[Great Light and Brazen Shadows] In the Halls of the Glazen Stoa

E

Exthalion

Elder Member
The offices of the Tripartite in Wisant spiral around the inner surface of the city's light shaft in an often broken helix of stacked arcs. You have been called to the oldest, lowest, and largest of these; the Glazen Stoa. Built at the height of Nurad's glory, it had been fashioned according to half remembered stories of palaces and temples from Creation. Pillars of quartz, glass, optical sapphire, and a dozen other crystals flash with pulses of data-lightning as they rise up to the vast calculation-array ceiling twelve feet from the ground.


Autocrat Avuras is waiting for you in her office, in a simple chair of clear polymer before a desk of Virinc that rapidly shifts to display reports from all over the city. The Collegium of Divine Incandescence is visible behind her, and an open drop from the rail less space between columns. Her office is not as large as you would expect from someone of her station, yet except for her and the two pieces of furniture it is entirely empty. She does not stand as you enter.


"Where there any difficulties in final charm outfitting?"
 
Though his body is fully optimized, Avatar's mind is still catching up to itself; the trip here from the Vats seemed to have been designed to dredge up as many of his most recent life's memories as possible, yet he knew that he was not Denath, not any longer. He already knew he was more aggressive than the old judge, less inclined to planned subtlety, while at the same time capable of a softer touch with people than the dead man's harsh-edged devotion to the word of the law. His choices of Charms was proof of that; he was clearly as much a brawler as anything.


(And what didn't trigger his past life memories seemed to set off his libido. The hips on that Regulator patrolwoman they passed...)


Even in the Autocrat's office, the past seems as real to him as the present. Though he is only a few hours old, and has hardly met anyone other than his Assembly-mates and the Vat technicians, he knows this woman. He remembers sparring with her across the Olgatory conference room time and time again, over decades. Sometimes a rival, sometimes an ally, even a friend, he understands the brusque greeting is entirely in character for her. And now, he is both subordinate to her, and... off to the side, never again to be fully a part of the world they once shared.


It doesn't bother him as much as one might expect. Just thinking about those interminable meetings makes his eyes start to glaze over.


"None on my part, ma'am. I did have to make one special request, that they don't get much call for, but it was no trouble to fabricate."
 
Transcendent Architect of Auspicious Harmony enters the room moving off to one side and stands seeing that the number of chairs is limited. She looks about taking in the things around as if searching for the answer to so as yet unasked question.


"Reporting as ordered, no difficulties to report."
 
Perpetual Gears of Duty stepped in, bored. The old worker inside made him roll his eyes and comment, "Oh, all fine and dandy, sir." Now, the military officer would never have done that, much less the politician, but... he was all and none of them. He'd do his job, and to heck with anyone else getting in the way.
 
"Give my regrets to the other champions, but there is not enough time to wait for them."


She raised her eyes from her desk and looked, really looked at each of you.


"No doubt you have wondered about the lack of charmslot availability. The reason is this."


She pulled a small vial of faintly blue fluid and set it down gently. "It is call etir and is formed from very pure oil vaporized by the passage of thought-lightning through neural adamant. It is found only in the far reaches, and the locations where it may be collected are state secrets. In recent months our native production has been falling off. We arranged for a caravan from Yugash, but they are very late. Your first assignment is to find them."


She turned away and looked out at the city beyond.


"I know that you do not need to be told that one task or another is of vital importance, that in this or that you must be sure to do your duty. However, you cannot fail to secure more etir. All our plans hinge on it. If you are unsuccessful Nurad will die, there is no other possibility.


Transportation is waiting in the upper lock. Dismissed."
 
Ah. I see. This should be... interesting. I haven't been out in the Reaches in... well, ever, technically.


"Understood, ma'am. We'll see it done."
 
"No pressure for our first mission, eh?," Avatar remarks wryly to his Vat-siblings, once they're out of earshot from the Autocrat's office.
 
Architect tilts her head, "I should expect that the pressure will not change very much thought we may see some variance due to......Oh wait you were not referring to that sort of pressure. I am sorry I have trouble with colloquialisms, anecdotes and idioms at times," she says with a bashful smile.
 
"Don't worry about it," he says, smiling back. "I was looking for a way to br... a neutral conversation starter. And it worked, we are talking. Maybe we can work on the idiom thing after we save Nurad."
 
"My specialty..." He trails off for a moment, considering. "I have memories of being a statesman, and a leader of men, and a few Charms to fill that role. I left most of them back at the Vats, though, and they're not the largest part of my power. Not to beat around the conduit - that is, to put it bluntly - I'm kitted out as what you'd call the muscle."


"Not that you'd know it to look at me, of course." He grins wryly, and flexes a bicep bigger around than Architect's waist. "Besides just strength, though, I know the basics of a couple of Martial Arts." He doesn't mention that his knowledge includes one style that the technicians did not intentionally give him.
 
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"Ah I see, I believe I was designated, at least so far as my abilities go, to be an Investigator for either the Preceptors or the Regulators. But we will have to wait and see what will happen. I have some skill at combat but it is not my primary function."
 
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He nods respectfully. "Hmm. That will no doubt be useful out in the Reaches. We may need to put together what happened to the caravan if we can't find them along the route."
 
With Architect's statement you reach the upper vehicle dock.


Hexagonal bays where Shaft Speeders were once stored and maintained now stand dark and empty. The cargo and passenger loading area has been transformed into a service deck, the whole of Wisant's air fleet comfortably fit in the cradles.


The ancient municipal charm that was once the shining center of the dock, capable of simultaneous tracking hundreds of craft in Nurad and the reaches and providing up to date maps and communication, is half disassembled as technicians scour its parts to keep the remaining transport artifacts working.


A bald Populate worker jogs up to meet you, raising a welding visor.


"Champ'ns, an honor to welcome y'. You'r speeder 'll be ready soon, caught a blown seal in the hydraulics. We can start loading your gear now though."
 
"The honor is ours, my friend." He shakes the foreman's hand, carefully. "As to gear, I've got nothing I need. Are rations and such being provided?"
 
"Thank you citizen, do not feel then need to be hasty on out account. I hope you do things at your usual, surely efficient, pace."
 
One of the smaller workers keeps glancing over at you as you wait. Finally he seems to work up the nerve and walks over. He holds out a small object, dropping it before you can take it and darting back.


It proves to be a, mostly, rectangular piece of rat skin vellum. The message on it is hand written and reads as follows:

Champions Walk of Shining Brass and Crimson Engine Heart,


As one of our most veteran assemblies I feel confident expanding the scope of your orders. The colossus Surety of Triumph was lost repelling a gremlin incursion less than two miles (absolute distance) from the caravan's last check-in point. Even if, as we suspect, Autochthonia has lost one of its heroes, confirmation (and resource recovery) would alleviate a lot of worries.


Officially we have neither the time nor the resources to commit to a search, but your broad interpretation of your orders has served the nation well in the past.
A short while later your craft is ready and takeoff goes smoothly.


Make a Perception+Sail roll to proceed to the point you were directed too, or Wits+Survival to go to place mentioned in the note. It is several miles out of your way, and the date on the message puts it as nearly a month old.
 
"I think you have the wrong Champions, friend," he says to the man who handed him the note. Quietly, so as not to embarrass the fellow... unless he's already disappeared.


"What do you make of this, Architect?"

You got more successes there than I have base dice, so I'll let you be the navigator.

:)
 
"Is this some additional task Citizen? So long as our primary objective is not adversely altered we may be able to render assistance."
 
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