PotM: Prisoners and Evaluations

He had to be the Moon. Somehow Leandra had found him, and given him a Key, and sent him back to end the Interregnum. Ser Liosha Sobinhan, Chosen Marshal of the Sun, was sure of it. Something had changed; something in the air, in the sky overhead, in the ground beneath her feet. She couldn't see it yet, but that could be the dark of the moon -- the time of hidden movements, stealth and secrecy, and betrayals performed or redressed. 

She could not reveal that to the knights gathered here, not matter how much it might give them hope. It would cause too much of a stir, and despite all their efforts there might still be spies among them.  No, if the Prince had returned he must be preserved and kept secret, and so this was only a lone traveler, uncorrupted, who had stepped in to aid a pair of knights in their time of need, and then nobly submitted to arrest until they could establish that he wasn't a spy. 

There would be other questions as well: he carried blades that were not him. To most of her troops, that suggested a magus who might intend to restore those knights. Keeping him locked away with the blades prevented the knights from asking him too many questions, and increased his value if he did turn out to be an ally. 

It gave this Sean Paul Keegan a certain cachet, but also allowed her to surround him with guardians who would both imprison and protect him. Liosha served the Sun, not the Moon, but even with some things still unknown and other poorly understood, she knew that the return of the Moon was critical to re-awakening the Sun. Their enemy would know that as well, and likely in more detail and with a better understanding. 

With the enemy once more on the move -- actively, not infiltrating and corrupting -- she wanted to keep this quiet for as long as possible. He didn't look like the prince she remembered being selected forty-seven years ago, but if he'd spent all that time in the mortal realms, infected with mortality...

That was the plan, she thought, and was overwhelmed with momentary rage. That was the basis of the Usurper's whole plan... 

StV: Powers and Responsibilities

"Okay, here's what I don't understand," Cloudburst said softly, as they sat beside the fire. "You can give yourself new powers. You can adjust other people's powers, or give them new ones. So... why did you shove all your new powers into your Blood God form? Why not just give yourself those powers, um, outright?"

Harbinger leaned closer to the fire, closing his eyes to feel the heat on his face. "Given the choice, I wouldn't have them at all. I wouldn't need them. Do you know how many lives paid for those powers?"

Cloudburst shook her head. "I know you fought your way out of the DAAT compound. That's all anyone's said about it."

"I'm a murderer, Cloudburst. Or at least a killer, since it was self-defense. So primus, I don't like the idea of just... strengthening my usual self that way. Secundus, I don't want to get in the habit of using that kind of power. I need it -- my parents are millennia-old gods who might show up looking for Charm and me at any time -- and I need some way to..." He hesitated for a long moment. "...to discourage them if they do. Which is why I've gathered that much power at all."

"Self-defense," she said, and squeezed his hand.

He nodded. "Charm is a talented sorceress, and getting better all the time, but our Mom is also a sorceress and has a power like mine -- and several thousand years of using it to strengthen herself. If we want to be able to force our independence, then we're both playing catch-up -- and that's not even accounting for our father, who has... very definite ideas about how personal power relates to leadership and godhood. Having them both show up would be... catastrophic." 

She nodded slowly. "So you... what? Gave yourself enough power to be hard to kill, but not so much that you're a danger to other people, but still keep the option to go to your Final Form in an emergency?"

He nodded. "Something like that, yeah. Because if I were carrying that much power around all the time, I'd want to use it. I already do, but at least this way I'm not out there doing horrible things to horrible people constantly. I don't want to become Solar."

Cloudburst nodded, then stood and found another log to place on the fire. "Lead us not into temptation," she said quietly. Solar was a famous villain, at least as far as the media was concerned; she was arguably an Anomalous Rights Advocate, but she was also a radical and had publicly incinerated several prominent politicians in at least three countries, and organized other Anomalies to act as terror cells. No, Harbinger wouldn't want to become that. He understood just how double-edged those kinds of actions were. 

PotM: Secrets Shared

Leandra pretended to be surprised, though she'd long since figured it out. The Moon and the Sun brought forth children, with each other and sometimes with other members of the court; occasionally, their attractions fell differently, and only a few heirs were introduced. Given their other responsibilities, that was considered an acceptable outcome to the matching, and various nieces, nephew, and cousins moved into play as potential replacements when the Sun and Moon ended their reign and ascended at the end of their thousand years. 

There were no such issues this cycle. Vishan was one of six borne of the Moon, with the Sun as their father; there were two others raised to the role, one from the Moon and her Lord Crescent and the other from the Sun and his Lord Marshall. He worked dutifully to learn the things he would need should he be chosen as either Sun or Moon here in the Neverworld, but so far as Leandra could tell he wasn't depending on any particular outcome. If two of his siblings were chosen to rule the next cycle, he would be utterly content to have earned his blade and serve as a knight or lord. 

Leandra knew she would never be more than a knight; her origins were too humble for anything else. She also knew that once she earned her blade, she would pledge herself to Vishan in whatever role he eventually rose to in the Realm. He was, and would always be, her first friend here.

So she smiled, and promised not to speak of it to anyone else, and clenched their friendship with secrecy and trust.

When her father and mother returned at the six-month anniversary of her arrival at Margull, they found her standing in the company of a knight in crimson and gold, with a young man in dull grey watching from behind and grinning madly as the knight handed out the judgement of the school: Leandra was worthy, and would continue her training until she earned her blade.  

More Dreams - the hidden beast at the renfaire

Slept hard last weekend, and woke up late. Dreams were... something to do with an eldritch monstrosity showing up at, more or less, a renfaire or at least a small community that existed in a sort of perpetual state of renfaire. I was a kid of about twelve -- not my actual self at that age, just this one kid -- and there was a lot of running into the woods and hiding in the brush or behind the piles of *stuff* that everybody had accumulated for their projects. 

There was also, I should note, a whole-ass renfaire going on at the time, with booths, and people in garb wandering around, and shops, and like several hundred people any one of whom could be the monstrosity.

When the monster finally found me, it was in the form a woman with a sort of fractal array of arms and legs, which was a singularly disturbing image. I woke up shortly after that. 

Ah, the Ritual...

Having come into a bit of money, we're now looking at moving to England. Found a lovely fixer-upper at a very affordable price, and it's probably not even haunted. So... look for big changes (and probably a serious disruption to my writing here) over the next six months or so as we start getting ready for this next stage in our lives. 

Where will we be living? Well, take a look! 

PotM: The Fall of Shanlinn Firehand

There you are, thought Shanlinn Firehand as the Captain of the Watch, Vikor Creuller, swung out from the back of an oversized jaguar which had grown a police car around its spine. He was massive, nearly eight feet tall and half that wide, armed with baton and pistol and various other tricks hidden beneath his long black leather coat. 

She'd killed the two guards who had been following the Moon, though, and none of the rest of them knew she'd been anywhere near him. She had to be a tempting prize; they'd been hunting her for decades, now. The dagger in her hand was a potent weapon, but not so potent as her sword; she was betting that even Viktor wouldn't note its absence until it was too late. 

If this had been an ordinary operation, she would have had an escape route mapped out, with a half-dozen others as fallbacks. Instead, what she had was desperation and sacrifice.

Viktor studied her for a long moment, held at bay at the back of an alley by a group of guards with spears. "Take her," he said. 

"Dawn," she answered, and let the Sun flow through her. 

It was a blessed death, the light searing in this ever-dark city, carving through the City Watch, their bestial vehicles, and a substantial portion of the park beyond. She hoped the Moon had made his way through; she'd given him as much time as she could manage. 

Four decades of gradually-increasing nightmare would end for her, here and now, and her sword was safely in another's keeping; she held to the hope of being reborn. And for this select group of suborned assholes, she would bring a fiery death. 

PotM: Victims -- aren't we all?

Warden Viktor Creuller looked down at the body in the box. It was dead, of course; a perfect stab wound, right up under the ribs. So very, very precise. Oh, the knights are going to pay for this... 

There were only a few of them left, Shanlinn Firehand chief among them and despite her origins the most adept at evading his patrols. This should have been a standard encounter, one of his men preventing the citizens from trying to help each other. Now that man was dead, and the murderer... 

Vanished, he admitted to himself, clenching his teeth. No tracks, no traces, for all that old man Telomere had called the intrusion in. The upper floors of the tower were empty, derelict; a few long-dead bodies, but no signs of life, hidden or otherwise.  The murderer might have been Shanlinn herself -- she was known to use a dagger, betimes -- but he didn't think so. No, this was something else. Something new. Something Braderick Cytosene -- old man Telomere -- had sensed in his city. 

There were back ways, of course, but the Watch stood guard over those. The streets would still be busy; a bold murderer might travel that way. Or, there might be a nearby bolt-hole, hiding the perpetrator away. 

"Sir! Sir." The Watchman who stopped beside him was one of the constables. "We have her. Shanlinn Firehand.  We have her cornered down by the park!"

Viktor grinned. "Excellent," he purred. "Have your fastest beast carry me there."