she begins to eat her food with unselfconscious, inelegant fingers.

That gets a widening of your eyes. "What? I thought I killed one of your prized students."

"And if I were here for revenge, that gets me nowhere. It just ends the chain." Nokomis sighs. "I had some promise with the Untouchable Blade style even in my youth," she says. "I became unexpectedly pregnant and retired from that life. The boy's father went on to be the grandmaster of the style, until he passed on with our son in the Great Dying. I used what I could to keep the style alive. Egon had been one my son had taken under his wing, saying that there was a spark of something that could be great in him. He was so new when the Great Dying hit. Now you've taken my son's protege from us." She doesn't seem particularly mad, but this is not the easiest woman to read. "If I train you, there is a chain from my lover and my son that's still in the world: a passing of the torch, if not in an expected way. I'm not so selfish that I would do that without some other benefit, mind. If I do this, at least consider ruling in favor of Adara if the Council splits and you play tiebreaker. She needs that support, or nothing will ever improve. We'll just... go back to what we were before the Great Dying, but with different names at the top of the heap."

Her eyes narrow. "And it is a training you can use. Watch. I'm going to tickle you." Nokomis wiggles a finger, playfully, and slowly slides it towards your side.

Your blood freezes. You almost try to swat her hand, but you realize that you can't find any arc that will let you do that. There's no block, no way to twist aside, no way to see where it's coming from even though it's right there... You take four hurried, huge steps backwards, nearly running into some probably important noble you don't know.

Nokomis doesn't follow. She just puts her hand down. "It's a very useful technique, and it's not dependent on your weapon in any way." She crams a huge chunk of beef into her mouth. "This is really good," she adds in a muffled voice, around it, licking up sauce that had been smeared around her lips. "I'm going to go hunt down something to drink."

She disappears behind Kalju and Ariel, who are both catching their breath now, as they have come off the dance floor. They see you only once you're close. The crowd is just large enough to lose people, but not quite large enough to separate them, it seems.

Ariel has a happy smile on her face, and Kalju's got a small smirk, too. "Boss," he greets you.

You nod at them. "I want to train him," Ariel tells you. She's hanging off him. She's not quite as young as you had thought at first, you realize. When she was thrown into the hot seat and asked to be intimidating muscle in a situation where she wasn't sure which side was right, she just looked young. In a different context like this, where you can see her mooning over Kalju's tall, handsome looks and just enjoying herself, it's clear that she's your age. Kalju's arm goes around her shoulder.

"You do?" you say, to give yourself a moment to think.

"It'll be great!. His strength isn't quite the same as how we approach things, but I think we can make things work so they... what's the word? Synergize?"

Kalju nods. "Yeah."

It seems to you that Kalju has made a strong, independent bond free of your little band.

From the corner, you hear a series of noises, people reacting as if things were settled.

Kalju, Ariel, and you all look over that direction, to see a smug Talib closing some books while Zahira stalks your direction in a huff.

"He's stupid and his argument is stupid," Zahira tells you as she gets close.

"Is it?" You blink. It's not that you have no magical theory background, but their specific talk seems to have been on something so minor and abstract that you didn't even get into it.

"Yes, it is!" She glares pointedly at you.

"Right, of course it is."

"That's better." Zahira relaxes a bit, and only then notices Kalju and Ariel. Suddenly she's all smiles and cuddling up next to you as closely as Ariel is to Kalju. "Azer," she announces. "We're going to the dance floor."

"I don't know the dance."

"Neither do I, so I'll show you how to do it as I figure it out. Come on!"

As you are dragged away, Kalju catches your eye and gives you a rueful shake of the head. Better you than me, you can almost hear.

- -

You have several decisions you will need to make as this new Regency Council shakes out and you find your place in it. These votes will be by plan, because the overall attitude and tone is part of what you're deciding, so picking together is part of it. There are three decisions you're going to have to make.

[ ] Plan name

- [ ] Accept Dawn's plan to try to turn Ant into a tame god.
- [ ] Reject Dawn's plan.
-- [ ] Why?

- [ ] Accept Nokomis' deal, accepting that you'll be favoring Adara in exchange for training.
- [ ] Avoid getting entangled in this mess further.

- [ ] Don't interfere with Kalju and Ariel and their budding connection.
- [ ] Try to discourage Kalju from getting any closer to the woman; you may not always be on the same side.

- -

There will be a bonus this week: two shorter interludes regarding things in the rest of the world. They won't interfere with this vote, though, as there's nothing to vote on there.

 

[VagueZ]

Elsewhere...

- -

Evryali stood at the prow of the galley, watching the pirate ship slowly grow closer. It was a schooner, and despite a paltry handful of poorly synchronized oars they had turned out, it relied mainly on the wind for its propulsion.

They'd timed this well. Any admiral worth his salt knew exactly how this sort of chase worked. A galley's tactical speed and strong ability to pick a course independent of wind and waves was why they were the backbone of any real navy, but that only lasted as long as its rowing team's strength did. After they tired, a sailing vessel's constant wind-driven pace would let it escape in most conditions.

Thus, ambush and misdirection were needed. That was what Evryali's ship had done, lying in wait close to an island, waiting for the pirate. These bastards had already raided three different towns, looting whatever they could, killing apparently for fun, and recruiting any depraved souls they found as they did to make up for losses.

They'd been so arrogant that they'd been hitting towns in a very obvious pattern, so even without finding their home base Evryali's crew had simply lurked their next target and struck out when the ship was close enough. Recognizing a dedicated military vessel, the pirates had turned and fled, hoping that the wind would allow them to escape.

The chase was well underway, now, thanks to an unexpected shift in the wind that had actually hampered the pirates, preventing them from dragging out the chase even as long as Evryali had expected.

Now, finally, they were close. Evryali's many limbs tightened around the specially-shaped projectiles she carried. She had become something more than a normal mortal over the last few weeks, and she relished the opportunity to use her new powers against so justified a target.

On the pirate ship, they ceased their rowing, and those who had them broke out bows while a slight light flared somewhere Evryali couldn't directly see. They were going to try fire arrows, then.

As the first archer appeared over the railing, one of Evryali's limbs reared back and then spun in a flat arc with whip-crack speed. The projectile was a flat, round stone, not so different from what a child may skip across a lake save for its larger size.

The archer's bow, right arm, and face took a direct hit from the stone before he could sight in on her. His arrow, already alight, fell back to deck with him. Further shouting. Despite being surrounded by water, most ships are fairly flammable: pitch and seasoned wood could catch fire all too easily. The pirates gave up their archery to fight their own fire before it became dangerous to them.

They kept their heads down after that, at least until the galley come alongside their schooner. Reports came down that the pirate deck was empty. They were hiding below decks, then, looking to make attackers pry them out of their hidey-hole.

The galley's captain came to meet with Evryali. "Have your men stand down," she told him. "I will handle this myself."

"Are you sure?" He took the order evenly, but gave her the chance. "There may be dozens of them on a ship that size, and my men are eager to take the fight to the pirates. Some of them lost family."

"I appreciate your concern." Evryali levered herself up on three limbs, keeping her human body curled up beneath them. "But it would weigh on me if they were killed here. I will give signal if I require their assistance."

The captain nodded, hands clasped behind his back, and he took a step away. Evryali's three limbs coiled, then kicked off. She took the distance between the ships in a single leap, landing lightly on the pirate's deck. She made her way to one of the two main hatches. It was closed and barred. Evryali posted herself above it. "I am Evryali," she shouted to the empty deck, "and in the name of Governor Duilio, I call on you to surrender, so you may be tried for piracy in a fair court. Resist, and die here." She gave them ten seconds. No sound came.

One limb reached around and grabbed hold of the door. With one yank, it went to splinters. Two other limbs snaked their way in. She felt the impact of some blade on one of them. Axe or short sword, it was hard to tell. It didn't damage her. The questing limb found the wielder, and dragged him out.

The pirate yelled as he came, but he quieted as he saw Evryali. "What even are you?" he asked, as he saw the rest of the body at the end of her limb.

"I already introduced myself." The pirate screamed as Evryali plunged wicked hooks into his body.

It took a little longer for her to finish with the other pirates. None of them surrendered.

When they put in to harbor later in the day, there was a general air of celebration at the town they had saved. The locals had known of the pirates through the general grape vine, but had not realized just how threatened they were. When Evryali's ship had put in with the good news, they were greeted happily.

Evryali herself, stained with blood and stinking of it, hadn't been that popular, but they had at least given her the tools to clean up.

The town was overseen by a minor boyar, who seemed to be popular enough that he would have been mayor in an open election, anyway. He met with Evryali once she was presentable and exchanged the usual and expected pleasantries. One thing did seem to be confusing him. "So, youre not with this 'Regency Council' that my son was contacting?" The boyar's son was a quiet young man, who was apparently just developing his divination magic, tapping into the gradually-reconstituting seer network.

Evryali shook her head. "I have never heard of a Regency Council. No, since the Calamity, it has jut been Governor Duilio holding together what he could. He is administering nearly three times the territory he did before, just out of necessity and to keep the peace, but no council involved. Where is this Regency Council?"

"The capital. They say Shin-Quela and the emperor are dead, leaving only a single baby of the imperial family, and they are his regent."

Although hardly unexpected news, the confirmation that the queen of the gods was among the dead sent a pang through Evryali's heart. "Thank you," she said. "I will report that to the governor. If I could beg one indulgence, though?" The mayor and his son both nodded, so she continued. "Please do not mention anything about us. The governor will need to decide what to do, and I do not want to make that call for him." The son, the only one who really mattered, nodded firmly at the request, and his more canny father followed slightly more slowly. "Thank you."

Doubtless both the governor's allies and this Council would stumble across each other soon enough, through some other contact, but Evryali would give her leader as much of a leg up as she could.

- -

The young woman moved with a strange sort of assurance as she puttered around her kitchen. She didn't move quickly, exactly, but there was never the slightest hesitation, just changing instantly from one activity to another.

She only stopped once she was done. Fruity treats in the oven, cooking implements cleaned and stored away. She took a few minutes to rest, then picked up her knitting, which had been stored away neatly until then.

Here, again, she worked with an unceasing, even rhythm, not rushing but managing an extraordinary amount of progress simply by not pausing.

There was a knock on her front door. "Come in, dearie," she called out, without breaking her stride at all. The door opened. "You're just in time. Take the tarts out of the oven and ensure the fire's tamped down, would you, dear?"

"Sure thing, Granny." He complied bringing the tray to Granny after he did. He sat down opposite her, at well-built but old and simple table. The two of them looked about the same in age; he was, perhaps, a year or two older by appearances, but both of them were still definitely young people. Granny leaned over and ran her eye over the food, judging them. When she nodded, the newcomer took one himself to nibble on.

She waited until he was done, which was also when she ceased her work extremely abruptly and set aside her sewing to focus the entirety of her attention on him. "How was your trip?" Granny asked.

"Better back than going out," he told her. "Half the captains didn't know how to tack against the wind without a shipmage to do the heavy lifting, but they're getting the hang of it, and a few shipmages are coming back now, too." He paused. "Oh, and I brought you as wide a selection of teas as I could find." He got up briefly to check through the baggage he had left at the door, returning with several small wooden boxes to give to her.

"Oh, thank you! Such a thoughtful young man. So how are things in the capital, my dear? Did you see any of the warning signs I had you looking for?"

"No, actually. It seemed just as confused and the deaths seemed just as thorough as around here. They were calling it 'the Great Dying'." She nodded again, acknowledging what he was telling her. He kept on. "Things dissolved into a little infighting, but never quite a real civil war. No one was organized enough or powerful enough for me to think it was someone who knew what was coming. There was one group that popped up a little late, claiming special powers and accompanied by what seemed a fairly powerful spirit that seemed to have also survived, but they weren't working to any process I could see, nor did they knock down any of the rising power structures."

"So much for that hypothesis!" Granny laughed at her own silliness. "Ah, well, a survivor, you say? I'm surprised there's another. It's not that that attack was impossible to defend against, it just never occurred to anyone, including me, that it was even a vector to attack. However, this spirit may still be the best lead we have to follow, so I'll need to know everything. Tell me..."

Granny launched into a long and grueling series of questions, listening to her scout's answers, as he systematically worked his way through the baked goods she had provided.

Granny had an eye for talent, as well as a good sense of how and when to reward people. Anyone who worked for her was always happy to have an excuse to see Granny.

It would have been such a surprise to anyone outside her circle to discover Granny even existed, however.

- -

The previous vote is still ongoing! This is a bonus interlude.

 

[VagueZ]

In the end, you never do master the dance. Before you and Zahira figure out its intricacies, they transition to a slower, more sedate dance. You figure that's to accommodate dancers who are older, or who are tired or inebriated by that time of evening.

Here, things are more doable and enjoyable. Zahira learns the new dance by watching, teaches it to you, and and you lead from there. Your sense of rhythm is up to that task. It could hardly be otherwise; the sort of small-unit formation fighting you were trained in requires a similar sort of coordination with the people around you. Once you and Zahira both tire of that, it's back to the buffet and drinks.

You aren't the last guests to leave, but you do stay later than average. That leads to you walking along the cleaner paths from that hall back to your temple home well after nightfall.

"We're still wearing Omar's outfits," you note, then pause to take off your uncomfortable shoes.

"Let him ask for them back," Zahira says with a giggle. "I like this dress."

You take a moment to perch on the base of a statue and rest your feet. Zahira hefts herself up next to you, then pulls up her feet and wraps her hands around her ankles. You look around while you have a chance. The night stretches out around you, quiet and empty. This is the nicer section of the capital. You've never really spent much time here, save for while you were in the interior of Tal-Roshath's temple. Around you, the street is broad and relatively clean, as far as streets go. No one else is visible out this late. The street would be dark, in most circumstances: the Great Dying broke the brighter three-quarters of the magical lights that the rich liked, and only the dock areas, which needed to function around the clock in some circumstances, had dedicated oil lamps to light them.

Tonight, though, the moon is out and almost full, so it's bright enough to see. The world is cast in soft silver and stark shadows, but you can make things out. You take a moment to glance up at the statue above you. It depicts a scene out of antiquity, with Shin-Quela standing triumphant above the pretender gods she cast down to take her throne, with the first emperor standing by her knee. You never had a chance to even glimpse the queen of the gods while she was alive, but as with the familiar face of Tal-Roshath, there's an inhuman but distinct perfection of form, where the god could not be mistaken for any other being, and there is clearly nothing that could ever be done to improve their looks.

Zahira snuggles her bare back up against your arm. She's very warm, and the night air has a chill nip to it. She looks up, too, when she sees you observing the statue and moon that are watching over your empty street. "Life's a bitch," Zahira observes, mildly. Her voice echoes off the housefronts around you. "Never though I'd outlive any of the established gods or be in a position like this."

"Where did you see yourself?"

She blows a raspberry before responding. "I saw myself coming back with the other priests after you all got killed horribly, forgetting about you, then mastering other types of magic to support my Contract with Tal-Roshath, then spending forty-plus years conniving my way up the ladder before dying a bitter old woman with a lot of authority."

You frown. Words come easier, now that you've loosened them up with just a bit of alcohol. "Then why would you do it?"

"No better options. I've seen too many people who've lost things by not having power. And... I'm not sure if your divination feels quite the same, but just channeling magic is a..." Zahira shudders at the thought. It doesn't seem like a negative vibe, though. "It's a thrill. I couldn't not use magic.'

She arches her back until she can see your face upside down. "Where did you come from, anyway? I never gave the sacrifices a second thought." You tell her an abbreviated version of your story: a family just finding the potential for wealth in the new inventions of the age, and you, the firstborn, given in thanks as a sacrifice. "So do you have any siblings, then?"

You run a hand through your hair and flex your exposed toes before you respond. "Probably? There weren't any when I left, but I know Mom and Dad were trying. Just... I wasn't supposed to be there to get to know them. And the Temple didn't... let us send letters home even if we did have someone at home instead of being orphans." You look down at her. "What about you? Any family?"

"No family," Zahira says. That seems to be the end of how far she's going to go with that.

You shift your arm, so she's leaning against your chest and you have your arm around her shoulder. She hums faintly as you do. "Well, you've got us now. Me."

"Of course I do." She affects a deeply smug tone. "Can't go wrong with broad shoulders and a wiry build, and that's all of you. Except Samir, but he's an ass."

You blink. "I was sort of--"

She cuts you off. "I know. But for now let's just enjoy the night air."

"Okay."

You do.

- -

"Untouchable Blade style is, mostly, a mental practice." You stand in the exercise yard, Nokomis opposite you. Both you and she have padded wooden training weapons. The field is empty, save you two and Samir perched on a nearby post, picking his nose. There are other practitioners of Untouchable Blade, but they are all too few, and aren't exercising just now. The time of heroes is not yet returned in full.

"A mental practice?" You're not sure you understand how that could be. If it isn't magic, it can't touch the foe's mind, but you've seen already that the attacks of this style are something weird, something you can't properly react to.

"Let's demonstrate. For this, don't back up. Just try to parry or block me." Nokomis takes a couple of brisk steps to put her in striking range. The wooden weapon in her hands is no threat, of course, and she swings it languidly, almost incompetently. It's an amateur blow, and blocking it...

...is completely impossible. There's no way for your sword to cross its path. You try anyway. You miss. Her weapon touches your side, as Nokomis arrests its speed.

You glance over at Samir. "What happened?"

Samir shrugs as he flicks something off his fingertips. "Dunno, boss. She sort of wobbled her sword at you and you swung at thin air."

You look back at Nokomis. "What is that?"

"A mental practice, as I said. You know humans have blind spots, yes? Bits of our vision field where we can't see things?" You nod, uncertain of where she's going with this. "The Untouchable Blade technique exploits not literal blind spots, but perceptual blind spots. Through training and intense focus, we observe foes to enable us to slip an attack through that shifting perceptual hole, so the foe literally cannot see our technique."

You shudder. "Let me try again." Nokomis, the pleasant-looking, plump old woman, smiles softly and takes up an aggressive stance. She lunges at you and... it's still impossible. You cannot grasp the true form of Nokomis' attack. Her thrust ends with her sword tip just over your heart.

"It's not something so easily pierced," Nokomis says. "Just because you know the mechanism does not make your perceptions other than they are. Until you understand the principles of how to execute this blow, it will always end the same, even if we go a hundred times."

You draw a deep breath. "One more. Just three." Nokomis shrugs, as if that's a silly thing to ask for, but again she attacks. Forewarned this time, though, you cast aside your eyes and training, listening to a deeper vision within your body. This technique can only target one foe at a time, and only from one position. From the future, even half a second from now, you should be able to see the attack...

You hold up your sword in a very basic block, the sort you were taught in your first year in the temple. The wooden weapon is stopped. You open your physical eyes, to see Nokomis giving you a judging look. "One more," she says. She comes in faster. You can't pull the same trick as quickly as her sword swings. Your neck blossoms in pain and you stagger back.

"You're a seer," Nokomis says. It's not an accusation or a question. It's a statement of fact.

You glare up at her, not responding, as you rub your neck. She struck the muscular side of your neck, so it's only painful, not dangerous.

She doesn't wait for you to find words. "That explains how Egon fell, if there were several types of powers attacking him at once." She shrugs. "That's one of the weaknesses of this style. Even using this, if you're outnumbered, truly overpowered, the foe has more range or is too aggressive for you to strike back, or has some defense you can't damage, you will have trouble." She flourishes her training weapon, then throws it down. "To make up for it, though, this technique is almost invincible if you can make even one good strike. No level of exposure will let an enemy adapt to it without something like your own divination magic. Mastery eliminates many weaknesses, too. Though none still alive possess such skill, enough understanding of our techniques will let the user use it with ranged weapons, too, launching an attack where the victim cannot recognize if they're targeted, if they need to dodge... anything."

You shiver.

Nokomis comes closer. "That was just for me to show you what this is like and gauge your current development. You should do well. Let's begin some real exercises so you can begin to find perceptual holes. Hold up your hands. No, not like that. Like you're a child playing patty-cake. Now..."

The training begins.

- -

Dawn smooths out her robes. "How do I look?"

"You look fine apart from the hair, you ass. Hold still." Zahira attacks Dawn's hair again. Dawn never wore her hair long while you were sacrifices-to-be, and while it has grown out a bit, it's still short enough that there's only so much Zahira can do with it.

Dawn can't quite hold still. "I've never done this before."

"You volunteered," you point out.

"I know. I know, boss!" Dawn throws her hands up as she repeats herself in a louder and sharper tone. Zahira steps back, having done what she could, and Dawn keeps talking. "And this is more than I thought I'd ever have a chance to do. I'm happy. Just nervous. But mostly happy. Imagine being the first high priestess in the entire capital!"

"First one to give a public service, at least," Zahira reminds her. "There are a couple of other groups running around with some pissant spirit that they want to make rise to godhood, if they can just get some investor's money or something."

Here you are, getting Dawn ready for what is going to be the first service for your new, hopefully-benevolent god, in the form of Ant. You're in a side room, before she goes out for the main service.

Godhood may be a bit premature, of course, but with worship and perhaps some judicious Contract work, there's no reason it can't be made a truth. Dawn is just having the sort of jitters you're told is common in a bride on her wedding day. You've never really gotten to know one before, but the comparison still comes irresistibly to mind.

Doubtless the whole service is going to be an awkward affair: neither the cobbled-together priesthood nor the doubtful worshipers have any experience to draw on, but that can be figured out.

Appearances sorted, you hand over the pendant that is Ant's body. It's no longer as concerning a feel for you. You're very confident that Dawn is not going to have some sort of break with you and take the spirit away, and she is going to need the spirit in her new role.

She slips the pendant over her head and gives a soft smile. "Thank you. If I weren't so nervous, and you were a woman, and I didn't think Zahira would set me on fire for it, I could give you a kiss."

"That's a lot of qualifiers," you note.

"Well, I'm a woman." Zahira bats her eyes at Dawn.

Dawn gives Zahira a brief grin. "And if I tried to kiss you, Azer would stand there and give us a weird look like a disappointed puppy, and that's worse than getting set on fire."

"I what?" You're startled. You have no idea what she's talking about.

"True," Zahira agrees, clearly unfairly. "So let's do this instead." Zahira grabs Dawn's elbows and stares the taller woman in the eyes and says, in a very serious voice, "remember: whatever you do out there, everyone is going to be watching you and they'll remember it forever. You're under a lot of pressure and it's not going to get any better."

Zahira then flees the room as Dawn tries to process this. Zahira's giggles float out of the hall as Dawn's eyes get very huge, before Dawn finally laughs herself, loosening up a bit.

- -

Kalju and Ariel are holding a contest. They've learned from each other, and now they're competing, hurling oversized javelins at targets some eighty meters distant. There's a gaggle of six or eight other people watching from one sideline. Those are the rest of the Bear's Mantle students that Ariel is grandmaster of. You're with a somewhat larger group of people on the other sideline, kept separate because you don't technically have a good reason to be here.

Both of the contestants have three javelins apiece, and there's three targets at the other end of the field for each of them. The rules are a little complicated, having to do with who can deal the most damage as well as accuracy. Kalju's throwing first.

His first throw is... odd. The heavy javelin floats through the air almost kite-like, before veering off as a puff of wind blows. It still flew the full distance, which would always be a good throw. Before you can puzzle that one out completely, he takes his second throw. This one is almost on target; it slightly pierces the outer ring of one of his targets, but penetrates an impressive distance.

It's the third that is dramatic. As he hurls it, it seems like it actually accelerates after leaving his hand. In a flash, it streaks across the field and impacts before you can track it. You can feel the impact through your feet, and one of the targets ceases to be.

That gets cheers and applause from the crowd, though also some surprised shouts as bits of pulverized wood rain down. You can see Ariel's big eyes get even bigger as she realizes what she needs to beat to win this contest. Still, she gamely steps up.

Kalju drifts off to one side while she's in the main view, limbering up and considering her shot. You join him. For present, no one's giving either of you too much attention. "Nice shot," you tell him. "I think that hit like a siege weapon."

"Yeah." He doesn't say anything else for a moment. "Ariel was showing me the Bear's Mantle grip. We worked out how to throw with it. Can't always do it. No one else can, yet."

"She seems like a very impressive woman."

"Yeah." The crowd around you roars as Ariel takes her first shot. You look back at Kalju, and find he has a dumb-looking smile on his face.

"So what happened with your first throw?"

"Misjudged. Our grip makes it lighter for us, heavier on the other end. I messed up and it was too light for the whole flight." Your head hurts as you try to piece together the physics of that. A second cheer comes from the onlookers. Ariel pumps a fist to even greater response as she grabs her third and final spear. "She beat me if she even touches the target with this one."

You and Kalju watch silently as she does so. With another earth-rattling hit, she half-obliterates a target with a near miss. It still counts. The crowd calls out again in excitement. Most of the onlookers disperse after a couple minutes, some of them after exchanging money, sweets, or other small tokens with people around them. The other Bear's Mantle students shoo away people who didn't get the hint.

Ariel, meanwhile, comes merrily skipping up to Kalju. "I beat you," she calls with a chirp in her tone. "I want my prize." She jumps into his arms, and the tall spearman catches and kisses her before setting her down. She's still grinning as she notices you. "Oh, hi, Azer, what brings you by?"

"Just observing."

She plays with Kalju's hair. "I'm glad. When Omar said he was accepting that summit you proposed, I was worried it was going to all end in some big fight. I'm glad it didn't. Now we're all evening things out and the Regency Council can do what it needs to. You're like a tiebreaker or something, right?"

You nod. "Policies need three votes, and there's four main people who aren't me. I can designate a stand-in if I need to, though."

"Prince Ketut is lucky to have such good regents. We're getting a lot of islands and governors and commodores and nobles and so on to swear allegiance as they find us. Maybe the worst is behind us?"

"I'd hope so," you tell her. "If not, though, I'll be there and do what I need to in order to get us through."

Ariel gives you a contented grin. Kalju shoots you a side-eye. "Come on, Ariel," he says. "Let's... go." They do.

- -

Time passes. Ships come and go. Training continues. Agreements are hashed out, both internally to the Council and between the Council and other places.

Reconstructing trade routes, the seer network, and so on is not a trivial affair, and one where every party wants to make a better agreement for their side than they had before the Great Dying, so negotiations are always hard, whether or not you are called on to make a decision.

You don't always get what you want, unfortunately. So after discussion, time, and trading to end up with the least-bad option available, it is that you find yourself...

[] ...sent away from the capital on a mission, visiting islands that the capital still hasn't heard from, and coincidentally close to your family's home.

[] ...sent away from the capital on a mission, hunting down rumors of powers and forgotten knowledge, using your growing seer powers to help guide you.

[] ...trapped in the capital, overseeing and in charge of the re-development of magic and enlightened martial traditions; your theoretical grounding as a sacrifice making you an invaluable expert.

[] ...trapped in the capital while others venture beyond it, making calls no one else can, dealing with the messy politics of it as a theoretically neutral observer.

- -

These are not intended to be good choices; these are lead-ins for where we start the next arc where I hopefully can write some slightly smaller updates for a bit.