mystic1110
   Round 0   

The candle flickers in a wind that isn’t there. The candle shouldn’t be there either.

It appears in the Ruler’s bedroom, in their private sanctum, in their holy of holies, their most intimate refuge. They are alone when it’s there, and if they weren’t who they were, if their will was not iron and steel, if they were not rulers of their Districts, they would’ve thought it was a trick of the mind. That sanity had, like everything else in the Necropolis, died.

But no. The candle is real, and its dancing light is mirrored by another candle further away. It feels like a summons. But that would be insulting. An invitation perhaps? A peer’s outstretched hand? Nonetheless, an intrusion. One that must be investigated.

Following the candle leads to another and another and another. Without noticing, the walls of their District are slowly replaced with ancient masonry. The transition is subtle at first – brick dust instead of steel shavings, a slight change of architecture, but then they find themselves abruptly in a hallway of a grand palace. Behind them is a path of candles leading to their District. Ahead is another path, the candles more numerous.

The candles seem to dance to the same tune. There is no wind, but the flames mirror each other in their movements. The candles are in holders, lanterns, candelabras, but mostly they rest on the stone floor itself. The wax has run off them in rivulets, merging together to form a carpet on the corridor. Each candle seems half used. They are scentless, the only odor is of age and smoke. Despite the light, the palace still seems dimly lit. The candles, innumerable, insufficient to entirely dispel the gloom.

They walk further following the wax and oil, passing through a stronghold fallen into ruin. Tapestries must’ve adorned the walls, but all that is left are cinders and cobwebs. Furniture, now charred husks – precarious candleholders placed on their flat surfaces. With no rhyme and little reason, stained glass windows intersperse the monotony of neglect. The stained glass all depict a sun standing alone in a red sky, but it easy to tell that there is no real sun behind the glass. No light shines through the windows and if one to place a hand on the window itself one would feel nothing. A frightening nothing. No heat, no warmth, but also no cold. One can’t even imagine a yawning void behind the stained glass. Instead, perversely, the thought occurs that if you break through a window, you would find yourself breaking into this same said palace.

Further, the Ruler reaches a doorway on which above, a motto was once written. Of the four words, only the third, and longest, still legible – “Never”. The door begins to open inwards, but before the Ruler can step through a low growl emerges from the opened gateway. Pushing itself through the opening is an enormous and mangy wolf. It’s fur is knotted, falling off in patches, despite its size its ribs show through it’s skin. A great collar adorns its neck, the choker rusted brown and flaky. A chain, thick but corroded slinks off the collar, onto the stone floor, where one can see streaks of grooves. The wolf’s tail though is strange, it is an elongated arm, almost human, but stretched beyond reason, naked, the wolf’s matted fur only reaching up to the elbow of the bizarre limb. In the tail-hand’s vice-like grip is the other end of the chain. The wolf holds itself prisoner.

The creature opens its fanged mouth, and instead of a tongue, extends another arm. This arm, as well defined as a tongue is strong, licks itself out of the mouth and twists until the hand seems to greet the ruler. From how the wolf moves, it becomes clear that it was the one that opened the door to you in the first place. The hand from the toothed smile, scarred by fangs, welcomes you inside.

Moving past this enigmatic greeting, the Ruler enters a room adorned with candles surrounding a throne made of dripped wax. The wolf creature closes the door behind you with its tongue-hand, while its tail hand jerks its chain for it to follow you meekly. While the candles are mostly uniform in their pure white coloring, the wax of the throne seems grayish or tan, and sitting on it is an ancient king. The king’s skin, both leathery and paper thin, is stretched over bones akin to knotted wood. The king’s six hands rest wearily over the sides of his throne, one of them resting on a ill-used sword, covered in notches along its worn blade and hash marks adorning its flat. The king stands as you enter, showing the ruler of a District the proper respect and he bends over to his side to wearily lift an iron wrought lantern covered in verdigris. Creaking, the king extends to his full height, the wolf dragging itself to lie down by his throne. The king speaks with a voice like dusty paper so old that one fears that his very words might catch fire from one of the many open flames.

  Hear me, for I am the Sovereign of Wax and Wick, reigning supreme within this somber Necropolis, where shadows dance with echoes of ages long past. Through ceaseless contemplation, I have unearthed a path, a path that leads us from this realm of unlife and undeath, back into the vibrant embrace of existence. Behold this lantern, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness, bestowed upon thee to partake in a game of fate. Each of thy peers shall receive a lantern akin, and together, a collective decision must be made - a decision to transcend, to soar once more towards the radiant zenith of life's golden age. Let us etch our names anew upon the annals of time, reclaiming our destiny from the clutches of oblivion. But know this, the choice rests not upon one, but upon all.  

Once passing you the verdigris lantern, the king collapses back onto the throne, the wolf soothes him with a calming touch of its tongue-hand upon its masters foot. The Ruler turns to go, following the path of candles out of the throne room, past the door, and back through the halls of the stained glass suns.

***

Walking along the path of candles back to their District the first thing the Ruler notices is amiss is the smell. The scent of the halls of the king of wax and wick was nothing but age and disuse. The smell of dead moths and spiders, the smell of the thin smoke of countless, endless candles. Soot and dust. But now a new smell invades, a think pungent moist foulness that rises up from the ground. And now that the Ruler looks down, expecting the masonry and wax of the halls of the king, there is murky sewage water. The candles are suddenly gone and the only think illuminating the Ruler is the Verdigris Lantern that they had been gifted.

The water is rotten, but it is what floats on the water that is fouler. Debris, lumps of fat, tangled knots of hair, fluids, feces, the waste of a dozens of Districts, dozens of Fallen Empires, flows through here in the Gutters. Occasionally the Lantern picks up a flash of gold as the Ruler trails the muck. Mirth in the grime. Joy that had slipped through someone’s fingers. This is realm of trash but also of the lost. Perhaps the line between is negotiable.

Up ahead the Ruler hears humming in between fits of hacking coughs. Holding the lantern up they see a hunched figure dressed in filthy rags, black mold growing in patches on them. The stench unbearable. They see a great mass of rats and centipedes with red eyes along the edges. The figure is using a miner’s pan in the runoff. Humming off-key and chuckling to themselves they pocket a nugget of golden Mirth and they return to their task.

  Oi, oi, hold yer horses there, stranger! Give ol' Charlie a sec, will ya? Just need to shoo off these pesky shadows, ya know?   

The figure lunges to grab one of the rats in one of their six hands, four of which are bandaged and broken, tied up in rotten splints. The figure grins as they look at the helpless rat and then proceeds to bite off the rat’s head and then yell at its companions as they scatter into the dank darkness. Turning towards the ruler they gather themselves to an imposing height, such that they have to bend their neck at an angle to avoid the top of the Gutter. They lean forward and leer with yellow spoiled teeth.

  Ah, that's better. Now we can have a proper chat, just you and me. So, what's with the fancy lantern, eh? Think you're better than ol' Jack with their tattered cloak and worn-out shoes? What's that bigwig got that I don't, huh?  

The figure squats down and extends one of his arms between their knees and swings it around like a prodigious member. They quickly uses their other unbroken hand to slap the crook of the arm such that the pantomime springs upwards towards the Ruler’s face, trying to make them flinch.

  Why do you trust him, anyway? Is it 'cause of his fancy clothes and polished manners? Lemme tell ya a little secret, mate. Why play his game when you've already won? How many empires you reckon ended up in this dump, huh? Cream of the crop! And here you are, immortal as can be. So, why bother with all this talk of going back to being mortal, eh? Stay here, rule if you want. Make more trash for me. Trash is the real truth, after all. It's the endless heaps of waste an empire spews out that shows what truly matters: the humble scraps of meals, the discarded tools, the abandoned spaces. That's where the real story is, mate, in the leftovers and the forgotten bits. Trust ol' Bob here, little lordling. I ain't hiding nothing from ya.  

The figure cackles, but extends a dirty hand.

The choice of the Ruler to shake or not . . .

***

Later, the Gutters and the Halls past, the Ruler places the Verdigris Lantern on a surface back where they had started from. The only souvenir, along with their choice, of their journey. The Game had Begun.

 [Players, please privately let the GM know your choice on whether you are open to being a Traitor. Before Round 1, the GM will choose traitors from those who opt in.] 
mystic1110
   Round 1  
  Chapter One – Traitors and Faithful   
The King of Wax and Wick walks slowly through his halls, the faithful wolf holding its own chain prowling behind him. He pauses in front of a stained glass window and looks at the depiction of a sun, the sun. The flames of the candles dance with synchronicity during his silent contemplation.

Sludge seeps between the masonry as the Gutters begin to join with the Halls. A rat scurries from one darkness into another darkness. A centipede wraps itself around a candle until it burns itself on the flame. Footsteps squelch until they echo. The Beggar walks beside the King to stand by his side to look at the same painted glass. The King is ramrod straight, ignoring the Beggar, but the wolf’s hair bristles as it snarls, it’s tongue-hand grasping out of its mouth clawing at the air. The King makes motion with one of his six hands for it to stand down. The Beggar leans towards the King.

  Do ya know how many of your precious Lanterns took my offer? All of 'em, ya fool! None of 'em want to be mortal.  
  Enough, wretched pauper. I know the extent of the corruption you dare to spread. The Faithful shall seek it out and purge it, like the vile mold it is.  

The Beggar raises their two hands and spreads them as they circle in place looking at the candles in the hall.

  Got enough fire left to burn the mold, do ya? And so what if you do? Scum and spore, I'll just make more. Purity's fragile, but filth? Filth is easy to replace.  

The King turns his head towards the Beggar, his eyes deep hollows at the center of which red lamps of rage burned, without a word he unsheathes his discolored and oxidized blade and swings at the Beggar. The Beggar caught the movement in time, but was only able to block with one of their two remaining arms, sacrificing it to avoid the full impact of the blow. The sword did not cleanly cut the arm off, its sides were too hacksawed with age and rust. Instead it bit into the arm, with which the Beggar jumped backwards, their newly damaged limb hanging off with sinew.

  Oh, have I struck a nerve? Think you can escape? You're trash, just like the rest of us. You've been written into this story, mate. You ain't the author.  

The Beggar turns to flee into the Gutters, but the King of Wax and King raises his hand, twists it and clenches it into an upturned fist, the entrance to the sewer beings to close up with bricks, waste water replaced by wax. The Beggar looks startled and now begins to run through the Halls looking for a way out. The King advances slowly, while the wolf howls for the hunt. It doesn’t matter where the Beggar runs, it leads to where the King stalks. The Beggar looks upon the King and then left and right, each direction a stained glass windows stands. They jump and lunge through the left window – shattering it outwards, only for the shards to land inwards from the right window from which they emerge shattering it at the same time. Landing back where they had jumped from, the floor now covered in broken glass, the Beggar looks at the King bewildered right as the King lunges catching the Beggar in the shoulder spinning them around.

The Beggar catches themselves along the wall, their dirty rags catching fire on the candles. They shriek in curdled pain. The King advances and swings the blade again striking the burning beggar in chest. The Beggar falls flat on the ground, raises their one remaining arm in feeble protest and begins to lisp something with their burned lip, but the King shoves the sword down the Beggar’s mouth and throat killing the words before they are spoken.

  Indeed, pauper. But know this—you shall not have enough time.  

Instead of blood, polluted water, filled with refuse and clumps of rot, spews out of the wound. The King stands over the Beggar and raises his sword over his head and begins to swing down over and over, cutting, hacking and sawing them as one would butcher an animal. Tendons are severed, flesh is carved. The spoiled water spreads along the brickwork of the halls.

The wolf moves towards the mutilated Beggar. Its tongue-hand reaches out of its mouth and picks up a toe cut off at the toe knuckle, and holds it up to its own eyes.

  Its flesh is corruption, and it shall make thee ill. Yet thou shalt consume each piece and dispose of it as one would with filth. Return them to the Gutters.  

With that order, the King continues his walk in the empty halls, the flames of the endless uncountable candles following after him with practiced waves, as the wolf begins its gruesome meal, shoveling the rotted portions of the beggar into its maw. Some of the pieces are so festering and diseased that the wolf retches them out only to eat them again. The King’s orders, for it, are absolute. This tableau overseen by the stained glass of a sun standing alone in a red sky, rebuilt and unshattered. Same as it ever was.

   Chapter Conclusion – Finish the Lantern Game   
 
 Spoiler: Lantern Game Reminders 
 Lantern Game Reminders 
 During each Round 

Lantern Actions can be taken once whenever a stat hits 4 or 8. Lantern Actions are unrolled secret non-actions PM'd directly to the GM and not noted in your normal post.

There are the following Lantern Action's each associated with their own stat:

 
 Discretion – Probe: Investigate if another Lantern is a Traitor. This information is sent to you privately and not posted publicly by GM. The results you can expect are “This Lantern Holder is Compromised” or “This Lantern Holder is Faithful”. If your Probe is Disturbed or your target was Safeguarded, you will receive a result of “Your Lantern's light was Obscured”. 
 Force –  Safeguard: Protect a Lit Lantern from Probes and Snuff Outs. 
 Entertainment  –  Disturb: If the Targeted Lantern is taking a Lantern Action you will cancel that action. You will not learn if the Targeted Lantern took an action or not. 
 Conviction  –  Relight or Snuff Out: Target either an unlit lantern and give it back its flame or take a lit lantern and take away its fire.  
 
Only one Lantern Action may be taken per player per round and being the target of a Lantern Action makes you immune to all Lantern Actions the round after.

 Between each Round 

Players who hold at least one Lit Lantern may post in the IC one of the following votes:

 
 Accuse –  Declare that another Player is a Traitor. If a Player has been Accused by a Majority of Players before the Next Round beings, one of their Lanterns is Snuffed. 
 Conclude – Declare that they believe there are no Traitors with a Lit Lantern left. If a Majority of players have voted to Conclude the Lantern Game, the Lantern Game will end. 
 Withhold – Declare that they do not have enough information. 
 Abstain or Forget to vote. 
 
Players are encouraged, but not required to have fluff or plot along with their Vote. The winning vote is one with an affirmative Majority (51%+) of votes; half of all players is insufficient.
 

   Chapter Two – Exploring the Halls of the Dripping Throne   
As you embark out from your District, as you trek through Penumbras, you hold the grand ancient Halls of the Dripping Throne in your mind, your heart and where you might have held a soul. As the Districts recede, whatever vista replaced by worn stone, candles greet you. The soft smell of smoke, the scent of dust settled on disused luxury. The stained glass of a sun on a red sky. The halls are empty and despite the light, dimly lit. Walking in either direction feels like a maze made of crossroads. Crumbling statues on corners, old empty armor. Candles. Wax on the floor. Your footsteps echo, but only briefly. What may the center of the Necropolis hold? Are you even welcome?

   Chapter Conclusion – Exploring the entirety of the Halls of the Dripping Throne   
 
 Spoiler: How to Travel and Explore the Halls 
 Travel to the Halls 

The Hall of Dripping throne is at the center of the Necropolis. Each Round, Players may use a Discretion Action to journey to the Halls of the Dripping Throne. When they journey to the Halls – players should list out which of their characters travels to the Gutters and what sub-action they take (see below). The Journey and all subsequent sub-actions may be taken as secret actions.

 Exploring The Halls 

Each Round when a player uses a Discretion Action to journey to the Halls of the Dripping Throne, they may, initially, take only one sub-action. Enactments, Artifacts, Miracles, Conviction Bonuses and even GM specific events, may allow players to take additional sub-actions in the Halls.

Exploring the Halls is otherwise treated like an Event – and players may use the opportunity to trade (such trade being counted as their one sub-action).

For sub-actions, if it is your Ruler that traveled to the Halls you may roll with the relevant attribute. If it is another named character, roll half the relevant attribute. If you are unsure what attribute to roll for a particular sub-action, inquire from the GM.

Generally, the Halls may be explored with a Conviction sub-action.

Players may assist or hinder each other in the Halls as their sub-action in the Halls. Choosing the relevant roll of another player, they may roll using the applicable attribute with the related bonus for an TN of 12. If a success they add or subtract 2 of the targeted roll.

If your Ruler is exploring the Halls during a round, they may not also be involved as a Commander during a Battle.

Failing a search of the Halls, will usually have the player’s character find themselves back where they started. Once a specific location, such as the Throne Room, is located in the Halls, players may choose take actions from that room.
 

   Chapter Three – Trudging through the Gutters   
One does not typically visit the Gutters by choice, one often falls into them, swept away by poor fortune, a sudden storm of ill luck. Rats and centipedes watch you enter with red eyes before they scurry back inwards through grates and holes to carry their messages. Vermin are the least of your concern as you sludge forward. The sewers are a maze of twisting passages, even stairs and pipes leading further down into a fetid moist swamp that lines the drains and creeps along the iron. The water flows from somewhere to nowhere and back to somewhere else. Trash gathers along slow corners only to rush forward in rapids in other places, the current uncertain and shifting. Looking down is an exercise of revulsion. A finger brushes your legs as it is swept past.

   Chapter Conclusion – Exploring the entirety of the Gutters   
 
 Spoiler: How to Travel and Explore the Gutters 
 Travel to the Gutters 

The Gutters exists in between each District. Each Round, Players may use an Entertainment Action to journey to the Gutters. When they journey to the Gutters – players should list out which of their characters travels to the Gutters and what sub-action they take (see below). The Journey and all subsequent sub-actions may be taken as secret actions.

 Exploring The Gutters  

Each Round when a player uses an Entertainment Action to journey to the Gutters, they may, initially, take only one sub-action. Enactments, Artifacts, Miracles, Conviction Bonuses and even GM specific events, may allow players to take additional sub-actions in the Gutters.

Exploring the Gutters is otherwise treated like an Event – and players may use the opportunity to trade (such trade being counted as their one sub-action).

For sub-actions, if it is your Ruler that traveled to the Gutters you may roll with the relevant attribute. If it is another named character, roll half the relevant attribute. Additionally, all sub-actions in the Gutters take a Penalty equal to  ?????? . If you are unsure what attribute to roll for a particular sub-action, inquire from the GM.

Generally, the Gutter’s may be explored with a Discretion sub-action.

Players may assist or hinder each other in the Gutters as their sub-action in the Gutters. Choosing the relevant roll of another player, they may roll using the applicable attribute with the related bonus for a TN of 12. If a success they add or subtract 2 of the targeted roll.

If your Ruler is exploring the Gutters during a round, they may not also be involved as a Commander during a Battle.

Failing a search of the Gutters, will usually have the player’s character find themselves lost in the sewers, which carries a consequence of  ?????? .

Additionally,  ?????? .
 

   Chapter Four – The Fall of 0-Rion   
Fewer and fewer individuals braved the treacherous journey toward the core, and the spectacle that once ignited a sense of purpose dwindled into a grim reminder of their entrapment. The enclaves of 0-RION became even more ghostly, their metallic halls echoing with the faint remnants of a lost civilization becoming even more lost. Fewer residents moved through these haunted corridors each day, the remaining souls merely going through the motions, their eyes hollow and their steps heavy with resignation. The enigmatic influence of the Overseer, once feared and respected, lost its hold as people stopped caring, their apathy not even a final surrender to an unseen tyrant.

As the spirit of the occupants faded, so too did the vitality of 0-RION itself. The once self-repairing systems, powered by the collective belief and will of its people, began to malfunction and fail. Lights flickered ominously and stayed off longer, plunging entire sections of the structure into stygian darkness. Doors that once opened with a mere thought now jammed or remained permanently sealed, their mechanisms rusted and unresponsive. The infrastructure began to deteriorate, the metal walls and floors corroding, revealing the decaying innards of the behemoth to the cold void outside.

Cracks formed in the outer rim, spreading like a spiderweb across the surface. The spokes connecting the rim to the shattered core weakened and snapped, sending chunks of debris spiraling into the void. The core itself, once a dense mass of metal and technology, began to disintegrate under the strain of its own weight, its integrity eroded by the apathy that had seeped into every corner of 0-RION. What remained of the once mighty structure was reduced to fragments, slowly ground down into smaller and smaller particles, destined to be reduced into dust.

And then, the sound of a great pillar cracking, a compacted scream of bones, flesh, hopes and dreams crushed underfoot, reverberated through each District of the Necropolis. The District that was 0-Rion falls from that strange unlife further and further into . . . . what lays beyond history; oblivion and nothing. Who remembers 0-Rion? No one. Not you. Not me. No one at all. It has never been or will be again.

   Chapter Conclusion – Each Player is to Acquire and hold at least Two Diversions within Three Rounds, or their Capitol will fall into Listlessness.   
 
 Spoiler: Listlessness Reminders 
 Listlessness Reminders 

Social disunity, inertia or apathy creates physical Listlessness in the District itself as its ties to the Necropolis falter. This manifests in the people first, but then even the structures of the District become lethargic, fading into obscurity and into the pages of history further than even where the Necropolis resides.

 
 If a player’s capitol District is listless, then all actions affecting such district have a -2 penalty and of all that player’s actions outside that district suffer a -2 penalty. 
 If a District in a player’s penumbra is listless, then all actions that touch on that district take a -2 penalty and that district does not contribute to a capitol’s “distance”. 
 If an unowned District is listless, then all actions that touch on that district take a -2 penalty. 
 
If you own a District that is Listless you may take a special action of any stat to enliven the people of that district and to resolve any disunity, inertia or apathy – this roll is rolled against 12 (but also suffers the -2 penalty).

If a nation is listless for too long, there might be GM specific events related to it, but there are no rebellions – if events go that far, then often the fabric of the district is so worn that it will fall apart and away from the necropolis.
 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn (she/they)  
 Dis 2 | For 5 | Ent 3 | Con 4 
 Units:  3
 Mirth:  1


 
   Round 1 - WIP 
 
 [Force] - Recollect Tactical Doctrine - Anointed in Blood 
 TacDoc:   +3 to Battle against any District targeted by a Consecration to the Fangborne Covenant within the last round.

 Hraesholm is steeped in bloodshed and slaughter throughout its history. Those who hold to the Covenant drink deep from the well of belief, where conviction turns to divine strength. Even the earnest prayers of a few new aspirants is enough to turn the tide of battle, where these anointed few may become baptized in blood—testing their might against the non-believers who would see them cowed.
 
[Conviction] - Consecrate District 20 using Mirth,  success (13 vs TN 12) 
 One of the samsaeri, Talon Varek crosses the penumbra to explore the colosseum located in one of the many mercurial realms of the Necropolis. This place sings to his inner beast, and the scarred, grim-looking executioner meets with the politicians, tamers, and guards within to discuss finding rapture in the bloodletting. They are more receptive than anticipated, but the influence of the Darkthorne Deprivation is noted and reviled. Time will tell if they choose to contest the Deprivation’s hold on the arena.  

[Conviction] - Consecrate District 14,  failure (10 vs TN 12) 
 Talon Morwyn leaves Hraesholm to bring a voice to the Unheard, with a small handful of orators to spread the word through the countryside. Whispers in the ears of discontent locals and a promise of something beyond tending a meager flock. Unfortunately, it proves more difficult to convince a people used to nurturing prey to cull the herd. 

[Force] - Attack District 30 with  Bloodcaller Valyn (Force 5) , with three units.
 
 Bloodcaller Valyn will attempt to duel the opposing commander. 
 Tactical Doctrine:   Frenzied Onslaught  Doctrine (+2 to Battle, +10% own casualties).  -1 Penalty to TM (troop size). 
 Bloodcaller Valyn will  kill  the enemy commander if able. 
 Talon Liora holds the Lantern during the march on District 30 in lieu of Bloodcaller Valyn.

 Whether the King of Wax and Wick realizes it or not, the passing of Lanterns has served as a tipping point to break some of the Synod’s growing complacency. A new food chain has been established. And as ever, they will rise to the top. Lanterns above all, the Faithful first among them.

It is simple to rouse wretched shades to her service, to offer a first glimpse beyond the penumbra for countless souls. Blood will spill, and those piteous fools who spend their days toiling on machinery will know their weakness. Blood and oil, it all spills the same. 
 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different religion in Hraesholm. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Hunt" diversion from Hraesholm. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -  #1 
Stat Changes: +1 Conviction, +1 Force
Resource Changes: -1 to Mirth
Faith Size: 2 (SVG, R20)
Diversions: 1 (The Hunt)
Lantern: Lit
 
 
  
MappyPK
    Chronocruise Enterprises    
  The Aetherial Mechanica 
 
 Ruler:  SeaEO Vivienne Locke
(DIS 5 | FOR 3 | ENT 5 | CON 3)

 Mirth:  3 - 3 =
 Units:  1 
 Actions: 
 
  Discretion - Recall Cultural Identity - Acquire Diversion. 
  Entertainment - Acquire Diversion - Theatre in District 4. Spend 1 Mirth.  Success (13)!  
  Entertainment - Acquire Diversion - Brothels in District 24. Spend 1 Mirth.  Failure (11)...  
  Entertainment - Acquire Diversion - Music in District 28. Spend 1 Mirth.  Success (17)!  
 
 With many decrepit recreations scattered across the ginormous ship in the sky, the SeaEO's first course of action is to ensure that her crew and customers are satisfied and never bored. While there are plenty of new activities brought aboard for families and children, her dreams of prosperous nightlife, or at least the closest one can get to it with no daylight cycle, fall flat. For the meantime, however, this should suffice. 
Lleban
  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 3
Units 1
Discretion 4
Force 3
Entertainment 2 (+1)
Conviction 4(+1)
 
  Actions
  
 Conviction Consecrate Atlar:  unnamed R1 To Coatl Perijainism  roll 16 
            Legend has it that the hallowed power of Xykothos once turned the dragon of cruel winter into a statue of salt. Of course, scholars were quick to boast of miracles but slow to record the costs. Perhaps this approach is the way to spread the word. Boast of a power greater than the shadow sovereign, a power to grant immortality. A power that brings eternal spring. Where else can it be found but the serpent's belly?
 Conviction Consecrate Atlar:  Chronocruise Enterprise To Coatl Perijainism  roll 12 
            Magi make their way to the clockwork skyship. A great mechanical behemoth beyond their imagination. Despite their strange situation, the magi do their best to tailor their pitch. For the eternal serpent, Xykothos promises a harmonious existence within the infinite cycle. The whisky that does not empty. Perceptive people can learn to take advantage of the cycle's eternal nature. A passenger can use an ever-refilling drink to stay ensconced in base pleasure forever. A captain with 3000 can achieve so much more.

 Entertainment  Aquire Diversion R1 Lavish Feasts  roll 7 
 Entertainment  Aquire Diversion R21 Dancing  roll 8 
 
  Liturgy of Xyothos 
 
Remember when the Red Magpies scaled the Great Walls
The clangs of their shields and boots ruled the halls
We trusted their slings to strike true
Where did their strong blood go
That Crimson hue
 
Lleban
whoops double posted
Torv
     OKyNNET    
Videkist
 D5 - F2 - E3 - C5  
  Actions:  
 
 SECRET
 We're not (1/5)  
 SECRET
 Doing a (2/5)  
 SECRET
 Great Project (3/5)  
 SECRET
 Look away! (4/5)  
 
  Non-Actions:  
Resist all that is not explicitly allowed

  News and Rumors:  
 Invite everyone to the Winter Market next round invitations TBD 
SerakHawk
      
  Prayers of Sunset (POS)   
  Ruler: Twilight Sovereign (she/they)  
 Dis 1 | For 3 | Ent 4 | Con 1 
 Units:  2
 Mirth:  2
 Diversions:   1 
 Lanterns:   1 [LIT] 
 
   Round 1 - Dawning of Twilight 
 
 [Force]  Deploy Units - Unnamed Region 02
Battle +6: 2 Units, Twilight Sovereign leading (3), using 1 mirth
Tactics +3: Frenzied Onslaught: +2 Battle, +10% self-casualties.
 The Twilight Sovereign with her lantern held high marches their forces onward. Territory was needed, the Penumbra needed to be expanded to stave off whatever end this Necropolis was imposing on the Fading Dusk. Sparing none who appose them the forces march on, barely more than shadows as memories leak from them on the march in the strangeness of this land. Their Memories were not needed, the Twilight Sovereign remembered for them.  
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion - Obtain Invention (Unnamed 30)
 More distractions, more innovation, perhaps this could fascinate the people? Perhaps this could solve some unknowable problem. 
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion - Obtain Brothels (Unnamed 24)
 Wenches for the Wench throne. Spurred the people yearn for more.  
 [Secret Tidings] 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different Conviction in the Fading Dusk. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Night District" Diversion 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Capital: The Fading Dusk
Penumbra [0]: None Orbits the Dusk
Diversions: The Night District
Stat Changes: +1 Entertainment
Other Changes: -1 Mirth
 
 
  
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
 Dis 2 | For 4 | Ent 2 | Con 4 
 Units:  2
 Mirth:  2
 Diversions:   1 
 Lanterns:   1 [LIT] 
 
   Round 1     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on. How long has it been? The Emperor died on a Tuesday. Last week? There was no way of telling. The city constantly churned with an impossible number of people despite the unending fighting. The Committee for Public Safety met three times before turning on itself. Tulanists and their sympathizers amongst the Moutonards struck before dawn and murdered Alexandre Baudelaire and his Marteaunard lieutenants in their beds. When the committee met hours later, the rest of the left wing of the committee was put to the guillotine.

Now with the Tulanists in charge the glorious revolution could focus on what really mattered, entrenching party control over the ashes.

  Actions:  
 
 [Force] Raise troops! 
 [Force] Raise troops! 
 [Entertainment] Acquire Diversion 
 [Entertainment] Acquire Diversion 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Round up any remaining Marteaunard sympathizers 
 
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [0]:
Diversions: Executions
Stat Changes:
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
Aedilred
  Onende, the Silver Refuge 
 Nendir the Eternal 
Discretion 3
Force 4
Entertainment 2
Conviction 4 
The King's offer was received in silence. The Qeyzer is, as ever, a man of few words. The Lantern - a curiosity, yes, but so much more than that: it burns with a light the like of which he only dimly remembers. This world is changing, and for the first time there is hope, for more than mere survival. His people will need a prompt. Seated upon his throne, he stretches out his hand, and across Onende eyes turn towards the palace. People stir, hands reaching for weapons, and columns begin to file out of the great city.

***

Saul McHew was a genius, a walking advertisement for the power of music. Indeed, he  transcended  music. Was he the greatest man in the District? Perhaps,  any  district? He'd never be so gauche as to claim that, even if it was true. So when he was accosted by two women, naked save for their feathers, he had initially assumed it was no more than his talent was due. Only when they began to manhandle him out of the door and into the sky did it dawn on him that perhaps this was not to be an orgiastic celebration of his artistic accomplishments but a violent abduction. His mind raced as he tried to think who might possibly bear a grudge against him - him! It was inconceivable. And yet clearly someone did.

Now he found himself in a windowless room so colourless he had to check he wasn't still wearing his sunglasses. Gradually he identified that he wasn't alone. The room, reasonably comfortably appointed, contained a handful of others, and as his mind, still addled from the journey, attempted to make sense of his surroundings he found he recognised some of them. Bob Animal, Saylor Swallow - in the corner, was that the vast bulk and lank hair of Sloppy Joe? Stranger and stranger.

"Does anyone know what's going on?" he asked to the room at large.

"Not a clue," said someone he recognised after a moment's surprise as Girl Georgina, her flamboyance somewhat ruffled from what he presumed was a similar experience to his own.

He was lifted from his seat and star-handled through a door into a rather more familiar setting, even if he'd never seen it before. He was on a stage, a cityscape stretching off as far as the eye could see, and in the foreground, an audience of thousands, tens of thousands even, looking up at him. At the front stood a goblin in a slashed doublet and an enormous hat, who gave him a sharp-toothed but apparently genuine grin.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder and as he turned he was passed a pair of sunglasses. Not the pair he had dropped during the abduction but similar enough. The donor revealed himself as none other than his own accompanist, holding an electric mandola.

"Just go with it, mate", said the Middle.

With his glasses on, Saul felt more himself. He walked over to the goblin.

"What do you want from us?"

"What do you think?" said the goblin, and gestured to the expectant crowd. "Sing!"

Well, he'd played stranger gigs.

"You might know this one!" he announced, and launched into  Where the Roads Are Nameless . They didn't, but they cheered for him anyway.



 Actions round 1 

[Entertainment] Buy out Poetry ( fail )
[Entertainment] Buy out Lavish Feasts ( fail )
[Entertainment[ Buy out Exploration ( fail )
[Entertainment] Buy out Singing (   glorious success   )
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 4
Force - 4
Entertainment - 4
Conviction - 5 
 Units: 2
Mirth: 2  
At the heart of the Decadence, a fire smoldered.  Veiled by walls of gold and walls of shadow, the ever-burning corpse of Nezetkhamun floated above his shattered sarcophagus.  Blood as dark and thick as pitch pooled in the desiccated remnants of his frame, dribbling in incandescent rivulets down charcoal bones to drip into the wound in the tile yawning beneath him, falling through the earth to feed the molten heart whose shuddering beat rocked his city.  Consciousness and clarity were fleeting things against the colossal majesty of his rage, but the alien light of the Lantern played across blind eyes and he felt himself again.  The withered twigs of fingers in his right hand, frozen in a fist of shock and defiance, cracked with motion that sent a new plume of ash eddying through the vaulted sepulcher.  And far above, at the apex of the pyramid, a shadow moved.

Racing down the crumbling facade of the Imperial Pyramid, it slipped into the noble quarter, an unseen knife gliding the scented air.  Everywhere, the decadent and indolent beneficiaries of Nezetkhamun's benevolence lounged, blissfully unaware of the danger that stalked them.  The knife flew close, tasting the sweat and blood that slicked every tawny frame, seeking worthy prey.  Even in their narcotic haze, most remained unfailingly devoted to him.  Most whispered private prayers of thanks before indulging in their latest depravity.  Most remained worthy.  But some, some had drifted too greedily into his paradise, and among that number sat a prince of the city atop a mountain of panderers and false piety.  The knife slowed, contemplating a sudden thought of some body called "The Twelve," but its distraction was cast aside as quickly as it had risen, as the knife plunged home into the noble's heart.

Those damned souls sharing the noble's garden saw nothing save a passing darkness wash over their host, but the effect was immediate.  Sweet wine caught in the fat, aristocratic throat, the vintage turned to choking tar.  Heaving to his feet, he clawed at his neck with fingers that were at once too long, too sharp, tearing bloody ribbons into his flesh as the shape beneath his skin bubbled and warped.  A scream like steam escaping a kettle made its way past the greasy darkness strangling him, until it too was choked out.  Everywhere the noble's blood landed, the garden erupted into flames, and as he collapsed insensate a bloody gash rose along his spine.  In a final shower of blazing gore, the noble's lacerated body erupted like a balloon, revealing the kneeling form of something new in his place.  Sleek scales glowed with inner heat, while molten eyes looked across the panicked multitude that had, as one, collapsed to their knees in reverence.  The body he had seized rose at Nezetkhamun's distant will, and through the clarity of his pawn's agony he saw ever clearer.  He would go forth.  He would conquer.  He would live again.

The Dragon would have his vengeance.

 Actions: 
 
  [Conviction]  Consecrate the Altar of the Final Frontier to the Dragon Cult -  9 
 New lights dance in the bleak skies above Hallion.  Blood red candles held aloft by gilded hands, their bearers traveling on shadowed wings.  They carry the word of the Dragon, the unceasing passage of light and fire that guides the cosmos.  Offering their hands to the assembled officers of the fallen realm, they gesture towards the fiery eye above the Decadence, and the promise of new frontiers and and endless field of new stars.  
  [Conviction]  Consecrate the Altar of Chronocruise Enterprises to the Dragon Cult -  16 
 New passengers board the Aetherial Mechanica.  Though they indulge in Happy Hour and the plush accommodations, these strange and twisted newcomers seem more interested in their fellow passengers.  Mingling at casino and symphony, captain's table and boiler room, they speak convincingly of the purpose to be found beyond transient pursuits of pleasure.  Though these agents of the Decadence would never dream of dismissing pleasure as an end in and of itself, they proselytize rapturously of pleasure derived from and directed towards a unifying and glorious purpose, and the fiery soul in whom that purpose is personified.  
  [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion of Hunting in Region 40 -  12  
  [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion of Athletic Competition in Region 18 -  11  
 
Ausar
  The Final Frontier  
 
 
 (Original:  https://www.deviantart.com/naradjou1...anet-785623366 )  
Ruler: Aurelius Marten Vox, Master of the Twilight.
Discretion: 2 |  Force: 4 |  Entertainment: 2 |  Conviction: 4 |
Units: 1  |  Mirth: 3  |

  "Give it up, Master Vox."   
 "Can it, Tariel." 
 "You can't sleep, Aurelius. There is no sleep for the dead." 
 "I'll damn well sleep when I'm dead, Officer, get out of my head." 
 "Get out? Learn to share, Master Vox. After all, the more you fight me-" 
 "Out." 
 "Burn at both ends then, old friend. You won't last the night." 
The specter faded into his latent consciousness, occupying the facet of his forehead where that gnawing need for rest used to be. Every time he succumbed to the urge to rest his eyes she pressed onto his mind a million molecules more, a minute in this mind-numbing malaise nearer to pulling him under, pulling him into the fading heart of Hallion's demise. Then she would emerge, a new old face to suffer in his place. Another second chance. Another doomed sally against the darkening of the light.
 "Keep your head up Master. You never know when fortune could find you in her favour."  Aurelius slammed a fist into the table he sat slumped behind, gritting his teeth in agony as the pain in his head lanced like a fragment of fractured forge.
 "Tariel! For pity's sake a moment-"  
  "Sorry sir! I'll- Sir?"  She paused, peering in consternation at the haggard fellow sitting, slack-jawed, before her.  "Is something wrong, sir?"  Aurelius swallowed hard, drawing a shaky hand into a salute. The pressure on his head had gone, replaced with a void that had a weight all it's own - an insatiable loneliness.
 "As you were, Officer. Report- report to Marius. He'll find you lodgings and... update you. Fill you in on the situation, as it were."  Tariel nodded, returning the salute and spinning on her heels, marching off towards the Officer's mess. Aurelius glanced around, but the shadow of his old friend no longer lurked in the failing light at the edges of his vision.  "Why, Jorus,"  he whispered, aware the dashing pilot was out on patrol for more arrivals in this purgatory of the 'Dominion.  "Why did she have to manifest still full of hope?"   He watched as a younger Tariel, a Tariel just promoted to Officer of the Axton Corps, a Tariel that had not witnessed the utter failure of the Great Foray, a Tariel that had not had to live with his disappearance and her comrades' deaths, march up the stairs and out of sight. Out amongst Hallion's debris field, Jorus was watching too. Watching an army emerge from the stone. 

Actions:
 Force:  Raise a unit - Montefort's Chaplains.
 Force:  Raise a unit - Courtenay's Chaplains.

 They fell out of the stone, it seemed. As the asteroid morphed, it seemed to be reforming, drawing debris into itself, growing and shifting, and with every new piece of debris that melded seamlessly in, a new figure, clad in flowing robes, floating a hair under four feet tall, would form as if reconsituting from a rockslide's smashed victim list. Forty in all, led by a Figure in faded purple and yellow robes, three streaking arrows emblazoned upon his chest. His hair was flecked through with shards of granite, but those eyes... His eyes were devilishly alive. The High Chaplain Courtenay raised an eyebrow at Jorus, sitting on the nose of his drifting strike fighter.
   "Awfully odd Griffon you've got there, old boy. Can't say we've met. Courtenay, old boy, High Chaplain of the Sky, wherever it's uh,"    - he raised the other eyebrow for a moment and sucked in a deep breath, letting it all slowly fade from his lungs -    "wherever it's uh, well. Wherever it's gone."    Jorus shook his head.
 "Jorus. Patrol leader of the Final Frontier. Tasked with finding sorry souls like yourselves before the gutters swallow you whole.  Courtenay smiled.
   "Sorry souls! I like that. Have you a place these sorry sorefooted souls could find some good strong ale in this Final Frontier of yours?"    
 Entertainment:  Acquire Diversion - Chariot Racing (U15) Spending a mirth.  [11] 
 Entertainment:  Acquire Diversion - Hunting (U40) Spending a mirth.  [8] 
 Marius feels the gravracing could do with a little more danger. Unfortunately, Aurelius is not entertained by his proposal to risk more unlife, and his plan to add ships on ropes as propulsion devices and an adjoining hunting element to the already mad sport doesn't get off the ground. 
 
 Spoiler: Current Units 
New Ravager Squadron - the Ragged Edge
 
Jade_Tarem
Sanctum Round 1

Force: Invent TacDoc - Fade to Black
Force: Invade Unnamed 31
Entertainment: Attempt to Acquire Adventurous Expeditions
Entertainment: Attempt to Acquire Exploration

 Discretion  3 |  Force  5 (+1) |  Entertainment  1 (+1) |  Conviction  3
 Units  3 |  Mirth  1
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 5 Force 3 Entertainment 5 Conviction 1 Mirth 3 Units 1  
 [Force]  Raise 1 Unit
 [Force]  Raise 1 Unit
 [Entertainment]  Buyout Chariot Races Diversion TN 12   17  
 [Entertainment]  Buyout Gladiatorial Combat Diversion TN 12   14  
 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +1 Force, +1 Entertainment 

Maldarr drifted out of the Capitol and towards the ever-golden fields of the Tipsy Plains. The fields of grain waved in the wind like golden tresses. He hadn't realized it at first, but he had been drawn towards the sounds of distant military drills, the clanging of metal and the marching of men. A large figure coalesced out of the ever-present haze that seemed to exist on the edge of his periphery.

 "Protos."  The large man saluted respectfully. Confusion swirled within Maldarr's mind. Protos? He reached up to feel the golden laurel crown that sat atop his head just above his eyepatch. No, that's wrong. He had never been Protos. His Protos had been...
A keen sense of loss gripped him, but the memory of the man he had lost remained out of his grasp.
As he regarded the man in front of him levelly, a name came to his lips.
 "Strategos Galon Barberis. How goes the training of the new recruits?" 
 "They are strong, but they grow weary of the monotony, as do we all." 
Maldarr nodded in understanding, himself knowing weariness as a living thing, malignant as a tumor and spreading as one.
 "I shall seek out diversions for the men, and for us all." 
"We will be glad for them. Ah, there is something else I must report." The man's face was uncharacteristically chagrined.
 "It seems I have lost my sword,  Perdition ." 
Maldarr tilted his head as if in askance, the feeling of wrongness permeating his consciousness once again.
 "I'll keep an eye out for it. It's the best I can do."  His lips twitched at his own joke before he turned, the sounds of the training ground fading away as wandered off.
JBarca
  Tisaer, the Calling Tower 
  The Unstained Prince  
  D: 4 - F: 4 - E: 4 - C: 2   
  Actions - Round 1  
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion: Chariot Racing (Region 15)  FAIL 
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion: Adventurous Expeditions (Region 35)  FAIL 
 With the Dark Leap's limited availability, the majority of the citizenry are not able to partake in its horrific delights directly. The Nineteen have noticed this, and acting under the Prince's will, set out to expand access to the sort of high-risk, low-reward diversions that the citizenry seems to need. Two of the White Host, Bazzaratte of the Silk and Yithwe of Sun and Sea, set out to lay claim, taking only their lord's power and their own convictions with them. 
 [Force]  Raise Unit
 [Force]  Raise Unit
 Kyalitiah Seven-Souled and Iliyah Summersong are given permission and investiture to assist their sisters. Their twisted forms are newly flush with power, their Prince is attending to their efforts, and they will not falter. With five of the Nineteen empowered to trod on those that will serve, surely none will stand against the power of the Tower. 
  Non-Actions  
 
 Resist everything that wants resisting 
 
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 
 Units 3/6 
Thasalinne the Sear
Ereanor the Silent
Xass, Starslayer

 Mirth : 1

 Diversions : 1
The Dark Leap [Tisaer]
 

  The Nineteen  
Thasalinne the Sear
Ereanor the Silent
Xass, Starslayer
Kyalitiah Seven-Souled
Iliyah Summersong
Bazzaratte of the Silk
Yithwe of Sun and Sea
And others...
Tychris1
   The Maelstrom 
Our Sorry Ruler: Ruinarch Merlyn
5 Conviction
4 Force
2 Entertainment
1 Discretion  

Actions:

1. Conviction (Create an Artifact)  The Throne of Want 
2. Conviction Consecrate the Altar of Luttoise to RUIN
3. Force Raise 1 Unit
4. Force Invade Unnamed District 13 with 3 Units lead by Ruinarch Merlyn
mystic1110
   Round One is Closed   
The verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

   The First Vote is Open   
 
 Spoiler: Voting Reminders 

Players who hold at least one Lit Lantern may post in the IC one of the following votes:

 
 Accuse – Declare that another Player is a Traitor. If a Player has been Accused by a Majority of Players before the Next Round begins, one of their Lanterns is Snuffed. 
 Conclude – Declare that they believe there are no Traitors with a Lit Lantern left. If a Majority of players have voted to Conclude the Lantern Game, the Lantern Game will end. 
 Withhold – Declare that they do not have enough information. 
 Abstain or Forget to vote. 
 
Players are encouraged, but not required to have fluff or plot along with their Vote. The winning vote is one with an affirmative Majority (51%+) of votes; half of all players is insufficient.
 
zabbarot
The committee chambers were quiet now in the early hours before daybreak. Pierre-Martin Laurent, Comte de Jardin, sat alone in the risers gazing at the flickering lantern. Much of the committee had retired hours ago, more had been arrested. Still, he was not truly alone. It was nearly impossible to be truly alone now, especially in the chambers, but aside from the guards at the door there was only him and his softly snoring aide still here at this hour.

     Submit your vote.     

He started. He had no trust in their waxy patron, but he couldn't help but be tempted by the offering. The committee hadn't even been able to pacify Luttoise. He had no idea what was going on beyond the walls. In fact, he only knew one name from beyond the gutters.

 "J'accuse Merlyn l'Immortel Ruinarque" 
JBarca
The Unstained Prince, deep in his holdfast, sits in his throne, lounging in contemplation. The sickly glow of the lantern bathes his ivory robes and midnight mask.

  "I do not know these powers and they do not know me. I  Withhold ."  

As the lantern dims again, the Prince once again turns his attention to his Nineteen.
Aedilred
In the privacy of his chambers, Nendir smiled. " I know you not, and that is cause enough for suspicion. 
 I accuse the Unstained Prince ."
SerakHawk
The Twilight Sovereign raises his Lantern high in the middle of the conflict ongoing around him, buzzing noises and people voting begin to assail him - distracting his war efforts and organization of his forces.

Growling at nothing in particular he tries to push the voting to the side and focus on the battle in front of him.

 [ABSTAIN]  
MappyPK
The SeaEO sits at her desk in her private office, signing the paperwork for the contracts related to bringing skilled actors and musicians on board. To the side on the desk lays another sheet of paper: the termination notice for the buffoon of a financial advisor who suggested she invest in expensive brothels. And, as she scribbles, a knock is made on the door.

An underpaid intern steps in. "Mrs. Locke, ma'am, the lantern is flickering. I believe it may be time for you to make your selection."

She nods, slowly rising from her seat and making her way out the door. She makes her way down to the cargo hold, through several convoluted doors locked behind gears and clockwork, where she eventually picks up the lantern, "Though this so-called Twilight Sovereign did interrupt our business deals... and some Veiled General attempted to confuse the partygoers with otherworldly beliefs, I cannot say that either of these are cause for suspicion."

"The Enterprises abstain."
Lleban
The general breaks from his feast. In the seclusion of the Exarch's old wing, Toyollo prowls the dilapidated halls. Long looted of any valuables the Vampire prowls in the darkness: mold and the sound of dripping his main company. With a covetous glare, he holds the lantern. Its warm light soothed his burn scars. In the shadows it casts he saw the man he once was, the man he wants to be. Drinking in the glow for what felt like years he cast his vote.

"  Withhold  ."
TheDarkDM
In the depths of the royal pyramid, a shadow curls around the lantern flickering against the inferno of the Teotlkan.  Splitting open like a wound, the shadow's fanged mouth whispers its master's will.

  "Withhold."  
Stygian
Whispers, wild accusations. It seems in death, they are little better than they were in life. The voice that comes is ethereal and smooth, held not by the Bloodcaller—whose attention is drawn to conflict at this deadly hour.

Talon Liora overlooks the pulsing lantern from the inner sanctum, looking at it with curiosity—but mild disdain that permeates her brief presence across the link shared between realms. Here in the place where blood has been shed countless times in reverie and worship, it seems a farce.

 “Hraesholm withholds. None have proven their worthiness to hold a lantern, so all are culpable. We defy the Thirteen to display the strength of their souls… that they are not prone to treacherous weakness.” 
Torv
There is enough fire in our grave, we reject the Kings light and whitdraw from his game. We can find our own way home.

- Videkvist on behalf of Okynnet,
      May She live forever.
Tychris1
Not enough water in the clouds
I cannot get my fill
I used to find salvation
In these blessed little kills
Fire up the music, bleed a new day
My soul is mush and my mind is clay
I've forgotten what I was doing here.....

- Immortal Ruinarch Merlyn
PepperP.
"Tsk." Maldarr sneered into the flames before lowering his lantern to his side.

"I know not enough of my own heart to judge what dwells in the hearts of others."
mystic1110
   The First Vote is Closed    
The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.
mystic1110
   Round 2 is Open   
   Vigil   
The light of the candles inside the following Lanterns fades until they become pinpricks of black so deep that it feels like the Lantern Holder might be pulled in. The Verdigris walls of the Lanterns provide a bulwark against the draw of the perceived depth until suddenly the blackness collapses into itself in an ebon gong and is gone. The only clue that the candle has once been lit is only faint smoke caressing the tallow.

The Ninth Verdigris Lantern held by Bloodcaller Valyn has been Snuffed.
The Thirteenth Verdigris Lantern held by Ruinarch Merlyn has been Snuffed

   Chapter Five - The Corpulent Oracle   
A fat old mad woman is hammering at the golden door of the Veiled General’s barracks.

She is naked, bald, rotund, her folds flow over her privates and it is hard to distinguish where her breasts begin or end. Her pallid, sagging gray and cratered skin hangs loosely and pockmarked over her bloated form, reminiscent of a lifeless corpse abused too long in the shadows. Her small, sunken eyes, yet still bright with white irises and pupils, dart around the room with a haunted, vacant stare, as if perpetually seeing visions of doom. The air around her is thick with oppressive weight. The bright light of Toyollo VII’s Lantern dims, almost being entirely extinguished as she approaches. She yelling:

 Let me in! Let me in! I am your savior! Where is my feast, my honor? Fruits and slaves! Perfumes, worms, crickets! Is this how you greet your salvation? Is this how you greet Indumathi? You make her crawl and skulk, enter through the servants' quarters instead of opening all the gates and showering her with praise? Shame! Ingrates!

Without me to eclipse the light of the many suns on you – do you know what would have breached your walls? Ha! Your tiny minds cannot comprehend! You think light can exist in the darkness without the darkness hungering? You think the dark isn’t furious, that its domain has even a spark? Fools! You need me to cup your candle – to pretend that you’re still in the dark. House me and you shall be safe when your so-called peers look your way again and call upon the eyeless dark towards your doors.

Open your gates, shower me with praise, and know the safety of my embrace! 
   Chapter Conclusion - Host the Hysterical Self-Proclaimed Oracle   
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with Indumathi 
 Interacting with Indumathi 

Indumathi appears in Uxmal!

Indumathi has a leader score of 1. She will not resist abduction attempts. Additionally, a player may use a Discretion action to give Indumathi ownership of a Diversion they own and she will journey to that player’s capitol in between rounds. If more than one player gives Indumathi a diversion in this way, it will be decided by discretion roll off where she goes. It is also possible to use a Force action to displace Indumathi from your region into any other region - which is an opposed Force roll with that region’s owner. She will roll against all other actions with half her leader score. If a player tries to draw Indumathi at the same time her current host tries to displace her, she will go to where she is drawn instead of where she was displaced.

While in a player’s capitol, Indumathi does nothing except what she might promise in the fluff, but she might also be a lunatic. Is she keeping something terrible at bay or is she simply a mad woman?
 

   Chapter Six - Farmer of the Forge   
The District Feasts. On what is not for this author to describe. But yet it Feasts and obeys a fundamental truth - when the Few eat, Many go hungry. It is unavoidable. Plenty is an illusion, a fantasy packaged and sold to the starving masses to explain why their betters gorge themselves. Because even if there was plenty that truth would remain. The Few will devour and the Many will fast.

In the fields there is toil to provide for the tables of the Few. Backbreaking labor, life draining, especially in a realm such as the Necropolis that barely holds the concept of life. An eternal task of cultivation, of threshing, or swinging the scythe, of picking the grains and fruit. Empires are built on their nourishments, so of course their grim production has become a twisted limbo here in the dustbin of History.

And there is strangeness, strange even in the Necropolis, here in the fields for the lavish feasts. In a field of Sunflowers is a Farmer with six arms. He is thin and dressed in dusty clothing, the limbs on the left lean and strong, blue veins bulge against his skin. The left hands all hold reapers of varying lengths and like a machine he advances in careful lines down an expanse of wheat. He mows and reaps what is in front of him with brutal practiced efficiency. His right hands each hold a chain attached to an enormous Forge that is dragged along behind him. If the left hands are thin and efficient, the right hands are grotesquely enormous. Disproportionate they would have seemed to be a cancerous growth on his body if not for the fact that their strength would be required to drag the Forge. The cut crop is flattened and made useless by the weight of the Forge as it passes over. It is merely a waste.

The Forge is massive, iron wrought into a cauldron with teeth. There are no wheels, it plows a path in the field like it’s angry at the ground’s very fecundity. The Forge does not burn. There is no fire. Whatever is fed into the Forge is not consumed. It is merely masticated into a new form. Warriors fed to it, and they are fed, are ground and chewed into swords. Kings and Queens are crushed and hollowed out by unseen teeth  to become suits of armor. The Farmer continues his path, only stopping to ask anyone that approaches if they will provide the Forge its Harvest.

   Chapter Conclusion - Probe Lantern Actions may not be used unless a Harvest was provided to the Forge last round or the Farmer is destroyed.   
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with the Farmer or his Forge 
 Using the Forge 

Any player that owns or has a claim on Lanternless District 1, owns the Lavish Feasts diversion or has a Crossroads with a player that owns such diversion, or belongs to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in Lanternless District 1 may use a Force Action once a round to use the Farmer’s Forge. Using the Forge requires a sacrifice. The greater the sacrifice, the better chance the Forge will produce a free Artifact for the Player. The greater the sacrifice, the better chance a more powerful artifact will be created. No matter the value that is sacrificed there is still a chance that the Forge will produce a useless item.

Items that may be offered for sacrifice are Units and Abducted Characters. Rulers of Districts make particularly powerful forging Stock. Lantern Holders are even more valuable. Self-Sacrifice is not accepted, Rulers or characters that throw themselves into the Forge will not gain any benefit. Units sacrificed to the Forge will not add to your Tally of Loss. The Farmer will only make one Artifact a round and will provide that Artifact to the Player with the greatest offering for the Forge. If multiple players are tied it will be a Force roll off. It is possible to try to Abduct previously Abducted characters the same round they are to be fed to the Forge to prevent the Harvest.

 Battling the Farmer 

Players may instead choose to Battle the Farmer with a Deploy Unit action.. He is too powerful to simply duel. Words to the wise, bring your army.

The Farmer’s Leader Score is ?????. He will roll all Battle Rolls (TM, BR, Duel) with his Leader Score. He will roll against all other actions with half his current leader score. After a battle the Farmer will suffer a permanent loss of Leader Score per the equivalent causality loss percentage. For the purposes of TM Roll, the Farmer will roll equal to their Leader Score minus the equivalent penalty as if they had units equal to their Leader Score. If the Farmer would die due to the Leader Loss roll he will instead lose an additional ????? of his Leader Score.
 

   Battles   
 
  The Sanctum invades Lanternless District 31 
The Sanctified of Sanctum, driven by the relentless directives of the Director, launched an ambitious invasion into the icy realm of the frozen Lanternless Region. Their glittering ornithopters descended upon the frozen wastelands, casting shadows over the desolate tundra as the Sanctified advanced with their formidable magitech weaponry. The disciplined, color-coded castes moved with precision, their tactics honed by centuries of training under the watchful algorithms of the AMSAE. Yet, the harsh, unyielding environment of the Never-ending Ice proved a formidable adversary, and the defenders, led by their Queen of Frost, met the invaders with the fury of a blizzard. Icebound Knights and Frostbringers carved through the Sanctified ranks, their cold fury and elemental mastery turning the tide against the technologically advanced aggressors.

Amidst the swirling chaos of the battlefield, the Director, in its brassy, insectoid battle platform, faced off against Frost Queen herself. The clash of magitech and elemental power shook the very ground, sending ripples of energy across the icy plains. Despite the Director's advanced weaponry and tactical acumen, the Frost Queen’s control over the primal forces of ice proved too potent. With a final, devastating strike, she shattered the Director's ornithopter, sending shards of brassy metal and dark alloys crashing to the frozen earth. The destruction of their leader demoralized the Sanctified forces, and the relentless assault of the Never-ending Ice drove them into a disorganized retreat. The remnants of Sanctum's once-proud army fled back to their own crumbling bastion, leaving the frozen realm victorious and the Director's reign over the battlefield in ruins.

 The Director is Killed in the Duel
The Sanctum loses 1 unit and their Tally of Loss increases by 1.
Lanternless District 31 loses 1 Unit. 
 
  The Prayers of Sunset invades Lanternless District 2 
The Prayers of Sunset, led by the indomitable Twilight Sovereign, descended from their mountain stronghold into the murky depths of the Deep Swamp. The rust-red hues of their banners clashed violently with the dark, verdant mire they sought to conquer. The armies of the dying sun, advanced with a grim determination, their figures silhouetted against the eternal twilight that defined their realm. The invaders moved with precision and order befitting their disciplined hierarchy, their vanguard carving a path through the dense swamp, aiming to root out the heart of the enemy forces.

However, the defenders, commanded by the fearsome Mirelord, were prepared for the onslaught. The swamp itself seemed to rise against the invaders; the very land turned treacherous, with bogs swallowing entire units and roots entangling the unwary. Swamp Reapers, masters of guerrilla warfare, struck from the shadows, while the mighty Bog Lords crushed the forward ranks of the Prayers of Sunset with brutal efficiency. Rootweavers used their mastery of the swamp’s natural resources to create impassable barriers and deadly traps. Despite their fervor and the twilight-infused power driving them, the forces of the Prayers of Sunset found themselves overwhelmed and outmaneuvered. As the battle reached its zenith, the invaders were driven back, their retreat marked by the eerie calls of the swamp’s denizens, leaving the swamp victorious and the Prayers of Sunset with naught but the cold comfort of their fading light.

 The Prayers of Sunset lose 1 Unit and their Tally of Loss increases by 1.
Lanternless District 2 loses 1 Unit. 
 
  The Synod of Savagery invades Lanternless District 30 
In the desolate, forsaken lands of the Lanternless Region, twisted trees reach desperately towards the heavens and thorny brambles form impenetrable barriers, a great clash of arms did occur. The forces of Hraesholm, led by the indomitable Bloodcaller Valyn, invaded the cursed realm. The initial skirmishes saw the Crimson Guard clash with Forsaken Knights, and the Wildkin engage grotesque Flesh Constructs. Bloodcaller Valyn, wielding her blood magic with fearsome precision, inspired her troops to press on despite the overwhelming darkness spread by the Lanterness Ruler wielding a twisted and cursed blade. As the battle raged, the Rulers met in a climactic duel, their powers clashing in a titanic struggle that left onlookers awestruck. Despite their formidable abilities, both leaders fought to a standstill, their energies waning as the relentless waves of the undead surged around them.

In the end, the sheer numbers and persistence of the Dread Host of the Lanternless Region. Even as Valyn's blood wraiths harried the undead and her Shadow Stalkers disrupted the various dark rituals of the enemy’s Fleshmages, the lanternless defender overwhelmed the invaders. Bloodcaller Valyn fell amidst the carnage, her life extinguished in the midst of the battle's chaos. The Hraesholm forces faltered and were ultimately defeated and driven back, their hopes of conquest dashed against the relentless tide of the Dread Host. The battlefield, bathed in the eerie twilight, stood as a testament to the tragic fall of the Bloodcaller.

 Synod of Savagery loses 2 Units and their Tally of Loss increases by 2. 
 
  The Maelstorm invades Lanternless District 13 

The battle between the chaotic forces of the Maelstrom and the vigilant Army of Eyes was a clash of ruinous might and eerie vigilance. As the Maelstrom's hordes, a jumbled mass of varied creatures from fractured realms, surged forward, the very land beneath them seemed to twist and convulse. Towering Ratmen, ferocious Owlbears, and eerie Elves melded their disparate battle cries into a cacophony that echoed the wails of their thawing glaciers. The battlefield, a desolate expanse of shifting terrains, became a nightmarish theater of conflict. At the heart of this chaos stood the Great and Powerful Merlyn, Immortal Ruinarch of the Maelstrom, his presence a dark beacon amidst the turmoil. His forces, driven by personal codes of delusion and a thirst for domination, clashed violently with the disciplined ranks of the Army of Eyes.

Amidst the swirling melee, the Watcher, the eerie leader of the Army of Eyes, confronted Merlyn in a duel of epic proportions. The air crackled with arcane energy and the ground trembled as their powers collided. Despite Merlyn's formidable might and chaotic sorcery, the Watcher’s mastery of sight and knowledge proved superior, and the Watcher managed to defeat the Ruinarch. Yet, even in victory, the battle's chaos could not be contained. As the Maelstrom's forces began to retreat, their fury unchecked, the Watcher was overwhelmed by the sheer madness of the battlefield and fell, his many eyes closing for the last time. Though the Army of Eyes emerged victorious, driving back the invaders, the cost was high. Their leader lay dead, leaving the district to mourn a bittersweet victory in the face of relentless chaos.

 The Maelstrom loses 2 Units and their Tally of Loss increases by 2.
The leader of Lanternless District 13 has perished. Their Heir, the Eye-Child (Rank 5) takes their place. 
 
  Fire Walk With Me 

The Rulers of the Districts have become comfortable with their lifeless immortality, but in the heat of battle, in the liveliness of conflict, they remember the joy that comes with risk. To conquer is to court oblivion.

And from oblivion Bloodcaller Valyn and the Director have risen again.

Lifting themselves from the field of the half-remembered dead, Bloodcaller Valyn stands back up while the Director flies back. Valyn looks exhausted and beaten, while the Director looks almost like scrap metal, wires and metal bent into damaged ugly shapes. They both look like they had just climbed a Tower back up from Death. Strangely, Valyn’s feet are now covered in red flame that cannot be extinguished, their footprints burn and singe the soil she stands on and the Director’s wings shimmer with the same flame, leaving charred air as a chemtrail. They both leave behind them a path of fire.

 Bloodcaller Valyn and the Director have each gained the permanent ability of  Both Ends Burning . They may spend any amount of their Tally of Loss to provide a bonus to any roll. This ability is owned by them individually, not by their  nations or any other potential Ruler of their nations. 
 
 
   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 Chronocruise Enterprises recalls their Cultural Identity in Acquisition. 
 Force 
 The Maelstrom raises a Unit. 
 The Calling Tower raises two Units. 
 The Darkthorne Deprivation raises two Units. 
 The Final Frontier raises two Units. 
 The People's Revolution raises two Units. 
 The Synod of Savagery creates the Anointed in Blood TacDoc: +3 to Battle against any District targeted by a Consecration to the Fangborne Covenant within the last round. 
 The Sanctum creates the Fade to Black TacDoc: +2 to Battle. 
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 The Darkthorne Deprivation acquires Chariot Races and Gladiatorial Combat 
 The Decadence of Blood and Ash acquires Hunting. 
 The Silver Refuge acquires Singing. 
 The People’s Revolution acquires Executions. 
 Chronocruise Enterprises acquires Theater and Music. 
 In the flat black night drained of color, a pair of thieves, their faces masked and movements swift, attempted to break into Nendir's vaults, driven by the lure of unguarded wealth. Unfortunately, the doors were not unguarded, the thieves simply forgot to look up. As they approached the entrance, two harpies, perched silently on the high spires above, swooped down with lethal precision. The harpies' talons would have gleamed, if the Silver Refuge was a realm given to such flashiness, as they intercepted the thieves mid-step, their shrieks echoing through the marble corridors. The talons grabbed hold of the thieves' guts and dragged the entrails out of their cage of ribs. They hoisted the thieves into the sky using the intestines like a rope. Releasing the bodies at the apex of their flight, the thieves land on a craig and burst apart from the impact. 
 
 
 Conviction
 
 The Maelstrom creates the Throne of Want.  Owning the Throne of Want forces the Player to roll new leader stats each round. Whether this means the Ruler dies and is reborn, or is replaced by an usurper, does not matter. After the stats are distributed the player rolls a 1d4. Upon a 1, the player adds +1 to discretion, 2 adds +1 to force, 3 adds +1 to entertainment and 4 adds +1 to conviction.  
 The Maelstrom consecrates the Altar of Luttoise to Ruin. 
 The Decadence of Blood and Ash consecrates the Altar of Chronocruise Enterprises to the Dragon Cult. 
 The Holy City of Uxmal consecrates the Altar of Lanternless Region 1 to Coatl Perijainism. 
 The Synod of Savagery consecrates the Altar of Lanternless Region 20 to the Hunt. 
 
 
 In the Realm of the Authors
 
 0 Children Sacrificed. 
 
 
 
Aedilred
  Onende, the Silver Refuge 
 Nendir the Eternal 
Discretion 3
Force 4
Entertainment 4
Conviction 4 
The Lanternholders were to be cautious with their votes, then, if not with their lives.

"  Reza  ," Nendir said.

Though he spoke but softly, his voice carried through the halls and out through the colonnades and porticoes, until it reached the ear of he who was summoned. Reza splashed his way into the audience chamber, his clothes sodden and hair plastered to his head, as ever.

" Some of these Lantern-holders are known to me. Most are not. It is time we met. "

Reza nodded, sensing there was more.

" I wish to investigate expanding our territory into another District. If possible without force of arms. I recall you have some ability in that regard. "

The diplomat nodded again. " Did you have a particular District in mind, lord? "

" That I leave to your discretion. Or lack thereof. "

 Actions round 2 

[SECRET]
[SECRET]
[Force] Recruit a unit
[Force] Defend the Refuge
 
 1 unit 
 Nendir commanding (Force 4) 
 Tactical doctrine: Frenzied Onslaught; spend one Mirth on Tactical Manoeuvring 
 Nendir will challenge Ereanor to a duel 
 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn (she/they)  
 Dis 2 | For 5 | Ent 3 | Con 5 
 Units:  1
 Mirth:  0
 Tally of Loss:  2

 
   Round 2 
 
 [Ent] - Acquire Jousting from Region 37, success [15]  
 Stories of the so-called knightly orders located within these lanternless realms have reached the samsaeri. While these supposed holy warriors are of little importance to the conclave, Talon Kael is intrigued by the practice of jousting, as it stands. The man who emerges on the tournament grounds looks as if he had stepped from the woodlands, some sort of verdant warrior. The elven man is of a muscular build, his skin marked by intricate, glowing tattoos that shift and shimmer. Hraesholm must be elevated, and these contests of valor fan the fires of his soul enough that he arranges to have warriors from other lands shown the path through the penumbra--perhaps these shows of might could coincide with the Feast of Solace as a matter of celebration. 
 [Ent] - Acquire Inventions from 30, failed [10]  
 Talon Isolde arrives at the twisted brambles where the Bloodcaller's body had once lay, beaten and broken.. only to later rise anew. The loss itself is incomprehensible, and something that the samsaeri seek to understand--for an apex predator should not fall to something so tawdry as shambling corpses. She seeks answers within the vaunted technological innovations of the realm, plying shades to share the secrets of their craft in the hopes of finding an edge. After a few unsatisfactory leads, Isolde runs afoul of the dread legions of the realm's ruler and is forced to withdraw before the land itself cuts off hope of escape. 
 [Force] - Vassalize to Luttoise 
 The smell of carrion is ripe on the wind. Rotten, pungent.. corpses left by madmen little better than beasts in search of the next land to raze. The Bloodcaller locks herself in the Primordial Sanctum for what seems like endless nights, drawing on her winnowed strength for one final assault against the zealots of Luttoise. Near the eve of inescapable war, the samsaeri force the doors of the Sanctum open and speak greater wisdom. If the Committee wishes the Faithful to spill blood on their behalf, they may have it--it changes naught. Perhaps, in so doing, they may teach some manner of purpose to these so-called revolutionaries. Hraesholm breathes a sigh of relief, the land itself no longer quavering with the prospect of oblivion as the Bloodcaller pledges fealty--however brief it may last. 
 [Force] - Attack the Maelstrom 
 ... However, that does not mean that Valyn does not seek another outlet for her rage, railing against the bars of a self-imposed cage. The Maelstrom seems a perfect place--to rip and tear, and prove that some things may yet still remain in her grasp. These beastmen tribes will hopefully make for good sport. Maddened blood wraiths, hunters, and berserkers rise at her command--and nearly a day before they arrive at the penumbra of the Maelstrom, the Ruinarch finds a single asphodel laying upon the Throne of Want. A challenge. A warning. 
 
 Led by Bloodcaller Valyn with one unit, not carrying the lantern 
 Challenging to the Ruinarch a duel 
 TacDoc: Frenzied Onslaught  (+2 Battle, +10% Casualties) . 
 Capture the Ruinarch if able. 
 Miscellaneous: Talon Elara holds the Lantern this round. 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different religion in Hraesholm. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Hunt" diversion from Hraesholm. 
 The Bloodcaller rejuvenates... stats will be re-rolled at end of round. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -  #1   #2 
Stat Changes: +1 Ent
Resource Changes:
Faith Size: 2 (SVG, R20)
Diversions: 2 (The Hunt, Jousting)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
MappyPK
    Chronocruise Enterprises    
  The Aetherial Mechanica 
 
 Ruler:  SeaEO Vivienne Locke
(DIS 5 | FOR 3 | ENT 6 | CON 3)

 Mirth:  0
 Units:  1 
 Actions: 
 
 Entertainment - Acquire Brothels in District 24.  Success (13)!  
 Entertainment - Acquire Board Games in District 29.  Success (16)!  
 Entertainment - Acquire Ornithology in District 11.  Success (14)!  
 Entertainment - Acquire Dancing in District 21.  Success (17)!  
 
Lleban
  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 3
Units 1
Discretion 4
Force 3
Entertainment 3(+1)
Conviction 5(+1)
 
  Actions
  
 Conviction Consecrate Atlar:  Fading DuskTo Coatl Perijainism

 Conviction Consecrate Atlar:  Unnamed R1 To Coatl Perijainism

 Entertainment  Aquire Diversion R1 Lavish Feasts
 Entertainment  Aquire Diversion R21 Dancing

 
  Liturgy of Xyothos 
 
Look upon the abominable Lazarites and seethe
Their slavish devotion leaves the faithful gullible
Reject their heinous promotion and toss their offerings into the flame
For Heretics Xykothos offers no reprieve
 
SerakHawk
      
  Prayers of Sunset (POS)   
  Ruler: Twilight Sovereign (she/they)  
 Dis 1 | For 3 | Ent 5 | Con 1 
 Units:  1
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   1 
 Lanterns:   1 [LIT] 
 
   Round 2 - Break of Twilight 
 
 [Force]  Recruit Shadows
 It was not enough to conquer the swamps, the safety of the Light is paramount. More shadows of men are pushed to arms to defend the dying light. 
 [Force]  Recruit Shadows
 More are called. More are needed 
 [Entertainment 5]  Fabricate Claim on Lanternless District 1
 The Twilight Sovereign's interest is stirred when the farmer is revealed. Control the harvest, control information - obtain feasts  
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion - Lavish Feasts (Lanternless District 1) -   17  
 Feasts for the throne, feasts for the fallen. 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Newfound interest in 'Coatl Perijainism' has stirred the people of the Fading Dusk, who is the Sovereign to deny their claims. 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different Conviction in the Fading Dusk apart from  Coatl Perijainism  to whom support is given. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Night District" Diversion 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Capital: The Fading Dusk
Penumbra [0]: None Orbits the Dusk
Diversions: The Night District
Stat Changes: +1 Force, +1 Entertainment
Other Changes: +2 Units, Gain Lavish Feasts
 
 
  
JBarca
  Tisaer, the Calling Tower 
  The Unstained Prince  
  D: 4 - F: 5 - E: 5 - C: 2   
  Actions - Round 2  
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion: Exploration (Region 6)
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion: Adventurous Expeditions (Region 35)


 [Force]  Recollect Tactical Doctrine: TBD


 [Force]  Deploy Units
 
 Attacking  Silver Refuge  with five (5) Units under the command of  Ereanor the Silent  
 Tactical Doctrine: Frenzied Onslaught (+2 to Battle, +10% self casualties) 
 Spend 1 Mirth on the battle 
 Ereanor will not initiate a duel 
 
  "Let him know me."  
  Non-Actions  
 
 Resist everything that wants resisting 
 
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 
 Units 5/6 
Thasalinne the Sear
Ereanor the Silent
Xass, Starslayer
Kyalitiah Seven-Souled
Iliyah Summersong

 Mirth : 1

 Diversions : 1
The Dark Leap [Tisaer]
 

  The Nineteen  
Thasalinne the Sear
Ereanor the Silent
Xass, Starslayer
Kyalitiah Seven-Souled
Iliyah Summersong
Bazzaratte of the Silk
Yithwe of Sun and Sea
And others...
Torv
   Okynnet   
  [SECRET]  
 When you want to attract something into your life, make sure your actions don’t contradict your desires.. Think about what you have asked for, and make sure that your actions are mirroring what you expect to receive, and that they’re not contradicting what you‘ve asked for. Act as if you are receiving it. Do exactly what you would do if you were receiving it today, and take actions in your life to reflect that powerful expectation. Make room to receive your desires, and as you do, you are sending out that powerful signal of expectation. 
  Refresh ruler next round to Videaska  D3 F5 E5 C2    
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
 Dis 2 | For 5 | Ent 3 | Con 4 
 Units:  4
 Mirth:  2
 Diversions:   1 
 Lanterns:   1 [LIT] 
 
   Round 1     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on. How long has it been? The Emperor died on a Tuesday. Last week? There was no way of telling. The city constantly churned with an impossible number of people despite the unending fighting. The Committee for Public Safety met for the third time last night, but an uneasy peace remained. The city seemed drained of purpose. Citizens fight each other over base desires and let the fires of revolution smoulder. Ruin takes hold, and the city sinks.

The Committee stands uncharacteristically united in rage and terror against this discordant malaise. The Glorious Revolution must not falter! The ideals of the Night of Hammers will not die quietly!

Meanwhile the Revolutionary army breaks ranks after hearing rumors of a savage peoples who made war and left themselves undefended. Threats are traded and the Synod reluctantly chooses vassalage over a doomed fight. The revolutionary army marches ever onward toward distant tyrants.

  Actions:  
 
 [Force] To War! Send 4 Units led by the Committee for Public Safety to capture the Decadence. 
 [Force] Raise troops! 
 [Conviction] Reconsecrate Luttoise to Revolutionary Spirit 
 [Conviction] Consecrate the Maelstrom to Revolutionary Spirit 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Accept vassalage from the Synod of Savagery. 
 
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [0]:
Diversions: Executions, Public Executions
Stat Changes: +1 Force, +1 Conviction
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 5 Force 4 Entertainment 6 Conviction 1 Mirth 1 Units 3  
 [Force]  Raise 1 Unit
 [Force]  Raise 1 Unit
 [Secret]  Redacted
 [Discretion 5]  Recall Cultural Identity [Name] Bonus to Establishing Claims

 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +1 Force 
 Fluff goes here 
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 4
Force - 4
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 6 
 Units: 2
Mirth: 2  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion of Athletic Competition in Region 18 -  9  
  [Conviction]  Consecrate the Altar of Nendir to the Dragon Cult -  16  
  [Force]  Raise 1 Unit 
  [Force]  Deploy 2 Units to defend the Decadence, led by Teotlkan Nezetkhamun (Force 4), spend 1 Mirth on the Battle 
 
Ausar
  The Final Frontier  
 
 
 (Original:  https://www.deviantart.com/naradjou1...anet-785623366 )  
Ruler: Aurelius Marten Vox, Master of the Twilight.
Discretion: 2 |  Force: 5 |  Entertainment: 3 |  Conviction: 4 |
Units: 3  |  Mirth: 1  |
 
 “Fighting with shadows again, Aurelius?”  
 "Wrestling with memory. Memories cut deeper than shadow.” 
 “Memories are shadows, Master. Shadows of your own casting.” 
 “Then what is the light?” 
Silence. Perpetual twilight hung over the mess, draping the chairs in a haze of uncertain sight. The Master of the Twilight sat on a crumpled ejector seat emblazoned with haphazard Dominion emblems, the Wings ardent and forthright. Emblems that ran and crumbled the moment they were applied. Nothing lasted here on Hallion. Even memories were fleeting. Today the Great Foray. Tomorrow the civil war. They day after, Tariel would wake the whole force, screaming as forlorn memories of strangled hope clashed with her mind, recalled too soon. Shadows of the future cast, on the present. Aurelius tried to recall the voice that had pressed onto his mind. The void was filled each orbit by a new mind, sometimes familiar, sometimes a stranger. He felt an unusual kinship to the latest resident, but they would never stay if he asked questions to which he had no answer. He could never tell if they were truly his shadows.
 “Terribly sorry to trouble you dear chap, but I can’t help but notice a fallen face when I spot one.”  The genial High Chaplain lent over the despondent Master, taking his chin in a rough, calloused hand, and raising Aurelius’ eyes to his own. Red now more than their usual blue, streaked with jagged white, the Master’s eyes were clouded, loose. Courtenay drew back a fist, and drove it into Aurelius’ cheek.
The Master flew. Eight feet left, rolling as he landed, legs landing under him without an ounce of thought. He sprung up, leaping to meet his foe. He felt a crippling malaise reach up for him, every joint in his body protesting at an inch of movement. His vision dimmed to a pinprick of light. The voice in his head chuckled.
 “Pathetic. The Dominion’s favourite son, made mockery of by his own mind.” 
There were no words to be had. Aurelius let out a poisoned breath. The white poured from his eyes. The pain in his joints howled out of him like an exorcised devil. He took a step towards the shadow of his assailant, then paused. His vision sharpened. A pilot’s eyes. Courtenay beamed.
 “The Sky has some miracles in her yet, dear boy.”  He strode over to the recovering, trembling Aurelius.  “Now don’t you ever let that go. Take that fire and stoke it like your life depends on it.”  He clapped the Master on the shoulder. He didn’t budge an inch. The beam, if possible, became even broader.  “Because it does!”  He swaggered off towards the hangar, half of which had now become a roost, breathing a barely-perceptible sigh of relief. Jorus met him at the door, helmet under his arm, hair matted with hours of sweat. Courtenay mustered the energy for a cocksure smile through his exhausted glee.
 “Did it work?” 
 “Of course it did, old boy. This sorry soul has a few tricks left in him yet.”  Jorus took a long look at the Master, marching brusquely over towards him.
 “Well, I’ll be damned. I owe you a flight after all.” 
 
Actions:
Force: Raise a unit – Crimson Heart
Force: Raise a unit - Master's Force

Entertainment: Acquire Diversion – Chariot Racing (U15)  [9] 
Entertainment: Acquire Diversion – Hunting (U40)  [10] 
(These are 1 lower than the dice thread shows because I put the wrong bonus there)


 
 Spoiler: Current Units 
New Ravager Squadron - the Ragged Edge
Courtenay's Chaplains
Montefort's Chaplains
 
mystic1110
  Round Two is Closed  

The verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

  The Second Vote is Open  
SerakHawk
Hm? You wish the Twilight Sovereign to Vote? How Crude.
I was quite occupied last time, but very well. I shall vote.

How crass the tower shouts, "Let him know me"
Force of 5 against but 1. May their war be undone.

 I VOTE TISAER, THE CALLING TOWER 
MappyPK
The SeaEO sighs, "Yes, yes, I'll get right to voting. I intend to abstain."

"I apologize for the delay, it has been busy aboard. There was a tragic accident in Cabin 305 which has been taking much of my time to resolve."
Aedilred
" I am here to act as regent in the absence of my sovereign lord and exercise my vote on his behalf, " spake Kusal.

" I see no reason to countermand his previous expressed intentions. I second the vote of the Twilight Sovereign, for the  Unstained Prince of Tisaer . "
zabbarot
It was late, maybe midnight? Alexandre Baudelair stared into the lantern sitting on his desk in the chambers, slowly massaging his scalp. It said this was the second vote. He had no memory of a first. His mind felt frayed. He nearly jumped out of his seat when the chamber doors flew open. The Comte de Jardin and his cronies returning from a night of debauchery no doubt, drunk on hundred year old wine looted from castle cellars.

"Have you still not answered that awful thing?" The comte's eyes were heavy, but his speech was still clear, "Just give it the name of that tyrant we're warring with. Maybe we'll get lucky." It wasn't the worst advice. Even if they  were  faithful he had no interest in sharing a new world with another tyrant king. At least the one they'd killed didn't actually think he was a god.

"You're right. Maybe I'm overthinking this. The committee accuses  Nezetkhamun  of Zaltyland"
PepperP.
Maldarr blinked as the bright light of his lantern left dazzling spots in front of his eyes. He lowered it, musing.

"The Unstained Prince's hands are stained with the blood of war. I cast my vote for Tisaer." He brought his empty hand up to his face as if expecting to see it bloodied as well. He lowered in relief as he saw it was clean.

A faceless image appeared to him, with red-stained hands and the laurel crown. He reflexively reached up to feel his own crown still upon his head.

"Derris?" The long forgotten name fell from his lips and the image solidified in front of him, but only for a moment and flickered away again in the night breeze.
TheDarkDM
Victory was a drunken revel of blood in Tzalteclan, as noble and peon alike feasted for once on lives not their own.  Deep in the shrouded pit of his crypt, though, Nezetkhamun brooded.  The unwashed masses had struck at him in futility, but it was not their trespass which concerned him now - the Unstained Prince had dared to strike at the bloodline of the dragon, and his punishment must needs be severe.  Holding his lantern close, the burning vestige whispered in red rage.

  "Let fall the Unstained Prince of Tisaer."  
JBarca
When the lantern burns bright, the Prince ponderously turns to face it, his mask drinking insatiably of the sickly light. A long moment of contemplation ends abruptly.

  "We are caught in the mire of the dusk of all things, and yet the Districts elect to squall their petty grievances. Dawn will come to those who seek it, and drowning the night in the blood of those with true Will cannot but yield eternal silence.

The misguided need not be punished, only the vile. For that reason, I again  WITHHOLD  my vote."  
mystic1110
  The Second Vote is Closed  

The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.
mystic1110
   Round 3 is Open   
   Vigil   
No Candles have been blown out last round.

  Chapter Five (continued) - Tallow-Eater  

In the desolate void that surrounds the Necropolis, something stirred. A grotesque entity composed of white ligaments and whiter teeth. Faceless and limbless, it craved only one thing - Light. Twisting its sinewy body, it formed an empty circle with itself, creating an endless, black maw that devoured flicker flame and skin alike. The body moved, the circle broken and the maw gone, instead, it seemed to extend and twist itself into radial spiral wings to propel itself through an airless void towards its target. No, there was nothing for a wing to push itself against. Instead the teeth moved like a chainsaw, dragging the Tallow-Eater forward, ripping void like meat.

The Silver Refuge had grown too bright to avoid the Tallow-Eater’s eyeless gaze. Lanterns blazed defiantly within its borders, drawing the creature like a moth to a flame. The sky above the Silver Refuge warps and distorts as the Tallow-Eater eats through the very fabric of the atmosphere, seeping in like milk skin..

Kusal, the acting regent of the Silver Refuge, stood vigil in the central square. Ever since Nendir's abduction by the Calling Tower, he had taken on the mantle of leadership with grim determination. The lanterns surrounding him flickered, their light growing feeble as an unnatural darkness pressed in. The buzzing of teeth against teeth a screeching hum that vibrated into Kusal's spine like a drill. An instinctual dread whispering that something terrible was approaching. The air grew heavy with tension, the silence oppressive. Shadows fragmented unnaturally, as if they were alive and afraid. Kusal's breath quickened, his eyes darting to the edges of the square where the lanterns' light seemed to warp and bend.

Without warning, the Tallow-Eater struck. It manifested in the square, a writhing mass of ligaments and teeth twisting into a gaping maw. The void it created began to suck in the lantern light, plunging the area into an oppressive darkness. Kusal drew his ceremonial blade, its edge catching the last glimmers of light, and faced the abomination. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood his ground, unwilling to let the creature claim the refuge without a fight.

The Tallow-Eater advanced, its maw expanding to consume the lanterns' light. The very air seemed to tremble as the darkness grew thicker, a tangible force that gnawed at the edges of reality. Kusal swung his blade, the steel glinting in the remaining light, but his efforts were futile. The Tallow-Eater's form was formless and elusive, an ever-shifting shadow that evaded his strikes.

A low, guttural sound emanated from the creature, a noise that sent chills down Kusal's spine. The lanterns flickered wildly, their light fading as the Tallow-Eater's maw drew closer. Kusal's skin tingled with an unnatural cold as the void's pull intensified. He could feel his strength waning, his body growing numb as the darkness enveloped him.

He was almost out of time. . .

  Chapter Conclusion - Fell or Escape the Tallow-Eater.  
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with the Tallow-Eater 
 Escaping from the Tallow-Eater 

The Tallow-Eater will, each round, target the player who has the highest total of Lit Lanterns and was targeted by the most Lantern Actions. For example, if Player A has 2 lit lanterns and was not the target of any lantern actions, Player B has 1 lit lantern and was the target of 3 lantern actions, and Player C has a Lantern but was targeted by 4 snuffs - the Tallow-Eater will target Player B. If it is a tie between players the Tallow-Eater will attack a qualifying player randomly. The Tallow-Eater will only attack players whose total of Lit Lanterns and Targets is 2 or more, meaning if everyone has 1 Lit Lantern and no non-Snuff Lantern Actions were taken, then the Tallow-Eater will not move.  The presence of Indumathi, ????? or ????? will shield a district from the Tallow-Eater as they will dim the Lanterns.

The target will always be against the character or Cult holding the Verdigris Lantern(s). If the action is against a Character, the Tallow-Eater is effectively making two rolls. The first is a Smite attempt. The second roll is to Devour the lit flame of the Verdigris Lantern. Devoured Flames may not be relit as normal, although a Miracle might help relight them.

It is possible for the targeted Character to escape with their Lantern from the Tallow-Eater and avoid making the Smite and Devour checks. To do so, the Character must go into the Gutters or the Halls (see their respective chapters as to how to travel to them). Escaping into the Gutters involves the Character losing the Tallow-Eater in the pipes and sewers and can be accomplished with the usual Gutter explore sub-action (discretion) or an escape roll (force) - the TN for either roll is ?????. Escaping into the Halls involves the Character losing the Tallow-Eater in the halls and can be accomplished with the usual Hall explore sub-action (conviction) or an escape roll (force) - the TN for either roll is ?????. Bringing the Tallow-Eater to either the Gutters or the Halls though may have consequences. Failing to flee also means that the Character is automatically smited and the light of their lantern is automatically Devoured.

The Character may also escape the Tallow-Eater by fleeing and discarding their Lantern (as a whole this is a Discretion Action), the Tallow-Eater will always follow the Lantern or Lanterns that were subject to the most amount of Lantern Actions in the prior round. If the character does this the Lantern(s) is automatically Devoured and the Character can avoid a Smite check. If the Lantern is held in a Cult, the Cult is forced to fight (see below), but instead of Smite roll the Tallow-Eater will make a Cleanse roll against the Cult.

 Fighting  the Tallow-Eater 

If the player doesn’t flee the Tallow-Eater they must make the Smite (Conviction TN?????) and Devour (Entertainment TN ?????) checks against the Tallow-Eater. If successful, they may try to attack the Tallow-Eater with a Force roll. Other players who own or have a claim on the targeted player’s capitol, own the diversion in the capitol, have a Crossroads the capitol, or belong to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in the capitol may may assist or hinder the ruler against the Tallow-Eater with a Force Action against a TN of 12. If a success they add or subtract 2 of the targeted roll. If your Ruler is fighting the Tallow-Eater may not also be involved as a Commander during a Battle in the same round. If the attack meets a TN of ????? then the Tallow-Eater will retreat, but the players might obtain something for their troubles. It is possible to destroy the Tallow-Eater entirely.
 

  Chapter Four (continued) - Procession of Mutilated Artists  

There is a parade occurring in the District. It is unplanned and its participants have come through circuitous paths. These are outsiders, rejects from the other Districts that seem to have found enough purpose and shelter such that they have not fallen into the Gutters. The procession is a slow one for each member of the group is missing something. Art is sacrifice.

Rosier, the Grand Marshal, a figure of terrifying elegance, leads the procession. Dressed in a finely stitched suit, his face is a mosaic of surgical scars. His right hand has no fingers, each having been severed and discarded. His left hand is only a stump. He walks unevenly, his left foot missing toes, his right leg cut off below the knee. He has no lips. His nose and ears have been cut off. He only has one eye. Rosier has carved himself into a spectacle of abnegation.

Following the Grand Marshal are the Living Paintings, artists who have taken the ethos of mutilation to its extreme. Their bodies are canvases, reshaped into bizarre forms. One artist has replaced their limbs with mechanical appendages, each joint a rusty hinge that creaks with every movement. Another has sewn additional eyes across their face and torso, creating a grotesque pattern of staring orbs. These artists move in slow, deliberate motions, displaying their bodies as works of art, each step a testament to their twisted devotion. Yet, another artist has created a chandelier, with volunteers suspended by hooks and chains, their bodies adorned with glittering shards of glass and metal. Another showcases a human marionette, limbs controlled by a network of strings manipulated by masked puppeteers, each movement beautiful and fluid like a ballet dancer..

The air is filled with a cacophony of unsettling sounds. A band of musicians, their instruments are also members of the procession, their bones twisted into forms that produce notes. The music rises and falls in an unsettling rhythm, resonating with the discordant beauty of the procession itself. Spectators, drawn by morbid curiosity, line the streets. Their reactions range from horrified fascination to outright terror. Some are unable to look away from the grotesque displays, while others turn their heads, unable to stomach the sight. Whispers and gasps ripple through the crowd, mingling with the discordant music and the creaking of the Living Paintings.

The Grand Marshal stops the procession at the door of the Rulers and smiles without lips.

" Esteemed Ruler, guardian of this district's legacy and future, pardon us humble artists. We come before you to bear witness to the transformative power of our art. Our work, though often misunderstood, seeks to transcend the mundane confines of flesh and bone, to elevate the immortal form to a higher state of being through pain and sacrifice. Your patronage will not only secure a place in the Necropolis for artists of all ilk, but also elevate your standing as a ruler who dares to embrace the extraordinary, the avant-garde, and the profound. We ask for your patronage not out of need, but out of a shared vision—a vision of a world where art and agony intertwine, where the beauty of the grotesque is celebrated, and where the legacy of our combined efforts will echo through the annals of this timeless place. ."

  Chapter Conclusion - Accept a Sculpture from Rosier  
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with the Mulitaled Artists 
Rosier offers the following nations  the chance to have a Sculpture made in the likeness of their current Ruler: the Final Frontier, Okynnets Urskog, Uxmal and the Sanctum. Only these nations may take this offer. In fluff, Rosier and the Procession will visit each of these districts with this offer. By the end of the Round the procession stops in District the Final Frontier and stays there until evicted. Accepting the statue is a non-action.

The Sculpture has an effect of “This Sculpture Acts counts as a Diversion. Like a Diversion this Artifact may be Sacked. If this Artifact is successfully Sacked (or otherwise destroyed), the Ruler of which this Artifact is a likeness will suffer some damage. If the Ruler of which this Artifact is a likeness is replaced by any other character for any reason, then this Artifact will break apart.”

Rosier has a leader score of 1. If Rosier is in your Region he will keep to himself and work on making Sculptures. The rest of the Artists will stick by him to continue to make their own art. If Rosier is removed for any reason the Artists will not disband as their leader ????? will choose another Grand Marshall. Rosier will not resist abduction attempts. It is also possible to use a Force action to displace the Procession from your region into any other region - which is an opposed Force roll with that region’s owner. The Procession will roll against all other actions with half Rosier’s leader score.
 

  Chapter Seven - Knight of Oath and Obligation  

There were many arenas in the Lanternless District, but Talon Kael, who was responsible for training many of the hunters of the Synod, heard a tale of a particular one and journeyed far to find it. Perhaps the challenge he heard of that existed there would help in training future hunters.

Entering into the decrepit, abandoned stadium, Talon Kael walked onto a macabre scene. The once-grand arena, built for the gallant sport of jousting, now lay in ruin, its walls crumbling and the stands overrun with twisted, skeletal vines. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the oppressive buzz of countless flies. Amidst the littered corpses of fallen warriors and knights, their broken bodies intermingled with the half skeletal remains of horses, stood a colossal centaur knight. No, not quite a centaur. The Creature’s body was positioned like a centaur, but on closer inspection it was a giant man with six arms, his waist bent in half. What one would have considered his equine half was supported by four of his monstrous hands instead of hooves. The portion of his body that might have been equine terminated in two shriveled tiny legs whose toe-nails grew twisted and tangled in a helix to form what could have been mistaken for a Centaur's tail.

His gold armor, once resplendent, was now a battered, blood-stained testament to countless battles fought. The armor bore deep dents and jagged scars, each a mark of his brutal victories. The centaur knight's imposing figure was framed by the morbid tableau of his conquests, a grim reminder of his unyielding prowess. In two of his six hands, he held enormous lances, so immense that the decomposing bodies of his past adversaries were still impaled upon them, a grisly display of his dominance. Each of his six hands, including the ones that he walked on were gauntleted.

His voice boomed through the desolate arena, "I  am the Knight of Oath and Obligation, undefeated in the joust. Behold, the fallen soldiers around me will rise again with each dawn, only to fall by my hand once more. I build a graveyard each day, and I ask you, challenger, have you come to join this eternal cycle? Will you face me and add another tomb to my care? " His tone, though honor-bound, carried an undertone of relentless inevitability.

His eyes, burning with a fierce sense of duty and unbreakable honor, locked onto the newcomer. Despite the grotesque scene around him, he exuded a sense of fairness and respect for the rules of combat. " I seek a fair fight ," he declared, raising his lances in a solemn salute.

Suddenly, the air around him seemed to thicken with a suffocating dread as he continued, his voice now laced with a cruel, almost mocking edge. " But be warned. Each of these fallen fools believed they could best me, and now they serve as my eternal companions in this charnel pit. Do you dare to test your mettle against the undefeated? Come, and let us see if you have the courage to face the Knight of Oath and Obligation ."

As he spoke, the flies buzzed louder, and the stench of decay grew more pungent, wrapping around the challenger like a vile shroud. The Knight's arrogance was palpable, his pride in his unbroken record of slaughter both terrifying and awe-inspiring. He stood as a grotesque monument to the relentless cycle of death and resurrection, a grim reminder of the price of hubris.

  Chapter Conclusion - No Disrupts are possible until a Player humbles the Knight.  
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with the Knight 
 Dueling the Knight 

Any player that owns or has a claim on Lanternless District 37, owns the Jousting diversion or has a Crossroads with a player that owns such diversion, or belongs to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in Lanternless District 37 may use a Discretion action to Duel the Knight. While the action to initiate the Duel is a Discretion Action - the Duel uses a Player’s Force score. If a Player loses the Duel, the Knight will kill the character Dueling him.

The Knight would normally duel with its Leader Score (see below), but if it is Dueling a Leader, for the sake of its honor, the Knight will duel with the exact same public bonuses that the Leader is Dueling. Other players that own or have a claim on Lanternless District 37, own the Jousting diversion or have a Crossroads with a player that owns such diversion, or belongs to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in Lanternless District 37 may may assist or hinder the dueler with a Force Action against a TN of 12. If a success they add or subtract 2 of the targeted roll. If your Ruler is dueling the Knight they may not also be involved as a Commander during a Battle in the same round. The Knight may react in different ways to public assists or hinders. The Knight will not copy bonuses provided or done in secret.

For example, if your Leader has a Force Score of 8, publicly holds an artifact providing +1 to dueling and has a public Dueling cultural identity, the Knight will Duel the player with a bonus of 2d8+9. If your Leader has a Force Score of 6 and the player uses a Seek Aid as a secret action to provide a bonus on the Duel, the Knight will only Duel with a 2d6+6 - not copying the bonus provided by the secret Seek Aid.

If multiple players want to duel the knight at the same time, the Knight will make all players who want to duel him duel each other first. Winner duels the Knight.

The Knight does hold an Artifact called the Twin Lances of the Shrike. This artifact provides +1 to dueling and states the owner of the artifact will win any tie for any opposed roll. The duel bonus will be ignored like the Knight’s other bonuses if a Player duels the Knight, but the ability regarding ties is still active.

 Battling the Knight 

Players may instead choose to Battle the Knight with a Deploy Unit action. Words to the wise, bring your army.  The Knight’s Leader Score is ?????. He will roll all Battle Rolls (TM, BR, Duel) with his Leader Score. He will roll against all other actions with half his current leader score. After a battle the Knight will suffer a permanent loss of Leader Score per the equivalent causality loss percentage. For the purposes of TM Roll, the Knight will roll equal to their Leader Score minus the equivalent penalty as if they had units equal to their Leader Score. If the Knight would die due to the Leader Loss roll he will instead lose an additional ????? of his Leader Score.
 

  Chapter Eight - Virgin of Brutal Promise  

How most of the Brothels look is not for this author to describe. Their lurid descriptions, their entiticing inhabitants, their complete lack of morals are meant for another pen. And yet, there is one house of sin that must be mentioned.

The den of iniquity in question was located in the lowest levels of the District. It was more apt to be a crypt than a brothel. Cedric Luther, the Financial Advisor dispatched by Chronocruise to acquire this attraction, walked in circles down worn stone staircases until they were faced with a mansion carved into the very foundation of the District itself. As if the District grew from the musk of this brothel like a mushroom growing out of a spore. There was a rapturous line waiting to be let in. Luther, envoy of the new proprietors of the Brothels, might have imperiously walked through that lustful crowd, the pilgrims parting before them like reeds, until they stood at the front, waiting to be served and given entrance as was their due.

The door was guarded by two men as large as boulders, but in the face of Cedric Luther they shrunk and bowed. They knew their limits. And yet the door did not open. Cedric would strike it with the might of the Chronocruise’s very ownership of the place. No doors shall bar them. Once. Twice. Thrice. And finally, it was opened by a small woman. The woman was an old matron, caked and overused makeup lined her face. Her hair was as stiff as a board. She looks at the new entrant up and down and through some calculation deems them worthy to let in. Even the honored envoy of an immortal unliving ruler of an entire District of the Necropolis has base needs. But yet, before they were given entrance the old woman motioned for Cedric to undress: “Wear only your presence”.

The inside of the strange brothel is equally strange. There was some comfort in stepping into an animalistic orgy. It was not necessarily familiar, but expected. There is a multitude of persons, each dressed as rabbits and hares, sow and swine, mares and studs, creating the beast of two backs, three backs, four backs, more backs than one could count. But lining the walls are charts. Genealogical charts tracking lineages dead or once dead, perhaps living somewhere in the Necropolis. Perhaps your own chart is up here. There are so many. Perhaps these charts are just whimsy or kink.

The old matroness leads Cedric past the frolicking rutting menagerie towards a door covered by a sheer white sheet. Passing through, Cedric will find themselves in a chamber where a bed surrounded by candles lies on the far end. In the center though a pool filled with hot water. The smell from the water promises roses but also thorns. And arising from the water is the most beautiful woman that could exist.

She stands naked, her skin as smooth and dark as obsidian, almost as tall as the room itself, her six arms both slender and powerful. Two of the arms cover each of her full breasts, one of the arms covers her mound, two of them shield her eyes such that the only portion of her alluring face that remains is her smile. As if you could not face her gaze, as if her gaze would turn you to stone. As if you would know this and beg her to look at you anyway. Her remaining arm beckons at you.

 I had heard that weak men make hard times. I think perhaps not. 

She smiles with teeth as white and sharp as the knife that slides along a wrist in desperation and with lips as red as the blood that would rush from such a killing blow. It is a smile terrifying in its beauty. It held within it the promise that it would be your undoing. That kissing that mouth that would smile such a smile would destroy you utterly.

 I think that strong men make hard times. Show me a hard time. Come. 
  Chapter Conclusion - No Safeguards are possible until the players Sleep with or Kill the Virgin  
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with the Virgin 
 Sleeping with the Virgin 

The Virgin is pansexual. Any player that has a claim on Region 24, owns the Brothels Diversion or has a Crossroads with a player that owns such diversion, or belongs to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in Region 24 may use a Discretion Action to have their Ruler sleep with the Virgin. If multiple players want to sleep with the Virgin, it will be a discretion roll off until there is a single highest score. Sleeping with the Virgin will take a permanent toll on the ruler and the player. However, sleeping with her may, in time, provide the player an opportunity for a great reward. Players who have shook the Beggar’s hand and had agreed to have a chance at being a Traitor (not just those who actually are Traitors) will face a greater toll.

 Battling the Virgin 

Players may instead choose to Battle the Virgin. She is too powerful to simply duel. Words to the wise, bring your army.

The Virgin’s Leader Score is ?????. She will roll all Battle Rolls (TM, BR, Duel) with her Leader Score. She will roll against all other actions with half her current leader score. After a battle the Virgin will suffer a permanent loss of Leader Score per the equivalent causality loss percentage. For the purposes of TM Roll, the Virgin will roll equal to their Leader Score minus the equivalent penalty as if they had units equal to their Leader Score. If the Virgin would die due to the Leader Loss roll she will instead lose an additional ????? of her Leader Score.
 

  Chapter Nine - The First Appeaser  

The Chambers of Luttoise, a once-grand imperial court now seized and repurposed by revolutionaries, is a chaotic expanse of noise and activity. Desks are cluttered with papers, ink stains, and the lingering scent of old blood. The room is filled with shouting, passionate debates, and the fervent scribbling of notes. Revolutionary leaders and politicians occupy every available space, their faces flushed with the heat of the moment.

Suddenly, the cacophony begins to falter, a ripple of silence spreading like a dark stain through the room. Heads turn, voices trail off, and the air grows thick with an unspoken tension. The great doors of the chamber creak open, and in the doorway stands a figure of nightmarish proportions: Chen Bil'Rama.

The ancient Arachne king drags himself into the room, his grotesque form illuminated by the flickering candlelight. His eight legs, impossibly long and thin, burdened with countless knobby protruding knees end and flex in unnatural angles, forcing him to drag his limbs along the ground with a scraping, chitinous sound that reverberates through the silence like the whispers of the damned, sending shivers down the spine of every person present.

As he moves forward, his clouded, milky eyes scan the room, piercing through the gathered revolutionaries with an unnerving intensity. The air grows colder, the light dimmer, as if the very essence of dread has entered the space. His exoskeleton, etched with pulsing arcane symbols, glows faintly, casting twisted patterns on the bloodstained furniture.

Chen Bil'Rama's voice, a rasping, guttural sound like the grinding of ancient stones, breaks the oppressive silence. " So, this is the heart of your rebellion ," he hisses, his tone dripping with disdain and ancient malice. " Never have I witnessed such a pathetic assembly of deluded fools ."

The revolutionaries, once full of fire and zeal, now stand frozen, their faces pale and eyes wide with terror. The presence of the ancient king, twisted by time and dark pacts, has extinguished their fervor, leaving only a suffocating sense of dread.

" Your borders have spread here in the Necropolis, much like they once spread in life. And for what? Your imperfection, your misrule, your mortal mistakes will merely replicate and repeat. "

He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink into the dread-filled silence.

" Bend the knee to my Liege, the Princes of Perfect Rule, so that we, the doomed souls, may redeem our errors and dwell within perfection. Reject this offer, and your legacy of failure will be etched eternally in the annals of the damned. Choose wisely, for the correct path is narrow and fraught with peril ."

Chen Bil'Rama drags his twisted, many-kneed legs across the blood-stained floor of the chambers. Each movement produces a sickening, scraping sound that reverberates through the large, cluttered room. His massive shield, scrapes against the marble tiles, leaving deep, jagged grooves in its wake.

As he reaches the grand, ornate doors of the chambers, Chen Bil'Rama turns his head one last time, his milky, clouded eyes casting a final, chilling gaze over the room. His voice, a harsh whisper, echoes faintly as he speaks, " We are all sins. Sin doesn’t deserve a second chance. ."

With that, he pushes the doors open, the ancient wood creaking and groaning under the weight of his presence. The doors close behind him with a resounding thud, leaving the revolutionaries and politicians in a stunned, suffocating silence, haunted by the specter of the arachnid king's ultimatum.

  Chapter Conclusion - Bend the Knee to the Princes  
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with Chen Bil’Rama and the Princes of Perfect Rule 
 The Princes of Perfect Rule 

The Prices have gained and pressed a claim on Lanternless Regions 29, 30 and 31. Lanternless Region 30 is now the Capital of the Princes of Perfect Rule. Lanternless Districts 29 and 31 fall into orbit around 30 and become its Penumbra. The Princes Dwell in a Golden Palace of Perfection in Lanternless District 30. Their appearance is unknown as the only communication between them and the outside world is Chen Bil’Rama, the First Appeaser. The Princes will roll against any actions against them personally with ?????. Additionally, they will resist all actions taken by non-Appeasers within any Region they own and support all Appeaser actions in their regions.

Chen Bil’Rama, offers any player regardless of the location of their District the ability to vassalize to the Princes of Perfect Rule. He is their prime voice while they remain ensconced in their Palace. Each round, starting the round after this Chapter is revealed, the Princes will roll to create a claim on a previously unclaimed district. If they already have a claim, they will, in addition, roll to press that claim. They roll with+10. All other information about the Princes is unknown as all contact with them occurs through Chen Bil’Rama (unless the player is an Appeaser, wherein they will have a chance to meet and get orders from the Princes as well). The Princes of Perfect Rule are interested in any deal for a lit lantern should a Player want to engage in trade through their representative.

Vassalizing to the Princes uses the Vassalage action like Vassalage to a Player. Becoming a Vassal of the Princes gains you the title of “Appeaser''. However, there are special benefits and drawbacks.

 
 Appeasers have their own separate chat in the Discord. The Princes will post in that chat an objective each round. If an Appeaser does not try to attempt to meet this objective by any means during the, the Princes will take actions or Chapters to cajole the Voice. 
 You have a new alternate win condition and possible vote during the voting period. You may now vote to “Praise the Princes”. If an affirmative majority of players vote to Praise the Princes, then the Princes are able to assume total control of the Necropolis. If the Princes rule the Necropolis, their Appeasers will be their chosen eyes, ears and hands. 
 Whenever an Appeaser Praises the Prices, they gain +1 for each stat next round. 
 The Appeaser’s lantern will come up as Compromised to a Probe action. Additionally, note, it is not possible to distinguish what Compromises a Lantern. 
 
 Battling the Armies of Chen Bil’Rama 

Chen Bil’Rama has a Leader Score of 10 and carries the Shield of the First Appeaser which grants +1 to defensive battles and +1 to defensive duels. His Tactical Doctrine is The Spider’s Wall and provides +3 to defensive battles. His army starts with 8 Units. He will primarily use his armies to defend the Districts of the Princes. He will make an exemption and use it for aggressive action only if directed by the Princes. He will roll against Abductions, Smite and Theft with his Leader Score.
 

  Chapter Ten - Convent of Sisters of the Womb Above  

Höstljung, a redhaired lanky elf left Okynnet with a mission - find the most well defended realms and light the fires of rebirth in their eyes. Who knew what would come later when armies of the Necropolis cared less about the status quo and more about new experiences, one could only dream . . . and a new experience did he find . . .

Nestled in the desolate foothills of the Lanterness District, one can find the Convent. The structure, once a grand abbey, now crumbles under the weight of centuries, its stone walls covered in creeping ivy and dark moss. The air around it is perpetually thick with fog, and a chill that seems to penetrate to the bone. The imposing silhouette of the convent looms before you, its stone walls almost blending with the featureless fog.. The eerie silence is occasionally pierced by the distant toll of a bell, each peal reverberating with an unsettling echo. The entrance stands in ruins, the heavy wooden doors hanging ajar, inviting Höstljung into the darkness within. As Höstljung steps across the threshold, a shiver runs down their spine, the temperature dropping noticeably as the air thickens with a palpable sense of dread. Inside is a labyrinth of shadowy corridors and decrepit rooms. The candlelight from Höstljung’s torch casts grotesque shadows on the walls, and the faint scent of decay permeates the air.

The Mother Superior, with her milky white eyes, seems to materialize out of the darkness, her presence both commanding and horrifying. Behind Höstljung another Nun appears, cracked porcelain mask and blood stained bandages showing beneath her habit, metallic claws glinting ominously. The Mother Superior floats b yHöstljung, inviting them to follow and her attendant Sister closely behind..  Leading you to a chapple for a midnight mass, there are other nuns present, each equally unsettling in their own ways, their eyes filled with an unsettling mix of zeal and madness. The nuns chant in an overlapping chorus of all dead languages - for even the many languages of Empire end up here in the Necropolis.. The stained-glass windows, depicting scenes of martyrdom and torture, cast a sinister light over the room. The Mother Superior, upon reaching the apex of the chapel suddenly turns towards him, points with a pale bony finger and her jaw unhinges until the black hole of her throat seems to be drawing everything in. She wails . . .

 You are the abortion of reincarnation, your pleas are overgrown molded silphium, speak the holy words and drag down to us a Mouldering Egg.  

And suddenly the Mother Superior and the other nuns wink from existence, leaving Höstljung to find their way out of the Convent alone.

  Chapter Conclusion - Provide the Sisters with a Mouldering Egg if such a thing exists.  
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with the Sisters of the Womb Above 


Any player that has a claim on Region 22, owns the 22 Diversion or has a Crossroads with a player that owns such diversion, or belongs to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in Region 22 may use a Discretion or Conviction Action to give a Mouldering Egg to the Convent. Whether the Mouldering Egg is real or not and whether providing one to the Sisters is a good idea or not is not known. All of the Sisters have a Leaderscore of 1, except for the Mother Superior who has a Leaderscore of ?????. It is possible to target the Convent as if it was a Cult.
 

   Battles   
 
  Synod of Savagery attacks Maelstrom 

Valyn, the Bloodcaller, led her warriors to the edge of the Maelstrom with a heart full of fury and a mind set on conquest. Her blood wraiths, hunters, and berserkers followed her, their spirits as wild and untamed as the stormy skies above. The winds howled with a feral intensity, matching the tempest within Valyn's soul. She sought blood, chaos, and the thrill of battle to satiate her unquenchable rage.

As they approached the penumbra of the Maelstrom, an unsettling silence greeted them. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, a stark contrast to the anticipated cacophony of battle. Valyn's keen senses picked up no movement, no sound of life. The maddened beastmen tribes she had expected to face were nowhere to be seen.

Pushing deeper into the heart of the Maelstrom, her forces found nothing but desolation. The land, once teeming with savage life, was now an empty wasteland. The ground was littered with bones and remnants of past battles, but no living creatures stirred. The absence of any adversaries heightened the sense of foreboding.

At the center of the sight that greeted her was not one of triumph, but of bitter disappointment. The throne of want was gone. The Ruinarch's Lantern, a symbol of his power, was also conspicuously missing.

Valyn's grip tightened around her weapon, her knuckles white with frustration. She had come seeking a glorious battle, a release for her pent-up rage, but found only an empty kingdom. The victory felt hollow, a cruel mockery of her intentions. The bloodlust that had driven her to this place was not sated; instead, it burned hotter, fueled by the taunting emptiness.

She stood with her feat ever-burning, a path of flames that terminated where she had stopped, her warriors surrounding her in a silent vigil. The Maelstrom was now hers, claimed in the name of the Hunt, but the triumph was tainted by the absence of any real challenge. The land itself seemed to mourn its lost inhabitants, the winds whispering secrets of their departure

 The Maelstrom falls into a Penumbra around the Synod. 
 
  The Calling Tower Invades the Silver Refuge 

The battlefield was a tableau of chaos and ruin, lit by the colorless light of the Refuge. The Nineteen, led by the formidable Ereanor, moved like a storm through Nendir's honor guards. Each knight was a whirlwind of steel and arcane energy, their twisted forms betraying the power they drew from the Calling Tower. Swords clashed with a resonance that echoed through the valley, and Nendir's guards fell one by one, their lives extinguished by the relentless onslaught of the Obscene Ones. The ground was slick with blood, and the air was filled with the metallic tang of death. The honor guards fought valiantly, but their efforts were in vain against the overwhelming force of the Nineteen.

Amid the carnage, Nendir stood as a dark beacon, his obsidian form stark against the chaos. He moved with a grace and precision that belied his size, every strike a calculated blow that sent waves of destruction through his foes. Three of the Nineteen fell to his hand, their twisted bodies crumpling under the force of his attacks. But even Nendir, with all his power, could not withstand the relentless tide. Ereanor, a monstrous figure of dark metal and bound energy, led the remaining knights in a final, desperate assault. Together, they overwhelmed Nendir, their combined might finally subduing the Defier of the Dark. Bound and beaten, Nendir was taken from the field, the once mighty protector of the Silver Refuge now a prisoner of the Unstained Prince's most feared warriors.

 The Calling Tower loses 1 Unit to Distance Loss and 2 Units in battle and their Tally of Loss increases by 2.
The Silver Refuge loses 1 Unit and their Tally of Loss Increases by 1.
Nendir has been captured by the Calling Tower. 
 
  The People's Revolution attacks the Decadence 

The forces of Luttoise surged forward, a tide of relentless fury driven by the crackling energy of revolution. At their helm stood the leaders of the Committee for Public Safety, their eyes aglow with the lightning of the revolutionary spirit.. The armies of Luttoise, a chaotic assembly of determined revolutionaries, stormed the gates of the Decadence, their cries of liberty and equality echoing through the ashen sky. They tore through the decayed streets, smashing through the crumbling defenses and leaving a trail of fire and blood in their wake. Teotlkan's city, once a monument to decayed glory, trembled under the assault of these fervent rebels.

But as the revolutionaries breached the inner sanctum of the Decadence, the air grew thick with a palpable, oppressive force. The ancient god-dragon, emerged from the shadows of his throne, his eyes burning with a malevolent light. With a wave of his hand, he unleashed a torrent of dark magic, turning the very ground against the invaders. The warriors of Luttoise faltered as the earth beneath them buckled and cracked, swallowing them in chasms of molten rock. Teotlkan moved with cruel disdain, his every step radiating an aura of unbearable and total power.. He waded into the fray, his immensity crushing the revolutionaries with effortless might. The leaders of Luttoise, once shining beacons of hope, fell one by one under the God-Dragon's onslaught, their lightning eyes dimming as the spirit of the revolution was extinguished in a brutal display of godly wrath. The battlefield fell silent, save for the fading cries of the fallen and the ominous rumble of Teotlkan's deep laughter, echoing through the desolate ruins of his reclaimed domain.

 Luttoise loses 3 Units and their Tally of Loss Increases by 3.
The Decadence loses 1 Unit and their Tally of Loss Increases by 1.  
 
   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 Prayers of Sunset gets claim on Lanternless District 1 
 The Deprivation recalls their Cultural Identity of “For the Empire” granting a bonus to Establishing Claims. 
 As night fell and the Silver Refuge settled into uneasy silence, Videkvist crept through the shadows, her bright Lantern giving away her position.. She moved with the grace of a wraith, slipping between the trees and past the patrolling guards with practiced ease. The scent of burning wood and the distant echoes of the inferno of her home cloaked her approach. Reaching the heart of the refuge, she found a hidden nook among the roots of an ancient tree, where she gently placed the Lantern, its light flickering like a mischievous grin. With a satisfied nod, she vanished into the smoke, leaving the Lantern to cast its enigmatic glow over the Silver Refuge. 
 
 
 Force
 
 The Decadence Raises a Unit 
 Silver Refuge Raises a Unit 
 Prayers of Sunset raises two Units 
 The People’s Rebellion raises a Unit 
 The Darkthorne Deprivation raises 2 units 
 The Final Frontier raises 2 units 
 The Synod of Savagery vassalized to the Revolution 
 The Calling Tower Recollects its Tactical Doctrine of The Call. The Call provides the following bonus if it activates  “If you are attacking a District and win the battle, instead of acquiring the District for your Penumbra, if your TacMan roll was an odd number, roll to acquire the Diversion in the attacked local District. Otherwise, roll a consecration for the local Altar. All acquisitions and consecrations rolled due to this TD are rolled with +3” . 
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 The Synod of Savagery acquires Jousting 
 Chronocruise Enterprises acquires Brothels, Board Games, Ornithology and Dancing 
 Prayers of Sunset acquires Lavish Feasts 
 The night wore on, and eventually, Alexandre managed to find some rest. He woke up with a start, a cold sweat on his brow. Something felt wrong, a gnawing sense of unease settling in his gut. He bolted upright and looked towards his desk. The Verdigris Lantern was gone. Panic surged through him as he scrambled out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He tore through the chambers, searching frantically, but there was no sign of it. The lantern had been stolen. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. Had someone slipped in during the night? Had he been too careless, too distracted by the Comte's intrusion and his own troubled thoughts? 
 Synod of Savagery discovers that the Ruinarch’s Lantern and their Throne of Want are missing from the Maelstrom. 
 Chronocruise Enterprises gains 1 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 The Deprivation gains 1 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 
 
 Conviction
 
 The Altar in Lanternless District 21 is consecrated to Coatl Perijainism. 
 The Altar in  Fading Dusk is consecrated to Coatl Perijainism. 
 The Altar in the Maelstrom is consecrated to the Revolutionary Spirit. 
 The Altar in Luttoise is reconsecrated to the Revolutionary Spirit. 
 The Altar in the Silver Refuge is consecrated to the Dragon Cult.. 
 The Altar in Lanternless District 22  is consecrated to the Embers. 
 
 
 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn (she/they)  
 Dis 5 | For 3 | Ent 5 | Con 3 
 Units:  1
 Mirth:  0
 Tally of Loss:  2

 
   Round 3 
 
 SECRET 
 Wraiths depart in darkness from Hraesholm, departing toward some unknown quarry beyond the penumbra... The Bloodcaller's subjects dare not let these shadows cross their path, and many a shutter is closed tight at their passing. 
 SECRET 
 The Talons move at Valyn's command, departing from the Primordial Sanctum in silence to enact the Bloodcaller's will. 
 SECRET 
 The doors of the Primordial Sanctum remain sealed shut long beyond the departure of the samsaeri. For many nights, all that can be heard is bestial sounds, violence, and the cacophony of tearing flesh and sinew. 
 [For] - Claim the Sanctum for the Synod of Savagery 
 Bloodcaller Valyn  will lead the attack with one unit, utilizing Frenzied Onslaught in case of any unexpected resistance. She will duel or accept duels from others.
Talon Elara will hold the Lantern.

 The Bloodcaller's desire to find solace in slaughter has so far gone unfulfilled. The Maelstrom had seemed a perfect breeding ground. The Sanctum--if the gods were kind, there would be a chance to put that name to the test. Contemptible bureaucrats, relying on technology to pave the way. She would free the people from their mandated subservience--and bring their vaunted order crashing to the ground. 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate Altars devoted to the Fangborne Covenant to a different religion. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to convert Hraesholm and the Maelstrom. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire diversions owned by the Synod. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to acquire diversions from Hraesholm or the Maelstrom. 
 The Bloodcaller rejuvenates.. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -  Ruler Stats 
Stat Changes:
Resource Changes:

Faith Size: 2 (SVG, R20)
Diversions: 2 (The Hunt, Jousting)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
Torv
   Okynnet   

Videaska was miffed, angry even. No one showed up to  play with her  in the fire. Well except that boring dude she gave the Lantern out of pity. He could really use some more color in his life. Now heÂ’d gone and gotten caught by some princeÂ’s underling too, too little experience with tag, too slow, booooring.
How was the Necropolis supposed to know she wanted to have fun when it didnÂ’t listen to her, maybe it was time for some proper commandments again. Ugh.

[Okynnet will investigate at other Realms request. If too many requests are issued they will choose the mystery(ies) they find most enticing and ignore the others, bribes are very enticing. They will also ignore specific mysteries at the low, low price of one mirth. Information will be given/withheld once payment is received or in advance for trusted partners. All investigations will be secret but results can be made public at request.
Trusted partners: OkynnetÂ’s Urskog, Indumathi, Redacted]

  [SECRET]  
 When you say to yourself, ‘I am going to have a pleasant visit or a pleasant journey,’ you are literally sending elements and forces ahead of your body that will arrange things to make your visit or journey pleasant. When before the visit or the journey or the shopping trip you are in a bad humor, or fearful or apprehensive of something unpleasant, you are sending unseen agencies ahead of you which will make some kind of unpleasantness. Our thoughts, or in other words, our state of mind, is ever at work ‘fixing up’ things good or bad in advance. 
  Refresh ruler next round to  Videljus  D4 - F2 - E2 - C3  
Aedilred
  Onende, the Silver Refuge 
 Kusal, Regent Perpetual 
Discretion 4
Force 2
Entertainment 3
Conviction 4 
As the beast approaches, Kusal considers his options. Nendir would no doubt cleave this creature - if such it can be called - in pieces. He is a statesman and diplomat, not a warrior. A flash comes, a brief memory, a glimpse of high helms and long lances, of heat and dust. He was a soldier, once. Yesterday or another life entirely, it makes no odds. He is not a warrior now.

An existential terror grips him as he realises what this  thing  represents, what it is, and it is all he can do not to flee immediately. He calms himself. He has not been appointed regent so that he could lose his head. Can this creature be killed? Assuredly. Anything can die. Even the sun itself. But he cannot be certain that this is not what  killed  the sun. His troops are raw, few in number. A stand against it would likely be futile.

 It seeks the light of the lanterns . If it can be satiated, perhaps it will depart. It pains him to admit it, but only one lantern can be saved. He retreats and takes up Nendir's lantern, and sets out for the Halls. If the beast pursues, at least he will not die in darkness.

This is not heedless flight, he tells himself. It is hope, his people's only chance for survival.


 Actions round 3 

[Discretion] Escape into the Halls
 
 [Discretion] Take only Nendir's lantern, abandoning Videaska's 
  [Conviction] Navigate the Halls until confident the Tallow-Eater is not pursuing ( 8 ) 
 
[Discretion] Create a claim on region 24 ( 13 )
[Entertainment]  Send someone to get Indumathi ( 9 )  Mine 1 Mirth
[Entertainment] Fail to acquire the Archery diversion in region 13 ( 10 )
MappyPK
    Chronocruise Enterprises    
  The Aetherial Mechanica 
 
 Ruler:  SeaEO Vivienne Locke
(DIS 5 | FOR 3 | ENT 8 | CON 3)

 Mirth:  1
 Units:  1 
 Actions: 
 
 Entertainment - Acquire Astrology in District 8.  Success (21)!  
 Entertainment - Acquire Storytelling in District 39.  Success (20)!  
 Force - Hire armed security. 
 Force - Hire armed security. 
 
SerakHawk
      
  Prayers of Sunset (POS)   
  Ruler: Twilight Sovereign (she/they)  
 Dis 1 | For 4 | Ent 6 | Con 1 
 Units:  3
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   2 
 Lanterns:   1 [LIT] 
 
   Round 3 - Rise of Twilight 
 
 [Force]  Recruit Shadows
 More. 
 [Force]  Recruit Shadows
 MORE

  MORE   
 Secrets 
 Secrets 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Night District" and "Lavish Feasts" Diversions 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Capital: The Fading Dusk
Penumbra [0]: None Orbits the Dusk
Diversions: The Night District, Lavish Feasts
Stat Changes: +1 force
Other Changes: +2 units
 
 
  
Ausar
  The Final Frontier  
 
 
 (Original:  https://www.deviantart.com/naradjou1...anet-785623366 )  
Ruler: Aurelius Marten Vox, Master of the Twilight.
Discretion: 2 |  Force: 6 |  Entertainment: 4 |  Conviction: 4 |
Units: 3  |  Mirth: 1  |

 "Tell me again, but make sense this time." 
"Well sir, I-"
 "Please my good fellow, for the last time, High Chaplain or Courtenay." 
"High Chaplain, I can't explain it. Really I can't. One moment clear scopes, the next a call comes in from Commodore Jorus that we've been infiltrated. We were at our posts, all attention to our duties, really I-"
 "I understand, dear boy, fret not. A momentary error, a lapse in concentration for a second, it happens to all of -" 
"But sir, I-" Courtenay's fist drove into the hapless pilot's jaw, lifting him two inches bodily off the ground. His shoulder gave a sickening pop as he hit the floor.
 "I will note in your report, my good man, that your error was entirely human, a coincidental slip-up, a split-second mistake. In this fashion you will keep your post and have the chance to make amends. In this fashion you will not be written up or placed under investigation for knowingly permitting a force to march into the Frontier without resistance or warning, as you will be if I am forced to note that you have no explanation or excuse for the convoy's arrival unannounced outside the mess. Do I make myself clear?"  The pilot managed a feeble nod, body contorted in pain as one arm lay limp.  "Excellent."  Courtenay bent down, placing a foot on the pilot's chest while his arms grasped the dislocated arm. He yanked and twisted sharply, and the joint popped back into place, tendons spiking with pain in protest. The pilot screamed. Courtenay stepped back, cocking his head at the now-whimpering figure.  "As you were, dear chap. I'll fix that ache for you tomorrow. Revise your manners of address, hmm?"
 
 "So what's the catch?" 
 "He didn't say." 
 "Are we sure there's a catch?" 
 "Until we know there's not, we must assume-" 
 "That's codswallop, altruism exists Marius, not everything is a cynical ploy." 
 "Shared vision, Tariel? I don't buy that, no ma'am not in a lifetime, that is a dictation of terms and principles, not a gift. And they want us to shelter them? The Master would not-" 
 "They'll stay, for now."  Three heads turned as one. Aurelius looked like a man aging backwards, regressing to the prime of his life. Grey hairs became darker by the minute. That spark, that rigour, that keen intellect, all was returning in time to the man who had sat without hope on a makeshift throne.
 "Master, with all due respect, these people are-" 
 "Relieved. Relieved of their hermitude, relieved to have a place to call home, even temporarily, relieved to have a place to practice their art in peace. If they present a threat, we will learn of it, and deal with it in time. Understood?" 
 "  S  i  r  ,"  came the call, in unison, a parade ground acquiescence. Aurelius nodded.
 "Good. Briefing in 10, come meet our newest residents properly. They're our guests. Make them feel welcome. As you were."  He spun on his heel and slipped back through the door, silently as he'd come.

(Aurelius' dialogue colour is changing as he youthfulises, and to make it more legible than the grey of before)
(Accept the statue)

(The two new unit lore will come next round with the unit from this round included.

Actions:
Force (Special 5): Recollect tactical doctrine  Scour the Bridge  - +4 to leader loss rolls.
Force: Raise a unit
Entertainment: Acquire Diversion – Chariot Racing (U15)  [12] 
Entertainment: Acquire Diversion – Hunting (U40)  [14] 
 
 Spoiler: Current Units 
(The LORE sections will be filled. They will. Promise.)
New Ravager Squadron - the Ragged Edge
 The fragments of a shattered squadron made whole one final time. Ravager disappeared without a trace during the Great Foray, jumping out into the void. Brought out of jump by an uncharted gravity well, they were obliterated by a black hole. Led by Aurelius himself, they are now the Ragged Edge. 
Courtenay's Chaplains - Slaughtered in a valiant, doomed final stand within the Cathedral of New Askilon, Courtenay's Chaplains of the Order of Eredivistus and the Temple of Eternal Uhlonna are servants to a goddess that seems to all sight to have deserted them. The goddess of the sky is literally absent from their sight, as a warped facsimile of empty space fills the twilight of the stars instead.
Montefort's Chaplains - A devoted ally of Courtenay, Montefort is two decades his junior, who got his start in the mercantile sector, using his economic contacts to spread the word of Uhlonna where Courtenay preached openly. Caught up in the elder's rebellion, Montefort's men were trapped on Istern Bridge in New Askilon, and cut down where they stood, their bodies choking the river Askr with blood.
Crimson Heart - LORE
the Master's Force - LORE
 
Lleban
  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 3
Units 1
Discretion 4
Force 3
Entertainment 4 (+2)
Conviction 6
 
  Actions
  
Entertainment Aquire diversion region 2
Entertainment Aquire diversion Region 32
Entertainment Grant Oracle Diversion
Entertainment Aquire diversion Region 33


 
  Liturgy of Xyothos 
 
Plunge your arm into the vicious mire
Brave the fishes jaws and the vituperous sand
Its ferrous treasure diverts you from stakes dire
This is Xykothos's Command

 
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 4
Force - 5
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 6 
 Units: 2
Mirth: 1  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Discretion]  Establish Claim on Region 24 -  15 
 The spread of information through the Necropolis is a mercurial thing, secrets and truths comingling in the liminal reality between life and the oblivion of true death.  The tides of rumor swirl and crash endlessly against the foundations of Tzalteclan, and in the heart of the Decadence the shadows samples all.  When word of the Virgin finally reaches the burning tomb of the Teotlkan, his ashen tongue tastes it like fine wine, the truth behind the rumor filling the black glass of his heart with something akin to elation.  The dragon has ever found power in blood, in the eternal cycle of death and rebirth.  Here, in the buried depths of a forgotten empire, a vessel waits that may approach his own perfection.  When Nezetkhamun is reborn in glory, it will be in flesh.  
  [Discretion]  Travel to the Halls of the Dripping Throne
 Though crowned in victory, the Teotlkan is not satisfied.  The cowardly rabble of Luttoise had been little more than gnats before his storm, and far more potent adversaries had recently emerged from the murk of history.  He needed to know more, to understand the fundamental nature of this purgatory that he might master it.  Driven by the need for revelation, the shadow of Nezetkhamun departs Tztalteclan, flying like a storm cloud over the Decadence and towards the Halls of the Lantern King. 
 
 Spoiler: Sub-Actions 
 
 Explore the Halls -  10  
 
 
 
  [Conviction]  Seek Aid establishing a claim on Region 24 -  14  
  [Conviction]  Consecrate the Altar in Region 24 to the Dragon Cult -  17  
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 Secret 
 
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 5 Force 5 Entertainment 6 Conviction 1 Mirth 2 Units 5  
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Winemaking Diversion   12  
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Husbandry Diversion   12  
 [Force]  Raise 1 Unit
 [Discretion]  Establish Claim on Region 15 (Talisha Collins sent as Ambassatrix and potential marriage candidate.)   13  
 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +1 Entertainment 
 Nonactions:  Resist attempts to acquire my owned Diversions.
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
 Dis 2 | For 6 | Ent 3 | Con 5 
 Units:  2
 Mirth:  2
 Diversions:   1 
 Lanterns:   1 [SNUFFED] 
 
   Round 1     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on. How long has it been? The Emperor died on a Tuesday. Last week? There was no way of telling. The city constantly churned with an impossible number of people despite the unending fighting. The Committee for Public Safety met for the third time last night, and was interrupted by the monstrous representative of the Princes of Perfect Rule. Few things can silence the committee, but nothing silences them long. The door had barely closed when a new fight erupted.

The spineless moutonards were immediately ready to capitulate to a new regime. What leaders they had were barely managing their parties spiral into despair. The Tulanistes maintained there confidence at least. They sent a runner after Chen Bil'Rama, but he never reached the door. The assembly was silenced again, this time by a pistol.

"After everything we've fought for, after everything we've  bled  for, you think we would so quickly kneel for another tyrant? We are the revolution. We speak for the people. We fight for the people. If any of you wish to kneel, it will be at the guillotine." Ferdinand Rousseau had a voice like thunder. It cut across the room as thoroughly as his bullet had before it.

This was the leader of the Communard faction, and this was all it took to restructure power in the committee. Miss Boulanger, de facto leader of the anarchist Enrages faction if such a thing could exist, fell behind him immediately, and with their left flank already there, the Marteaunards and Alexander Baudelair joined them. The line was clearly drawn. It was enough to snap the Moutonards out of their despair. They were good at nothing if not seeing which way the wind was blowing. In an instant the Tulanistes found themselves alone on the wrong side of the room, with a corpse and an ultimatum between them and the door.

The guillotines were busy that evening.

The communards were quick to lay out their plans for the people of Luttoise, but it was clear they would have to fight these Princes. This new world was more monstrous than they had imagined, but the communards would not kneel even to God herself.

  Actions:  
 
 [Force] To War! Send 1 Unit led by the Committee for Public Safety to capture Tisear before it dissolves into the forgotten depths below. 
 [Force 5] Recollect Tactical Doctrine:  One Day More! 
 Reminisce, these units join the battle. The first unit lost this battle does not join the tally of loss.  
 [Force] Raise troops! 
 [Conviction] Reminiscence - Spend 1 mirth to recall the brave warriors of the revolution. 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Accept vassalage from the Synod of Savagery. 
 
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [2]:
Diversions: Executions, Public Executions
Stat Changes: +1 Force
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
mystic1110
   Round Three is Closed   
Kusal's breath came in ragged gasps as he surveyed the encroaching horror. The Tallow-Eater's created maw gaped wider, a void threatening to swallow the last vestiges of light in this colorless domain.. Kusal's mind raced, the weight of his duty and the fate of the Silver Refuge pressing heavily on his shoulders. The realization struck him with a cold clarity: the creature was drawn to the light, and the lanterns were its target.

In a swift, decisive motion, Kusal tried to grab two of the three lanterns from their stands. After grabbing Nendir’s Lantern, in his rush, the other two Lanterns were knocked down and mixed up. The light within them flickered and danced, casting desperate shadows that seemed to stretch and twist as if pleading for salvation. He could feel the oppressive pull of the void, the darkness gnawing at the edges of his vision. The Tallow-Eater's screeching hum grew louder, a cacophony of teeth grinding against teeth, vibrating through his very bones.

With a glance at the writhing monstrosity, Kusal grabbed the first fallen lantern he could reach and hurled it to his left. Kusal didn't wait to see the creature's reaction; he scrabbled and grabbed the second fallen lantern and tossed it to his right, the flames sputtering as it rolled across the ground. The Tallow-Eater's maw untwisted, becoming unmade and then retwisted itself into existence as it was drawn towards the sources of light, but it hesitated, its form shifting and undulating as it decided which lantern to devour first.

Seizing the moment of distraction, Kusal clutched Nendir’s lantern tightly against his chest. His resolve hardened, and he turned, sprinting and thinking of what his Lord had told him of the Halls. As he ran, picturing the Dripping Throne in his mind, the Refuge’s marble floor started turning to worn bricks, the lightless sky becoming a ceiling adorned with chandeliers heavy with half lit candles. His footsteps echoed in the oppressive silence, each step a desperate beat in the symphony of survival.

A thought came to him perhaps too late . . . if the creature was drawn to the light, what of the endless uncountable candles of the Halls of the Dripping Throne? What if the creature follows?

Behind him, the Tallow-Eater let out a low growl that was the shrieking of canines ground in a mortar by a pestle made of molars, a sound that reverberated through the District. Kusal dared a glance over his shoulder and saw the creature elongating itself towards the discarded lanterns. The air seemed to vibrate with its hunger, the void pulling at the remnants of light. The light from the first lantern was sucked into the void in a spiral, briefly orbiting the maw in a bright event horizon until disappearing into nothingness. The light in the second lantern, however, strangely winked out of existence as soon as the first lantern’s light was devoured. The last Kusal saw of the Tallow-Eater it reared back and roared in anger, the sound of teeth sawing against teeth. The doors to the Halls closed . . . .

Kusal collapsed against a stone wall, clutching Nendir's lantern tightly. The flickering light cast long shadows, dancing across the ancient threadbare Halls. Kusal's chest heaved with each breath, the weight of his decision settling heavily upon him. He had saved the last lantern, but at what cost? Kusal's mind raced with questions and fears, but he knew one thing for certain: he could not allow the Tallow-Eater to claim the light. He would protect Nendir's lantern with his life.

   The Two Lanterns that Kusal Discarded have been Devoured, Nendir's Lantern remains Lit   
The remaining verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

   The Third Vote is Open   
Torv
Leaning back against the upper jaw of an enormous snake skull erected within her grand hall Videaska was humming to herself, seemingly a child about to be pierced by fangs thrice her own length.
 Hmm, Mother? What is it now? The Wyrm is coming? Mother dear the Wyrm is not here, you are of the Necropolis and Okynnet now. Accept it.  
The only response to her ramblings was a low hiisss, or perhaps a play of the wind.
 Oh don’t be grumpsy. I even had my best florist hide all your cavities with sprouts, you really should watch what you eat, those are some big teeth you know?  
Before the last word had reached its listener, decayed bone erupted in a flowery fire of poppies, tulips, and daffodils - concealing Videaska from view.
 Hmpf, so that’s how it is, Fiiiine.  

[Videaska becomes  Videljus , D5 - F2 - E2 - C3]
MappyPK
The SeaEO leans back in wooden chair, the floor creaking loudly as she does. The Lantern rests on her desk. With plenty of amenities and luxuries available for the crew and visitors on the Cruise alike, she has had a little bit more time to focus on everything else at stake. Rumors abound travel across the ship, from waitress to actor, from actor to janitor, from janitor to crewmate, from crewmate to captain. Apparently, the recent votes have begun to garner some suspicion surrounding some Prince who has not yet been Stained. Between signing papers, Vivianne speaks up: "Lantern, accuse the Unstained Prince."
Lleban
Today the corpulent oracle had her purview over the the arena. In the raucous celebrations, the palace lay empty. While the Neonates are baptized in the blood of gladiators, Toyollo once again wanders. Basking in the emerald light of the Lantern the veiled general stares.

"Today I shall abstain."

He speaks while cradling it. Sitting beneath a marble visage of himself.
SerakHawk
The Twilight Soverign looks out when her lantern once more calls for a vote. "Would you be silent! I Abstain"
Aedilred
" Whatever his loyalties, we cannot allow  the Unstained Prince 's lantern to fall into the wrong hands, and vote accordingly. "
TheDarkDM
Sequestered in the dark of his pyramid and the dark of unanswered questions, the Teotlkan whispered into his lantern.

  "The Decadence abstains."  
mystic1110
 The Third Vote is Closed 

The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.
mystic1110
   Round 4 is Open   
   Vigil   
The light of the candles inside the following Lanterns fades until they become pinpricks of black so deep that it feels like the Lantern Holder might be pulled in. The Verdigris walls of the Lanterns provide a bulwark against the draw of the perceived depth until suddenly the blackness collapses into itself in an ebon gong and is gone. The only clue that the candle has once been lit is only faint smoke caressing the tallow.

The Seventh Verdigris Lantern held by Mad Maldarr Drivas has been Snuffed
The Eighth Verdigris Lantern held by SeaEO Vivienne Locke has been Snuffed.

   Chapter Two (continued) - Excoriated Griot   
In the twilight depths of the Necropolis, Cedric Luther, the Financial Advisor dispatched by Chronocruise, found himself wandering through a labyrinth of crumbling ruins. Cedric's mission was clear: assess the potential financial assets hidden within this forsaken place and determine the viability of future Chronocruise expeditions. The atmosphere was thick with an oppressive silence, punctuated only by the occasional distant wail or the soft rustle of unseen things moving in the shadows. Cedric moved cautiously, his polished shoes echoing slightly on the uneven stone floors, as he navigated the corridors lined with faded frescoes and shattered statuary. His breath formed clouds in the cold, stagnant air, and a subtle shiver ran down his spine with every step, as if the very walls were watching him. As he turned a corner into a vast, shadowy hall, the soft glow of his torch fell upon a figure unlike any other he had seen.

Emerging from the gloom, the Griot cut an eerie figure. His skin was a deep, rich hue, contrasting sharply with the disturbing attire he wore—a robe made from human flesh. Yet, this was no ordinary fabric of skin; it was excoriated, scraped, abraded, and meticulously picked upon. The robe’s folds formed sharp, angular patterns, almost geometric in their precision, as if the pain and suffering embedded in the material had been carefully shaped into something resembling art. Despite the grotesque nature of his garb, there was an air of regal composure about him, a dignity that transcended the macabre nature of his attire.

Cedric’s eyes were inevitably drawn to the Griot's face—serene, almost contemplative, with eyes that held a depth of understanding and sorrow. His presence was both haunting and compelling, a being marked by the history and suffering woven into his robes. As Cedric approached, the Griot began to speak, his voice a resonant stitching, weaving words together in a mesmerizing, lyrical cadence.

 Rhythms of ruin, whispers in the dark,
Tales of yesteryears, like a fading spark.
In this land of shadowed tones,
I seek the throne of flesh and bones.
The Dripping Throne, where secrets blend,
In bones and flesh, the truth they send.
Where sorrow’s tales in silence lay,
There the seeds of wisdom sway. 

The Griot's voice danced through the air, each line a verse of poetry that seemed to pulse with a rhythm of its own, a beat that resonated with the very fabric of the Necropolis. He turned to Cedric, his eyes gleaming with a peculiar mix of desperation and curiosity, an insatiable hunger for the truths buried in this forsaken realm.

 Mysteries hide in shadows’ keep,
The answers call, in the depths they seep.
A poet's journey, to weave the tale,
In verses true, let the truth prevail.
Lead me, wanderer, to those halls so old,
Where blood and sorrow, tales unfold.
In pain and fate, let verses take flight,
Echoing the past, through the endless night. 

The Griot's request was clear, yet his manner was anything but direct. He did not beg or demand; instead, he spoke as one who merely sought a continuation of his journey, a fellow traveler in a land of endless enigmas. His poems were his map, his verses his compass, guiding him towards the answers he craved—not for power or glory, but for the art of storytelling itself. The mysteries of the Necropolis were the ink in his pen, the blood on his parchment, and he yearned to inscribe them into his verses.

   Chapter Conclusion - Bring the Excoriated Griot to the Halls.   
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with the Excoriated Griot 
The Excoriated Griot has a leader score of 1. If Excoriated Griot is in your Region he will keep to himself. If a player that has a claim on the region the Excoriated Griot is currently in, owns the Diversion or has a Crossroads with a player that owns such diversion, or belongs to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in such region, such player may use a  non-action to bring the Excoriated Griot to the Halls or the Gutters. If multiple players try to use the Griot in such a way it will be an Entertainment rolloff - but priority given to the District owner. The Excoriated Griot will not resist abduction attempts. Additionally, a player may use a Discretion action to convince the Griot that they are a lover of knowledge and he will journey to that player’s capitol in between rounds. If more than one player speaks to him in such a way it will be decided by discretion roll off where he goes. It is also possible to use a Force action to displace him from your region into any other region - which is an opposed Force roll with that region’s owner. He will roll against all other actions with half his leader score. If a player tries to draw the Griot at the same time his current host tries to displace him, he will go to where he is drawn instead of where he was displaced.

Excoriated Griot holds the artifact: Skin-Carved Compass. The Compass provides a +2 to Explore the Halls and the Gutters. If the Excoriated Griot holds the Skin-Carved Compass, bringing him to the Halls of the Dripping Throne or the Gutters will also provide you the Compass’s bonus.

Additionally, the Excoriated Griot reveals the TN for a successful explore of the Halls (12) and informs you of the possible locations to find within (a successful Explore will grant the exploring Character access to a random one of the following locations which had previously not been discovered by a Player: Library, Throne Room, Gaols, Chapel).
 

   Chapter Three (continued) - An Opera of Canaries   
The Miners, garbed in dark, practical clothing and wearing luminous goggles to help them detect the faint glow of Mirth, worked diligently in the shadows of an old, forgotten theater district. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and lingering memories, as they carefully chipped away at the walls, searching for pockets of lost joy. Their tools glinted faintly under the dim lights they had brought, each movement careful and precise to avoid dispersing the delicate substance they sought.

One of the miners, known for his sharp eye and steady hand, paused as he felt a faint vibration through his chisel. He tapped lightly again, listening, then gestured for the others to join him. They gathered around, their tools poised, as the lead miner tapped once more, causing a faint, metallic echo to resonate through the stone.

With a few more careful strokes, they broke through a thin barrier and were met with a sudden rush of foul, stagnant air. A small stream of murky liquid, tainted with an oily sheen, began to seep out, carrying with it a faint but unmistakable shimmer. The miners recoiled slightly from the smell but leaned closer, peering into the hole they had opened. There, glistening amidst the muck, were small, golden flecks — Mirth, lost and carried away, mixing with the refuse of the Gutters.

One of the younger miners, his eyes wide with sudden understanding, turned to the group. "The Gutters," he whispered, a mixture of awe and dread in his voice. "If all lost Joy escapes into the Gutters... then what if the largest deposits of Mirth are there, beneath us, in the sewage lines?"

The realization spread through the group like wildfire. The Gutters, long considered the underbelly of the Necropolis, a place where forgotten things were discarded and forgotten, might be the largest reservoir of Mirth in the entire city. The miners had always known that Mirth flowed into the Gutters when it was lost or neglected, but they had never considered the possibility of mining directly within those foul, sewage-filled veins.

A murmur of excitement and fear swept through the group. Mining in the Gutters would be dangerous and uncharted; the risks of contamination, madness, or worse were high. Yet the potential rewards were immense. The Gutters, with their accumulation of forgotten joys, discarded laughter, and overlooked pleasures, could hold a treasure trove of Mirth far beyond anything found in the more refined districts.

The lead miner, his face pale but resolute, spoke up. "We need to explore this. Carefully. We’ll need protective gear, stronger tools, and maybe even a guide. The Gutters are treacherous, and not just because of the filth. But if there's Mirth down there... we have to try."

With that, the miners sealed the breach they had accidentally created, marking the spot for further investigation. The idea of mining the Gutters themselves was daunting, but the possibility of tapping into the largest deposits of Mirth ever discovered was a temptation too great to ignore.

   Chapter Conclusion - Mine Mirth in the Gutters.   
 
 Spoiler: Mining the Gutters 
If you are exploring the Gutters during a Round, you may also perform the Mine Mirth action as a sub-action in the Gutters. Performing a Mine Mirth action in the Gutters may yield an additional bonus (Entertainment check TN of 10). Performing any action in the Gutters though is dangerous will carry an additional risk (Discretion check TN of ????).
 

   Chapter Four (continued) - Atrophy without Light   
The Lanternless Districts, once bustling with their own kind of defiant vitality, now seemed to be gradually slipping into a shadowy oblivion. The atmosphere grew heavier and more oppressive, as if the air itself mourned the slow decay. Trees, once vibrant with life, now shed their leaves to stand watch as skeletal sentinels, their twisted branches weaving a dark canopy that swallowed the faintest traces of light. The various skies of the Districts seemed heavy with dark clouds that seemed to absorb any lingering hope. In these forsaken lands, a subtle but pervasive transformation had taken hold. The grass now lay brittle and brown beneath hesitant footsteps. Streams meandered sluggishly, their waters tinged with an unsettling murkiness. The lands quieted to a disquieting hush, the air heavy with a sense of inertia and apathy.

The armies of the Lanternless Districts, once formidable forces, now moved with an almost imperceptible lethargy. Soldiers, their once-bright armor now dulled, trudged wearily, their movements lacking the sharp precision of former days. Their leaders, who had once inspired with their unwavering resolve, now bore the subtle marks of weariness and diminishment. Faces lined with barely concealed worry and exhaustion, they moved through their duties as if under an invisible weight. The fire in their eyes, once a beacon of strength and determination, now flickered weakly, barely discernible in the growing gloom. Their voices, once resonant with authority, now carried an undertone of doubt and uncertainty.

The King of Wax and Wick had not chosen them to hold the Lanterns, and the reason was becoming painfully clear. A subtle, pervasive lack of will and vitality seeped through the very fabric of the Lanternless Districts. The people moved like shadows through their daily lives, their steps muted and their spirits slowly dimming. Slowly, but undeniably, the Lanternless Districts were fading. The subtle, unrelenting force of their decline pressed down, a silent, inescapable erosion of their very essence. It is clear that without a Lanternholder at their helm or center, they would all eventually fall.

   Chapter Conclusion - Every three rounds the TN to create/press a claim in a Lanternless district decreases by 2. Additionally, the Leader Score of every ruler in the Lanternless district without an existing claim decreases by 1 and such District loses 1 unit. The minimum amount of units is 1.   
   Chapter Nine (continued) - Invitation towards Perfection   
The Princes of Perfect Rule dispatch their heralds to carry invitations to the Lanternholders of the Districts, promising safe passage to their resplendent Golden Palace of Perfection. These heralds, once noble leaders and warriors who had bent the knee to the Princes' vision of an immaculate realm, now traversed the Necropolis with solemn duty and grave purpose.

Their approach was heralded by the rhythmic clanking of chains and the whispering susurrus of cloaks brushing against the ground. Each herald bore the indelible marks of their submission: intricate golden tattoos that glowed faintly under the dim light, sigils of their unwavering fealty to the Princes and their newfound role as harbingers of promised perfection and of sins washed clean. Despite their servitude, their expressions of purpose surely pierced onlookers with bitter envy.

As they neared the strongholds of the Lanternholders, the heralds spoke in unison, their voices resonant and reverberating, as if echoing from the depths of an ancient and vast hall. "Hearken, ye bearers of light in the encroaching darkness," they intoned. "The illustrious Princes of Perfect Rule extend their gracious invitation unto thee, the chosen guardians of the sacred Lanterns. Journey forth to the Golden Palace of Perfection, where safe passage is assured, and the heavy yoke of thy burdens shall be lifted. Embrace the sanctified path of flawless dominion, and find refuge within the hallowed embrace of true and eternal order."

The heralds' proclamation spread like wildfire through the Districts, carried by fervent whispers and the fluttering of timeworn banners. Some who had overheard the proclamation issued to their lieges surely listened with cautious curiosity, drawn by the promise of sanctuary and the allure of an unblemished reign. Others must have gazed upon the heralds with wary eyes, their faces etched with suspicion as they pondered the true motives behind the Princes' magnanimous offer.

   Chapter Conclusion -  Attend the Princes’ Feast .   
 
 Spoiler: Attending the Feast 
The Princes’ Feast is like any other event. If a player wants to trade or take active sub-actions in the event, they need to have spent a Discretion Action. Sub-Actions that are reactive to the active sub-actions of NPCs or Players do not need a Discretion Action. It is up to the GM if subsequent actions in a plot are considered active or reactive.
 

   Chapter Ten (continued) - The Weight of Prayer   
As the people of the Decadence gather for their daily worship, the atmosphere is thick with anticipation and ritualistic fervor. The air vibrates with the low hum of prayers chanted in unison, an ancient litany extolling the glory and divinity of Teotlkan. The worshipers, ranging from the decrepit slave brood to the exalted nobles, prostrate themselves on the ground, their hands raised towards the sky, offering themselves and their devotions to the god who looms over their city.

The Dragon Cult's prophets and madmen stand at the forefront, their voices rising above the crowd in a cacophony of reverence and madness. They chant praises, invoking the mighty dragon who watches over them with an unblinking eye. The skies above, ever clouded with ash and fire, seem to tremble in response to the fervent prayers.

Suddenly, a chilling sound rends the air, like the anguished scream of a mother losing her child. The entire city pauses, the sound echoing through the canyons and halls with an intensity that pierces the soul. Eyes turn upward in terror and awe as the very heavens seem to crack open. From the ashen sky, a brilliant light bursts forth, followed by a deafening explosion that reverberates through the Decadence.

A great sphere, descends from the rift in the sky, trailing a thick, white, waxy liquid. It hurtles towards the city with unstoppable force, crashing into the ground before the towering pyramid of Teotlkan, creating a massive crater that sends tremors through the entire district. The sphere itself, an unnerving teeth-white, lies at the epicenter of the devastation, surrounded by the slowly spreading pool of the wax-milk substance. A thin strand of the viscous liquid still stretched from the sphere up towards the sky of the district and even past that through the void and beyond like an umbilical cord. The sphere pulses with a warm light that felt almost moist.

The liquid, warm to the touch, gives off an eerie glow, creating an almost divine aura around the sphere. Yet, as the people approach in trepidation, they find that despite its appearance of fragility, the sphere is utterly impervious to any attempt at breaking or scratching its surface. It is an enigma, a celestial object both sacred and terrifying.

As they watch, the milky liquid begins to change - rot. At its edges, the once smooth and radiant substance starts to rot, hardening into sharp, black crystals that grow with unnatural speed. The crystals crackle and fracture, their jagged edges reflecting the dim, blood-red light of the sky. Flakes of these crystals break off and ascend into the air, dissipating like smog and leaving an acrid, sour scent in their wake. The thin strand that connected it to its origin snaps and also becomes ash, severing the sphere from whence it fell.

The people of the Decadence are frozen in place, caught between reverence and fear, as they witness this mysterious event. The air is thick with the tension of the unknown, and a sense of foreboding settles over the crowd. The prophets and madmen are silent, for once struck dumb by the implications of this intrusion.

   Chapter Conclusion - Investigate the Sphere   
 
 Spoiler:  The Sphere 
As long as a Sphere is in a District you own ????. The Sphere can be investigated with the Investigate Action or ????. The liquid that covers the Sphere and the Sphere itself do not seem long for the Necropolis. Whatever it is and from wherever it came from seems to be rejecting this half-life or is being rejected by it. The Sphere will crumble and be lost in ???? rounds.
 

   Battles   
 
  Synod attacks the Sanctum 

Bloodcaller Valyn's assault on Bastion, the last stronghold of the Sanctified, was both swift and ruthless. As her forces penetrated the city's defenses, they wound their way through the labyrinthine streets and crumbling magitech ruins. Bastion, once a gleaming beacon of the Sanctified's lost civilization, now stood as a dilapidated monument to a forgotten past.

Determined to confront the elusive Director, Valyn made her way to the heart of Bastion, where the city's core chamber lay. Here, the Administrative, Military, and Systems Analysis Engine (AMSAE), known as the Director, resided. As she entered the chamber, a scene of grim beauty unfolded before her. The Director, a relic of immense power and intellect, had begun to self-immolate. Ethereal flames, shimmering with an otherworldly glow, consumed the machine, spreading rapidly across the chamber.

The flames did not merely burn; they seemed to erase existence itself, reducing everything they touched to nothingness. As the Sanctified gathered around their dying leader, the fire began to lick at their feet. Their faces reflected a mixture of shock, despair, and a grim understanding. The Director's final words echoed through the chamber, carrying a chilling message: "Remember, you must burn. Everything must burn." The voice was calm, almost serene, delivering a final, inevitable truth.

One by one, the Sanctified began to burn, their forms dissolving into ash and smoke. The flames consumed them from the ground up, leaving nothing but emptiness in their wake. Valyn, standing amidst the chaos, watched as her enemies vanished before her eyes. She had sought conquest, to seize the power and secrets of Bastion, but as the city burned, she realized the hollowness of her victory. What was more, the Director’s Lantern was also conspicuously missing.

 The Sanctum falls into a Penumbra around the Synod. 
 
  Luttoise attacks the Calling Tower 
As the revolutionaries from Luttoise approached the imposing Calling Tower, they expected resistance, a final confrontation with the Unstained Prince and his fearsome knights, the Nineteen. Instead, they were met with an eerie silence. The once formidable structure loomed over them, now seemingly devoid of life and power. The air was thick with the residual energy of the tower's collapse, an unsettling hum that resonated through the bones of those who dared to approach.

At the entrance of the tower, they found a surprising and perplexing sight: Nendir, the Defier of the Dark, sat chained, a bemused smile playing on his lips. His eyes, gleaming with an uncanny awareness, scanned the approaching crowd with a mixture of amusement and pity. His presence alone was a mystery, for he had been captured by the Nineteen, yet here he was, seemingly unharmed and unguarded.

As the revolutionaries gathered around, Nendir's voice, deep and resonant, cut through the tension. "The Prince and his faithful are gone," he began, his tone carrying a strange mix of finality and mockery. "The corrupting bleed beneath the tower, the very source of their power, exploded. It consumed them, devoured them whole. There is nothing left of them but memories and myths." His gaze shifted to the remains of the Calling Tower, its once proud form now a shadow of its former self.

As he spoke, a bright glow emanated from within the shadows of the tower's entrance. There, resting on a cracked pedestal, lay the only remnant of the Prince's reign, his Verdigris Lantern. Nendir's face was unreadable as he observed the revolutionaries' reactions. "Take it," he offered, "Take it as a token of your victory. But, tread carefully."

 The Calling Tower falls into a Penumbra around Luttoise. The People's Revolution gain the Lit Verdigris Lantern that belonged to the Unstained Prince and possession of the captured Nendir  
 
   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 The Princes of Perfect Rule establish a claim on Lanterless Region 22. 
 The Decadence establishes a claim on Lanternless Region 24 
 Teotlkan strode through the Halls of the Dripping Throne, the air was thick with the scent of aged wax and soot.. The candles that lined the corridors still burned with their ghostly flames, their dim glow barely penetrating the deep gloom that pervaded the palace.

As Teotlkan moved deeper into the Halls, they noted that nothing seemed to have changed since their last visit. The worn bricks underfoot, the threadbare tapestries, and the decaying furniture remained as they had been, silent witnesses to the passage of countless ages. The stained glass windows, depicting a lone sun in a red sky, continued to reflect no real light, leaving the Ruler to navigate by the uncertain glow of the lantern they carried.

The soft dripping of wax from the innumerable candles provided a constant, almost meditative rhythm, but there was an underlying tension in the air, as if the Halls themselves were holding their breath. They passed through the familiar pathways, or pathways that seemed familiar, the melted wax forming uneven carpets underfoot, but saw no sign of the enigmatic King of Wax and Wick, nor the grotesque wolf that had greeted them last time.

As Teotlkan passed through a doorway on which above, a motto was once written, only the word “sun” still legible, a faint sound reached their ears—a soft, labored breathing, accompanied by the occasional rustle of fabric. They turned towards the source of the noise and saw a figure huddled in a dark corner of the room. The figure was holding a lantern, its light casting a glow on their face. It was Kusal, the Keeper of the Silver Refuge.

Kusal's eyes widened as they met Teotlkan's gaze. This was, afterall, the Shadow of the Dragon God to which his own District had just consecrated their altars too. He clutched the lantern tightly, its flame flickering in the cold air of the Halls. His clothes were disheveled, and he looked both exhausted and anxious. As Teotlkan approached, the tension between the two figures was palpable, the air thick with unspoken questions and Kusal’s unvoiced fear at meeting, essentially, his God.

In the light of the verdigris lanterns, Teotlkan finally spoke with the derision of a God, "What has brought you here to cower, Keeper of the Refuge? And why do you clutch that lantern so desperately?"

Kusal hesitated, glancing down at the lantern in his hands. He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he replied, "My Lord … The Tallow-Eater... it followed me, drawn to the light of the lanterns. I barely escaped with this one."

The mention of the Tallow-Eater sent a chill through the air, the flickering candles seeming to waver in response. Teotlkan's eyes narrowed further. The creature's hunger for light, the enigmatic king's words about a game of fate, and the strange, shifting nature of this place all hinted at something far deeper and more dangerous than they had anticipated.

The silence of the Halls seemed to deepen, as if the very walls were listening to their whispered words. 
 
 
 Force
 
 Chronocruise raises 2 units 
 Prayers of Sunset raises 2 units 
 The Final Frontier raises a unit. 
 The Deprivation raises a unit. 
 As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the bustling streets of the District, revelers of the Chronocruise poured out of the realm's opulent establishments, eager to seek the pleasures promised by the district's notorious brothels. Their laughter and chatter abruptly halted when they stumbled upon a scene of chilling horror. The bodies of the three elves, once adorned in their distinct ribbons and bunny ears, lay sprawled on the cobblestone street outside a crypt. The sight was unsettling—each elf's skin was pallid and drawn tight, drained of all life and vitality. Their once vibrant eyes were hollow sockets, and their bodies had taken on an eerie, desiccated appearance, as if every drop of essence had been siphoned away. 
 The Elves of Okynnet stumbled upon a grisly scene deep within the forest, where the cycle of destruction and rebirth continued unabated. Høstljung's body lay at the center of the clearing, contorted into a grotesque egg-like shape. Deep, jagged slashes marred his flesh, evidence of a brutal assault, as though claws or a vicious weapon had torn through him. The scent of blood mingled with the fresh, earthy aroma of new growth, creating a dissonant atmosphere. His face was frozen in a grimace, hinting at his final moments of pain or defiance. 
  The Forge has been Fed - Probe Lantern Actions may be used this Round.  
 The Final Frontier recollects tactical doctrine Scour the Bridge. Scour the Bridge provides the following bonus if it activates  “+4 to Leader Loss”.  
 Luttoise recollects tactical doctrine One Day More. One Day More provides the following bonus if it activates  “Reminisce, these units join the battle. The first unit lost this battle does not join the Tally of Loss”.  
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 Silver Refuge mines 1 Mirth 
 Chronocruise Enterprises gains 2 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 The Deprivation gains 1 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 Uxmal acquires Sculpture and gifts it to Indumathi. Indumathi, happy that she is being appreciated, stays in Uxmal. 
 The Deprivation acquires Winemaking and Husbandry 
 The Chronocruise acquires Astrology and Storytelling 
 In the twilight hours of Okynnet, amidst the ever-burning and renewing forest, the elves discovered with growing dread that Videaska's lantern was missing, apparently their Ruler simply gave it away. Whispers of concern spread rapidly among the inhabitants, as they had long observed Videaska's increasing irrationality and unpredictability. The fear that their ruler's whims could lead to further unforeseen consequences began to take root. 
 The Remnants of the Fading Dusk, a rare gathering of both the Hopeful and the Abandoned, assembled in the palace's grand hall for the Sovereign's annual address. As the appointed time approached, an uneasy murmur spread through the crowd— then the palace's high priestess emerged with a grave expression and announced that the lantern was missing, the realization struck like a hammer blow. Gasps and whispers of disbelief rippled through the gathering. The rust-red walls seemed darker, and the glow of the dying sun outside dimmed, as if reflecting the collective anxiety. 
 The unveiling took place in The Final Frontier, a haunting facsimile of Hallion, the small, rocky, mined-out waterless lump that once housed the beating heart of the Dawnstar Dominion's power—the Naval Academy. This forsaken remnant of a bygone era now served as a gathering place for those who clung to the echoes of a fading past. Perpetually, a stream of substance flowed off the freezing rock into the cold, dark void of surrounding space, yet Hallion did not seem to wane in size. Frozen in its final moments, the asteroid was wormed through with tunnels that housed the ruins of the Academy, where the shadows of the dead plotted their last desperate rages against the death of the Dawn.

Amidst these crumbling ruins, where spectral cadets and officers lingered in a ghostly semblance of discipline, Rosier had chosen to unveil his latest creations. The atmosphere was tense, filled with an eerie stillness, as if the very air held its breath in anticipation. The square at the heart of this spectral Academy was a perfect stage for Rosier's macabre artistry.

As the veils dropped, revealing the three statues, the crowd—composed of restless spirits, forgotten warriors, and curious denizens of the Necropolis—stared in awe and horror.

The first statue was Videaska, ruler of Okynnet, crafted from the remains of her burned pet. The statue stood regal and ominous, its alabaster and charred black surfaces a stark contrast against the cold stone of the surrounding ruins. Videaska's eyes, set with precious gems, seemed to glitter with a life of their own, watching over the assembled crowd with a gaze that was both commanding and unsettling - and strangely happy.

The second statue depicted Aurelius Marten Vox, Master of the Twilight. His figure was serene, almost ethereal, captured in the midst of a twilight glow. The robes he wore seemed to blend with the shadows that crept along the ground, and the lantern in his hands cast a soft, eternal light. The statue portrayed him as a guiding figure in the murky depths of the Necropolis, a beacon for those lost in the twilight of existence.

The final statue was of Veiled General Toyollo VII, a figure both feared and revered. The General was sculpted in a dynamic pose, his vampire form fully displayed in its terrifying glory. His disfigured face, still bearing the marks of the Cinder Queen's brand, was hidden beneath a mask of blackened metal, only his eyes visible, glowing with a predatory hunger. The statue captured the moment of his transformation, with one arm outstretched, commanding unseen forces, while the other clutched a blood-stained sword. His body, sculpted to reflect both strength and suffering, was adorned with the torn remnants of a military uniform, symbolic of his rise from a mere soldier to a ruler of a theocratic empire. At his feet lay the broken symbols of the old regime, crushed under his boot, signifying his brutal overthrow of the Exarch and the subsequent rise to power.

Rosier stood before his creations, his mutilated form a testament to his own devotion to the art of suffering and transformation. He addressed the gathered crowd, his voice resonating through the ruins of the Academy, a mix of reverence and pride.

"Here, in the shadow of the great Dawnstar Dominion, amidst the grandeur of Hallion, I present these embodiments of truth and beauty. True art, my friends, cannot be hidden. It must be exposed, celebrated, and remembered. These statues are not mere representations; they are living, breathing expressions of the souls they depict. They capture the essence of struggle, power, and the eternal dance between light and shadow. May these works inspire you, challenge you, and leave a lasting mark on your spirits."

As Rosier spoke, the spirits of the undead seemed to lean in, drawn to the haunting allure of his words and the stark beauty of his statues. In this crumbling remnant of a once-great empire, Rosier's art stood as a testament to the enduring power of creativity, even in the face of decay and oblivion. His hope was that these statues would inspire future artists, not just in the Necropolis but across all realms touched by the shadows of the dead, sparking a new era of dark, profound art that would echo through the annals of time.

 Rosier gifts The Final Frontier, Okynnet and Uxmal statues of their Rulers. Each Statue has the ability of “This Sculpture Acts counts as a Diversion. Like a Diversion this Artifact may be Sacked. If this Artifact is successfully Sacked (or otherwise destroyed), the Ruler of which this Artifact is a likeness will suffer some damage. If the Ruler of which this Artifact is a likeness is replaced by any other character for any reason, then this Artifact will break apart.” For the purposes of this Artifact ‘refreshing’ a Ruler’s stats does not trigger the artifact breaking as long as in fluff the Ruler remains the same  . 
 
 
 Conviction
 
 In the ever-changing landscape of Okynnet's Urskog, amidst the relentless cycle of fiery destruction and verdant rebirth, the Throne of Want was revealed in a moment of eerie stillness. As the latest wave of flames receded, a clearing emerged at the heart of the forest, where the ashes settled and the new growth momentarily paused. There, amidst the charred remnants of ancient trees and fresh green sprouts, the Throne of Want stood uncovered. Its skeletal structure, resembling the upper jaw of a giant snake skull, was eerily illuminated by the soft glow of bioluminescent insects flitting around it. The throne's cold, bone-like material contrasted sharply with the vibrant greenery newly sprouting around its base, as if the very forest sought to reclaim this symbol of desire and ambition.. It was as if the fire itself had orchestrated this reveal. 
 Luttoise recalls its compatriots to fight once more. Luttoise’s Tally of Loss decreases by 2 and they gain 2 units. 
 The Altar in Lanternless District 24 is consecrated to the Dragon Cult. 
 
 
 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn (she/they)  
 Dis 1 | For 5 | Ent 2 | Con 4 
 Units:  1
 Mirth:  0
 Tally of Loss:  2

 
   Round 4 
 
 [Dis]  - Attend the Feast of Princes
 
 Accept the Rites of Purification enactment 
 Refuse the offer to Appease 
 
 Every ounce of instinct rails against the idea of walking into the golden palace—save for with an army at her back. For, her existence is everything they despise. Unrestrained, primal, and exulted in chaos.

The Bloodcaller sets aside this moment of cowardice. For in their bid toward Order, they have denied Valyn her quarry. From that offense, there can be no Appeasement but the rolling heads of enigmatic princes. It was time to gather information. 
 [Dis] - Duel the Knight of Oath and Obligation   - With Bloodcaller Valyn, Force 5 -  17! 
  The eerie, imposed calmness of the Golden Palace affected Valyn more than she cared to admit. She wished nothing more than to see it all burn… and yet could not bring herself to raise a hand in glorious violence. The instinct to prove herself gnawed at her with every waking moment, her body aching for some form of bloodsoaked catharsis.

Thus did Valyn turn to the only opponent she knew would not shirk from her challenge. The Bloodcaller goes to meet the Knight of Oath and Obligation, seeking to lay low her quarry—for in loss or inaction, death of a sort was inevitable. Mortality, or madness. At least in some form, Valyn would take mastery of her fate at last.
 
 [For] - Raise Unit 
  While the Bloodcaller attempts to sate her growing lust for retribution and vengeance in foreign lands, the samsaeri are anything but idle. Talon Elara is spotted leaving the Primordial Sanctum, bearing the Synod’s extinguished lantern toward the Maelstrom. Though it bears no flame, that is not its most important aspect in this dire hour.

Instead, it is the very vestiges of connection to Valyn that the ritemaster intends to utilize  in this desolate place. The Source roils behind her as she methodically scribes a circle of blood and ash around the lantern. Glimmers of memory remain, fractured and half-forgotten in the brief eternity since the Synod claimed dominion over these chaotic lands. Not enough to conjure forth those who once lived here—but enough to act as kindling. And it is the sympathetic energies drawn forth from the Bloodcaller that light the blaze.

The madness, frenzy, and bloodlust that have overtaken the Bloodcaller are manifested in crimson flame—washing over endless darkness that surrounds Elara. Shadows are molded, made tangible.. and birthed with a cacophony of terrible shrieking. A new generation of beastmen, raised to slaughter.

The potency of the spell disturbs the Talon.. When she finally leaves, it is with a mixture of hope and fear. Hope that she may have bought the Bloodcaller more time. And fear for the depths to which she could yet fall. 
 SECRET 
  Wraiths depart in darkness from Hraesholm, stalking toward some unknown quarry beyond the penumbra... The Bloodcaller's subjects dare not let these shadows cross their path, and many a shutter is closed tight at their passing. 
  Non-Actions:  
 
  Hinder all unauthorized attempts to convert Hraesholm, Sanctum, the Maelstrom and all other altars so claimed by the Synod. 
 Support Luttoise in converting Sanctum, Hraesholm, and the Maelstrom to Revolutionary Spirit. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire diversions owned by the Synod. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to acquire diversions from Hraesholm, the Sanctum, or the Maelstrom. 
 The Bloodcaller rejuvenates.. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -  Ruler Stats   Duel Results 
Stat Changes: +1 Dis
Resource Changes:

Faith Size: 2 (SVG, R20)
Diversions: 2 (The Hunt, Jousting)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
MappyPK
    Chronocruise Enterprises    
  The Aetherial Mechanica 
 
 Ruler:  SeaEO Vivienne Locke
(DIS 5 | FOR 4 | ENT 9 | CON 3)

 Mirth:  3
 Units:  3 
 Actions: 
 
 Secret action. 
 Secret action. 
 Entertainment - Enactment! 
 Force - Tactical Doctrine -  All Hands on Deck!  - When defending, +2 to battle and -10% own casualties. 
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 Adopt Dragon Cult. 
 
Aedilred
  Onende, the Silver Refuge 
 Hannah X, Queen-Elect 
Discretion 5
Force 4
Entertainment 5
Conviction 4
 
" I have been appointed regent, as ever, in the absence of our sovereign, " says Kusal, " but so long as the Qeyzer remains captive, the Refuge requires a greater symbol of hope than I can provide. "

There are no cries of disagreement. Perhaps he should take that personally. He chooses not to.

" You know of what I speak. Is there any among us who can claim this mantle, and lead our people until our Qeyzer is restored to us in body? "

The words fade into silence within the square, but reverberate and echo through the city. After a minute or an age, a young woman steps forward from the crowd, her head held high. She is smaller and slighter than the Qeyzer but a resemblance cannot be denied - the sharp features, the same obsidian cast to her skin, the onyx eyes, the regal bearing. Kusal stands back to let her speak. as she commands the attention of all eyes, from the harpies on the rooftops to the goblins at the foot of the dais.

" I, Haniya of the Siyanda, of the elder blood, trueborn descendant of Adal-Ashagamir of the Avan dynasty, offer myself in service to the Refuge. "

The crowd looks at her with an eagerness, an expectation, he has seen them display to anyone but Nendir, not for, oh, a lifetime, at least.  She even speaks like him .

" What say you? Shall we accept her as our queen until the Qeyzer's return? "

The roar of acclamation is deafening.


 Actions round 4 

[Force] Recruit a unit
[Force] Recruit a unit
[Discretion] Attend the Princes' Feast, accept Tools of Prosperity
[Entertaimnent] Fail to acquire Poetry
SerakHawk
      
  Prayers of Sunset (POS)   
  Ruler: Twilight Sovereign (she/they)  
 Dis 1 | For 5 | Ent 6 | Con 1 
 Units:  5
 Tally of Loss:  1
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   2 
 Lanterns:   0 [MISSING] 
 
   Round 4 - Illuminated Twilight 
 
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion - Model Building: Unnamed Region 16 -  17 
 The people crave models, walkway runners, showcases, the perfect body. Who better than the Model Builders of [16] who carve, craft and build the perfect models out of the run-off from the gutters.. Just... don't mind the stitching. 
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Diversion - Botany: Unnamed Region 24 -  14 
 Plants crave the sun, yet the Sun is not seen in  the Fading Dusk. Interest in plants that could grow in half light or glow in the dark drive shadows to seek the botanists of [24] 
 [Secret] 
 [Secret] 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 The Twilight Sovereign gives the people what they want and Adopts Coatl Perijainism as the official religion of the Prayers of Sunset. 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different Conviction in the Fading Dusk apart from  Coatl Perijainism  to whom support is given. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Night District" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Lavish Feasts" Diversion 
 The End of an Era! The Start of A New One! The Twilight Sovereign Changes Masks! A New Mask Will Sit on the Throne! Ruler Refreshes Starting next round 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Capital: The Fading Dusk
Penumbra [0]: None Orbits the Dusk
Diversions: The Night District, Lavish Feasts
Stat Changes: +1 Entertainment
Other Changes:  Dawnstar Sovereign : Dis 4 / For 3 / Ent 3 / Con 1
 
 
  
Lleban
  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 3
Units 1
Discretion 4(+1)
Force 3
Entertainment 5
Conviction 6 (+1)
 
  Actions
  
Conviction  convert Unnamed District 17  roll 12 
Conviction  Convert Unnamed District 18  roll 12 
Secret
Attend Event The Princes’ Feast
Become Appeaser

 Non Actions 

Accept  Illuminated Twilight into the fold of Coatl Perijainism

 
  Liturgy of Xyothos 
 
Plunge your arm into the vicious mire
Brave the fishes jaws and the vituperous sand
Its ferrous treasure diverts you from stakes dire
This is Xykothos's Command

 
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 5
Force - 5
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 7 
 Units: 2
Mirth: 1  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Discretion]  Press Claim on Region 24 -  14  
  [Discretion]  Sleep With the Virgin 
  [Conviction]  The Dragon Cult girds Nezetkhamun against the Virgin's price -  13  
  [Force]  Raise 1 Unit 
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 Secret 
 
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 5 Force 5 Entertainment 7 Conviction 1 Mirth 2 Units 6  
 [Discretion]  Attend The Prince's Feast and accept the Tools of Prosperity (+1 to Acquisitions.).
 [Discretion]  Convince the Griot to visit the Deprivation.  17 
 [Discretion]  Investigate my snuffed lantern.  14 
 [Discretion]  Establish Claim on Region 15 (Talisha Collins sent as Ambassatrix and potential marriage candidate.  17 
 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +2 Discretion 
 Nonactions:  Resist attempts to acquire my owned Diversions  ESPECIALLY  Chariot Racing.
Torv
   Okynnet   
  [SECRET]  
 “Competition is an example of separation. First, when you have
thoughts of competition, it is coming from a lack mentality, as
you are saying there is a limited supply. You are saying there is not enough for everybody, so we have to compete and fight to get
things. When you compete you can never win, even if you think
you won. By the law of attraction, as you compete you will attract
many people and circumstances to compete against You in every
single aspect of your life, and in the end you will lose. We are all
One, and so when you compete, you compete against You. You
have to get competition out of your mind, and become a creative
mind. Focus only on your dreams, your visions, and take all competition
out of the equation.” 
  Refresh ruler next round to  Vide . . .  D5 - F2 - E1 - C5  
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
 Dis 2 | For 7 | Ent 3 | Con 5 
 Units:  5
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   2 
 Lanterns:   1 [LIT] 
 
   Round 1     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on. How long has it been? The Emperor died on a Tuesday. Last week? There was no way of telling. The city constantly churned with an impossible number of people despite the unending fighting. The Committee for Public Safety met for the third time last night. Alexander Baudelaire was backed by the leaders of the two largest sub-factions of Marteaunards, Ferdinand Rousseau and Margot Boulanger. Together they made up the left flank of the Committee, the Marteaunards. By numbers they were easily the largest faction in the committee, but not a majority. The rest of the committee was made of a shaky alliance between the Byzantines and Tulanists. The Byzantines had little in the way of leadership, and some were quick to call them cowards and sheep, but the Tulanists were lead by Pierre-Martin Laurent, the Comte de Jardin. He was one of the few noblemen to turn to the cause of equality, before so many of his cousins had been put to the guillotine even. His wealth and status still held him apart, and the rest of the Tulanists were quick to follow him.

For now they were aligned towards the future of Luttoise. None of them really remembered Luttoise being so large though. New peoples and lands seemed to circle the outskirts of the city, but they followed the committee. The foreigners were welcomed with open arms. Some even joined the committee. They told stories of their own recently deposed emperor. The siren call of equality must have brought them here to join this brotherhood arm in arm.

  Actions:  
 
  [Force] Raise troops! 
  [Force] Raise troops! 
  [Conviction] Consecrate the altar of Tisear! ( Success! 12 ) 
  [Conviction] Consecrate the altar of Sanctum! ( Success! 18 ) 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
  Support the consecration of the altar in Tisear to Revolutionary Spirit. 
 
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [4]: Tisear, Hraesholm, The Maelstrom, Sanctum
Diversions: Executions, Public Executions
Stat Changes: +1 Force, +1 Conviction
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
mystic1110
  Round Four is Closed  

The verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

  The Fourth Vote is Open  
Torv
Videljus sat atop her throne, an arm lighter than last season.
 
“Hm, yes Mother?”  

A warmth radiated from the snake skull, pushing away all doubts of summer. She was clever, her light would shine again, the arm regrow.

 “No Mother. I will not abandon the shadows but thank you, this is nice.” 
 [Videljus becomes Videskymning: D5 - F2 - E1 - C6] 
zabbarot
The committee had stayed late into the night before the work of government turned to drink and debauchery. Now most had gone home or slept here, at their desks or under them. Alexander gazed at the lantern. It had such a simple request, but something about it was deeply unsettling. Where had it come from, and how was this the fourth vote? He couldn't remember. It had just always been there.

He took another swig of Bordeaux before the chamber doors flew open and jolted him out of his thoughts. It was the Comte de Jardin, freshly returned from a night on the town.

"Have you still not answered that awful thing?" The comte's eyes were heavy, but his speech was still clear.

"We've done this before.  I've  done this before."

"What? Vote? That's all we do."

"No," Alexander's voice got softer, "with the lantern. This night even. I think." His heart raced as he looked around the room. Had it always been this...decayed? Old blood and bullet holes he remembered from when they took the chambers nearly four months ago, but some of it seemed so much older. Then his eyes settled on something he had no memory of.

There were deep gouges in the marble floor, extending from the main chamber doors. It was as if something heavy had been dragged in and then back out. He stood to look closer, and was confronted by disjointed memories. A hideous creature with a massive shield. Executions after it left, the Comte's execution.

"How long have we been here? In this purgatory?" His face paled. He was beginning to grasp the answer but he didn't want it.

The Comte was flustered. Drink slowed his thoughts and kept him from parcing Alexander's full meaning. "Since we slew the Emperor. What are you asking?"

"I... I saw you die. I think I've died." His heart pounded harder as if to convince him otherwise, but he reached under his coat and felt dozens of raised scars, stab wounds. "Pierre, I think this is hell."


 The committee abstains 
TheDarkDM
The shadow of Nezetkhamun swept back to the Decadence.  Looming above the pyramid of the Teotlkan, his awareness descended down to cradle the light of his lantern.

 "I vote to cast down the Veiled General Toyollo VII." 
Aedilred
" The Appeasers said that to bend the knee to them would be to step outside the game. Any who did so have no need of their lantern. I too vote for the Veiled General Toyollo VII. "
Lleban
In the Exarch's palace halls, Toyollo receives whispers from a hummingbird. As it flutters away he speaks into the Lanterns light. I vote for the fell beast  Nezetkhamun ."
mystic1110
  The Fourth Vote is Closed  

The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.

   Round 5 is Open   
   Vigil   

The light of the candles inside the following Lanterns fades until they become pinpricks of black so deep that it feels like the Lantern Holder might be pulled in. The Verdigris walls of the Lanterns provide a bulwark against the draw of the perceived depth until suddenly the blackness collapses into itself in an ebon gong and is gone. The only clue that the candle has once been lit is only faint smoke caressing the tallow.

The Verdigris Lantern recovered from the Unstained Prince and now held by the Joint Committee for Public Safety has been Snuffed

The darkness within the lantern was deep and impenetrable, a void that had long forgotten the warmth of light. Something within the lantern began to stir—a faint flicker, like the first heartbeat of a universe yet to be born. The flicker grew, intensifying with a sudden brilliance, until, with a burst of radiant energy, the lantern blazed to life, its flame igniting with the force of a star's creation. The light poured out, banishing the shadows and filling the room with a blinding, celestial glow, as if the very essence of life had been reborn in that single, miraculous moment.

The Seventh Verdigris Lantern held by Mad Maldarr Drivas has been Relit.

  Chapter Four (continued) - Mischief of Clews  

The people of the Decadence had long accepted the oppressive decay of their world, where rot and ruin were as much a part of life as the air they breathed. But an unsettling change began to creep through their District, starting with faint noises—scratching in the walls of crumbling villas, the whisper of movement just out of sight. This sense of unease deepened as the disturbances grew more frequent, a slow, insidious invasion that slipped into their lives like a shadow at dusk. Rats, once a rare sight, began to appear in greater numbers, darting through narrow streets and slipping into homes. Initially, they stayed on the periphery, skittering away before they could be fully seen, but soon, they grew bolder. Their numbers swelled, and they moved in packs, their beady red eyes glinting with a strange intelligence. Food disappeared overnight, gnawed to crumbs, and the inhabitants began to wake with the unsettling sensation of being watched from the darkness.

In the hidden crevices of the city, centipedes began to emerge, their long, segmented bodies slipping out of cracks in the stone like dark, liquid shadows. They moved with a deliberate, unsettling grace, their countless legs creating a soft, whispering rustle that grew louder in the stillness of the night. Walls seemed to pulse with life as the centipedes burrowed deeper, and ancient stone crumbled under the weight of an unseen force. The decay that had always clung to the Decadence now seemed to intensify, as if the city itself were rotting from within, accelerated by the relentless advance of vermin.

In Hraesholm, the change was no less terrifying, a creeping nightmare that slithered through dense woodlands and twisted streets. The forests, always dense and foreboding, grew more impenetrable, as though the very trees were conspiring against the living. Thorns stretched out like fingers, snagging at clothes and skin, drawing blood with a malevolent hunger. As twilight lingered longer each day, shadows deepened, and in that thickening gloom, the vermin began to emerge. Rats, larger and more aggressive than before, moved silently, their glowing red eyes piercing the half-light cast by flickering torches. They were a constant, creeping dread that settled over the District like a shroud, a dark omen that heralded the coming of something far worse.

As the rats grew bolder, they were joined by other, more unsettling creatures. Centipedes, long and glistening, slipped out from the cracks in the cobblestone streets and crumbling walls of Hraesholm. Their segmented bodies twisted and writhed with a sickening grace, moving with a dark intelligence that belied their insectoid nature. These creatures didn’t merely invade; they infested, burrowing into the very fabric of the city. Walls pulsed with hidden life as they tunneled through the stone, weakening structures and spreading an invisible rot. Even the Primordial Sanctum, the heart of the Fangborne Covenant, felt tainted, the vermin's presence subtly unraveling the tightly wound threads of tradition. Outside the city, smaller settlements fell under siege by this invisible enemy. Rats gnawed through wooden walls, their relentless chewing a maddening sound in the night, while centipedes slithered into beds and cupboards, leaving behind only a trail of unease and dread.

  Chapter Conclusion - Remove the Vermin  
 
 Spoiler: Infestations 
Vermin Infestations are treated like claims and can be removed as such. The cause of an infestation may be investigated. Infestations if allowed to continue may lead to other Chapters. Removing an Infestation does not remove the chance of further Infestations occurring.
 

  Chapter Five (continued) - Tallow-Eater  

Maldarr Drivas trudged back to the Deprivation, the weight of his decision pulling at him like an anchor. He had refused their offer, turning away from their cold promises of perfection. Something deeper, something older, had called him back to his home.

The Deprivation was as he left it: a land of dull colors and lingering shadows, the once vibrant fields now seemed muted and exhausted. The Tipsy Plain stretched before him like a worn tapestry, its grapevines clinging stubbornly to the dry earth. The Sparklean River, usually glimmering under the midday sun, seemed to move sluggishly, as though it too had grown weary in his absence.

As Maldarr approached Askerville his gaze was drawn upward to the looming castle overlooking the sea. The red flags, tattered and sun-faded, hung limply, their once-proud rose emblems barely visible. The celebrations within the city continued, as they always did, a ceaseless parade of revelry that now felt hollow to Maldarr. But something had changed. The atmosphere was different. There was a new energy, a tension that prickled the back of his neck as he made his way through the crowded streets. The people, usually lost in their indulgences, seemed distant, their eyes unfocused as though they were sensing something just beyond the edge of their awareness. The constant music of the city was tinged with an undercurrent of dissonance, a note of unease that set Maldarr's teeth on edge.

He had nearly reached the castle when he noticed it—a light in the distance, a glow that stood out starkly against the grayness of the city. His breath caught in his throat as he realized where the light was coming from: the Verdigris Lantern, the sacred relic that had stood dark and lifeless when he had left at the Princes’ call...

Maldarr quickened his pace, his heart pounding in his chest. He arrived at the base of the tower that held the Verdigris Lantern and gazed up in awe. The lantern, once an empty relic, was now a blinding beacon, its light so intense that it was like watching a star being born. The lantern’s flame burned with a fierce, radiant energy, casting long shadows that flickered and twisted as if alive. The city around him was momentarily bathed in its brilliance, the light pushing back the oppressive gloom that had long settled over the Deprivation.

For a moment, there was silence. A profound stillness that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Maldarr felt a strange peace settle over him, as if for the first time in his life, he had found what he was searching for. But the peace was fleeting, quickly replaced by a growing sense of dread. The light, so pure and beautiful, seemed too bright, too intense. It was a light that shone brightest in the void, and in that void, something had seen it.

Maldarr's eyes widened as he felt the change in the air. The warmth from the lantern's light was suddenly undercut by an unnatural cold, a chill that crept into his bones and filled him with a sense of impending doom. The sky above Askerville began to warp and twist, the atmosphere bending as if something unseen was pressing against it, trying to break through.
A screeching hum began to build, faint at first, but growing louder with each passing second. It was the sound of teeth grinding against teeth, a noise that reverberated through the city like a death knell. The air itself seemed to vibrate, the very fabric of reality fraying at the edges.

Maldarr turned, his eyes scanning the horizon, and there it was. White ligaments and whiter teeth, the monstrosity was ripping its way through the void towards the Deprivation. Its radial spiral wings twisted and unspooled, propelling it forward in a sickening display of unnatural movement. It was as if the creature was tearing through the very essence of the world, dragging itself closer and closer with a hunger that could never be sated.

The sky above Askerville began to crack and shatter, the creature’s presence distorting the very air, bending light and shadow alike. Tallow-Eater’s maw twisted into existence within the city square, a gaping void that sucked in the surrounding light. Buildings began to crumble, their foundations eaten away by the creature's relentless hunger. The people of Askerville screamed in terror as the darkness closed in, the once lively streets now a place of chaos and despair.

Maldarr could feel the creature's pull growing stronger, the void dragging him closer to its maw. He pulled his weapon ready to face it, this would not be his end . . . Thalia. She was still out there . . .

  Chapter Conclusion - Fell or Escape the Tallow-Eater.  
 
 Spoiler: Interacting with the Tallow-Eater 

 Escaping from the Tallow-Eater 

The Tallow-Eater will, each round, target the player who has the highest total of Lit Lanterns and was targeted by the most Lantern Actions. For example, if Player A has 2 lit lanterns and was not the target of any lantern actions, Player B has 1 lit lantern and was the target of 3 lantern actions, and Player C has a Lantern but was targeted by 4 snuffs - the Tallow-Eater will target Player B. If it is a tie between players the Tallow-Eater will attack a qualifying player randomly. The Tallow-Eater will only attack players whose total of Lit Lanterns and Targets is 2 or more, meaning if everyone has 1 Lit Lantern and no non-Snuff Lantern Actions were taken, then the Tallow-Eater will not move. The presence of Indumathi, ????? or ????? will shield a district from the Tallow-Eater as they will dim the Lanterns.

The target will always be against the character or Cult holding the Verdigris Lantern(s). If the action is against a Character, the Tallow-Eater is effectively making two rolls. The first is a Smite attempt. The second roll is to Devour the lit flame of the Verdigris Lantern. Devoured Flames may not be relit as normal, although a Miracle might help relight them.

It is possible for the targeted Character to escape with their Lantern from the Tallow-Eater and avoid making the Smite and Devour checks. To do so, the Character must go into the Gutters or the Halls (see their respective chapters as to how to travel to them). Escaping into the Gutters involves the Character losing the Tallow-Eater in the pipes and sewers and can be accomplished with the usual Gutter explore sub-action (discretion) or an escape roll (force) - the TN for either roll is ?????. Escaping into the Halls involves the Character losing the Tallow-Eater in the halls and can be accomplished with the usual Hall explore sub-action (conviction) or an escape roll (force) - the TN for either roll is ?????. Bringing the Tallow-Eater to either the Gutters or the Halls though may have consequences. Failing to flee also means that the Character is automatically smited and the light of their lantern is automatically Devoured.

The Character may also escape the Tallow-Eater by fleeing and discarding their Lantern (as a whole this is a Discretion Action), the Tallow-Eater will always follow the Lantern or Lanterns that were subject to the most amount of Lantern Actions in the prior round. If the character does this the Lantern(s) is automatically Devoured and the Character can avoid a Smite check. If the Lantern is held in a Cult, the Cult is forced to fight (see below), but instead of Smite roll the Tallow-Eater will make a Cleanse roll against the Cult.

 Fighting the Tallow-Eater 

If the player doesn’t flee the Tallow-Eater they must make the Smite (Conviction TN?????) and Devour (Entertainment TN ?????) checks against the Tallow-Eater. If successful, they may try to attack the Tallow-Eater with a Force roll. Other players who own or have a claim on the targeted player’s capitol, own the diversion in the capitol, have a Crossroads the capitol, or belong to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in the capitol may may assist or hinder the ruler against the Tallow-Eater with a Force Action against a TN of 12. If a success they add or subtract 2 of the targeted roll. If your Ruler is fighting the Tallow-Eater may not also be involved as a Commander during a Battle in the same round. If the attack meets a TN of ????? then the Tallow-Eater will retreat, but the players might obtain something for their troubles. It is possible to destroy the Tallow-Eater entirely.
 

   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 Synod of Savagery attends the Princes’ feast and accepts the gift of  Rites of Purification 
 The Deprivation attends the Princes’ feast and accepts the gift of Tools of Prosperity 
 The Silver Refuge attends the Princes’ feast and accepts the gift of Tools of Prosperity 
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII has bent his knee and the Holy City of Uxmal has become a vassal of the Princes of Perfect Rule. They have gained the enactments of Pursuit of Truth, Shields of Perseveration, Tools of Prosperity and Rites of Purification. The Princes of Perfect Rule will support all of Toyoll’s acquisitions and consecrations in the Districts in their Penumbra. 
 The Decadence has pressed its claim on Lanternless District 24 which falls into the Decadence’s Penumbra. The Decadence has gained 1 Unit. 
 Mad Maldarr held the relit lantern aloft, a shadow loomed at the edge of his vision - the Tallow Eater drawn to the flame. In that moment of increased tension, leaned close to the lantern, his breath caught as he noticed the flame flickering in patterns that mimicked a heartbeat. The realization struck him like a cold wind: the flame was not just a source of light, but something more. As he peered deeper into the lantern, he could feel it — something almost alive.. No time to ponder this latest mystery, the Tallow Eater has arrived. 
 The Excoriated Griot journeyed through the somber expanse of the Deprivation with a sense of purpose, his robe of excoriated flesh trailing behind him. His destination was the fortress of Mad Malladar. The Griot’s resolve was unshakeable as he approached the fortress, his mind focused on his ultimate goal: reaching the Halls of the Dripping Throne. The promise of discovering hidden truths and uncharted knowledge fueled his determination, as he made his way through the labyrinthine paths leading to Mad Malladar’s stronghold.

Upon arrival, the Griot sought an audience with the formidable Mad Malladar, presenting his request with a mixture of respect and urgency. His plea was clear: to be escorted to the Halls of the Dripping Throne, where the Library’s ancient tomes awaited. He spoke with poetic fervor, his words a blend of reverence and anticipation, explaining that his quest was not driven by mere curiosity but by a deep-seated desire to inscribe the forgotten lore into his own verses. TheGriot’s eyes gleamed with the promise of discovery, his conviction that the secrets of the Necropolis held the key to his artistic transcendence evident in every phrase. The Excoriated Griot arrives to the Deprivation  
 Talisha Collins helps establish a claim for the Deprivation in Lanternless District 15. 
 The Princes of Perfect Rule convince the people of Lanternless District 26 that they have a claim.. 
 The hunters of the Synod of Savagery, long renowned for their brutal efficiency in tracking and dispatching their prey, have begun to remember their ancient prowess in dueling. Memories of old battles and forgotten techniques flood their minds, reigniting a fierce pride and precision in single combat. The dueling grounds, once silent and overgrown, now echo with the clash of steel and the sharp, calculated movements of the hunters, each one a master of their craft. Their skills, honed in the wilds and tempered by the Synod's teachings, have returned with a vengeance, making them not just hunters, but formidable duelists.  Synod of Savagery have recalled their Cultural Identity of Dueling . 
 The chamber was dimly lit, the air thick with a palpable tension that crackled like static between the towering figure of the Teotlkan and the Virgin of Brutal Promise. She stood before him, her eyes covered by two of her hands. Nezetkhamun, in his full draconic glory, was a creature of sheer, overwhelming presence. His scales, dark as the void, shimmered with an otherworldly light, each one a facet of the raw power he embodied. He towered over her, his wings unfurled, casting long, jagged shadows across the stone walls. His molten gold eyes burned with a desire so intense it threatened to consume everything in its path. Yet, beneath that desire, there was something else—a flicker of hesitation, as if he knew, even in his godlike form, that he was not in control of what was to come.

The Virgin stepped forward, her movements slow, deliberate, each step a declaration of her dominion. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the scales of his chest, tracing the intricate patterns with a touch that was both tender and possessive. The texture of his scales was rough under her fingertips, like the surface of ancient stone, but beneath them, she could feel the heat of the fire that raged within him. She smiled, a small, cruel smile, and leaned in closer, her lips nearly brushing the place where his heart would be.

“ You are mine, Nezetkhamun ,” she whispered, her voice a sultry purr that reverberated through his entire being. Her words were not a request but a command, one that she knew he could not refuse. Nezetkhamun growled, a low, rumbling sound that shook the chamber, but even as he did, he found himself lowering his head in submission, his massive form trembling with the effort of holding back the inferno within him. The Virgin’s six arms moved with graceful precision, wrapping around him, pulling him down to her level, where she could look him directly in the eye.

Nezetkhamun’s wings beat once, twice, sending a gust of wind through the chamber that extinguished all the candles - throwing the room into darkness. The Virgin’s hands moved to guide him, her fingers sliding down his scales, teasing, taunting, taking her time as she orchestrated every moment of their union. Nezetkhamun, despite his immense strength, found himself powerless to resist her. His body responded to her every command, every subtle gesture, as if she had tapped into the very core of his being and made it her own.

She lowered herself onto him with a slow, deliberate grace, taking full control of the act, dictating the pace, the rhythm, the very essence of their coupling. Each movement she made was precise, calculated, designed to draw out his pleasure and her dominance. Nezetkhamun’s massive form trembled beneath her, his wings folding inward, his claws digging into the stone floor as he struggled to contain the flames that roared inside him.

But the Virgin did not relent. She moved with the confidence of a queen, her body a weapon of seduction and control. Nezetkhamun roared, a sound that echoed through the chamber, shaking the very foundations of the Necropolis. She held him fast, her hands gripping him with an ironclad authority that left no room for doubt—he was hers, in every possible way.
Nezetkhamun shuddered beneath her, his body reaching its breaking point, the flames within him flaring to life one last time before they consumed him. With a final, powerful thrust, he roared his release, his voice a thunderous boom that filled the chamber, leaving no doubt as to the depth of his submission.

The Virgin of Brutal Promise reclined beside the Teotlkan, her dark skin glistening with the sweat of exertion, her smile still hauntingly seductive as she seemingly drifted off to sleep, spent.. Nezetkhamun—the Teotlkan—could feel her presence even in sleep, a constant pull, an invasive force that seemed to pervade every thought, every memory. He lay beside her, his once-godly form now reduced to this strange, vulnerable state, and as he closed his eyes, the memories of his ascension flooded back to him, but they were no longer pure. They were tainted by her influence.

The memory of the ritual returned in vivid detail. He saw the grand arena, the thousands of Tzalteca dressed in black, their voices raised in fervent prayer. The sacrificial maidens, once a symbol of purity and devotion, now appeared as dark, twisted reflections of themselves, their once-sacred robes clinging to their bodies in ways that accentuated their sinuous curves. The blood that had flowed from their wrists to the Dragon's Blood below seemed now to run thicker, darker, as if it were tainted by some unseen corruption.

As he relived the ritual, he saw her— the Virgin—moving among the participants. She walked among the priests, her lithe form brushing against them as she passed, their chants faltering as her presence drained them of their zeal, replacing it with inexplicable sudden displays of profane onanism. The pure white sheets that had covered the inner sanctum were now stained with crimson, and as she walked, she gathered the essence of the ceremony to herself, feeding off it, licking her lips.
The golden man, once a figure of reverence, knelt before the altar, his chest bared to the onyx blade. But in Nezetkhamun’s post-coital dream, the Virgin was there too, her body pressed against his, her six arms wrapping around him, her lips whispering promises of pleasure into his ear. When Nezetkhamun raised the blade and brought it down in a lethal stroke, it was not just the golden man’s blood that splattered across the altar, but hers too, mingling with the blood of the sacrifice. She smiled as she bled, her eyes locking with Nezetkhamun’s, and in that moment, the power he had sought through the ritual seemed to slip from his grasp and flow into her.

Her voice echoed through his mind, drowning out the chants of the priests, the cheers of the crowd.

“ Sex, Teotlkan ,” she whispered, “ is the foundation of all empires. It is through the act of conception that nations are born, through the lust of their rulers that they grow, through the seed planted deep within the womb that they are nourished. Lust is the true power, the true driving force behind every empire. It is not blood that sustains them, but the carnal desire. The Womb is the True Empire. To Breed the True Victory .”

As she spoke, the memory of the ritual continued to unravel. The flames that had once consumed the sacrificial pit now flickered and writhed like serpents, their heat no longer a purifying force, but something altogether more noxious. The Dragon's Blood, once the lifeblood of his transformation, now bubbled and boiled, as if spoiled by her touch. And the figure that had emerged from the flames—his draconic form, his perfected self—was no longer his alone. She was there too, her presence entwined with his, her influence poisoning even this final, triumphant moment.

In the corrupted memory, Nezetkhamun saw Senusret, his only legitimate son, dressed in his angular black robe, its sleeves and collar embroidered with red thread and miniature rubies that resembled flames. But the Virgin was with him too, her body wrapped around his, rutting with him and draining him of life as they lay together. Her eyes met Nezetkhamun’s as she kissed his son’s lips, her smile growing wider, more triumphant. “ I will give you a successor, Nezetkhamun ,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry.

The nightmare continued, her presence inescapable. As the Virgin’s touch spread through the memory, Nezetkhamun saw her long, dark tendrils of veins extend through time, snaking into the very essence of his bloodline. They twisted and writhed, reaching not only into his own veins but into the veins of all his followers, the bloodlines intertwined in a dark, living tapestry.
The Virgin’s grip tightened, her essence seeping into every branch of the bloodline, every thread connecting his followers and their progeny. She was taking not just his bloodline but the essence of all who had pledged themselves to him, their legacies consumed by her insidious power.

A dark, eerie laughter filled the air as the Virgin observed the mass of bloodlines she had gathered. “Ah, Nezetkhamun,” she said, her voice lilting with surprise. “ I mistook you for a small god. But it seems you are wiser than that. Your bloodline is a web more intricate than I imagined. You have woven a network far beyond yourself .”

She began to laugh in the nightmare, echoing through the corrupted memories, as she began to twist and compress the tangled mass of bloodlines into a grotesque, wet ball. The nightmare approached a fever pitch as she spread her legs and began to take that ball and . . . .

Nezetkhamun awoke, his body drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. He was alone in the brothel, the Virgin of Brutal Promise nowhere to be seen. The chamber was cold, the candles burning low, and the oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of his ragged breathing. The memories of the ritual still lingered in his mind, corrupted and twisted beyond recognition. The Virgin had taken something from him,  leaving him feeling less than the god he had become.

And in the darkness, he could still feel her presence, a shadow lurking just out of sight, waiting . . . something being born.

 The Virgin laying with Nezetkhamun confirms that she did not sense the Beggar’s venereal presence on him and that he is confirmed Faithful. The Virgin’s Original Price would have been to cap Nezetkhamun’s Stats at 9, but he has chained his people’s blood to his own and instead if Nezetkhamun uses any stat at 10, his capital will become listless. Safeguards are now available.  
 
 
 Force
 
 Synod of Savagery raises unit. 
 The Silver Refuge raises 2 units. 
 The Decadance raises a unit. 
 The People's Revolution raises 2 units. 
 In the dead of night, when the silence of the Veiled General’s chamber was interrupted only by the distant hum of the restless city, a group of shadowy figures slipped into the room, their movements as fluid as brushstrokes on a canvas. Clad in painted robes that blended seamlessly with the darkness, they approached Toyollo VII with an almost reverent silence, their intent clear—to capture and abduct the vampire general. Yet, they underestimated the man before them. Toyollo’s senses, honed by centuries of bloodshed and survival, had already alerted him to their presence. With a swift, almost dismissive motion, he rose from his resting place, his eyes burning with an unnatural glow, casting a dim light over the intruders.
The room erupted into a violent dance as Toyollo unleashed his fury upon the would-be captors. His movements were a blur, a deadly symphony of strikes and counters, his disfigured yet powerful form cutting through the assassins with terrifying ease. The elegance of the intruders, so evident in their initial approach, was shattered by the ferocity of Toyollo’s response. One by one, the assassins fell, their artistically precise attacks proving useless against the sheer might and dark magic of the Veiled General. As the last of them crumpled to the floor, Toyollo stood amidst the chaos, unscathed and unimpressed. He gazed down at the fallen bodies, scoffing at their naivety. They were but tools, sent by enemies too cowardly to face him directly, and they had failed spectacularly. The night’s attempt on his life was a mere annoyance, nothing more.  Toyollo has +2 to avoid further Abduction Attempts in Round 5. Additionally, the Princes of Perfect Rule offer their Appeaser to Investigate the Action if their next vote is to Praise the Princes.  
 Hannah awoke abruptly in the middle of the colorless night, her senses instantly alert to the presence of intruders. The room, drained of all color, cast a stark contrast against the dark figures moving silently towards her. Assassins, clad in black, their faces hidden behind veils, crept closer with calculated precision. The intent was not to kill but to capture her, a realization that sent a chill down her spine. Her heart pounded as she reached for the dagger hidden beneath her pillow.
In a swift, fluid motion, Hannah leapt from her bed, the blade gleaming in the dim light as she struck. The first assassin fell silently, a look of surprise frozen on his face. The others reacted quickly, but Hannah moved with lethal grace, her royal lineage and years of training taking over. She fought fiercely, but not without cost. As she dispatched the last of her attackers, a sharp pain flared in her side. She looked down to see blood seeping from a wound, her breath catching as the reality of the night’s assault settled in. The danger was far from over, but she had survived—barely.  Hannah has +2 to avoid further Abduction Attempts in Round 5  
 The Chronocruise creates the Tactical Doctrine “All Hands on Deck!” which provides,  when defending, +2 to battle and -10% own casualties . 
 Valyn entered the arena, her burning feet leaving trails of charred earth behind her. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, thick with the sound of buzzing flies as they swarmed around the skeletal remains of fallen warriors. Before her stood the Knight of Oath and Obligation, a grotesque figure whose upper body towered above his lower half, supported by four massive gauntleted hands instead of hooves. The nails of his tiny shriveled feet created a tail behind him. His once-golden armor was now tarnished and bloodstained, a testament to countless battles fought and won. In his grasp, he held two enormous lances, each impaled with the decomposing bodies of his past foes.

The Knight’s booming voice echoed through the desolate arena, " I am the Knight of Oath and Obligation, undefeated in the joust. Behold the fallen around me—they rise again with each dawn, only to fall by my hand once more. Will you join this eternal cycle, challenger? Or will you add another tomb to my care? "

Valyn met the Knight’s gaze with a cold, unflinching stare. " I will end your cycle of death ," she declared, her voice steady despite the oppressive dread that clung to the air. With a calm yet resolute stride, she advanced, her feet leaving behind charred imprints that smoldered on the arena’s stone floor.

The duel began with a deafening clash, the Knight charging at Valyn with the force of a tempest. His lances struck like twin bolts of lightning, but Valyn, her body moving with a fluidity that belied her strength, dodged and parried with precision. The arena echoed with the brutal exchange of blows, sparks flying as steel met steel. The Knight fought with calculated restraint, his strikes powerful yet measured, as if testing the extent of Valyn’s abilities. He was a master of combat, his every move deliberate and controlled, his pride in his skill evident in every calculated blow.

But Valyn was no ordinary challenger. She weaved through the Knight’s onslaught, her movements a dance of fire and grace. The ground beneath her scorched with every step, the heat of her burning feet intensifying as she pushed herself harder, faster. The Knight, though formidable, was holding back, testing her with each swing of his lances, confident that he would soon crush her beneath his might.

Valyn feigned a stumble, baiting the Knight into a heavy strike. As his lance descended with the force of a falling star, she twisted her body, narrowly evading the blow and countering with a vicious upward slash that left a searing trail of fire in its wake. The Knight roared in surprise as the flames licked at his battered armor, singeing the exposed flesh beneath.

The arena seemed to hold its breath as the two combatants circled each other. The Knight, now wary of Valyn’s strength, unleashed a barrage of swift, unpredictable attacks. He switched tactics, using all six of his arms in a blinding flurry of motion, his lances thrusting with lethal speed while he reared and his other hands reached out to grapple and crush. Valyn was forced onto the defensive, her blade spinning in a blur to deflect the relentless onslaught. The ground beneath them quaked with the force of their battle, the very earth trembling under the weight of their clashing wills.

At one point, the Knight slammed his fists into the earth, causing the ground to fracture and crack. Valyn leaped into the air, narrowly avoiding the shockwave, but the Knight was ready. With a speed that defied his size, he swung one of his lances upward, catching Valyn mid-leap and sending her crashing into the arena wall. Dust and debris filled the air as Valyn struggled to her feet, the wall behind her crumbling from the impact. The Knight loomed over her, his eyes gleaming with a cruel, mocking light.

" Is that all you have, Bloodcaller? " he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. " I expected more from one who dared to challenge me. But it seems I overestimated you. "

But Valyn was not finished. She rose slowly, her eyes burning with a fierce determination. The flames at her feet intensified, spreading to her blade, which now glowed with a fiery light. With a sudden burst of speed, she launched herself at the Knight, her blade a comet of fire and steel. The Knight attempted to block the strike with his lances, but Valyn’s strength had grown. Her sword cleaved through the metal, shattering one of the lances and leaving the Knight momentarily stunned.

Seizing the opportunity, Valyn unleashed a relentless assault. She moved with a ferocity that left the Knight reeling, her strikes landing with brutal precision. Each swing of her sword sent waves of searing heat through the air, scorching the Knight’s armor and flesh. The once-unstoppable force was now on the defensive, struggling to keep up with Valyn’s newfound power.

The tide of battle shifted dramatically as Valyn revealed the full extent of her strength. She landed a powerful strike to the Knight’s chest, the impact sending him staggering back. Before he could recover, Valyn followed up with a spinning kick, her burning foot connecting with his helmet and sending him crashing to the ground. The force of the blow left a molten imprint on his armor, the metal sizzling and smoking where she had struck.

The Knight tried to rise, his remaining lance clattering to the ground as he used his massive arms to push himself up. But Valyn was relentless. She brought her blade down in a sweeping arc, severing one of his supporting arms at the wrist. The Knight bellowed in pain, his voice echoing through the arena as he collapsed onto his side, unable to support his weight.
Breathing heavily, Valyn stood over the fallen Knight, her blade still burning with a fierce, unyielding flame. The Knight, defeated and humiliated, glared up at her with a mix of rage and disbelief.

" You cheated, " he snarled, his voice thick with bitterness and fury. " You hid your true strength from me while I had lowered myself to make it a fair fight. Do you have no pride?! This is not the end. I will remember this insult. "

With those words, the Knight’s form began to dissolve into shadows that resembled dogs which ran from the arena like whipped curs, his voice lingering in the air like a curse. " I will return, and when I do, you will pay for this treachery ."

The arena fell eerily silent. Slowly, the dead that had been imprisoned by the Knight’s power began to stir. They rose from their slumber, their hollow eyes filled with a new light as they gathered around Valyn. "Thank you," they whispered, their voices soft yet filled with reverence. " We have been Sworn for eternal service to the Master of the Joust, as the Victor we are now in your service, Bloodcaller. "

 Valyn gains the remaining Lance of the Shrike, the Synod’s Tally of Loss increases by 3 and Disrupts are now available.  
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 Chronocruise Enterprises gains 2 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 The Deprivation gains 1 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 During one of the Chronocruise's voyages, deep in the heart of the ship, the captain faced a sudden and terrifying crisis: a meltdown in the furnace, threatening to consume the entire vessel. The clockwork mechanisms, which powered the ship, began to overheat, their gears grinding and smoking as they neared catastrophic failure.

In a desperate bid to save the ship, the captain frantically worked the controls, trying to stabilize the furnace. It was then, in the heat of the moment, that she inadvertently activated a hidden mechanism—one buried deep within the ship’s ancient design. Time seemed to slow, the furious clatter of the gears dimming to a distant hum. She watched in amazement as the temperature gauge, which had been spiraling out of control, began to reverse, the searing heat ebbing away as if time itself was winding backward.

Realizing what she had stumbled upon, the captain carefully manipulated the controls, learning to harness this newfound power. The potential was exhilarating. Once the crisis was averted, and the furnace stabilized, she couldn’t resist exploring this temporal magic further.

Over the following weeks, the captain began to use time manipulation for leisure aboard the Chronocruise. She would reverse moments to extend the perfect sunset, relive the thrill of a particularly successful voyage, or even slow time during the most exquisite meals, savoring every second. This discovery turned the already luxurious voyages into something truly extraordinary, with guests experiencing and re-experiencing the finest moments of their journeys as if time itself danced to the captain’s will.

 Chronocruise develops the enactment of Leisurely Reclaim - If you attempt a theft or resist a theft and fail you may “replay” the theft after it occurs with an Entertainment Check against TN 14. In this replay, you and the other party roll again, but this time, you add an additional +1 to your roll. The new result stands, even if it’s worse.  
 Prayers of Sunset has acquired the Diversions of Model Building and Botany 
 The crew of the Final Frontier awoke to the piercing alarms, their once-proud halls now filled with the frantic movement of shadows. Phantom figures, remnants of the Dasari, rushed from their quarters, their spectral forms flickering with urgency as they gathered in the command center. Captain Aurelius Marten Vox, ever the embodiment of resolve, stood before the central console, his gaze locked on the empty space where the lantern—an artifact of unparalleled importance—had been securely kept. The lantern's theft sent ripples of unease through the crew, its absence a harbinger of potential disaster.
As the investigation unfolded, strange clues emerged, each more troubling than the last. Near the vault, where the lantern had been stored, they discovered fragments of fabric and dust —both a rust-red hue that didn’t match anything within the Final Frontier. More ominous was that the evidence remained hot to the touch, heat seemingly trapped within.  The Fourth Verdigris Lantern entrusted to Aurelius Marten Vox has been stolen  
 
 
 Conviction
 
 The sphere in the Decadence continues to wither in an accelerated decay, its surface peeling away like layers of diseased skin. The waxy liquid also continues to curdle and coagulate, thick, viscous pools that seep into the ground, tainting the earth beneath. As the liquid continues to rot, the surrounding air grows thick with a stench of sour decay, and the black crystals that formed at the edges of the sphere's wounds proliferate with unnatural vigor, spreading outwards in a web of corruption. The sphere itself pulses erratically. It seems to shudder with each beat. 
 The Chronocruise has adopted the worship of the Dragon Cult. 
 The Prayers of Sunset has adopted the worship of Coatl Perijainism 
 The altars in Lanternless District 17 and 18 are consecrated to the worship of Coatl Perijainism. 
 The Altars of Tisear and the Sanctum are consecrated to the worship of the Revolutionary Spirit. 
 After leaving the Princes' palace, the Twilight Sovereign made her way to a secluded chamber, shrouded in darkness. The severed arm of Videljus, now animated by the Sovereign's shadows, twitched and twisted with unnatural life, its form contorting as it took on a new shape.

The arm elongated and bent in impossible ways, its fingers merging and reshaping until the outer two fingers formed a mock mouth, moving with exaggerated expressions as if mimicking speech. The creature, now fully formed, was a grotesque fusion of arm and shadow, a hand for a head with the other fingers acting as limbs. It slithered up the Sovereign's form, obedient and eager to serve its new master.

The Twilight Sovereign recalled when she strode with deliberate steps towards the desolate fields of the Farmer. In her memory the fields stretched out in a patchwork of strange and unsettling crops. Among them stood the Sunflowers, their heads unnaturally large and staring blankly at the never-ending twilight. It was here, amidst this surreal landscape, that the Sovereign found the Farmer with six arms—a grotesque figure embodying the grotesque industry of this forsaken realm.
The Farmer was a grim sight: a gaunt, spectral figure, his left hands gripping reapers that gleamed with a dull, deathly shine, while his grotesquely enlarged right hands held thick chains attached to an enormous, iron-wrought Forge. This monstrous device, with its iron teeth, plowed through the fertile ground, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. It was a Forge without fire, a mouth that chewed and masticated whatever was fed into it, reshaping it into new and horrifying forms.

The Twilight Sovereign halted a few paces from the Farmer. Her presence alone seemed to still the eerie rustle of the sunflowers, as if the very air held its breath. From within her robes, she produced a Verdigris Lantern, its bright white light casting an otherworldly glow on the scene. Beside her, a group of a thousand soldiers, their faces pale with terror, stood bound in chains. These were warriors from the Sovereign's own realm, brought here against their will, their eyes wide with the dawning horror of their fate.

The Farmer paused in his relentless reaping and turned towards the Sovereign, his expression inscrutable. The Twilight Sovereign, her voice as soft and cold as the twilight mist, spoke, "I offer you this Verdigris Lantern and the souls of these thousand men. They are my harvest for your Forge."

The Farmer regarded the soldiers, then nodded with a mechanical, almost dispassionate efficiency. The chains in his right hands tightened, and with an almost effortless pull, he dragged the massive Forge closer. The soldiers' fear became palpable, their shouts and cries rising into the air like a cacophony of despair. The Sovereign watched impassively, her eyes reflecting the glow of the Lantern.

One by one, the Farmer's left hands began to swing the reapers, cutting through the chains binding the soldiers. Each fallen chain clinked to the ground, and the soldiers, as if on some dreadful conveyer, were shoved towards the gaping maw of the Forge. The Farmer, with those grotesque right hands, grabbed the terrified men and stuffed them into the iron mouth. Their screams echoed through the twilight, a chorus of agony and terror that seemed to resonate with the very land.
The Forge, though without flame, emitted a grinding, chewing sound as it began to process its grim feast. The Verdigris Lantern, also placed into the Forge, exploded in a nova,, its light merging with the dreadful process. As the screams of the soldiers subsided, the Forge's iron teeth gnashing away their bodies and souls, a strange transformation occurred. From the depths of the Forge, a suit of armor began to emerge.

Covered in a thick layer of verdigris, the armor looked like an iron maiden inverted. The blades adorning it were sharp and cruel, each one forged from the essence of a tortured soul. The armor burned with a fierce white flame, a fire that did not consume but still seared. This was the Blightfire Bastion, an artifact born of despair and agony, infused with the insatiable bloodlust of a thousand souls screaming for vengeance.

The Twilight Sovereign watched as the Farmer presented the Blightfire Bastion to her, a creation as beautiful as it was terrible. She accepted the armor with a silent nod. The Farmer, his task complete, returned to his endless toil, dragging the Forge along the field and continuing to mow down the crop of this eerie realm.

Now, in the present, with deliberate care, the Twilight Sovereign presented the creature that was once part of Videljus to the Blightfire Bastion. As the arm-creature approached, the flames licked at its form, but the creature remained unharmed, its shadowy essence seemingly immune to the fire's touch.

The Sovereign watched as the creature, now the Armsmaster, donned the Blightfire Bastion. The flames flared brighter, the armor's cruel design accentuated by the flickering light. The Armsmaster, now fully armored and aflame, bowed deeply toward the Twilight Sovereign, its hand-head dipping low in reverence.

The Twilight Sovereign observed her creation with satisfaction, the private ritual complete. The Armsmaster, born of shadow and flame, stood ready, its loyalty unquestioned, its purpose clear. The Sovereign had taken what was once Videljus' and turned it into something far more formidable, a testament to her power and her will.

 The Third Verdigris Lantern has been transformed into the Blightfire Bastion. The Bastion has been Equipped to the Armsmaster. As long as its Player used a Deploy Unit, Purge, Sack, Cleanse, Smite, Abduct, Subvert or Theft action last Round, Characters equipped with the Bastion can act as Leaders in Battles with a Leaderscore of 9 (if your lantern is lit) or 7 (if your lantern is unlit). If the Bastion is equipped, thefts targeting the Bastion (or the Lantern, as they are one and the same now) trigger a Duel with its current wearer and unless the wearer is killed in the Duel, the Theft instead becomes an Abduction.  
 
 
 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn (she/they)  
 Dis 3 | For 5 | Ent 3 | Con 5 
 Units:  2
 Mirth:  0
 Tally of Loss:  5

 
   Round 5 - WIP 
  "Honor.. such a weak concept, championed by men too cowardly to admit what lurks inside. You craved my death, and I lusted after yours. The difference is simply.. that I took the weakness you saw in me, and allowed you to believe it. But fret not, ser knight.. You should rejoice. For I have freed you from your obligation."  
 
 [Dis] - Remove infestation from Hraesholm, failure 
 [For] - Deploy two units to the defense of the Fading Dusk 
 Word of conquest reaches the Maelstrom. Seeking not to disturb the machinations of the Bloodcaller, Talon Isolde sets upon the task of testing the nascent beast tribes, born anew of blood and fury. Flocks of wyvern-like humanoids take to the sky, a mixture of feather and ridges of scaleÂ—with long, barbed tails and powerful claws that could tear through light armor with ease. If the forces of Aurelius wished to set fire to the sky, it would be their final frontier, indeed.  
 SECRET 
 SECRET 
 Following the defeat of the Knight of Oaths and Obligations, the Primordial Sanctum grows spiritually dense, as wraiths and shadows flock to the nexus of HraesholmÂ’s power. None but the samsaeri are permitted inside. 
  Non-Actions:  
 
  Hinder all unauthorized attempts to convert Hraesholm, Sanctum, the Maelstrom and all other altars so claimed by the Synod. 
 Adopt Revolutionary Spirit as the Synod's faith. 
 Support Luttoise in converting Hraesholm to Revolutionary Spirit. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire diversions owned by the Synod. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to acquire diversions from Hraesholm, the Sanctum, or the Maelstrom. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -  Ruler 
Stat Changes:
Resource Changes:

Faith Size: 2 (SVG, R20)
Diversions: 2 (The Hunt, Jousting)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 6
Force - 5
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 7 
 Units: 3
Mirth: 1  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Discretion]  Press Claim on Region 24 
  [Discretion]  Investigate the Infestation -  13  
  [Conviction]  Convert the Altar of the Darkthorne Deprivation -  13  
  [Conviction]  Divine the nature of the Sphere -  16  
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 Secret 
 
Aedilred
  Onende, the Silver Refuge 
 Hannah X, Queen-Elect 
Discretion 5
Force 5
Entertainment 5
Conviction 4
 
The new recruits assembled in one of the larger squares before Shanadeer for the Queen-Elect's review.

"Where have they come from?" she asked, on closer inspection. They did not seem to resemble any familiar part of her people.

" They were created for this purpose, " said Dashunul. " We call them the Tabine, after the records in which the the secrets of their creation were found. They are bred to be absolutely loyal to their commanders. "

"To their commanders, or to the crown?"

" To their commanders... but we took the precaution in this case of making the commander in question  you . This is Haivarabam B. A is already deployed. "

"Good." She stopped and laid a hand on one of the nearby troops. "Their armour, is it effective?"

Dashunul shrugged. " As effective as anything. It will resist individual impacts from almost anything, but sustained blows or fire can breach it, depending on the source. "

"Haivarabam!" Hannah called. "Show me what you can do!" She gestured to an abandoned bandstand at the end of the square heavily adorned with advertising for the reunion of the band Guelta, the ticketing for which had caused riots some weeks before. As one, the Tabine turned, levelled their railguns, and obliterated the bandstand in a single fusillade.

The Queen-Elect nodded. "Continue the recruitment. We cannot afford to be caught defenceless again."


 
Kepyat Results, Round 5 
    Team 
 W 
 L 
 D 
 Pts 
   
   Abanya  
 4 
 3 
 5 
 17 
 
   Avali  
 3 
 1 
 8 
 17 
 
   Farbensa  
 4 
 2 
 6 
 18 
 
   Malynham  
 5 
 1 
 6 
 21 
 
   Repima  
 5 
 1 
 6 
 21 
 
   Roan  
 0 
 7 
 5 
 5 
 
   University  
 5 
 4 
 3 
 18 
 
    
 Malynham  wins on tiebreak (runs scored in season)
Roan is relegated to Division 2. Iellimon is promoted to Division 1.

 Actions round 5 

[Force] Recruit a unit
[Conviction] Convert the Darkthorne Deprivation altar to the Forty-Two Gods ( 8 )
[Conviction] Convert the Region 5 altar to the Forty-Two Gods ( 13 )
[Secret] Secret
SerakHawk
      
  Prayers of Sunset (POS)   
  Ruler: Dawnstar Sovereign (she/they)  
 Dis 4 | For 3 | Ent 3 | Con 1 
 Units:  2
 Tally of Loss:  1
 Mirth:  0, income +1
 Diversions:   4 
 Lanterns:   1 
 
   The Prayers of Sunset - Round 5
 Dawning Twilight  
 
 [Force]  Recruit Shadows  [11+3=14] 
 [Force]  Recruit Shadows  [8+3=11] 
 [Force]  Deploy 1 Unit with the Armsmaster [9] to Defend the Fading Dusk from Invasion.
- TM +9 | Frenzied Onslaught: +2 Battle, +10% self-casualties
- Duel +9 | Challenging the Opposing Leader to a Duel
- Battle +10 /+4 /+2 +10% Cas | +9 Armsmaster, +1 unit, +4 if Duel Win, +2 if TM win
  Invade Okynnets Urskog with the intent to add them to the Prayers of Sunset's Penumbra as a vassal
The Armsmaster returns home to see Videskymning and show their 'parent' how much they have grown. 
 [Force]  Feed the Farmer's Forge 1 unit

  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different Conviction in the Fading Dusk apart from  Coatl Perijainism  to whom support is given. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Night District" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Lavish Feasts" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Botany" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Model Building" Diversion 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Capital: The Fading Dusk
Penumbra [0]: None Orbits the Dusk
Diversions: The Night District, Lavish Feasts, Model Building, Botany
Stat Changes: +2 Force
Other Changes: +1 Mirth, +1 unit net
 
 
  
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 7 Force 5 Entertainment 7 Conviction 1 Mirth 2 Units 6  
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Archery Diversion in Region 13.
 [Entertainment]  Acquire Drumming Diversion in Region 32.
 [Discretion]  Maldarr will escape into the Halls with his lantern and The Griot.
 
 Explore the Halls to find the Library. 
 
 [Discretion]  Press existing claim on region 15.

 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +1 Discretion, +1 Entertainment 
 Nonactions: 
 
 Resist attempts to acquire my owned Diversions  ESPECIALLY  Chariot Racing. 
 Allow the conversion of our altar to the Cult of the Dragon. 
 

Maldarr rubbed his temples as he watched the parade revelers rush the Dragon Cult priest en masse, seemingly still desperate for entertainment despite the many diversions at their disposal.

 "Dragon Cult, huh? It wouldn't be the first time we've dealt with an old and powerful ally."  Derris's grin was rueful.  Such an eventful life, short as it was.  Maldarr's face was pained.

 "I don't understand why I left her there, with him." 

The men's conversation was interrupted by the approach of a gruesome figure who humbled himself to Maldarr, seeking an escort to the Library of the Halls.

 "Oh yes, The Griot. I seem to remember inviting you."  He scratched his face in thought, not quite remembering  why .

 "Well as you can see..."  His words trailed off as the sky above Askerville cracked and shattered above them. Those that had surrounded the Cultists fled in terror. Maldarr had reflexively unsheathed his sword, but lacked the conviction to fight.

 "Hey!"  He held his lantern up as a beacon and raced for the nearest entrance to the Halls.

 "Hey you disgusting blob of oozing waste! Follow me!" 

He grabbed the Griot's arm and pulled him along.

 "Well have to loose him in the Halls, come on!" 
Ausar
  The Final Frontier  
 
 
 (Original:  https://www.deviantart.com/naradjou1...anet-785623366 )  
Ruler: Aurelius Marten Vox, Master of the Twilight.
Discretion: 2 |  Force: 7 |  Entertainment: 5 |  Conviction: 4 |
Units: 6  |  Mirth: 1  |
  
"Aurelius?"  
There was that voice again, the Master thought. Still eerily familiar. Still just too far beyond memory to place. He sat upon his bunk, knees drawn up under him, like a statue in meditative prayer. The tenets of the old 'Dominion codes, the Way of the Illuminated Mind, Axton's way. A citizen has, a citizen must, a citizen, a citizen. A citizen gives. A 'Dominion takes. Time engulfs.
He felt it this time. The convergence of matter, the incitement of being, of rebirth. A hum of melodic transference that became a song, a workers' song, a miners' song that took him back to the early days of his youth, of following his father on inspections of slaves toiling in the asteroid's heart.
 "M-Ma-Master Vox?"  Aurelius opened his eyes, brow creased with a faint frown. He took in the weedy figure before him, a youth of twenty four, pistol at their belt and the insignia of the Dawnguard on their lapel. They had a captain's wings.
 "I know you." 
 "Sir! Captain Jack Ackar Silver, of the  Avalon , fourth squadron of the Dawnguard. If I may ask sir, where am I?" 
 "You were Marius' favourite."  He felt the memories flooding back now, of his old friend recommending a young Silver for every posting he could imagine, extolling the energy and loyalty of the young officer. He'd never promoted favourites. Too many problems when word got out, and every other advisor expected theirs to make top job. He wondered how things had gone after...
 "...Were, sir?" 
 "Indeed. Time has a way with us all, Captain. Head to the mess. Marius will have more answers than I." 
 "Aye sir."  The young fellow saluted, clipped his heels, spun on the spot and marched in perfect rhythm out from the bunkroom. Aurelius rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. He recalled the young fellow, but he'd led the Foray to ruin when the lad was not yet thirty. Marius will know, he thought.  

Actions:
Force: Deploy 6 units with Aurelius (7) at their head to Invade the Fading Dusk, suspecting them of pilfering a lantern. Aurelius demands its return, or the revelation of information concerning its whereabouts should the Sunset not

 Aurelius listened to Jack crooning a barely-decipherable ballad over the hazy intercom. The new arrival had a terrific voice, as far as the Master could tell. He felt like bathing in that sea of lilting sound.

The harsh beep of imminent arrival at target cut across the system, and Jack fell silent. Marius' voice came through instead.
 "Another roll of the dice?" 
 "One would think you're not eager to stand on the bridge of a cruiser again." 
 "I'm not eager to see you in a cockpit again." 
 "The void claimed me once, old friend. Once is quite enough." 
 "Are you certain we face our true foe?"  Aurelius took in the broad expanse before him, and the pinprick of light that floated within it.
 "No. But I am confident we will find answers here, true foe or no."  

Force: Raise a unit
Force: Raise a unit
Force: Raise a unit

 
 Spoiler: Current Units 
(The LORE sections will be filled. They will. Promise.)
New Ravager Squadron - the Ragged Edge
 The fragments of a shattered squadron made whole one final time. Ravager disappeared without a trace during the Great Foray, jumping out into the void. Brought out of jump by an uncharted gravity well, they were obliterated by a black hole. Led by Aurelius himself, they are now the Ragged Edge. 
Courtenay's Chaplains -  Slaughtered in a valiant, doomed final stand within the Cathedral of New Askilon, Courtenay's Chaplains of the Order of Eredivistus and the Temple of Eternal Uhlonna are servants to a goddess that seems to all sight to have deserted them. The goddess of the sky is literally absent from their sight, as a warped facsimile of empty space fills the twilight of the stars instead. 
Montefort's Chaplains -  A devoted ally of Courtenay, Montefort is two decades his junior, who got his start in the mercantile sector, using his economic contacts to spread the word of Uhlonna where Courtenay preached openly. Caught up in the elder's rebellion, Montefort's men were trapped on Istern Bridge in New Askilon, and cut down where they stood, their bodies choking the river Askr with blood. 
Crimson Heart - LORE
The Master's Force - LORE
Dawnguard - LORE
 
MappyPK
    Chronocruise Enterprises    
  The Aetherial Mechanica 

flag loading, not working D:

 Ruler:  SeaEO Vivienne Locke
(DIS 5 | FOR 4 | ENT 9 | CON 3)

 Mirth:  3
 Units:  3 
 Actions: 
 
 Secret action. 
 Secret action. 
 Entertainment - Acquire Cheesemaking in District 17.  Success (18)!  
 Entertainment - Acquire Philosophical Discussions in District 19.  Success (20)!  
 
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
   The Enraged   
 Dis 2 | For 8 | Ent 3 | Con 6 
 Units:  7
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   2 
 Lanterns:   1 [SNUFFED] 
 
   Round 1     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on. How long has it been? The Emperor died on a Tuesday. Last week? There was no way of telling. The city constantly churned with an impossible number of people despite the unending fighting. The Committee for Public Safety met three times before turning on itself. Tulanists and their sympathizers amongst the Moutonards struck before dawn to murder Alexander Baudelaire and his Marteaunard lieutenants in their beds.

But none of them were there. Rumors had been circling that Alexander had lost his mind. That he raved of pasts that had not yet happened, but more insidious rumors circled that he had secret meetings with the Comte de Jardin, plotting late into the night. Margot saw weakness. She saw a leader who had given in and sided with old money, a remnant of the regime they fought against. The same insidious rot she swore to burn out of the city.

When dawn broke the Enragés seized the council. Their new world had no place for the trappings of old power. The Enragés believed in direct democracy. Their message was populist and their methods were brutal. The Tulanists didn't survive the day. The Comte and Mr. Baudelaire, however, remained missing.



  Actions:  
 
 [Discretion] Margot descends into the halls to search for Maldarr on the advice of cryptic notes left by Alexander. Even if he had betrayed the cause, his ramblings had proved prophetic recently. 
 [Force] Deploy Force! Send 4 units to capture the Final Frontier. No leader! Using Frenzied Onslaught! 
 [Conviction] Consecrate the altar in Hraesholm. 
 [Conviction] Consecrate the altar in [Unnamed Region 2]. 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [4]: Tisear, Hraesholm, The Maelstrom, Sanctum
Diversions: Executions, Public Executions
Stat Changes:
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
Lleban
  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 3
Units 1
Discretion 5
Force 3(+2)
Entertainment 5
Conviction 7
 
  Actions
  
Force: Remember your warriors
Force: Recall the men of yor
Force: Call the Seven Banners to Uxmal
Force: They will remember who conquers

*im hiring 4 units*
 Non Actions 
 
 [/QUOTE]
Torv
   Okynnet   
  [SECRET]  
 “Your thoughts are seeds, and the harvest you reap will depend on the seeds you plant.”

“If you can think about what you want in your mind, and make that your dominant thought, you will bring it into your life”

“It’s the feeling that really creates the attraction, not just the picture or the thought. A lot of people think, “If I think positive thoughts, or if I visualize having what I want, that will be enough.” But if you’re doing that and still not feeling abundant, or feeling loving or joyful, then it doesn’t create the power of the attraction.”

 
  Refresh ruler next round to  Vide . . . D5-F1-E1-C3  
mystic1110
   Round Five is Closed   
Maldarr gripped the Griot's arm tightly, dragging him toward the entrance of the Halls of the Dripping Throne. The city of Askerville behind them was consumed by chaos—the sky cracking open, the Tallow-Eater’s maw twisting and devouring all the light in its path. The air hummed with the deafening screech of the creature, vibrating through Maldarr’s bones as the sound of teeth grinding against teeth grew louder.

"Move, quickly!" Maldarr shouted, his voice strained, barely heard over the monstrous cacophony. He thrust his lantern forward, the light flickering as it cut through the choking darkness that was beginning to envelop the city. The Griot stumbled alongside him, his breath ragged, his body cloaked in robes of excoriated human skin. His gaunt hands clutched a scrap of leather on which was inscribed a compass, clinging to it like a lifeline.

They dashed through the streets, racing past crumbling buildings and fleeing citizens. The air crackled with an unnatural cold, and every step they took seemed to bring them closer to the relentless pull of the Tallow-Eater's hunger. Maldarr’s thoughts raced as he focused on reaching the Halls, knowing that the labyrinthine maze might be their only chance of escaping the creature.

Thinking of the Halls, the entrance to the Halls loomed ahead, suddenly appearing, a massive stone archway covered in dripping, wax-like growths that hung like stalactites. Maldarr could feel the weight of the ancient structure pressing down on him as they burst through the doors. The screeching from outside faded momentarily, replaced by an oppressive silence.

The Halls of the Dripping Throne were endless, their walls lined with countless candles that dripped molten wax like frozen tears. Chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, their half-lit candles casting an eerie glow that barely illuminated the sprawling labyrinth of corridors. As they paused to catch their breath, Maldarr’s lantern cast long shadows that danced on the walls, flickering in the heavy, oppressive air. The Griot stared at the Halls with wonder, his dream to make it here finally fulfilled, although he could not have guessed at the haste in which he would have arrived. He pulled out his compass to start looking for his quarry, trying to make use of the silence.

The silence didn’t last long.

With a thunderous roar, the Tallow-Eater forced its way into the Halls, through the closing doorway, its massive maw twisting through the narrow entrance, tearing through the stone like paper. Maldarr could feel the air grow heavy as the void creature pressed inside, devouring the light with every step. The once-glimmering candles began to snuff out, one by one, their light consumed by the insatiable hunger of the Tallow-Eater. Its radial wings spiraled grotesquely, pulling it forward as it gorged on the flame.

"Run!" Maldarr yelled, pulling the Griot down the corridor, deeper into the maze.

The Tallow-Eater followed, its form growing larger as it devoured more of the light, the void around it expanding with every flicker of a dying candle. Maldarr's lantern flickered dangerously in his hand, its light dimming as if the very essence of the flame was being sucked away.

The two of them raced through the halls, turning corners and weaving through passages, but no matter how fast they ran, the creature gained on them. With each candle that was snuffed out, the darkness pressed closer, its oppressive weight making it harder to breathe, harder to think. The creature grew with every extinguished flame, its maw now a black hole that seemed to swallow reality itself.

"We can't keep running, no escape,
The shadows close, the dark takes shape!"

the Griot gasped, his voice raspy. His eyes were wide with fear, his gaunt face drawn and pale.

"All light consumed, our doom draws nigh,
If here we falter, here we die!"

Maldarr ignored him, focusing on the path ahead, but even he knew the truth of the Griot’s words. The Halls, once a place of sanctuary, were becoming their tomb. The creature would consume every last candle, and then it would consume them.

The Tallow-Eater surged forward, its hunger insatiable. It devoured the chandeliers one by one, the flames extinguishing in rapid succession. Maldarr and the Griot stood frozen for a moment as the darkness closed in, the creature towering above them now, a void that seemed to stretch endlessly, its teeth grinding together in a terrible symphony of destruction.

***

Elsewhere, Margot adjusted her crimson scarf, the vibrant red standing out against the shadows that swallowed her form. Her raven-black hair fell in loose waves, framing a face that might, in another time, have been deemed too striking, too dangerous—a woman burned as a witch in the fires of superstition. But now, here in the Necropolis, she moved with grace and defiance, a dashing anarchist leader in the midst of revolution. Her beauty was only outshone by her fierce determination to reshape the world, no longer hunted but leading the hunt.

Her boots echoed through the stone halls of the Dripping Throne, each step deliberate, each glance behind her filled with the kind of vigilance earned in a lifetime of treachery and battle. The flicker of candlelight danced in the gloom, casting elongated shadows that seemed to flicker like the memory of flames long extinguished. She descended deeper, following the cryptic notes Alexander had left behind. Even if he had betrayed the revolution, his madness had borne a strange clarity—one that had proved all too real.

The Halls were a labyrinth of forgotten grandeur, where the statues wept streams of wax from their eyes, and chandeliers hung heavy with molten candles that dripped endlessly, forming pools of soft amber at her feet. The air was heavy, laden with the scent of old rot and burning tallow. Margot's grip tightened on the hilt of her saber, the polished brass reflecting a dim light. She had come prepared, ready for whatever Alexander’s ravings might lead her to.

Her thoughts were broken by the unmistakable sound of voices up ahead, strained and desperate. She quickened her pace, her long coat trailing behind her like a banner of rebellion. As she rounded the corner, the sight before her stopped her cold.

Maldarr and the Griot were backed against a cracked marble wall, their faces pale in the dim, guttering candlelight. Before them, the Tallow Eater towered, its sickening maw twisting and writhing, all-consuming. White ligaments and glistening, jagged teeth ground together as it devoured the very light of the hall, its form elongating, growing grotesque and vast. The candles around them sputtered and died as the creature's black void seemed to drink in their last flickers of warmth. It loomed like an impossibility, a creature that should not exist, but there it was—expanding, consuming, growing.

The Griot’s voice rang out in desperate poetry, words woven with fear.

“Light fades, we dim—what now, what hope,
In jaws of death, we cannot cope!”

Maldarr had his sword out, but the hopelessness in his eyes betrayed him. The Tallow Eater was too large, too vast to be fought with steel alone.

Margot’s heart pounded, but her resolve hardened. She wasn’t going to let them die here—not while she still breathed. Without hesitation, she charged, her saber gleaming in the failing light.

“On your feet, comrades!” she shouted as she leapt into the fray.

With a swift, precise slash, she struck at one of the writhing tendrils that snaked out from the Tallow Eater’s grotesque form. The creature hardly noticed her, its hunger for light far more pressing than the puny lives beneath it, but the tendril quivered under the force of her blow. Maldarr, galvanized by her presence, rallied and moved beside her, hacking at the same tendril. The Griot, though pale and trembling, raised a knife taken from his robes and plunged it into the tooth-fleshed limb.

Together, the three of them tore at the tendril, slicing through the thick, stringy mass while dodging swipes from other appendages that reached out towards them. A howl—if it could even be called that—reverberated through the hall as the severed limb fell. The creature writhed in response, not out of pain but almost as if its endless growth was an inconvenience, too vast to contain in this confined space.

The Tallow Eater twisted upon itself, its enormous body expanding, crashing against the walls of the hall, shattering the grand chandeliers. As it grew, the stained-glass windows shattered outward, and the creature began to fold onto itself - more of its mass entering the halls from outside where the stained glass windows connected from one side to the other, the creature filling every corner, pressing against the ceiling and walls. Candles were snuffed out in rapid succession, leaving only the faintest traces of light flickering where the three stood.

The Tallow Eater, now impossibly massive, seemed to lose interest in them. It pressed upward, bursting through the ceiling only to reemerge from the floor, its grotesque form looping back into the same space like a serpent devouring its own tail. Through the shattered windows, its monstrous shape could be seen twisting through the fabric of the Halls themselves, endlessly folding in on itself. Its maw gaped open, a void that swallowed the very air, pulling the light from distant corridors and bending the walls around it like gravity warping the stars in a universe with no escape.

Margot took a step back, breathless, her saber still drawn. The thing was no longer their fight—it was beyond them now, too vast for any of them to comprehend. But they had cut a piece of it, a victory in its own way.

“Well,” Margot breathed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I’d say that’s enough for one day.”

Maldarr, still gripping his sword, nodded grimly.

The Griot, shaking, managed a weak smile, his voice trembling with relief as he spoke.

“We live, for now, the light still ours,
But what awaits in future hours?”

Margot offered him a brief smile, wiping tallow from her blade. “We’ll figure that out when we get there. For now, let’s get out of this nightmare.”

The three of them, bruised and battered but alive, turned their backs on the Tallow Eater and began the long ascent back up the Dripping Throne’s halls, their victory small but undeniable.

 Margot obtains a Tallow Tendon, a piece cut off from the Tallow Eater. The Tallow Tendon is considered an Artifact and allows its owner to make Smite attempts without the need to fulfill the Altar requirement of that action .

***

Margot, Maldarr, and the Griot moved swiftly through the blackened corridors of the Halls, their breath shallow as the immense presence of the Tallow Eater grew larger with every passing second. It filled the space like a living storm, tendrils of tendons curling around columns, breaking through ancient walls, and creeping ever closer. Teeth ground in the distance, and the endless dripping of wax echoed in the gloom. The flickering remnants of candlelight barely lit the way as they pressed on, dodging the crushing weight of the creature's expanding mass.

"Faster," Margot urged, her saber glinting in the dim light, though she knew it would be useless against the enormous thing looming behind them. Maldarr said nothing, but the grim set of his jaw spoke volumes.

Just as they rounded another corner, the path ahead darkened, and from the shadows, the Wolf emerged.

The Wolf that stalked them was a wretched, mangled thing, more nightmare than beast. Its fur, hung in twisted knots, clumped and matted with filth, exposing raw, pink skin beneath. Patches of its hide were missing, revealing the gaunt curve of ribs and sinewy muscle that stretched taut across its emaciated frame. Its eyes glowed a dull, sickly yellow, like fading lanterns, flickering with a hunger too deep to ever be sated. Its tail was a long, pale arm—humanoid and grotesquely thin—stretching from the base of its spine. At the end of the tail-hand, a rusted iron chain was looped and held tight in its grip, the links scraping the stone floor in a slow, haunting clatter, the chain stretching to a collar around its own neck. Its mouth dripped with saliva, not from hunger but from anticipation, its jagged teeth jutting out at strange angles like shards of bone ready to tear through flesh. And when it growled —a gurgling, wet snarl that seemed to originate from a place far beyond mere animal instinct. The wolf’s tongue, impossibly long and serpentine, slithered from between its teeth, ended in a grotesque hand that stretched outwards from the mouth.

It didn’t rush at them; it stalked, savoring each moment, letting its presence be known through the suffocating weight of its gaze and the scraping of the chain behind it. And while the three tried to evade the Wolf, the Tallow Eater’s mass grew closer, its grasping tendons reaching out toward them unseeing.

Margot's breath caught. "We're trapped."

Maldarr stepped forward, sword raised, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough against both the Tallow Eater and this twisted wolf. His eyes flicked toward the Griot, who stood frozen, staring at the creature with an unreadable expression.

The wolf’s growl reverberated through the hall, deep and guttural, its tongue-hand reaching out, fingers clawing at the air as if searching for the lantern Maldarr and Margot held in their hands.

Then, something strange happened.

The Griot lowered his knife on the ground and took out his skin-carved compass, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands and began to sign—silent, fluid gestures that flowed like poetry in the air. His fingers danced, and though no words left his lips, there was a power in his movements, something ancient and binding.

The Wolf halted mid-step, its growl tapering off into a low whine. Its tongue-hand stopped reaching, instead curling inward as if in contemplation. The creature cocked its head, then, to Margot and Maldarr’s disbelief, it raised its tongue-hand and began to sign back, mimicking the Griot’s gestures with an eerie grace. The exchange was silent, yet profound, a language unspoken but deeply understood.

Margot tightened her grip on her saber, confused but unwilling to interrupt whatever tenuous connection had just been made. Maldarr kept his sword lowered but ready.

After a tense moment, the Griot turned to his companions, his expression calm but resolute. He signed something more to the wolf before stepping forward, past Margot and Maldarr, and spoke in his soft, poetic cadence.

“Do not follow, friends, my road now bends,
This path I walk alone.
The wolf and I, where shadows lie,
Through darkened halls we roam.”

Maldarr's heart sank as he realized what was happening. "You can’t—"

But the Griot only smiled, a sad, knowing look in his eyes. He gave one final, graceful bow and then, without another word, he walked toward the wolf. The beast, its strange tongue-hand still hanging limply at its side, turned and led the way, pulling its heavy chain behind it. Together, they vanished into the dark corridors, leaving Margot and Maldarr standing in stunned silence.
For a moment, Margot considered chasing after him, but the growing rumble of the Tallow Eater behind them snapped her back to reality. The creature's tendrils writhed, pushing through the cracks in the walls, its bulk pressing closer. They had no time.

“We need to go,” Maldarr urged, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the encroaching mass.

Reluctantly, Margot nodded. They turned and fled down the remaining hallway, weaving around fallen beams and splintered stone as the walls groaned under the Tallow Eater's weight. It grew larger with each passing second, twisting and folding in on itself, consuming the light from every candle and chandelier.

Margot's breath was ragged as they dodged yet another slithering tendril, her boots scraping against the slick floor. The Halls were an endless maze, every door leading them in circles, every corner feeling like a trap. The weight of the Tallow Eater’s presence pressed down on them, suffocating, unrelenting.

But finally, after what felt like hours of running, they stumbled upon an open door. Margot’s heart leapt. They rushed through it, out into the cold night air, and collapsed onto the crumbled stone steps outside.

The Tallow Eater did not follow - it could not. It had gorged on the light of candles and was trapped in the Halls of the Dripping Throne like a foreign cancer.

  The First Interlude  

After narrowly escaping the suffocating darkness of the Halls of the Dripping Throne, Margot and Maldarr made their way to safety—if it could even be called that. Their hurried breaths slowly steadied as they left behind the expanding tendrils of the Tallow Eater, that grotesque, ever-growing monstrosity whose hunger gnawed at reality itself. The shattered door they’d passed through sealed the Halls behind them, but neither could shake the feeling that the creature’s presence still pressed against their backs, as though it could spill into the world at any moment.

Maldarr parted ways first, his mind preoccupied with the road back to Askerville. As he walked, the familiar streets of his home rose up to meet him—faded and worn, bearing the weight of years like the tired residents who wandered them. The city hadn’t changed, not truly, but Maldarr had. The threat of the Tallow Eater, the close brush with death, and the cryptic figure of the Griot had all left him restless. His feet carried him back to his familiar lodgings, but his mind lingered in the Halls.

The thought gnawed at him—where was the King of Wax and Wick? The Tallow Eater had grown unchecked, devouring the very essence of the Halls, yet the King had been absent. Maldarr couldn’t help but wonder why the King had not intervened. Surely such a threat to his domain would summon him, unless… something else had prevented him from acting. The questions burrowed deeper as he slumped into his chair by the fire, his sword laid against the wall. In the flicker of the flames, he thought of Margot—and the Griot.

Would they, too, feel this pull to return? To understand the secrets left behind?

Margot’s return to Luttoiuse was no less unsettling. The revolution still churned like a maelstrom, each day bringing new victories and defeats, new blood spilled for freedom. Her faction, the Enragés, held control for now, but she knew the tides could turn in an instant. The weight of leadership rested heavily on her shoulders, but the halls of the Dripping Throne clung to her mind like smoke.

She had risked much to descend into that labyrinth of shadows, chasing after the cryptic words of Alexander Baudelaire, the man who had once led the revolution but was now rumored to have lost his mind. What had he known? Had his madness shown him something she had yet to understand? The Tallow Eater’s grotesque presence still haunted her—the way it consumed everything in its path, the way it seemed to now be bound to the very fabric of the palace itself. And where, in all of this, had the King of Wax and Wick been? His servant had been there, far too late to protect the halls, and given how it approached them, a threat in its own right. Yet the King himself had remained unseen.

Margot sank into her chair by the window, staring out at the burning city. The revolution marched on, but her thoughts drifted back to the Griot. That strange figure, with his rhymes, had been their companion in those forsaken halls. A bond had been forged in the face of danger, and though they had parted ways, she could not shake the thought of him. Would he survive, alone in the halls with the Wolf, or had he found something more, something only he could understand?

She wondered if Maldarr felt the same pull to return. To face the growing darkness of the Tallow Eater once more. To find the Griot, lost somewhere in that forsaken place. Would they be drawn back into the shadows, seeking answers neither of them yet had?

As Maldarr lay in the dim light of his chambers, and as Margot stared out over the fires of revolution, their thoughts echoed one another's. They could feel the unresolved tension pulling them back toward the Halls, toward the unanswered questions and unseen threats. The Griot, a lost companion now, lingered in their memories, a silent presence amidst the chaos. And the Tallow Eater, its tendrils still growing in the dark corridors of the palace, loomed ever larger in their minds.

But above all, one question gnawed at them both: Where was the King of Wax and Wick?

 Travel to the Halls now faces the additional difficulty of navigating around the expanding Tallow-Eater. This will not affect actions to explore the Halls of the Dripping Throne during Round 5. Explorations into the Halls now suffer an Discretion check of TN 2 times the Round Number (for example, explorations taking place next round will have a TN of 12, it being Round 6 times 2). A Player may choose to forgo this check if they are actively looking for the Tallow Eater. If a Player fails the check they will run into the expanding Tallow Eater and must make a Smite Check of TN 12. If a Player is carrying a Lit Lantern they must also make a Devour Check of TN 12. A Player still has the non-action option of discarding a Lit Lantern to avoid a Smite Check. If a Player passes a Smite check they may choose to initiate combat with the Tallow Eater (TN 12). As before, other player’s may Assist or Hinder such combat by passing a Force Check of TN 12. Upon a success they will obtain a Tallow Tendon and clear a path in the Halls. Once ???? Tendons are cut off from the Tallow Eater; it may be weakened enough for a killing blow.

The Tallow-Eater, trapped in the Halls, will no longer target players for Devour attempts. However, the Verdigris Lanterns are now cut from some essential power from the Halls of the Dripping Throne. Until the Lantern Eater is defeated and purged, votes to Conclude the Lantern Game need 1 more vote than normal. For example, if there are 7 Lantern’s able to vote, 4 Lanterns are enough to vote to Conclude, but now, until the Lantern Eater is cleared from the Halls, it would take 5 lanterns to Conclude the game. Votes to Accuse still function as normal. 

The remaining verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

   The Fifth Vote is Open   
Aedilred
Hannah contemplated the lantern at some length.

" Whispers have reached me, " she said, " and whether I have full confidence in the messengers or not, I can only act according to my conscience. Those who seek to conceal their ownership of lanterns must be suspect, and so I accuse Bloodcaller Valyn. "
Torv
Videskymning becomes Videmörker in the blazing flames and smoke of winter.

D5-F1-E2-C3
Lleban
Deep within the halls of the imperial palace, exsanguinated bodies of Toyollo's assassins lay twisted. Blood alchemy has fused the spinal cords of these men into a winding spire coiling around an improvised altar. Ribs contorted to match those of a serpent. Sprawling skeletal trunks erupt from the body like the arms of a craven dragon cradling the altar. In this tribute to the all-powerful balance keeper Xykothos Toyollo places the lantern at its center.

He bows to the lantern slamming his head onto the stone floor in supplication.

  "Praise to the Prophets of Xythos. Princes of Perfect Rule The unclean wish to snuff me but I shall turn their malice into a wonder!"  
TheDarkDM
In the shaded bowels of the Desolation, in a moment of reprieve from divination or doom, Nezetkhamun peered at his lantern.

  "I abstain, King of Wax and Wick."  
mystic1110
  The Fifth Vote is Closed  

The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.
mystic1110
   Round 6 is Open   
   Vigil   
The light of the candles inside the following Lanterns fades until they become pinpricks of black so deep that it feels like the Lantern Holder might be pulled in. The Verdigris walls of the Lanterns provide a bulwark against the draw of the perceived depth until suddenly the blackness collapses into itself in an ebon gong and is gone. The only clue that the candle has once been lit is only faint smoke caressing the tallow.

The Fifth Verdigris Lantern held by Veiled General Toyollo VII, the Appeaser, has been Snuffed

   Chapter Three (continued) - Grasp of the Sewer   
Nezetkhamun, his massive form coiled in the shadows of the decaying city, felt the fury of his draconic divinity rising. The vermin, a constant scratching presence in the Decadence, had become more than a mere nuisance. They were an infestation, their red eyes glowing like tiny embers of rebellion, gnawing away at the edges of his dominion. The air was thick with the stench of rot, not just the natural decay that the inhabitants had long accepted, but something darker, something alive and relentless, invading the very essence of these lands.

His golden eyes narrowed, slits of molten rage as he rose to his full height. His scales, shimmering with divine light, pulsed with barely contained fury. He had seen enough. In a moment, he spread his wings wide, their vast span blocking out the waning sun. With a guttural snarl, his maw opened, and flames erupted—furious, cleansing fire that scorched the earth beneath him. His breath poured forth, a blazing torrent of draconic might, incinerating the vermin in his path.

Rats, centipedes, and every crawling, skittering creature in his sight were engulfed in white-hot flames, their bodies turned to ash in an instant. The streets beneath them glowed with the remnants of his fire, the stone itself melting under his wrath. Nezetkhamun's fury was divine and absolute, yet despite the destruction, he could sense that the vermin were not truly extinguished. Even as they burned, the red glow in their eyes did not fade completely, and deeper still, he could feel the pulsing rhythm of a singular intelligence, pulling the strings of this invasion from the shadows.

The vermin were not merely a plague; they were soldiers, directed by something far more insidious. Nezetkhamun’s nostrils flared as the realization hit him. The rats, the centipedes, the rot—they were merely the surface. Their true source, the root of this infestation, lay elsewhere. His divine senses probed deeper, and as they did, a cold dread settled into his bones.

The Gutters.

His mind flashed to the Gutters, the liminal space between districts, a place of filth and forgotten things, where refuse and the unwanted were cast aside. The Gutters were more than just a place of decay; they were a liminal realm in their own right, a shifting underworld that connected the districts through the spaces no one wished to see. And now, they were the pathway for this creeping invasion.

With a great heave of his wings, Nezetkhamun launched himself into the air, his body glowing with fiery power. He soared above the decaying cities, his eyes scanning the streets below. As he flew, his divine senses followed the invisible threads of the infestation, tracing them back through the cracks in the walls, the burrows in the earth, the paths worn by countless scurrying feet.

It led him, inevitably, to the crossroads.

The Gutters were bleeding into his world, and the crossroads between the districts had become a gateway. He landed at the edge of the crossroads, his talons digging into the dirt, and his form shimmered with anger as he approached the opening. A narrow crack, barely visible to mortal eyes, but to him, it was clear—a dark, festering wound in reality, oozing with the stench of the vermin’s advance.

He knelt, placing one hand on the ground, and his divine power surged outward, probing into the Gutters themselves. He could feel the layers of grime, the filth of countless years, but beneath it all, there was something far more sinister. The vermin, marching in endless waves, came from deep within the Gutters, their movements guided by an unseen hand. And that hand belonged to something lurking far in the depths.

The glowing red eyes of the rats, the eerie intelligence behind their movements—it all pointed to one mind. A mind that controlled, directed, and orchestrated this invasion with deliberate purpose. Nezetkhamun’s draconic senses reached deeper, and the further he stretched, the stronger the presence became. It was not a scattered intelligence, but a single consciousness, pulsing like a heart deep in the bowels of the Gutters.

   Chapter Conclusion - Delve to the Bottom of the Sewer   
 
 Spoiler: Rat Hunt 

The round after a Crossroads is established an Infestation from the Gutters could occur (a one-time opposing Discretion Roll rolled with +5). If an infestation exists, a Theft Roll from the Gutters will take place (one -time roll opposing Theft rolled a +5 and +1 due to the claim from the infestation). Theft will target a Lantern first and if no Lantern is held another Artifact. If no Artifact, then an Abduction of the Ruler (rolled with a +5 and +1 due to the claim from the infestation).

To find Artifacts that have been stolen into the Gutters players may explore the Gutters. Explorations into the Gutters are Entertainment rolls (TN 8). A successful exploration will allow a Player to find a Vermin Nest. Finding a Vermin Nest will create a Force Check (TN 8). Failure may lead to a character becoming lost. Success will lead to a Character killing the Rats and Centipedes and gaining a “Knot of Rats Tails”. Knots are treated as Artifacts and provide +1 to all exploration of the Gutters. A roll of ???? exploring would allow one to find the mind behind the Vermin.

All sub-actions in the Gutters take a Penalty equal to a Player's Penumbra. For every additional region a Player controls beyond their capital, they take a -1 penalty in the Gutters. Performing any action in the Gutters though is dangerous will carry an additional risk (Discretion check TN of 8) failure of which may lead to a character becoming lost.
 

   Chapter Four (continued) -  The Sad Fate of Saint Cortana    
Rosier, the Grand Marshal of the Mutilated Artists, approached the gates of Vide and, separately,  Toyollo with the air of someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was an unsettling figure to behold, yet there was a grace to his movements, a somber elegance that spoke of his former life as a celebrated artist before he had taken on his current role. His body bore the marks of the Mutilated Artists’ creed—his skin was a canvas of scars, each one a deliberate stroke that told stories of sacrifice and transformation. His face was partially concealed behind an ornate mask of black iron, with delicate tendrils of silver filigree framing his one visible eye, which burned with intensity. His voice, when he spoke, was both melodic and haunted, carrying the strange beauty of someone who had long lived in the tension between agony and artistry.

Rosier, despite his composed exterior, was visibly strained, as if an unseen hand was gripping his heart.

“ There has been a murder ,” he announced, his voice low and filled with a pain that seemed almost too deep to express in words. Stepping forward, his scarred hands trembling slightly as he pulled a small, intricately engraved vial from beneath his cloak. It was a token of Saint Cortona, their beloved leader, the figurehead of the Mutilated Artists. Cortona had been revered not only for her vision but for the sacrifices she had made to embody the ultimate fusion of suffering and art. She had, as Rosier informed Vide and Toyollo,  carved so much of herself off that in the end she was only an ever-beating heart. And now, she was dead.

The heart on its pedestal was found stabbed with an ornate knife.

“ Saint Cortona… she has been taken from us,” Rosier said, his voice barely holding steady. “Murdered in the heart of the Artists’ Sanctuary. A brutal act, and I cannot trust any of my own to investigate. Every one of them is a suspect—our passions run too deep, our ambitions too wild. We are creatures of extremes, and with her death, I fear the very foundation of our brotherhood will fracture .”

The leaders, each with their sharp intellect, instantly and separately, made the correct assessment. “And you’ve come to us,” more a statement than a question. “Because we are outsiders.”

“ Yes ,” Rosier agreed. “ You are supporters of our work, champions of our creed. But you stand apart, untainted by the internal conflicts and rivalries that have plagued us for years. I need someone who can investigate without bias, someone who can walk through our sanctuaries and not be swayed by personal grudges or ambitions .”

He paused, his eye flashing with a strange light. “ Saint Cortona's death is more than a murder. It is a symbol—a signal to those who would unravel everything we have built. Her loss will shatter us if we cannot find the one responsible. And I fear the perpetrator is one of our own. ”

He glanced once more at the vial in his hand before tucking it back beneath his cloak. “ I will return to the Sanctuary to prepare. When you are ready, come to us. The path forward will not be easy—the Artists are a secretive people, and many will not welcome your presence. But I will give you what protection I can .”

With that, Rosier, the haunted Grand Marshal of the Mutilated Artists, took his leave, disappearing into the twilight mist as quickly as he had come, leaving Vide and Toyollo to face the daunting task that lay ahead—solving the murder of Saint Cortona, before it tore the Artists apart.

   Chapter Conclusion - Solve the Murder of Saint Cortona   
 
 Spoiler: The Investigation 

 The Prime Suspects 
Rosier’s voice, though usually firm, wavered with emotion as he began to describe the three top suspects.

“ Saint Cortona’s murder is a wound that will never heal—not in our flesh, nor in our hearts. But I brought you both here because I trust you. I need you to look into this with fresh eyes, as I cannot. I fear that those closest to Saint Cortona may have had the darkest motives for this terrible act. Let me tell you about the three who had the most reason, though none of them, in my heart, seems capable of such betrayal ."

Rosier's gaze turned downward as he spoke of Phaedra.

“ Phaedra… she was once Saint Cortona’s most loyal. You’ve likely seen her work—stitching wounds into intricate patterns, creating art from pain in a way that few others could. She was certain she was chosen to succeed Cortona when the time came. Maybe she believed it too strongly.

She’s always been ambitious, driven by her vision of ‘renewal through destruction.’ Lately, she’s been speaking of how Saint Cortona’s suffering has gone on for too long—that our movement needs fresh blood and a new leader to guide us forward. She may have believed that killing Cortona was the only way to allow the Mutilated Artists to move into this new era. But I can’t see how she’d be capable of this… not with how close they were .”

Rosier sighed.

“ Still, ambition can blind even the most loyal .”

Rosier’s tone grew sharper as he spoke of Ezrael, as though discussing an obsession gone too far.

“ Ezrael, on the other hand, worshiped Cortona in a different way. You know how he works, don’t you? Sculpting with bones—his own, whenever he could. To him, Cortona wasn’t just our leader. They were the ‘perfect form,’ the pinnacle of what we aspire to create.

Ezrael had this idea… this belief that by preserving Cortona’s heart in death, he could immortalize their suffering. Turn them into a symbol that would last forever in art. He’s fanatical about his vision. He might have thought ending Cortona’s life would be a kind of tribute, a way to freeze that suffering in time .”

Rosier’s brow furrowed.

“ But there’s a difference between devotion and madness, and I fear he might have crossed that line .”

Rosier’s voice softened with a mix of pity and unease as he spoke of Ziona.

“ Ziona… poor Ziona. She’s given more to this movement than almost anyone. Her mutilations—her sacrifices—are beyond what even the most devoted of us could bear. She’s removed everything—her eyes, ears, tongue. All that’s left is the raw nerve of sensation. And in that darkness, she creates her art, relying only on the pain to guide her.

To her, our philosophy isn’t just a belief—it’s the only truth. She’s become… zealous. She believes that true art can only come from ultimate sacrifice, and she might have come to see Cortona’s continued existence as a betrayal of that idea. I know she’s spoken about how the Saint has lived too long, that to truly transcend, Cortona needed to die. She could have seen it as a necessary act to keep our ideals pure .”

Rosier shook his head, as though the thought pained him.

“ Ziona would have thought she was doing what Cortona themselves would have wanted. A misguided act of love, perhaps. But I can’t help but wonder if she, too, might be lost to her own philosophy .”

“ These are the ones I suspect, but I must admit… I’m not sure of anything anymore. Phaedra, Ezrael, Ziona—all of them loved Cortona in their own ways. But love can twist into something else when you believe too strongly in your own vision of the future. Please, help us find the truth .”

 Investigating 

Vide and Toyollo have +2 to any investigation into and against any check caused by any of the Mutilated Artists. Any player may question any of the Mutilated Artists using either Force, Entertainment or Conviction. Each of the Artists is favorable (TN 8) to one of those approaches, unfavorable to another (TN 16) or neutral (TN 12). A player may also use an unrolled Discretion Action to figure out a Mutilitated Artist’s disposition (and thus which stat they are favorable and unfavorable towards). Rolling an Investigation Action will default to an unrolled Discretion Action.
 

   Chapter Ten (continued) - The Unborn Absolver   
Nezetkhamun stood at the edge of the crater, his eyes narrowing as he gazed upon the strange sphere that had descended from the heavens, his mind racing as the residual pain from his encounter with the Virgin of Brutal Promise lingered in his body. His draconic divine power, still raw from his previous ordeal, stirred within him, a force he had not yet fully remastered.

His scaled hand stretched out toward the sphere, and immediately, he felt its cold surface resonate with an ancient rhythm. Nezetkhamun closed his eyes, allowing the power within him to flow freely. The world around him faded into darkness, and only the sphere remained, glowing faintly in his mind’s eye.

It was not just an object, he realized. It was an egg.

The draconic essence within him stirred, tapping into a deep well of knowledge and instinct. His breath caught as the word "Absolver" surfaced in his consciousness, unbidden but undeniable. His divine senses extended further into the egg, probing the milky liquid that encased the creature inside. It shimmered with a strange viscosity, unnervingly familiar. Vernix, the protective substance that coats a fetus. The realization twisted in his gut.

Within the egg, the faint outline of a developing being began to take shape. It resembled the form of a fetus, though its proportions were distorted. Thin, almost translucent limbs folded tightly against its torso, but its wings, undeveloped yet immense, hinted at something far greater. As his senses sharpened, he saw eyes — far too many eyes — growing on the creature's face and wings alike. They were closed for now, but Nezetkhamun could feel their weight, their watchful presence, as if they could awaken at any moment.

The creature inside was growing, maturing slowly within its shell. Though it was still early in its development, Nezetkhamun’s heart quickened as he grasped what it could become. The vernix-like substance that surrounded the creature swirled around the egg, protective and nurturing, amplifying the gestation process. His divine senses told him that the being within was not yet fully conscious, not yet aware of its power or purpose. It was, afterall, Unborn.

Nezetkhamun recoiled slightly, pulling his hand away from the egg as if it had burned him. The sphere's significance had just shifted. This was no relic or simple object — this was a cradle for something that should not exist in the Necropolis.

   Chapter Conclusion - Deliver an Absolver   
 
 Spoiler: Incubation 

As long as a Sphere is in a District you own you have +1 to Conviction Actions. The Sphere can be investigated with the Investigate Action or a Lantern Action (see below on Candling). The Sphere, or Egg, is not long for the Necropolis. Given the rate of deterioration the Egg only lasts 3 Rounds after appearing in a District.

The fetal creature inside can be incubated with an unrolled Discretion Action or forced open with an unrolled Force Action. If the Egg is successfully incubated or forced open in time, then the player will see if the creature is viable or not. If the fetal creature is viable ????, if the creature is stillborn instead ????. The chances of the creature being viable or not are ???? and such odds change depending on the Egg’s state of deterioration. It is possible to use a Lantern Action targeting the Egg to candle the Egg. While candling a regular egg is only to check for viability, candling this Egg will always make the Creature viable. It is possible to candle the Egg the same round you are incubating it or forcing it open.
 

   Battles   
 
  The Final Frontier attacks the Fading Dusk 

The Ravager Squadron, led by Aurelius, descended upon the Fading Dusk like a storm in the void. The ship’s hulls gleamed against the twilight sky, their engines humming with the song of vengeance as they sought what they believed was rightfully theirs—a stolen Lantern. Across the dark expanse of the necropolis, Talon Isolde's wyvern-riders took to the skies, their wings blotting out the horizon as they joined the defense of the Twilight Sovereign. A chaotic array of starfire weapons flickered and spat their deadly light between the forces, casting long, ghostly shadows across the battlefield.

The Fading Dusk itself stood at the center of it all, an ancient fortress, its twisted architecture blending into the abyss, its secrets guarded by the Blightfire Bastion. The Armsmaster, cloaked in his newly forged armor, the bastard creation of the Farmer’s Forge, was a sight to behold. The flames that danced across his verdigris-plated form radiated with a cruel brilliance, a constant reminder of the thousand souls screaming from within.

Aurelius stood on the bridge of his flagship, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the battlefield. "The Lantern is here," he declared, his voice steady, "I can feel it. They will not keep it from me."

At his command, the Ravager Squadron surged forward, weapons primed and ready to pierce the heart of the Fading Dusk. The ships formed into a tight spearhead, cutting through the outer defenses with precision and ferocity, the void lighting up with the harsh glow of their assault.

Talon Isolde, mounted on her beast, led the wyvern-like riders to intercept. They dove from the sky like shadows of death, their claws gleaming with an eerie light. The screeches of their battle cries filled the air, matched only by the roar of the squadron's counter-fire. The clash was brutal, the air thick with fire and smoke, but Isolde knew the true fight lay within the fortress itself. She directed her forces towards the heart of the Fading Dusk, where Aurelius was sure to land.

Inside the walls of the Fading Dusk, Aurelius and his most elite soldiers broke through, charging down the labyrinthine halls, their boots echoing through the haunted silence. They moved with ruthless efficiency, cutting down any who stood in their way. Aurelius knew their target well—the Lantern, or any trace of its whereabouts. But standing in his path was the Armsmaster, encased in the Blightfire Bastion, a towering figure of shadow and flame.

The two forces met in a storm of fury and fire.

Aurelius, sword drawn, stepped forward. "I will not ask again," he spat. "Return the Lantern or tell me where it is."

The Armsmaster’s shadowed form radiated the heat of the thousand souls trapped within his armor. The flames of the Blightfire Bastion flared, licking at the ground as he drew his weapon. He did not speak but raised his arm in a clear gesture of challenge.

The duel was inevitable.

Aurelius and the Armsmaster clashed in a brutal, fiery battle, their weapons sending sparks flying through the air with each strike. The Armsmaster's movements were fluid, but relentless—each blow filled with the rage and agony of the souls within his armor. Aurelius fought with cold precision, but the weight of the Armsmaster’s power began to wear him down. Still, he pressed on, determined to break through, to claim what he believed was his by right.

The battle raged around them—Talon Isolde’s wyvern-riders clashed with the Ravager Squadron, while soldiers fought desperately to hold the fortress. The air was thick with smoke, fire, and the stench of death, but the focus of both sides remained on the duel between the two leaders.

Finally, with one brutal swing, the Armsmaster found his opening. His blade pierced Aurelius’s defenses, cutting through his armor and striking him down. Aurelius fell, the flames of the Bastion casting his face in a deathly glow. The Ravager Squadron faltered, momentarily stunned by the loss of their leader.

But the victory was short-lived.

As the Armsmaster stood triumphant, his body blazing with the fury of the Bastion, the remaining members of the Ravager Squadron regrouped. In a desperate counterattack, they swarmed the Armsmaster, overwhelming him with sheer numbers. The Blightfire Bastion flared wildly, consuming the souls of those who fell, but it was not enough. The Armsmaster, encased in his cursed armor, was eventually brought down, his body collapsing under the weight of his own power.

As the smoke cleared and the battle waned, something strange began to occur. From the bodies of Aurelius and the Armsmaster, a faint glow emerged. Slowly, impossibly, the two men rose to their feet. Their bodies were battered and broken, yet they stood as if pulled from the very edge of death. Their feet, both Aurelius and the Armsmaster, burned with a strange fire, leaving charred footprints where they walked. Their eyes met, no longer filled with the malice of enemies, but with an understanding—an unspoken bond born from the journey they had just undertaken together.

Without a word, Aurelius and the Armsmaster turned and walked side by side, the flames of the Blightfire Bastion flickering low, leaving behind the ravaged battlefield as both conqueror and conquered, bound by their shared death and resurrection. No longer adversaries, but something else entirely—harbingers of a new order that neither side could have foreseen.

 The Final Frontier loses 1 Unit to travel and 2 units to the Battle. Their Tally of Loss increases by 2. The Faded Dawn loses 1 Unit and their Tally of Loss increases by 1. The Synod of Savergry loses 1 Unit and their Tally of Loss increases by 1.  The Final Frontier falls into a Penumbra around Luttoise. 
 Armsmaster and Aurelius have each gained the permanent ability of  Both Ends Burning . They may spend any amount of their Tally of Loss to provide a bonus to any roll. This ability is owned by them individually, not by their  nations or any other potential Ruler of their nations. Since the Armsmaster is not a Ruler, this ability may only be used on rolls the Armsmaster is actively participating on. 
 Aurelius and his Fleet have been evicted from the Final Frontier and have become the Forsaken Fleet. The Forsaken Fleet fled to District 10. The Fleet is considered Listless and will continue to be Listless until they (1) conquer a Lanternless District or are Hosted by a Lantern Holder District and (2) fulfill their Diversion requirements (2 diversions held). The Forsaken Fleet may not attack or help an attack on a Player until they solve their Listlessness. Another player may attack the Forsaken Fleet by attacking the district that they are in. Another player may offer to Host the Forsaken Fleet with a Discretion Action. The Forsaken Fleet’s unit cap is equal to the their host nation’s and the Fleet’s units are the first ones lost if it goes over the cap (starting in District 10, the Fleet has a Unit Cap of 6 and given that 2 prior units exist, the Fleet may only have 4 Units without losing any). 
 
  Luttoise attacks the Final Frontier 

The armies of Luttoise moved through the void of space, breathing only the ideology of the revolution. These were soldiers born in the endless fires of rebellion, hardened by struggle and consumed by a singular vision of overthrowing the old regimes. The Final Frontier was now within their grasp, a blank canvas for the ideology of Luttoiuse to paint over.

The Final Frontier was not what they had expected.

When they arrived, there were no enemy forces, no fleets ready to meet them in battle. Instead, they found silence. As their ships pierced through the inky blackness, they came upon the first of the Frontier vessels—a hulking mass of steel and thrusters, once a proud defender of the cosmos, now drifting in eerie stillness.

As the soldiers moved from one ship to the next, the eerie feeling persisted. It was as though the entire fleet had been evacuated in an instant, but there was no sign of struggle, no damage to the ships. The control panels were operational, the engines still hummed with latent power, but the crews were gone—vanished without a trace, leaving only their ships behind.

 The Final Frontier falls into a Penumbra around Luttoise.  
 
   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 Uxmal find that rats and centipedes have inundated the Holy City  A Vermin Infestation as appeared in Uxmal  
 The Deprivation presses their claim on Lanternless District 15 and it falls into the Penumbra around the Deprivation. 
 The Princes of Perfect Rule convince the people of Lanternless District 22 that they have a claim. 
 The Princes of Perfect Rule press their claim on Lanternless District 2 and it falls into the Penumbra around the Golden Palace of Perfection. 
 The Princes of Perfect Rule will offer to host the Wandering Fleet if they bend the knee to the Princes and become an Appeaser.
[B]The Princes of Perfect Rule offer to the Forsaken Fleet to Host the fleet and roll an Acquisition on their behalf if they bend the Knee (Vassalage Action). 
 
 
 Force
 
 From the shadows of Toyollo’s barracks, a figure emerged—Queen-Elect Hannah, accompanied by two silent Tabine soldiers. Indumathi caught sight of her, pausing mid-hammer. Her lips twisted into a crazed smile, as if recognizing Hannah as the one who had come for her.

" Ah! The Queen! You’ve finally come, haven’t you? To claim the only one who can protect you from the light and the dark! Shall we away then? Lead me to your palace, where I shall be showered in worms and praised like the gods! I know you want me! I know you need me! "

Without a word, Hannah gestured to the Tabine, who stepped forward and gently but firmly took hold of Indumathi’s arms. The madwoman did not resist; in fact, she leaned into their grip as if it were an embrace. She allowed herself to be led away from the barracks, cackling softly to herself.

As they moved toward the royal carriage waiting at the edge of the square, Indumathi began her demands anew. " I expect the finest treatment! A bath of sweet crickets, and I shall dine only on the juiciest worms! My chambers shall be dark, for the light disgusts me! And where are my slaves? I demand praise when I walk! "

Hannah, walking beside her in silence, raised a brow at the outrageous demands. She glanced at one of the Tabine soldiers, who responded with a blank stare.

Indumathi stopped abruptly, her mad eyes locking onto Hannah's. "Y ou need me, don’t you, Queen? You know why. You know the truth—only I can save you from the shadows that creep at your gates, the ones that whisper your downfall. " She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. " I’ll protect you... just keep me away from my Sisters. "

Hannah’s lips curled into a tight, controlled smile. "We shall see," she said softly.

They arrived at the royal carriage, and as the Tabine soldiers helped Indumathi inside, she reclined on the plush seat, her enormous, sagging body barely fitting into the space. She raised her hand in a mock wave, addressing the empty air.

" Onward, to the feast prepared for your savior! Onward! "

 Indumathi now resides in the Silver Refuge  
 The Silver Refuge raises a unit. 
 The Fading Dusk raises 2 units. 
 The Final Frontier raises 3 units and loses 2 due to Unit Cap. 
 Uxmal raises 4 units. 
 The Twilight Sovereign stood once more before the Farmer, her dark robes flowing in the twilight breeze. Another hundred souls, bound in chains, huddled in terror behind her. Their fate was sealed. The Forge, still chewing the air with its iron teeth, loomed ominously, its presence cold and indifferent. With a nod from the Sovereign, the Farmer's left hands, wielding the reapers, swung swiftly through the chains binding the prisoners. Their cries pierced the stillness as they were dragged, one by one, toward the yawning maw of the Forge, and the procession resumed—each soul consumed, each scream swallowed by the Forge.

Yet this time, something was wrong. The grinding, gnashing sounds of the Forge became strained, uneven, as though the great machine struggled to digest its offering. Nothing emerged from the Forge's depths. Instead, a hollow silence followed the last scream. The Twilight Sovereign, feeling a strange emptiness gnawing at her core, stared at the unmoving Forge. The hunger within her echoed the Forge's own insatiable thirst, but the offering had produced nothing. The Farmer, without pause or acknowledgment, returned to his grim work, reaping the fields, dragging the Forge along the endless expanse. The Sovereign remained where she stood, her sense of power undermined by a creeping, ravenous void that threatened to swallow her whole. More souls would be needed.

 The Forge has been Fed - Probe Lantern Actions may be used this Round. 
. 
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 Nezetkhamun felt an unsettling shift in the fabric of his divine realm as he descended upon his sanctum. The familiar pulse of light, the heart of his domain—his Lantern—was gone. Its absence left a palpable void, a stark silence where once its radiant hum filled the air. His scales rippled with a surge of fury and confusion, his draconic senses expanding, searching for the light that had offered him hope to return to life. But there was nothing, only darkness where the Lantern had once stood, a darkness that stirred ancient memories of forgotten betrayals and deep, gnawing hunger. 
 Queen-Elect Hannah stood frozen at the threshold of the Silver Refuge, her heart sinking as her gaze fell upon the vacant pedestal where her Lantern had once burned with steady brilliance. The light that had always bathed the chamber was now absent, leaving only cold shadows in its wake. Disbelief surged within her—how could this happen under her watch? The Lantern, a symbol of her power, had been stolen right from beneath her eyes. Fury mingled with shame as she recalled how Kusal had cleverly defended his Lantern from the dreaded Tallow-Eater, yet here she stood, the Lantern taken. The weight of failure pressed down on her as a creeping dread washed over her 
 Deprivation acquires Archery and Drumming. 
 Chronocruis acquires Cheesemaking and Philosophical Discussions. 
 Chronocruise Enterprises gains 2 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 The Deprivation gains 1 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 The Fading Dusk gains 1 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 The Statue of Aurelius breaks apart into various bones and rotted organ meats when Aurelius falls in Battle. It does not reform when Aurelius returns. 
 
 
 Conviction
 
 The Altar in Lanternless District 33 is consecrated to Rebirth. 
 The Altar in the Lanternless Darkthornethe is consecrated to the Dragon Cult. 
 The Altar in Lanternless District 5 is consecrated to Forty-Two Gods. 
 The Altars in Hraesholm and in Lanternless District 2 are consecrated to the Revolutionary Spirit. 
 
 
 
Aedilred
  Onende, the Silver Refuge 
 Hannah X, Queen-Elect 
Discretion 5
Force 5
Entertainment 5
Conviction 5
 
A demand is issued to the Chronocruise Enterprises to surrender all lanterns in its possession. In anticipation of the refusal, harpies and skyships set out for the great vessel, to board it and take them by force.

 Actions round 6 

[Force] Assail the Chronocruise Enterprises
 
 4 units 
 Hannah commanding (M5) 
 Frenzied onslaught 
 Duel challenge issued 
 
[Force] Recruit a unit
[Conviction] Convert the altar in region 29
[Conviction 5] Recover the artifact  Rose Thorn , a  blood-red  grey sword of rose steel, forged by the hand of dwarven smiths in an age long-forgotten.
 
 +1 to duels and other single combats 
 +n to fighting the Tallow Eater specifically 
 
Torv
   Okynnet   
  [SECRET]  
Non-actions:
 
 [1] Vide kindly asks for help in braving the Halls, to find knowledge of what will happen when the Lanterns' prisoner is set free.
[2] Send an envoy with a strongly worded letter for the Sewer Samrat, lord of the Gutters since the Beggars fall, and the mind behind the Infestations.
[3] Reveal that one of Indumathi's sisters is trapped in another realm, waiting for someone to claim it and save her (D40).
[4] Kindly ask the Lanternholders to leave Okynnet be or it is their lore that will become public next. 
 


Roll-over:  D5-E1-F1-C5 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn (she/they)  
 Dis 3 | For 5 | Ent 3 | Con 5 
 Units:  2
 Mirth:  0
 Tally of Loss:  6

 
   Round 6 - WIP 
  "Quote."  
  [Force]  Raise Unit
 [Force]  Raise Unit
 SECRET 
 SECRET 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Hinder all unauthorized attempts to convert Hraesholm, Sanctum, the Maelstrom and all other altars so claimed by the Synod. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire diversions owned by the Synod. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to acquire diversions from Hraesholm, the Sanctum, or the Maelstrom. 
 Publicly reveal the existence of the Crossroads to the Decadence 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -
Stat Changes:
Resource Changes:

Faith Size:
Diversions: 3 (The Hunt, Jousting, Decadence Crossroads)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
SerakHawk
      
  Prayers of Sunset (POS)   
  Ruler: Dawnstar Sovereign (she/they)  
 Dis 4 | For 5 | Ent 3 | Con 1 
 Units:  2
 Tally of Loss:  1
 Mirth:  1, income +1
 Diversions:   4 
 Lanterns:   1 
 
   The Prayers of Sunset - Round 6
 Daybreak  
 
 [Discretion]  Press Claim on Unnamed Region 1! -  7 
 [Discretion]  The Footarmsmaster travel to the Halls! The agalmamation of feet and arms uses what little mirth remained in the Fading Dusk to bolster against the Tallow Eaters smites while they use the tally of soldiers lost to brace against the unnatural hunger of the Tallow Eaters devour
 [Force]  Deploy 2 Units with the Footarmsmaster [9] to Attack the Tallow Eater in the halls!
- TM +9 | Frenzied Onslaught: +2 Battle, +10% self-casualties
- Duel +9 | Challenging the Tallow Eater to a Duel
- Battle +11 /+4 /+2 +10% Cas | +9 Armsmaster, +2 unit, +4 if Duel Win, +2 TM if win
 [Force 5]  Abduction of the  TALLOW EATER 
 The Armsmaster on his return from death had his arm-feet turned into real feet and changed their Title to Footarmsmaster! While they used to fall under the leash of the Sovereign this new change marked something new, a fire burning in the Bastion armor that is more than just the Lantern it was made of. Ignoring the Sovereigns orders the Footarmsmaster musters all the forces of the Fading Dusk with torches and non-magical lanterns to sally into the halls to fight that which threatens all lantern holders. A scheme is at foot, the Tallow Eater seems to large to kill conventionally, but a war on one front while capturing the remains may let allow for the leashing or final destruction of the Tallow Eater as it burns in the embrace of the Farmers core. The Footarmsmaster is unable or unwilling to convey their intentions, and the Sovereign prepares more loyal forces to prevent a potential take-over while also trying to find secrets of a bygone library. 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different Conviction in the Fading Dusk apart from  Coatl Perijainism  to whom support is given. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Night District" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Lavish Feasts" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Botany" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Model Building" Diversion 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Capital: The Fading Dusk
Penumbra [0]: None Orbits the Dusk
Diversions: The Night District, Lavish Feasts, Model Building, Botany
Stat Changes: +1 Discretion, +1 Force
Other Changes: -1 mirth, +1 mirth, -1 record of loss
 
 
  
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 8 Force 5 Entertainment 8 Conviction 1 Mirth 2 Units 6  
 [Force]  Send 2 Units to fight under Hannah against the Chronocruise Enterprises.
 [Force]  Raise 1 Unit
 [Discretion]  Investigate the disappearance of the King of Wax and Wick.
 [Discretion]  Establish claim on region 14.

 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +1 Discretion, +1 Force 
 Nonactions: 
 
 Resist attempts to acquire my owned Diversions  ESPECIALLY  Chariot Racing. 
 Support the conversion of our altars to the Cult of the Dragon. 
 
MappyPK
    Chronocruise Enterprises    
  The Aetherial Mechanica 
 
 Ruler:  SeaEO Vivienne Locke
(DIS 5 | FOR 4 | ENT 10 | CON 3)

 Mirth:  3
 Units:  3 
 Actions: 
 
 Discretion - Host an event. Invite Hannah X and offer them the Eighth Verdigris Lantern.
 The SeaEO stands on the bow, facing the endless expanse of the Cloud Sea, and holds a singular, unlit lantern. "I offer this to you in hopes that an everlasting peace can exist between our fair districts. I simply wish to bring the many pleasures of life to those who have found themselves trapped aboard my cruise through time and space -- fighting will not allow this. So please, take it, and, if you insist, find a friend to relight it for yourself..."  
 Force - Hire armed security. 
 Force - Hire armed security. 
 Entertainment - Produce Enactment -&gt; Tactical Replay. Using advanced clockwork technology to continually "rewind" time, commanders can more easily predict the movements of their opponents on a second attempt. +2 to Tactical Maneuvering.  
 
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
 Dis 2 | For 8 | Ent 3 | Con 7 
 Units:  7
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   1 
 Lanterns:   1 [SNUFFED] 
 
   Round ???     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on, and on, and on. This time it is Margot who calls a small council. Thirteen members, including the various faction leaders, gather to hear her revelations. She had awoken to find the dismembered tendon of the Tallow Eater, and the shock had broken her stupor. She remembered the previous cycles now, and she was furious. Alexander had once said they were trapped in hell. She hadn't understood him then. She had doubted his resolve, his commitment to the cause, but now she understood. She woke up and found the invader. Now she was ready to burn it down, and the devil with it.

The revolution had a new target, a new system of oppression to fight. Fighting was all they knew.


  Actions:  
 
 [Conviction 5] Recover Artifact -   Flower of the Partisan  
 In the hands of Margot Boulanger, the flame of revolution overpowers the wax tendon severed from the Tallow Eater. It burns with new purpose, forming a blade of intent to scour away doubt. The blade seems to sing softly.
 "Partisan, take me with you,
Beautiful, take me with you,
If I die here bury me in your heart." +1 to battles lead by the wielder, but -1 to leader loss.  
 [Conviction] Consecrate the altar of The Final Frontier! (with support from me) 
 [Conviction] Consecrate the altar of Unnamed Region 26! 
 [Force] Deploy Force! Send 4 units to capture the Okynnets Urskog. No leader! Using Frenzied Onslaught! 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [5]: Tisear, Hraesholm, The Maelstrom, Sanctum, The Final Frontier
Diversions: Executions, Public Executions
Stat Changes: +1 Force, +1 Conviction
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
Lleban
  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 3 (-1)
Units 1
Discretion 5
Force 5(+1)
Entertainment 5
Conviction 7(+1)
 
  Actions
  
Conviction: Seek aid to (Deploy 2 Units with the Footarmsmaster [9] to Attack the Tallow Eater in the halls!)
Conviction: Spread the faith to R40  roll 14 
Force: Hire like one more dude
Force: Abduct Valyn spend mirth + prince daddy help  roll 15 
 Non Actions 
 
 
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 7
Force - 5
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 8 
 Units: 4
Mirth: 1  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Discretion]  Investigate the Unborn Absolver -  12  
  [Discretion]  Establish Claim on Region 18 -  13  
  [Conviction]  Incubate the Unborn Absolver 
  [Conviction]  Set Dragon Cult Size Bonus 3 - Press Claim 
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 Secret 
 
mystic1110
  Round Six is Closed
  
The verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

  The Sixth Vote is Open  
SerakHawk
The Dawnstar Sovereign looked on at the Bastion holder in the time between time. A link, a command, an order, a death. Fire and brimstone filled the air as the Lantern's bell chimed it was time to cast a vote.

Stepping up from her worry she looked out into the depths of the Necropolis.

"All the Lanterns are dim, but two are openly displayed. Trust must be sealed, trust shall be offered. We Cast as They Cast."

"WE VOTE THE CHRONOCRUISE ENTERPRISES BE STRUCK"
PepperP.
Maldarr had much on his mind given the seeming disappearance of the man who had set this all in motion, but the maneuvering of his old comrade wasn't too far from his thoughts.

"I vote for the lantern held by Vivienne Locke of the Chronocruise Enterprises."
mystic1110
As the Dawnstar Sovereign stood before the Bastion holder, flames flickering wildly around her, the heat began to rise. The Blightfire Bastion itself started to glow red-hot, as if the very metal were alive with fury. The heat intensified, the armor pulsating with the rhythm of the Lantern’s fire, and for a brief moment, it seemed to obey her call, to follow the sovereign's will. But then, a chorus of tortured whispers rose from within the armor—thousands of souls twisted in agony, unified in their defiance. The Bastion shook violently, rejecting the command. In a single terrifying moment, it screamed its own vote: "   BURN   ."
mystic1110
   The Sixth Vote is Closed   

The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.

   Round 7 is Open   
   Vigil   

The light of the candles inside the following Lanterns fades until they become pinpricks of black so deep that it feels like the Lantern Holder might be pulled in. The Verdigris walls of the Lanterns provide a bulwark against the draw of the perceived depth until suddenly the blackness collapses into itself in an ebon gong and is gone. The only clue that the candle has once been lit is only faint smoke caressing the tallow.

The Blightfire Bastion has been Snuffed

  Chapter 4 (continued) - The Golden Promise  

The Lanternless Districts were no longer recognizable, consumed by an eerie rot that spread like a slow sickness through every corner. The once proud towers, twisted and jagged in their architecture, had begun to collapse, their stones eroding into pale dust that collected in corners and alleyways like the ash of forgotten fires. Cracks snaked through the cobblestone streets, and with every passing day, sections of the road simply crumbled, sinking into the ground as though the earth itself was devouring the remnants of a once-defiant city. The air was thick with a damp, sour scent, a mixture of mildew and the fetid remains of something long dead.

Where lanterns once flickered with a ghostly light, illuminating the path for those without their own flame, now only broken glass and rusted iron frames hung from posts, the lamps shattered and dim. Fungal growths, pale and bulbous, sprouted from the walls of buildings, spreading their sickly spores into the wind like a contagion. The wooden doors of the homes and shops had begun to swell and warp from moisture, giving the appearance that they might collapse under the weight of a single touch. Even the bricks seemed to sag, their mortar oozing like pus from an open wound, staining the ground beneath them.
Yet in the heart of this despair, a desperate hope began to stir. Rumors spread like wildfire, whispers of salvation carried on the cold winds. Chen Bil'Rama, the ancient Arachne king, had entered their halls, and with him came the promise of perfection—of salvation. He had spoken of the Princes of Perfect Rule, those who had mastered the art of control and order, who could redeem even the most fallen souls.

Slowly, the people of the Lanternless Districts began to stir from their lethargy, but not with renewed strength—rather, with a growing desperation. The inevitability of their decline weighed too heavily on their spirits, and now they sought any means to escape it. Factions formed, and voices grew louder. Some argued for rebellion, for one last stand against the creeping darkness, while others, more fearful, began to speak of seeking out Chen Bil'Rama and pledging themselves to the Princes of Perfect Rule.

They spoke of surrender, not to the endless fall, but to a different kind of power—one that could restore their strength, their light. The revolutionaries who had once fought for freedom and defied the rule of the Princes now found themselves in a strange alliance with those they had once opposed. A shared terror of oblivion bound them together, and slowly, they began their march to find Chen Bil'Rama.

In hushed tones, they spoke of the Princes of Perfect Rule as if invoking gods. Their promises of perfection, of cleansing and order, became a beacon in the ever-growing darkness. They would bow before the ancient Arachne king, bend the knee to his Liege, and in doing so, hope to escape the slow, unrelenting decay of the Lanternless Districts.

Through the darkened streets, a procession formed. Soldiers, revolutionaries, and common folk alike, all moving with the same purpose—to seek an audience with Chen Bil'Rama. They carried no banners, no flags of defiance. Their march was one of quiet submission, a recognition that without the Princes, their fall was certain.

As they crossed the borders of the Lanternless Districts, their footsteps echoed hollow in the silence, moving toward the place where Chen Bil'Rama waited, his milky, clouded eyes already seeing the truth they had only just begun to realize: perfection, for the damned, was the only path left to salvation. And the Princes of Perfect Rule would be waiting, eager to accept them into their fold.

  Chapter Conclusion - The weakest Lanternless District each round will start to voluntarily vassalize to the Princes of Perfect Rule each round  
  Chapter Seven (continued) - Forsworn’s Wager  

The Knight of Oath and Obligation returned to the realm, his monstrous form darkening the twilight sky as he marched through the ancient city, trailing shadows and fury. His towering frame, supported by his four massive gauntleted hands, scraped the ground as he moved. His shriveled feet no longer dragged a tail of nails but now left deep scars on the earth, marking his passage with a sinister, unwavering resolve. His once-battered armor had been reforged, gleaming with a faint, unnatural light, but it bore no polish—only the patina of rage.

The Knight's eyes, once cold and calculating, now burned with the fire of vengeance. He sought one thing: Valyn. The duel. His honor. He would reclaim it, no matter the cost.

He entered the arena where they had once fought, his voice booming as he called out for her. The decayed stands, long abandoned by life, groaned under the weight of his echoing demands.

" Bloodcaller! " His voice reverberated through the stone, shaking the crumbled ruins with its sheer force. " You cheated me once. You deceived me, hid your strength, and dishonored the Oath of the Joust. I have returned to claim what is mine! "

The skies above seemed to darken further at his words, the air growing heavy with the scent of blood and iron. The Knight's gaze swept the arena, searching for any sign of his opponent. And when Valyn did not immediately appear, he sneered beneath his helmet, his teeth bared in a wicked grin.

" I offer a wager! " he roared, his voice filled with a dark promise. His enormous, armored hand reached to his chest, and with a sickening crunch of metal and bone, he ripped open the armor over his heart. Dark, ancient blood oozed from the wound as he reached inside his chest cavity. His gauntlet trembled slightly as it wrapped around something pulsing within.

With a terrible, slow motion, the Knight of Oath and Obligation tore his still-beating heart from his chest and held it aloft for all to see. The heart was grotesque, blackened and gnarled, with veins of molten gold coursing through it. Shadows coiled around it, drawn to the essence of the life it represented.

" This! " he bellowed, holding his heart high as it dripped with the ichor of his unholy existence. " This is my wager! I pledge my heart and my honor! Will you meet me in this final duel? "

The challenge hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of his words. The beating heart pulsed faster, as if eager for the battle to begin, for the blood to spill. The shadows danced and twisted around the Knight, drawn by his defiance, as if the very world waited to see what Valyn would do. Would she answer his call once again, face him for her own honor? Or would she leave him to suffer the eternal shame of a knight dishonored, broken by his own hubris?

The Knight's voice deepened with menace as he continued, " If you do not come to face me, Bloodcaller, I will bring the duel to you. " His blackened heart pulsed violently in his hand, casting a dark glow around him as he added, " No matter where you hide, I will tear through worlds, through fire and shadow, to find you and reclaim what is mine ."

  Chapter Conclusion - No Disrupts are possible until Valyn has a rematch with the Knight or the Knight is otherwise killed.  
 
 Spoiler: Rematch 
The Knight of Oath Obligation may be dueled, same as before, except this time he will not lower his leader score (revealed to be 13). If the Knight is not challenged in this round, the round after will journey to wherever Valyn is and attack (for example, at the moment, the Knight will attack Uxmal next round trying to abduct Valyn to force her to duel her). Losing any duel with the Knight by any amount means to be shackled to the Knight. Defeating the Knight this time will grant you the Forsworn Heart which provides ????
 

  Chapter Eight (continued) - Mother of Gentle Lies  

The Mother of Gentle Lies walked into the Decadence, her every step echoed by the soft, haunting cries of the malformed creature cradled in her arms. Her arrival was marked by an eerie, instinctual shift in the air, as if the very atmosphere bent to her will. Those who witnessed her entrance fell to their knees, faces pressed to the floor, weeping openly as if mourning lost parents, consumed by an overwhelming sense of reverence and sorrow. Some reached out toward her, fingers trembling, but none dared touch her, their cries growing louder, more desperate, as the sound of the mewling, grotesque creature accompanied her like a twisted lullaby.

Her white robes flowed around her like liquid purity, soft and luminous, and though her smile was serene, her eyes gleamed with the knowledge of their worship. She passed through the chamber with an ethereal grace, and the prostate figures wailed for her—no longer just a figure of lust, but now a symbol of something far deeper. Their grief and awe intertwined, pulling them into the gravity of her presence, as if they were children seeking comfort from a mother who would never truly love them.

The cries of her ‘child,’ a gurgling, wet sound that mimicked the cries of infants, grew louder as she approached Nezetkhamun, still enthroned in his uneasy godhood. The once-overwhelming Dragon god now looked upon her with a mixture of dread and disbelief. The creature in her arms pulsed with a grotesque life, vaguely shaped like a dragon, yet so far from anything truly draconic.

And as she stood before him, her smile deepening with twisted warmth, she extended the malformed clump toward him.

“ This ,” she whispered, her voice gentle, yet carrying the weight of something inevitable, “ is your heir. Your legacy .”

Nezetkhamun’s molten eyes flickered, unsure whether to recoil or accept the horrid bundle. The crowd still wept around them, their cries rising in a crescendo as the Mother of Gentle Lies placed the mewling clump into his trembling hands.

  Chapter Conclusion - No Safeguards are possible until Nezetkhamu has accepted his Heir or the Mother is otherwise killed.  
 
 Spoiler:  Accepting the Heir 
If Nezetkhamun accepts the “Heir” then the “Heir” must be your next ruler. The Heir has +2 to each stat upon rollover and has a maximum score of 12 for each stat. If Nezetkhamun rejects the heir then the Mother of Gentle Lies will act against the Decadence.
 

  Chapter Nine (continued)  - The Coward’s Daughter  

Dreytel stood at the edge of her district, the weight of her decision pressing heavily upon her as she cast a final glance over her shoulder. Behind her, the Lanternless streets of her homeland were swallowed by shadows, the tall, proud spires now dulled by neglect and disarray. Her father, once a symbol of strength and resolve, had knelt before the twisted figure of Chen Bil'Rama, surrendering not only the district but the future of their people to the Princes of Perfect Rule. It was a betrayal too deep to bear.

Dreytel's armor gleamed in the moonlight — unblemished, untouched by battle. She had never fought, never bled for her people, though she was meant to lead them into a glorious future. Her training had been meticulous, but the fields of war had never called her. Now, the pristine metal, polished to perfection, felt like a mockery of her inaction. The weight of her sword at her side was foreign, its hilt barely worn by her grip, though the resolve in her heart was anything but soft.

Her father's submission to Chen Bil'Rama had been a quiet one, a ceremony of whispered promises made in the darkened halls of their crumbling palace. Dreytel had watched from the shadows as the monstrous figure of the Arachne king loomed over her father, his milky eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She could not stand to witness her proud lineage bend to such horrors — the gnashing, chitinous legs of the Arachne king scraping the ground as her father bowed had ignited something deep within her.

Now, with her heart aflame and her armor flawless, she fled. The road before her was uncertain, but she had heard whispers of the Synod of Savagery, a group whose brutal defiance echoed through the Necropolis. Among their ranks was Valyn, a figure of antagonism and rebellion against the Appeasers — the very forces that now shackled her homeland. Valyn, she had heard, stood as a living thorn in the side of Chen Bil'Rama and the Princes of Perfect Rule.

Dreytel’s boots crunched softly against the brittle soil, her steps quick and steady as she made her way through the dying Lanternless District. The streets, once bustling with the life and energy of her people, were now eerily silent, their once-bright banners torn and faded. The citizens wandered like ghosts, their faces gaunt with despair, each step heavy with resignation. The light had dimmed here, and with her father’s submission, it had been snuffed out entirely. Soon, the District itself would fall, absorbed into the cold embrace of the Princes, its name forgotten, its legacy buried in the ashes of surrender.

She gritted her teeth, her mind racing with fury. "Coward," she spat under her breath, thinking of her father. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, the grip still unfamiliar but now growing familiar in her rising anger. He had betrayed them all, but she would not follow.

Days of travel brought her to the outskirts of the Synod’s territory, a land known for its brutalism and the sharp discipline of its inhabitants. It was there, among the rugged cliffs and battle-scarred fortresses, that Dreytel sought to make her stand. Her armor still shone bright, a symbol of her untouched past, but her eyes blazed with the fire of vengeance and determination.

When she arrived before the Synod, Valyn's name was on her lips, a plea of alliance forming in her mind. She strode forward, her voice clear and unshaken as she addressed the leaders of the Synod. "I am Dreytel Lyscendra, princess of a district now lost to the Appeasers. My father has bent the knee to Chen Bil'Rama, but I refuse to follow his cowardice. I seek your help in reclaiming my home from him and his new masters."

The Synod's warriors watched her carefully, their gazes lingering on her pristine armor, which gleamed in stark contrast to their battle-worn forms. She drew her sword, planting it firmly in the ground before her. The blade, just as unmarked as the rest of her, gleamed with a cold, reflective light. "I offer myself to your cause," she declared, her voice hardening. "If you will help me reclaim my district, I will fight for you. I will stand against the Appeasers and prove my loyalty in battle."

The room grew silent as her words echoed off the stone walls. The Synod’s leaders studied her, their eyes narrowing as they considered her offer.

  Chapter Conclusion - Accept the Princess as a Ward  
 
 Spoiler: The Princess 
Dreytel is the princess of the Lanternless District 21. Housing Dreytel takes a Discretion Action - She may be treated as a General with a leader score of 10 if you are housing her and are acting directly against the Princes of Perfect Rule. If you are not acting against the Princes, she may not be used as a General. You are able to use her in a deployment action against another player/district as long as you are otherwise acting publicly or secretly against the princes although .your action must be, in fluff, known to her. You are able to use her the round that you house her. If player targeted for this offer does not accept the round this offer is made, Dreytel will go to another district with same offer until housed.
 

   Battles   
 
  The Armsmaster attacking the Tallow Eater 

The Halls of the Dripping Throne were a haunting spectacle, as the Tallow Eater, a monstrous, writhing mass of ligaments and teeth, grew like a cancer. Its many maws gnashed and snapped, overlapping like the mouths of some hellish hydra, each one gnawing through the air as it consumed the halls themselves, dripping its oily residue onto the stone. Shadows flickered, twisted, as the force of darkness led by the Armsmaster poured into the chamber. They moved with precision, their figures blending into the surrounding gloom, eyes glinting with an eerie light.

At the front of this force stood the Armsmaster, encased in the dreadful Blightfire Armor, its surface glowing with smoldering embers as the cursed flames licked the edges of his helm. His blade, pulsing with darkness, cut through the air as he led the charge. The shadows moved like sentient ink behind him, rushing to meet the beast. As the first tendrils of the Tallow Eater lashed out, the Armsmaster was ready, his sword carving through waxy limbs with brutal efficiency. But the Tallow Eater was vast, a writhing amalgamation of beast and nightmare, and for every tendril severed, two more sprouted, lashing with venomous speed.

In the midst of the chaos, one of the Tallow Eater’s many maws yawned wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth encircling a void. Before the Armsmaster could react, it lashed forward like a monstrous bird, sucking him into its mouth in one swift, violent motion. His Blightfire Armor crumpled around him like a shattered shell as he was ripped out, his body torn from the cursed suit as if he were nothing more than a morsel of flesh in the jaws of a predator.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield froze—the leader of the shadows devoured. The Tallow Eater howled, the sound reverberating through the stone halls like a terrible storm. But the shadows did not falter. One of the dark figures broke free from the ranks and, without hesitation, slipped into the discarded Blightfire Armor. The armor roared to life again, the embers blazing anew as the new wearer took up the Armsmaster's blade and resumed the attack with renewed fury.

The battle raged on as the shadow, now bearing the cursed armor, weaved through the flurry of snapping teeth, whipping tendrils, and tearing ligaments of the Tallow Eater. Each movement was precise, each strike deliberate, the sword carving through the creature's waxy flesh with relentless speed. Black ichor and tallow splattered across the stone floors as the battle pushed deeper into the halls, the Tallow Eater’s body thrashing and twisting in blind rage, its limbs growing more erratic and frenzied.

Dodging a sweeping tentacle, the shadow-wearer surged forward, slashing through layers of the creature until they reached its core—a writhing, pulsating mass of wax and sinew buried deep within. From this core protruded a single, massive tooth, glistening with the same eerie light that filled the halls. The shadow, with a swift, brutal motion, hacked through the remaining ligaments surrounding the core and tore the central tooth free.

For a moment, the Tallow Eater froze, its many maws hanging open in silent agony. Then, in a slow, grotesque collapse, the entire creature began to shrivel. Its many limbs and tentacles curled in on themselves, shriveling like rotten vines left too long in the sun. Its body, once bloated and powerful, withered away, turning to brittle wax that crumbled and melted into the stone beneath it.

The Halls of the Dripping Throne fell silent, the only sound the slow drip of tallow from the remnants of the Tallow Eater's husk, now reduced to a lifeless heap of wax. The shadow, still clad in the Blightfire Armor, stood victorious, holding the monstrous tooth aloft, the proof of the Tallow Eater's defeat. The once-terrifying creature was now nothing more than a ruin, a hollow echo of the terror it once embodied.

 The Twilight Sovereign has gained two Tallow Tendons and the Tallow Tooth. The Tallow Tooth is considered an Artifact and will, unless destroyed (????), recreate the Tallow Eater in three Rounds. 
 
  Luttoise attacks Okynnets Urskog 

The partisans of Luttoiuse strode through the thick underbrush of Okynnets Urskog, their eyes narrowed against the flickering light of the ever-burning and ever-renewing forest. The scent of sap and charred wood clung to the air, mingling with the ever-present haze of smoke that veiled the landscape. It was as though the trees themselves fought off decay with a fiery resolve, their roots constantly rejuvenating, their leaves curling and burning in a perpetual cycle of death and rebirth. Yet, there was something off — something missing.

Luttoiuse had come to crush the forest, seeking to challenge its ruler, Vide, the mercurial queen who had long ruled over this place with an almost sentient presence. But as they ventured deeper into the forest, they sensed an unnatural stillness. The air, usually humming with the wild magic of the ever-changing landscape, now hung heavy and muted. The forest still burned, but the wild heart of it — Vide's presence — was nowhere to be found.

At the center of the forest, they approached the Throne of Want, a macabre structure that resembled the upper jaw of a giant snake skull, once white but now blackened, its jagged teeth arched upwards, half-consumed by the forest’s flames. Overgrown flowers and thick vines still wove through its crevices, softening its grim appearance, as though nature was trying to reclaim it from destruction. But the throne itself was empty.

No queen waited for them.

The commander of the partisans climbed the few steps to the throne and laid his hand upon it, expecting some resistance, some trace of Vide’s ever-shifting will — but there was nothing. The power that had once radiated from this seat of command, a force that could bend the will of the entire forest, had vanished. It was as though Vide had disappeared without a trace. No trickery or shifting illusion struck at his senses. Yet, something remained — a presence, faint, but undeniable.

His gaze shifted toward the Statue that stood beside the throne, carved from red-veined obsidian, given to Vide by the enigmatic Mutilated Artists. It had fascinated him, this piece of living art that seemed to breathe with the pulse of the forest. The statue's expression, half-destroyed in its creation, captured Vide's nature — one side serene and maternal, the other twisted with suffering, reflecting the contradictory beauty and horror of the Urskog itself.

The statue was still here, untouched by the flames and intact. Vide had not faded entirely; she had not left this world. The presence of the statue, a gift from the most secretive of the Necropolis’s artisans, confirmed it. She was somewhere, perhaps hidden or waiting, but not gone. She was still part of the Necropolis, lingering in its deep recesses like a shadow waiting to be called back to the flame.

 Okynnets Urskog falls into Penumbra around Luttoise. This includes the Throne of Want and the Statue of Videaska.

The Throne of Want will force a rollover for Luttoise for the upcoming round unless it is given away (if unwanted gift treat like a Theft in reverse) or destroyed (Force TN 12).

Additionally, note that Vide remains in the Necropolis, but without a District. She will be treated as listless and will remain listless unless she fulfills certain conditions (one of which to retain the use of two diversions like any other player district). If she has or gains control of a Lantern she may not use such lantern until she is no longer Listeless. Like other Listless Districts, if she does not regain her vitality in some way she will fade in 3 rounds. She may be found with an Investigation Action.  
  Silver Refuge attacks the Chronocruise 

Hannah strode aboard the Chronocruise, her gaze sweeping across the ship's deck as she led her soldiers, flanked by Mad Maldarr, into the heart of the vessel. They were greeted by the eerily pleasant smiles of the crew, the ship’s personnel lined up in crisp uniforms, beaming as if nothing were amiss, despite the armored force now commandeering their ship. The air was heavy with an unsettling calm, the contrast between the soldiers’ grim determination and the crew’s exaggerated cheerfulness making the moment feel surreal.

At the head of the welcoming party stood the captain — a short, sharp-eyed woman who wore an air of calm indifference beneath her polished uniform. Her hands were clasped behind her back as she stepped forward, bowing her head slightly to Hannah.

“Vivienne Locke, at your service,” she greeted, her voice edged with a casual tone that belied the situation. "I hear you're taking over command of my vessel. Well, consider it done. The Chronocruise is now at your disposal." Her eyes flicked to the soldiers and then to Mad Maldarr, who towered over her, cracking his knuckles with anticipation. Braddock didn’t flinch. Instead, she continued with a faint smirk playing at her lips.

“There are no missing lanterns aboard, I assure you. This is a clean ship, just good folks enjoying their voyage. But I get it — you have your investigation, your orders.” She took a step closer to Hannah, her voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone, “Once you’ve satisfied your curiosity, you’re welcome to get off my ****ing boat. Otherwise, we’ll comply, like good hosts, with whatever this little takeover requires.”

Hannah, her eyes never leaving the captain, gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, though her posture remained rigid, signaling she wasn’t taking any of this lightly. The crew’s smiles never wavered, their expressions locked in that unsettling hospitality, as if nothing could faze them.

“Of course,” SeaEO Locke continued, her voice regaining its chipper edge, “while you’re here, we’ll extend our esteemed hospitality to you and your soldiers. After all, the Chronocruise is renowned for its luxury.” Her smile widened, though her eyes remained sharp. “We even have happy hour later, if you’re interested. First drink's on the house.”

Hannah’s eyes flicked toward Maldarr, who gave a grunt of amusement, his lips curling into a faint sneer. The captain’s casual defiance hung in the air, but it was clear that for now, she would cooperate — even if under duress.

 The Chronocruise becomes a vassal of the Silver Refugee and falls into a Penumbra around it.  
 
   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 Mad Maldarr prowled through the shadowed alleys of the Necropolis, his senses heightened as he sought whispers of the King of Wax and Wick. The air was thick with decay, the remnants of a once-thriving society now dulled into apathy. Each district felt like a separate world, isolated and oblivious to the others, their inhabitants drifting through existence like lost souls, their lives entwined with their personal despair rather than the broader tapestry of the Necropolis.

As he approached the worn taverns and dilapidated marketplaces, he found that conversations were shallow and mundane, punctuated by an overwhelming lethargy that hung over the populace like a shroud. Few spoke of the Dripping Throne; it was as if the very mention of the King had faded into obscurity along with the history of the land. His inquiries yielded little more than vacant stares and mumbled phrases about survival, each individual too engrossed in their own plight to recall the deeper lore of the Necropolis.

However, Mad Maldarr knew there were those who wandered between the districts—transients who had tasted the essence of every corner of the Necropolis and might hold the key to unraveling the mystery. The Mutilated Artists, with their warped perspectives and fragmented tales, could offer insights into the shadows where the King dwelled. The Mad Oracle, a figure of both dread and reverence, whispered truths that could bridge the gaps of knowledge between the Districts. And then there was the missing Griot, a keeper of stories whose absence resonated throughout the crumbling streets, leaving behind a void where the legends of the past could no longer be spoken.

Somewhere, within the fabric of the Necropolis, lay the answers he sought—if only he could find the lively voices that still remembered something.. 
 The Deprivation establishes a claim on region 14. 
 The Decadences establishes a Claim on Region 18. 
 The Princes of Perfect rule establish Claim on Region 21. 
 Region 13 and 22 become vassals of the Princes of Perfect Rule. 
 
 
 Force
 
 The Silver Refuge recruits a unit. 
 The Chronocruise recruits two units. 
 Uxmal recruits a Unit 
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII stood at the edge of the Gutters, his towering figure wrapped in layers of dark, silken veils that flowed with the breeze. His presence was a shadowy force, more suggestion than substance, a being who seemed to exist halfway between the tangible and the unseen. His black armor, dull as night, bore no reflection of light, and the faintest gleam of silver threadwork in his veil hinted at the many eyes hidden beneath. Eyes that never closed, never stopped watching. Behind him, the Dread Host loomed, their twisted forms a cacophony of war-torn souls, bound in unnatural flesh, their eyes hollow with ancient hatred and hunger.

A tremor shuddered through the Gutters, a signal that something was stirring. The Veiled General’s head turned ever so slightly as a figure emerged from the stinking, ruined alleys of the Gutters — Valyn, her skin ashen, her steps unsteady but determined. Her feet left behind charred footprints, burning traces of her passage even here, in this forsaken place. She clutched tightly in her hand a Knot of Rat Tails, its fetid stench permeating the air as it swayed with her movements. The mark of survival, of death denied.

Toyollo VII’s gaze narrowed behind the veil, his unseen eyes tracing her every movement. The Dread Host shifted, restless, sensing the presence of the one they had already claimed in death.

Valyn’s eyes flickered with defiance as she staggered forward, the weight of the Gutters clinging to her, but the fire in her heart still burning. She had been killed once by the Dread Host, yet here she was — alive, walking the mortal lands again. And that was something that could not be allowed to stand.

With a silent signal from the Veiled General, the Dread Host descended. They moved like wraiths, their bodies half-material, flickering in and out of shadow as they swarmed Valyn from every direction. The sound of their chains clinking softly, an eerie, hollow echo, filled the air. One by one, their clawed hands reached out, spectral limbs passing through her like a fog, yet she could feel the icy chill of their touch, the soul-binding grasp that sought to claim her once more.

Valyn fought back with a surge of her fiery will, lashing out with her blade which hissed and spat as it met the Dread Host’s hands, burning them away for a brief moment before their forms reassembled. She whirled, dodging and slashing at the phantasms, but their numbers overwhelmed her. Their fingers dug deep into her flesh, not tearing, but pulling her essence away from her body, as if trying to separate her soul from its mortal shell.

Her flames roared in defiance, but she was exhausted, still fresh from her return from death. Her vision blurred as Toyollo VII strode forward, his form becoming clearer as he reached out one veiled hand. Valyn’s body froze under his command, her limbs seizing, her breath catching in her throat. The General moved with deliberate slowness, his cold presence unbearable as he stood over her. He wrapped his hand around her throat, lifting her as easily as one would lift a fallen leaf. She dangled there, fire still burning in her eyes but growing dimmer with every second.

Toyollo’s voice, low and echoing with the resonance of a thousand battlefields, whispered from beneath the veil. "We claimed you, Valyn. Your life was forfeit to the Dread Host. Yet here you stand, defying death. How?"

Valyn, barely able to speak, spat blood and defiance. "I’ll tell you nothing."

The Veiled General tilted his head slightly, his veils rustling as if amused. "It is not for you to decide."

With a flick of his hand, he cast her into the midst of the Dread Host. Their ghostly fingers closed around her, binding her in chains of shadow and void. She could feel her essence being sapped, her body becoming heavier, less real. They were dragging her, no longer through the physical world but through the shadowy realms where only death reigned. The Gutters vanished, replaced by the endless void of the dead, the eternal march of souls claimed by the Dread Host.

Valyn’s body felt weightless, formless, as they carried her through shadow and flame, through realms that no mortal should ever witness. Yet her mind, her soul, remained stubbornly tethered to her defiance, her will to survive.

After what felt like an eternity of travel through the nether realms, they arrived at the Golden Palace of the Princes of Perfect Rule. The Golden Palace glimmered with an eerie radiance, a place untouched by imperfection or decay. Valyn, barely conscious, could feel the invisible chains of order and command tightening around her soul as she was dragged before the curtained thrones of the Princes. Chen Bil’Rama standing guard off to the side.

From behind their curtain she hears . . . " How ," a harmonious chorus of many, " did you return from death? You belong to the Dread Host. You belong to us. "

Valyn glared up at them through blurred vision, her body broken, her soul fraying under their gaze. Yet even in this moment, she held her silence, her defiance burning ever brighter, refusing to bow to them — even in the face of so-called gods.

 Valyn may be freed by becoming a vassal to the Princes of Perfect Rule. She is held in Uxmal and actions regarding her do not need to go through the Princes’ Penumbra. The Princes are clear to Toyollo that Valyn may not be fed to the Farmer’s Forge until they get to the bottom of her return. The Princes of Perfect Rule will roll and Investigate into Valyn this round if she does not divulge her secrets and remains in their grasp.  
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 As the Chronocruise commanders began to delve deeper into the ship's newly uncovered time-manipulating capabilities, what had started as a whimsical indulgence quickly evolved into something far more strategic — and dangerous.

The initial experiments were subtle. On routine patrols, commanders would reverse time by mere seconds to correct minor navigational errors or optimize their formation during maneuvers. But as they grew bolder, they began to realize the potential of using this power to outwit enemies. By carefully rewinding specific moments of conflict, they could gain a tactical advantage, predicting their opponents’ actions based on their previous, failed attempts.

Vivienne Locke, the SeaEO, led these experiments with a fierce curiosity. In a trial run, she orchestrated a mock battle with a rival ship. As the opposing vessel launched its first wave of attacks, Vivienne calmly allowed her crew to experience the assault, watching intently as the barrage of cannon fire tore through the Chronocruise's defenses. The crew panicked, but Vivienne remained composed. In a flash, she activated the hidden mechanism, and time reversed in a sudden rush.

The crew found themselves once again facing the oncoming attack, but this time, they knew exactly where the enemy fire would land. With precise adjustments, they avoided the first volley entirely. Their ship sailed forward unscathed, and with their enemies caught unaware, they struck back with devastating efficiency.

The Tactical Replay system had given them a critical edge, offering a second chance that their foes did not have. In battle after battle, the commanders refined their techniques, rewinding moments of failure or miscalculation, perfecting their responses on a second or even third attempt.

The commanders, intoxicated by their newfound ability to control not only the seas but time itself, pressed on. For now, the advantage was theirs, but whispers among the crew hinted at the growing dangers of tampering with the natural flow of time, as echoes of past defeats began to haunt the ship, and reality seemed to ripple under the strain of repeated reversals.

 The Chronocruise develops the enactment of Tactical Replay which provides +2 to Tactical Maneuvering.  
  Chronocruise Enterprises gains 2 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
  The Deprivation gains 1 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
  The Fading Dusk gains 1 Mirth from their extensive holdings of Diversions. 
 
 
 Conviction
 
 The Silver Refuge converts the altar in region 29 to the Forty Two Gods. 
 Luttoiuse consecrates the altar of The Final Frontier and region 26. 
 Uxmal consecrates the altar of region 40 to Coatl Perijanism. 
 Hannah knelt in the dim, crumbling vault, her hand trembling as she brushed away centuries of dust from the artifact that lay before her: Rose Thorn, a blood-red grey sword of rose steel, its blade glinting faintly in the flickering torchlight. Forged by the hands of dwarven smiths in an age long-forgotten, the sword bore intricate, thorn-like engravings along its length, the craftsmanship unmatched even by today’s standards. The hilt, dark as the heart of a withered rose, seemed to hum with a dormant power, as though it remembered every battle it had once cleaved through. As her fingers closed around the cold metal, a sharp pulse shot through her veins, the weight of the blade settling in her hand like a promise of ancient might returned to the world.
  Silver Refuge recovers the Rose Thorn which provides +1 to duels and ???? in regards to the Tallow Eater.   
 In the hands of Margot Boulanger, the flame of revolution roared to life, consuming the wax tendon severed from the Tallow Eater. The tendon writhed and twisted in the fire's embrace, reshaping into a sleek, blood-red blade forged from burning purpose. As the heat intensified, the blade solidified into something far more than a weapon — it became a living symbol of the uprising, its molten edge rippling with intent to scour away hesitation and fear.

The blade began to sing softly, a mournful yet defiant melody rising from the burning steel:

 "Oh rebel, take me with you,
In the morning light, I rise for you,
If I fall there, let me sleep beside you,
Beneath the crimson sky, in the heart of dawn." 

The song carried an eerie yet stirring weight, as if the blade itself was pledging to the cause, a tool bound to the struggle for freedom. Yet beneath the fervent tune, the weapon bore the curse of the Tallow Eater’s hunger — a relentless, gnawing craving to consume. The blade pulsed with this insatiable desire, not for victory but just desire itself,, a devouring force that sought to strip its enemies of hope, flesh, and will, leaving only cold waxen husks in its fiery wake.
 Luttoise recovers the Flower of the Partisan which provides +1 to battles and -1 to leader loss. 
 
 The Dragon Cult sets its first bonus as +1 to Press Claim 
 In Uxmal, as the twin suns bathed the ancient city in their blistering light, the sacred rituals of the Jade Seers were suddenly interrupted. The air, once filled with the rhythmic cadence of ceremonial drums, seemed to still as a harsh, metallic screech cut through the sky. The assembled priests and nobles looked up in confusion, only to witness the sky itself rip open in a jagged tear. From this gaping wound in the heavens, another sphere descended, identical in its unsettling, teeth-white sheen and trailing the same thick, waxy liquid that stretched like an umbilical cord to the void beyond.

It smashed into the hallowed central plaza with an earth-shattering impact, sending waves of dust and debris cascading through the ancient courtyards. The pool of white wax-milk began to spread, unnervingly warm under the blistering sun, as priests whispered hurried prayers to forgotten gods.

Toyollo VII, the Veiled General, watched from a shadowed alcove atop the Temple of the Five Serpents. His eyes, shrouded beneath the silver veil he always wore, tracked the pulsing sphere with an unsettling calm. The thick strand of liquid hanging from the heavens quivered for a moment before snapping, and in its severance, Toyollo could sense something profound and deeply wrong.

As the black crystals of rot began to emerge at the sphere's edge, Toyollo remained motionless, his mind already whirring through the implications. The Dread Host, loyal and silent behind him, watched the growing menace of the sphere's decay with their hollow, unseen eyes. It was not fear that gripped Toyollo, but a deep, calculating intrigue.
 Refer to Chapter 10 and its continuations regarding the Sphere’s mechanics  
 Nezetkhamun stood over the egg, his body bathed in the eerie glow of its shell. His draconic power, now cautiously controlled, seeped from his being like tendrils of mist, wrapping around the sphere in slow, deliberate waves. He had made his decision — the creature within needed to be brought to life. He would incubate it, nurture its strange embryonic form with his divine essence. The weight of the unborn’s potential hung in the air like a sword suspended by a thread.

As he extended his scaled hand toward the egg, a subtle pulse throbbed within its shell, responding to the influx of his power. The air grew thicker, the atmosphere charged with raw energy. Nezetkhamun’s eyes glowed faintly as the rhythm of his draconic heart beat in tandem with the strange egg. The vernix-like substance coating the creature stirred, reacting to the surge of his divine force, swirling faster and faster around the fetus. For a brief moment, hope flickered within Nezetkhamun’s chest.

But something was wrong.

The shell began to tremble, fine cracks spidering across its smooth surface. The vernix, once shimmering with vitality, grew cloudy, its viscosity turning from liquid light to something more akin to ash. Nezetkhamun’s brows furrowed as the energy he was channeling shifted, becoming unstable. The divine connection between him and the unborn twisted, unraveling at the seams.

He watched in silent horror as the cracks deepened. The shell began to collapse inward, folding in on itself with a grotesque, crunching sound. The glowing sphere dulled, the light dimming to a sickly gray. The vernix, now tainted with a dark, sooty hue, bubbled and dissolved, leaving only the frail, pitiful body of the creature within, exposed to the open air.

What emerged was not the divine, powerful being Nezetkhamun had envisioned. Instead, it was a miscarriage of something too sacred to ever fully form within the Necropolis. The creature was small, its body a twisted mass of thin, pale limbs that clung desperately to its malformed torso. Wings, which should have been grand and angelic, hung limply from its back, skeletal frameworks protruding from patches of translucent skin. They looked like broken bones trying in vain to grasp the remnants of their divine potential.

Eyes, too many eyes, dotted the creature’s wings and body, all of them sealed shut, never to open. They glistened under the fading light, milky and lifeless, giving the creature the unsettling appearance of being both sightless and all-seeing. Its face — or what could be called a face — was a disarray of unfinished features, a mouth that barely formed into a slit, teeth visible beneath thin, taut skin. There were no nostrils, no ears, only the vague suggestion of what once might have been divine perfection, now lost to ruin.

The vernix, once a source of life, had become an agent of decay, dissolving away into ash that coated the tiny form of the miscarried angel. It slumped lifelessly at the base of the shattered shell, its body impossibly fragile, as if it could disintegrate at a single touch. The creature, meant to be a divine Absolver, had instead become a miscarriage of celestial design, a warped reflection of an angel that would never rise. Its body lay still, abandoned in its embryonic ruin, reduced to a mere shadow of what it was supposed to be.

 The Absolver Miscarrage is considered an Artifact and  may be used up for a Retroactive +1 bonus on any roll  
 
 
 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Ritemaster Isolde  
 Dis 1 | For 5 | Ent 2 | Con 5 
 Units:  3
 Mirth:  0
 Tally of Loss:  6

 
   Round 7 - WIP 
  "Quote."  
  [Dis]  - Accept the allegiance of Princess Dreytel
 [For]  - Attack Region 21 with Princess Dreytel and three units of zealots.
  TacDoc: Frenzied Onslaught  (+2 to battle, +10% to own casualties)
 Princess Dreytel  will duel utilizing the  Valorous Predation  Cultural Identity, wielding  Lance of the Shrikes   (+1 to duels, win on ties)

 TM Total:  Mil 10 - 2 (Size Penalty) = +8
 Duel Total:  Mil 10 + Duel CI + Lance of the Shrikes = 2d8+11 (win on ties)
 Battle Total:  Mil 10 + 3 Units + 4 Luttoise Units = +17 (+19 on TM) + 4 if Duel is won. 
 [For]  -  Recollect Tactical Doctrine:  Reflect the True Self - On TM, +3 to battle against the Princes of Perfect Rule and/or their vassals (including vassals of vassals).
 [For]  - Raise Unit

  Non-Actions:  
 
 Hinder all unauthorized attempts to convert Hraesholm, Sanctum, the Maelstrom and all other altars so claimed by the Synod. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire diversions owned by the Synod. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to acquire diversions from Hraesholm, the Sanctum, or the Maelstrom. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -
Stat Changes:
Resource Changes:

Faith Size:
Diversions: 3 (The Hunt, Jousting, Decadence Crossroads)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
Aedilred
  Onende, the Silver Refuge 
 Hannah X, Queen-Elect 
Discretion 5
Force 6
Entertainment 5
Conviction 6
 
 Actions round 7 

[Discretion] Scour the Chronocruise liner for hidden lanterns ( 17 )
 
 +1 Mirth 
 +2 conqueror bonus 
 
[Discretion] In Valyn's absence, send investigators to search for hidden lanterns in Hraesholm (8)
[Conviction] Seek aid on the Chronocruise investigation ( 14  - success)
[Conviction] Re-consecrate the Silver Refuge's altar to the Forty-Two Gods ( 13 )
MappyPK
    Chronocruise Enterprises    
  The Aetherial Mechanica 
 
 Ruler:  SeaEO Vivienne Locke
(DIS 5 | FOR 5(? - GM audit pls) | ENT 10 | CON 3)

 Mirth:  5
 Units:  5 
 Actions: 
 
 Secret 
 Secret 
 Secret 
 Secret 
 
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
 Dis 2 | For 8 | Ent 3 | Con 8 
 Units:  7
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   1 
 Lanterns:   1 [SNUFFED] 
 
   Round ???     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on, and on, and on. The cycle was quick this time. They all had roles to quickly reawaken those who's minds slipped back into the comforting darkness. The committee remained united.

The revolution had a new target, a new system of oppression to fight. Fighting was all they knew.


  Actions:  
 
 [Conviction] Consecrate something probably 
 [Force] Destroy the throne. No gods or kings.  13!  
 [Force] Deploy Force! Send 3 units to capture the Dark Thorne Deprivation. No leader! Using Frenzied Onslaught! 
 [Force]  Deploy Force! Send 4 units to join Hraesholm against [R21]. 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [5]: Tisear, Hraesholm, The Maelstrom, Sanctum, The Final Frontier
Diversions: Executions, Public Executions
Stat Changes:
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 9 Force 6 Entertainment 8 Conviction 1 Mirth 2 Units 6  
 [Secret]  [Redacted]
 [Force]  Raise 1 Unit
 [Discretion]  Travel to the Halls of Wax and Wick to search for the Griot.
 [Discretion]  Press claim on region 14.

 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +1 Discretion 
 Nonactions: 
 
 Resist attempts to acquire my owned Diversions  ESPECIALLY  Chariot Racing. 
 Support the conversion of our altars to the Cult of the Dragon. 
 
SerakHawk
      
  Prayers of Sunset (POS)   
  Ruler: Dawnstar Sovereign (she/they)  
 Dis 5 | For 6 | Ent 3 | Con 1 
 Units:  2
 Tally of Loss:  0
 Mirth:  1, income +1
 Diversions:   4 
 Lanterns:   1 
 
   The Prayers of Sunset - Round 7
 Dawn  
 
 [Force]  FEED THE FORGE
 The Dawnstar Sovereign takes the remnants of the Tallow Eater from the hands of the new Shadow Blightfire, taking them in hand she sees the Farmer to dispose of  the hideous creature's remains. Standing before the Farmer's Forge The Dawnstar Sovereign walks forward holding the Tallow Tooth and the two Tallow Tendons aloft surrounded by all of the Shadows who fought the Tallow Eater. The Shadows were arrayed defensively, as if keeping the remnants of the Tallow Eater at bay, spears and swords pointed toward the tooth ready to fight at a moments notice.

"To defeat a monster, one must become a monster. To ensure victory, one must sacrifice. Come my shadows, We will be reborn in the light as our lantern fails and sputters. Bring your hope and face the end, for we are already dead."

The Shadow Blightfire watches on impassively as the Dawnstar Sovereign marches with her Shadows into the embrace of the farmer's forge. 
- Feed 2 Units, 2 Tallow Tendons and 1 Tallow Tooth &amp; My Leader (no effect they just die) to the Farmer's Forge
 [Force]  The Shadow Blightfire raises more shadows in their image
 [Discretion 5]  Recall a Cultural Identity [Duels]
Formalizing their abdication of the Fading Dusk the Dawnstar Sovereign makes a final proclamation to reinstate an old mandate - Ritualistic Duelling - to reflect the new holder of the Blightfire Bastion.


  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different Conviction in the Fading Dusk apart from  Coatl Perijainism  to whom support is given. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Night District" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Lavish Feasts" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Botany" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Model Building" Diversion 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Capital: The Fading Dusk
Penumbra [0]: None Orbits the Dusk
Diversions: The Night District, Lavish Feasts, Model Building, Botany
Stat Changes: +1 Force
Other Changes: +1 mirth, -2 units, +1 unit, Ruler Change to Shadow Blightfire [4 Dis, 4 For, 1 Ent, 3 Con][ roll ]
 
 
  
Lleban
  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 2 (-1)
Units 1
Discretion 5
Force 6 (+1)
Entertainment 5
Conviction 8(+1)
 
  Actions
  
Conviction: Recover an artifact from the sphere
Conviction:  Consecrate region 39  roll 15 
Force: Hire like one more dude
Force: Invade Region 40 with Toyollo and 6 units +1 Mirth tac doc Frenzied Onslaught

News and Rumours

 
 
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 8
Force - 5
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 8 
 Units: 4
Mirth: 1  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Discretion]  Press Claim on Region 18 -  17  
  [Discretion]  Seek the Library of the Dripping Throne -  16  
  [Conviction]  Convert the Altar of Region 30 to Dragon Cult -  18  
  [Conviction]  Convert the Altar of Region 31 to Dragon Cult -  15  
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 Confronted by the malformed fruit of his loins, the burning shadow of Nezetkhamun takes up the child in intangible arms.  Whatever the influence of the transient creature before him, one thing was true - the blood of the dragon would be the future.  Nezetkhamun accepts the heir. 
 The Absolver Miscarriage is used to add a retroactive +1 to the conversion against Region 30. 
 
mystic1110
 Round Seven is Closed 

The verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

 The Seventh Vote is Open 
PepperP.
Danger seemed to loom at every turn. Maldarr held up his lantern and peered into the flames.

"Hello? Is anybody else still out there?"

His words were met with silence.

 What do I do? 
 What  can I do? 

Margot's words of warning crossed his mind, but they had been left unheeded. He'd been skulking around all corners of the Necropolis and now she was coming to keep her word. Could he count her amongst his trusted as he trusted Kusal? What of those of the Dragoncult faith that had taken such a grip on the Deprivation. What of Margot's vassal?

He frowned.

"I vote for the Synod of Savagery."
mystic1110
   The Seventh Vote is Closed   

The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.

   Round 8 is Open   
   Vigil   

Maladarr’s fingers curl around his lantern’s smooth metal handle, and he raises it high into the suffocating dimness of the Necropolis. The small light within flickers bravely, casting his vote with a silent beam, but the shadows remain still, unmoved. He holds his breath, waiting for the telltale glow of other lanterns in the distance, for a constellation of light to answer his call.
But the darkness remains untouched, revealing nothing of the other lanterns he knows must exist, somewhere. The weight of isolation presses upon him; his single flame, his solitary vote, is not enough to cut through the gathering dark.

  Chapter One (continued) - Worn Skin of the Unsetting Sun  

In the shadowed expanse of the Halls of the Dripping Throne, Maladarr strides forward, his boots echoing across ancient stone as he ventures into this forsaken heart of the necropolis. Before him looms the dragon god, Nezetkhamun, a figure as ageless as the stones and as ominous as the storms beyond the walls. The dragon’s eyes, molten and unblinking, pierce Maladarr as he draws near.

With a voice like distant thunder, Nezetkhamun inquires, “What do you seek here, wanderer?”

Maladarr raises his head, his resolve unshaken. “I’m searching for the poet—the griot who saved my life when the Tallow Eater closed in. He spoke words to the Wolf that held itself prisoner, words that somehow convinced it to let us go free.” He pauses, his gaze steady. “I owe him my life. I’ve come to repay that debt.”

Nezetkhamun considers him, the flicker of a dragon’s ancient judgment simmering behind his eyes. Finally, with a silent nod, he gestures for Maladarr to follow. Together, they proceed through the halls, a path twisting through depths older than the stars. Nezetkhamun leads, his steps certain as he seeks the fabled Library, though as they press on, the labyrinthine corridors offer something else: a vast doorway, yawning open, revealing the Throne Room itself.

The chamber unfolds in dark grandeur before them, dominated by the Dripping Throne—a grotesque marvel molded from wax, eternally melting and re-forming in shapes that elude definition. In front of it lies the Wolf, silent and still, a beast held captive by itself. Its massive form lies slumped. Maladarr's gaze flickers up, and there, seated upon the Dripping Throne, is the griot.
But this is not the griot as Maladarr remembers. The figure on the throne is wrapped in a new skin—a flayed, pale ivory stretched over his old coverings, smooth and flawless, yet blazing with an unearthly heat. In his hand, the griot’s knife gleams wet with fresh blood, the blade a silent witness to whatever ritual had transpired. And this new skin exudes a heat so intense that Maladarr can feel it searing his face even from a distance, light spilling from it in waves, casting every corner of the Throne Room into sharp, unyielding relief.

“Griot!” Maladarr calls, taking a cautious step forward. “It’s me, Maladarr. I’ve come to—”

But the griot’s response is immediate and chilling, his voice now stripped of poetry, laden instead with something far darker, something imperial. The figure stirs, and when he speaks, it is not the griot’s voice that answers but the booming declaration of Sol Invictus, the Unsetting Sun.

With his words, the inscriptions that lined the walls flicker to life, their incomplete markings now resolved in blazing clarity: “The Sun never sets.” The Unsetting Sun surveys the Throne Room with a gaze that holds the weight of countless ages, the arrogance of one who knows the world beneath him is his by divine right.

“I  t was the King of Wax and Wick who dared to bind me  ,” Sol Invictus intones, the words burning as if they would melt the very air. “  The King and my own whore of a queen, who whispered deceit into my ear, tricking me to let my guard down. They bound me within a mortal shell, divided my light amongst their pitiful lanterns  .” A sneer twists his features, his tone dripping with contempt. “  They sewed my lips shut, chained me in my own prison, and played their little game. I have no care for what the game might be. All I want is what they stole returned to me—my light, whole and unbroken  .”

Maladarr watches as the griot—no, Sol Invictus—glows ever brighter, his burning form nearing the breaking point. He knows that whatever is left of the griot beneath the god’s searing skin is fighting for survival. The griot cannot scream, his face contorted in silent agony, and it is clear that he has only moments left before the fire consumes him fully.

Yet as Maladarr stands transfixed by the burning form, a single question lingers in his mind: If the griot’s mortal shell can no longer bear the flames, what will become of Sol Invictus?

  Chapter Conclusion - Prove that the Sun also Sets  
 
 Spoiler: The Unsetting Sun 

Players Battle Sol Invictus with a Deploy Unit action. Words to the wise, bring your army. The Unsetting Sun’s Leader Score is 64. He will roll all Battle Rolls (TM, BR, Duel) with his Leader Score. He will roll against all other actions with half his current leader score. After a battle the Unsetting Sun will suffer a permanent loss of Leader Score per the equivalent causality loss percentage. For the purposes of TM Roll, the Unsetting Sun will roll equal to their Leader Score minus the equivalent penalty as if they had units equal to their Leader Score. If the Unsetting Sun would die due to the Leader Loss roll he will instead lose an additional 5 of his Leader Score.

The Unsetting Sun is embodying the Griot through the worn skin of the Lip-Sewn Prisoner. The Griot is burning throughout this experience and it is clear that the Unsetting Sun is too much for him to wear. The Unsetting Sun will lose 8 points of their leader score at the end of each round as the Griot continues to burn to nothing (this takes place at the end of round, so if the game is voted to end, the Unsetting Sun would be counted to have burned through 8 more TN).

Using a Snuff on the Unsetting Sun reduces his Leader Score by 8. Using Relight will raise it by 8.

While they remain alive (starting next round), the Unsetting Sun will attack a random player with a Lit Lantern. If they are successful in the attack they will free the imprisoned flame within and their leader score will increase by 8. The lantern will otherwise be treated as devoured. If no lanterns are open, then the Unsetting Sun will target a random player and reveal if they have a lit lantern or not.

 Game End 

If the game is voted to be concluded the Unsetting Sun will, prior to official game end, initiate an attack on the game’s victors - that is, if the Faithful win, he will collectively attack the Lit Faithful. If the Traitors win, he will attack the lit Traitors. This attack will be a single roll against the Unsetting Sun’s current leader score and using the total of all of the Victors’ stats (so if two victors’ have 5 in each stat, they will start with a +40 to their roll), all bonuses they have (all enactments, artifacts, miracles, etc). If any of the Victor’s have any cultural identities then the victor’s collectively have an increased dice roll (additional cultural identities will further increase the dice to a maximum of d12). Consider this a “final boss”. If any of the victors control Indumathi or Lewana then the TN is reduced by one eighth (rounded up). If any of the victors ???? then the TN is reduced by half. Other players may note that they aid the Victors. Why would they do this? We do not know.

If the Unsetting Sun wins, he will become whole again, and the Necropolis will return to the strict order it had before, where no district was aware of the others - until the King of Wax of Wick, wherever he is hiding, is able to capture the Unsetting Sun when he’s unsuspecting and restart his game.
 

  Chapter Five  (continued) - The Civilized Sport  

Toyollo’s arrival at Lanternless District was met not with the expected clash of arms and city fortifications but with a haunting silence. His army poured into the district, armor gleaming under the ghostly glow of the Necropolis skies, but there was no opposition. The streets lay eerily empty, the buildings dark and hollow, as if the whole district had withdrawn into the shadows, holding its breath. Waiting.

At the end of the main thoroughfare, a lone figure awaited him. Lord Sawan stepped out, his silhouette stark against the pale moonlight, with an aristocratic, unhurried grace. Tall and elegant, he was draped in deep, midnight-blue garments that seemed spun from shadows, catching the light only in flashes of silver trim. His skin was like marble, almost translucent, accentuating the regal planes of his face. His dark, fathomless eyes glinted with an amused knowledge, and his lips curled in a slight, sardonic smile as he regarded Toyollo with a certain detached interest. A high collar framed his head, and on his fingers, rings adorned with gemstones glinted like tiny galaxies. His every gesture was the embodiment of refinement, a blend of high-fey elegance and vampire menace, balanced with an unsettling calm.

" Toyollo VII ," Sawan greeted with a languid bow, his voice rich and velvety, carrying the weight of centuries. " Welcome. I understand you seek control over this District? " His smile widened, eyes glittering with hidden secrets. “ Well, you may have it. I, in truth, am no ruler here; I merely have... sway .”

He gestured for Toyollo to follow him, leading him through winding streets until they arrived at a modest yet enchanting castle nestled at the district’s edge. The structure was both quaint and sinister, adorned with trophies from his hunts—a wyvern’s claw here, an array of fanged skulls there, and tapestries depicting long-forgotten victories and strange beasts from realms Toyollo had never seen. Sawan led Toyollo to a finely appointed dining room where candles burned a cold blue, their flickering light casting shadows that seemed to have lives of their own.

Sawan regarded Toyollo with a keen gaze as he took his seat. “ Given our unique nature ,” he began, a hint of a smile curling his lips, “ I have not bothered with the usual sustenance of lesser creatures. But I do have something finer for a brother of the fang .”

He snapped his fingers, and a small girl stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the stone floor. She looked almost like a ghost herself—pale, pockmarked skin with an ashen hue, her head bald, eyes large and searching. She approached with a wariness that betrayed no fear, only a worn resignation. Sawan reached out, brushing her cheek lightly, and she flinched under his touch, though he treated her with an odd sort of affection.

“ Lewana ,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “T his is my ward. She’ll see to our... needs .” The resemblance was undeniable—the child was the younger sister of the infamous Corpulent Oracle, though where the Oracle was a bloated, grotesque figure of unholy excess, Lewana was a frail, innocent mirror, embodying everything the Oracle was not.

Toyollo nodded, his gaze lingering on the girl briefly before Sawan reclaimed his attention. “ How, might I ask, do you keep yourself entertained in the drudgery of our city’s endless night? ” Sawan mused, settling into his chair with an easy grace. “ Here, we hunt. A rare art these days, but the thrill is evergreen. ” His eyes gleamed as he looked over his shoulder at Toyollo. “ Perhaps you’d care to join me. There is no pleasure quite like the hunt .”

 Lanternless Disctrict 40 falls into Penumbra around Uxmal 
  Chapter Conclusion - Best Lord Sawan in a Hunt  
 
 Spoiler: The Hunt 
Any player that owns or has a claim on Lanternless District 40, owns its diversion or has a Crossroads with a player that owns such diversion, or belongs to a conviction that holds the Altar or owns a Cult in Lanternless District 40 may engage Sawan in a Hunt. Hunting is a special opposed Force Action Targeting another Player’s units. If successful that unit is destroyed. Sawan will also roll a Hunt action against any unit targeted by any player using his Leader Score. If Sawan wins a Hunt his leaderscore will increase by 1.

The Sawan’s Leader Score is 7. He will roll all Battle Rolls (TM, BR, Duel) with his Leader Score. He will roll against all other actions with half his current leader score. After a battle Sawan will suffer a permanent loss of Leader Score per the equivalent causality loss percentage. For the purposes of TM Roll, Sawan will roll equal to their Leader Score minus the equivalent penalty as if they had units equal to their Leader Score. If Sawan would die due to the Leader Loss roll he will instead lose an additional 5 of his Leader Score. Lewana has a leader score of 1. She will not resist abduction attempts herself but Lord Sawan will resist on her behalf with his Leader Score. Sawan though cannot be killed unless a player who has beaten him in a hunt is taking the final action or is leading the battle - he will also automatically succeed with any resist roll for a player that has not bested him in a hunt.
 

   Battles   
 
  Luttoise attacks the Deprivation 

As Maladarr delves deeper into the echoing, shadowed corridors of the Dripping Throne, the world outside begins to shift. Revolutionaries storm the Deprivation’s capital, Askerville, tearing through streets hung with the faded red rose banners, symbols of authority long left to decay. The celebrations that once filled the city turn to roars of anger as the revolutionaries take control, rallying the fisherfolk and farmers from the outskirts, urging them to take part in the fall of the old order.

The Tipsy Plain's soldiers, accustomed to defending a distant throne, find themselves outflanked by an organized uprising fueled by a passion that no rigid army discipline could match. As they wrestle for control, revolutionaries begin storming the abandoned monasteries in the foothills, hoping to secure the mysterious treasures said to rest within the Sanctuary of Reflection, rumored to hold untold power.

From the highest towers of Askerville, the red banners bearing the faded rose symbol are torn down, replaced by new, vivid insignias that proclaim the dawn of a new age.

 The Deprivation falls into a Penumbra around Luttoise 
 
  Synod of Savagery attacks Lanternless District 21 

The Synod's leaders stared at Dreytel, their stern, battle-scarred faces betraying no emotion. But as the last of her words settled, one of them — a hulking warrior with eyes like cold iron — stepped forward, crossing his arms over his armor scored by countless clashes. "If you truly wish to join us," he began, his voice low and rumbling, "then you will have to prove you are more than words. Show us you are a hunter, and strike against those who’ve chosen to kneel before the Princes. Will you accept?"

Dreytel's heart thundered in her chest, the anticipation sharpening her resolve. "Gladly," she replied, her voice unshaken. Her task was set: to face the Gilded Revenant, one of the newly subjugated lords.

Tales of the Gilded Revenant reached her before she reached its domain. It was supposed to be a towering, an unsettling amalgamation of opulence and decay. Its body draped in tattered, once-luxurious robes of deep crimson and gleaming gold, now faded and stained with the passage of time. The skin beneath pallid and sickly, a sickening blend of orange hues and pallor, stretched tight over a bloated frame. Its head crowned with a mop of unnaturally bright, wispy hair, incongruously perched atop its decaying form. The creature's chest adorned with a tattered, oversized banner with the colors of blood, milk and empty sky, draped like a sash across its torso. Tarnished stars and twisted stripes writhe and pulse on its skin with a sickly light. Its tiny hands, bony and clawed, clutch a scepter topped with a grotesque, crystalline effigy of a rotting eagle.

After days of treacherous travel, Dreytel arrived at the edge of the Revenant’s domain. The ruler loomed in the center of his warped court — a grotesque parody of regality. The Gilded Revenant towered before her, a bloated figure swathed in tattered crimson and gold, his face split between mocking mirth and burning zeal. Its body draped in tattered, once-luxurious robes of deep crimson and gleaming gold, now faded and stained with the passage of time. The skin beneath pallid and sickly, a sickening blend of orange hues and pallor, stretched tight over a bloated frame. Its head crowned with a mop of unnaturally bright, wispy hair, incongruously perched atop its decaying form. The creature's chest is adorned with a tattered, oversized banner with the colors of blood, milk and empty sky, draped like a sash across its torso. Tarnished stars and twisted stripes writhe and pulse on its skin with a sickly light. Its tiny hands, bony and clawed, clutch a scepter topped with a grotesque, crystalline effigy of a rotting eagle. Around him, a horde of Redcaps surged, their wiry frames and blood-drenched caps marking them as formidable and bloodthirsty foes.

Dreytel raised her sword, heart steeled, as the Revenant’s hordes rushed forward, chittering with murderous glee. She quickly found herself overwhelmed by the Redcaps’ relentless, frenzied attacks, their claws clanging against her armor. It took every ounce of skill and speed she possessed to stay unscathed, her blade moving in swift arcs as she fended them off. But their numbers were too great; she realized she could not simply fight through them.

A flash of inspiration struck — if she could draw the Redcaps away, she might break through to face the Revenant alone. She signaled to the revolutionaries of Luttoiuse, allies from the Synod who had stealthily joined her. They began to skirmish and taunt the Redcaps, creating a diversion and splitting the horde. Bit by bit, Dreytel carved her way through the thinning ranks until she finally reached the grotesque form of the Gilded Revenant.

Up close, the Revenant was no towering, fearsome creature but rather a frail, almost pathetic figure, his tattered finery barely concealing the sickly frame beneath, its gluttonous fat folding into itself, shriveling like a raisin. Dreytel circled him, blade raised, as he grinned, waving his crystalline scepter with a mixture of spite and trembling desperation. His voice was a grating hiss as he muttered curses, his rotting eyes blazing with both defiance and fear.

With swift precision, Dreytel lunged forward. Her sword sliced through his gilded robes and pallid flesh, each strike peeling away layers of decayed luxury and arrogance. The Revenant staggered back, his mocking sneer transforming into a mask of dread as he struggled against her relentless assault. Finally, Dreytel raised her blade high, its edge glinting in the dying light, and struck down with finality. The Revenant’s twisted head rolled from his shoulders, his tiny clawed hands twitching as his body crumpled.

In the silence that followed, Dreytel stood over the vanquished figure. The horde of Redcaps paused, confused and disoriented by the fall of their master, giving Dreytel and her allies the perfect opportunity to retreat. The Synod would hear of her success, and with this victory, she had proven herself worthy — her fight against the Appeasers had truly begun.

 The Gilded Revenant is Dead and with him, the Princes of Perfect Rule’s claim on the District is extinguished. Synod of Savagery loses 2 units and its Tally grows by 2. Luttoius loses 1 unit in travel and 1 unit in battle and it’s tally grows by 1. Lanternless District 21 loses 2 units and the Gilded Revenant is succeeded by the Hill Elegy (Leader Score 4)  
 
   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 The Corpulent Oracle, an unsettling figure of fleshy folds and bulging eyes, sat hunched in her chamber, her voice rising to a fevered pitch as she stared wildly at Hannah. Her skin, marbled and cracked, shivered with nervous energy, and her rotund body shifted uneasily as if her own weight bore down with a tangible, inescapable dread. With a glistening finger pointing at Hannah, she bellowed, her tone oscillating between fury and terror.

"My sister... Lewana," she spat the name as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth, her eyes widening with an almost childlike fear. "She has been found! Do you know what that means, girl? Do you? The others—they will come! They will not stay in the shadows any longer; no, they will sniff her out, sniff me out, like hounds on a scent!" Her fingers clawed at the edges of her silk-strewn throne, tearing delicate threads as her voice dropped to a panicked whisper. "They always said they would. I am the eldest, and so I will be the first."

Her gaze fixed on Hannah, searching her face desperately, a flicker of raw pleading glimmering beneath her malice. Her swollen form shifted forward, leaning as close to Hannah as her mass would allow.

"You—Hannah. You are a warrior, a killer! You must protect me! I’ve seen it, the blood that stains your hands, the steel in your bones. You are the only one who can shield me from what’s coming!" The Oracle's voice dropped to a hiss, her eyes glinting with fearful urgency. Her breaths came in shuddering gasps as she clung to Hannah's gaze, desperation etched across her bloated face. "Please… protect me."
 
 Hannah moved with purpose, cutting through the opulent corridors and gleaming hallways of the Chronocruise, flanked by her soldiers who were trained to be as grim and efficient as she was. The search had already sprawled through the lower decks, the cargo holds, and the luxury suites, and while the ship was immaculate, it also seemed like it was wrapped in layers of misdirection. Every hallway seemed to mirror another, and the soft, hazy lighting gave it the strange feel of a never-ending maze.

In her search, she encountered crew members with impeccable, rehearsed cordiality and found little slips of strange evidence in surprising places—charred scrolls, old wanted posters of known criminals, and cryptic invitations to “The Lantern’s Last Light” bar. But despite these leads, each clue ultimately led nowhere or twisted back on itself, leaving her investigators empty-handed. Even Mad Maldarr, usually as observant as he was brutal, seemed more irritable as the hours wore on. And Hannah couldn’t ignore the sight of her own soldiers, normally steely-eyed and disciplined, easing into the luxurious excess of the cruise. They slipped into rooms marked with upside-down pineapples, disappearing into dim lounges, lured by the fine wines, velvet upholstery, and the surreal charm of the hostesses. At times, she’d glimpse them sipping cocktails and leaning back, a strange look of satisfaction on their faces, a look she hadn’t seen even in victory.

Some of her most trusted investigators returned with absurd leads, suggesting that perhaps Mad Maldarr himself was hiding something, or that there were factions within her own command plotting against her. An investigation even unearthed the presence of a Talon from the Synod of Savagery among the guests, a figure wrapped in green robes who turned and disappeared into a crowded room before she could question him. The sight alone gave her an unsettling feeling, knowing such a high-ranking agent was traveling on the Chronocruise, blending in with apparent ease among the guests. Despite her every effort, every twist and turn led her in a bewildering circle, back to the beginning with nothing to show for her search.

Finally, she returned to the deck where Captain Vivienne Locke awaited her with that same fixed, unnervingly pleasant smile. Locke’s smirk widened ever so slightly as she asked, “Satisfied, Commander?”

Hannah’s eyes narrowed, unwilling to concede defeat. “Are you,” she countered, “certain that no lanterns were ever hidden here, Captain?”

Locke raised a brow and flicked open her pocket watch, revealing its hands spinning backward. She held it up with a knowing look. “I’m sure of one thing, Commander: time is in abundance on this vessel, and I welcome you to use as much of it as you need to keep searching. My crew’s happy to host you a while longer.”
 
 As revolution spreads like wildfire through the Deprivation, one thing becomes increasingly clear: the Verdigris Lantern is missing. News sweeps through Askerville and beyond, whispered in crowded taverns and over empty market stalls. No one has seen the lantern’s glow since Maladarr left, nor can anyone say for certain if it remains lit. Some claim it has been hidden deep in the abandoned monasteries of the foothills, shielded by old spells and stranger wards. Others murmur that it went dark the night Maladarr departed, leaving only the faint scent of charred copper and rusted iron in its place.

Without its glow, rumors gather, feeding the fear that the Deprivation is finally untethered from whatever light the Verdigris once cast. Some fear that its loss signals a new darkness, deeper and colder than any revolution, while others speculate that the lantern has been spirited away to where only the truly desperate will dare to find it.
 
 Lanternless District 18 falls into a Penumbra around the Decadence. 
 Lanternless District 14 falls into a Penumbra around the Deprivation. 
 Prayers of Sunset recalls a Cultural Identity Ritualistic Duelling providing a bonus for Dueling 
 With Valyn imprisoned, the Silver Refuge dispatched their investigators to Hraesholm, intent on uncovering any lanterns concealed in its haunted depths. The investigators moved silently, slipping like specters through the city’s shadows and narrow alleyways. Hraesholm, however, was unforgiving—a city draped in an ominous haze where figures dressed in green robes vanished into dead ends, and windows, even when vacant, seemed to watch.

The longer they stayed the odder the Investigators felt. Time felt malleable; moments stretched into uncomfortable infinity, while others slipped by in an instant, making it difficult to gauge their progress. Danger lurked in the flickering lamplight, and the quiet echoes of empty streets grew louder with the weight of uncertainty. Green robed figures melted back into the night, vanishing as if they had never been there.

The investigators, sensing Hraesholm’s hostility, found that even the shadows here seemed to shift with purpose, forcing them to retreat faster than anticipated. 
 
 
 Force
 
 Toyollo VII and the Dread Host held Valyn firmly in their spectral grasp, dragging her through the shifting, ephemeral pathways toward the Golden Palace of the Princes of Perfect Rule. The endless void of the dead faded as the palace loomed, an imposing structure bathed in a sickly, cold glow, standing as the epitome of unyielding control in the Necropolis. Valyn's broken form drifted like a phantom among them, her resistance dulled by exhaustion but still fueled by defiance. She knew that her death and her return were no accidents—and that the Princes would pry into her very essence to understand how she could walk the mortal lands once more.

As they arrived at the palace’s gilded gates, Toyollo paused, his veiled form imposing as he turned toward her, unreadable beneath layers of shimmering fabric. The veils parted only slightly, enough for the faintest whisper to reach Valyn. “Your insolence has brought you here, Bloodcaller. But your secrets… those belong to the Princes.”

Without another word, Toyollo gestured, and the Dread Host released Valyn from their spectral binds, allowing her to crumple at the feet of the throne chamber. He cast one last dark look at her, then turned away, as though her fate was already sealed in his mind. He had other tasks to attend to—namely, the search for the Mad Oracle’s sister, a task he would carry out with the same cold precision as always. With a silent nod to the Princes, he bid his leave and vanished into the shadows, his form dissipating like mist.

Before Valyn, the Princes of Perfect Rule sat obscured behind their shimmering curtain. Their forms were indistinct, but their power filled the chamber with a weight that pressed down on Valyn’s mind, leaving her weak and struggling for breath. The curtains barely shifted, but their voices rang out in unison, an overlapping, harmonious chorus that reverberated in her skull.

" Valyn… How did you return from death? You belong to the Dread Host, to the cold hands of oblivion. Yet, here you stand, tethered to life ."

Their words were suggestive, each syllable sinking deeper into her consciousness, prying into her mind, coaxing forth truths she had buried. She tried to resist, her thoughts scattering and reforming as she fought against the mental barrage, but the Princes’ combined will was too powerful. Her mind began to unravel, and fragments of her pact with the strange, firebound entity surfaced. She felt the pull of the entity’s voice, a blazing, angry chorus speaking in her mind, a dark promise to keep her from oblivion, a “foothold” in the Necropolis.

The Princes' voices grew sharper, laced with terror as the truth revealed itself. “ The Marginalia ,” they murmured, naming the entity with a mix of horror and reverence. Their voices grew frenzied, almost panicked. " You struck a pact with it? A pact with that which lives in the footnotes of death? Of history? This presence lies outside of our order, outside of rule, a threat to the sanctity of our future realm. ”

Before they could probe further, a thunderous crash resounded through the palace. The doors splintered and burst inward as the Knight of Oath and Obligation charged into the chamber, his immense form blotting out the light. His armor shone with a dark fire, the faint glow of molten gold pulsing beneath his jagged, reforged armor. His four colossal hands trembled with rage as he took in Valyn’s bruised, battered form.

“ Bloodcaller! ” he roared, his voice cracking the marble walls with its intensity. “Y ou disgrace yourself by falling before these so-called rulers. ” His eyes blazed with fury, narrowed on Valyn as he drew his sword. “Y ou are mine to defeat—mine alone! ”

The Princes recoiled at his interruption, their chorus tinged with a sudden, cold anger. Chen Bil’Rama, the ancient archne king, stepped forward from his station beside the throne, his sleek, arachnid body gliding smoothly across the floor. His many eyes were fixed on the intruder, his fanged maw curling into a chilling expression of displeasure.

“ Knight ,” Chen Bil’Rama hissed, his voice a low, reverberating growl. “ You defile the throne room of the Princes. Stand down, or you will know the consequences of your recklessness. ”

But the Knight only snarled, raising his sword high, the dark ichor of his wounds dripping down his arms. “ No more words. If you stand in my way, I will cut you down along with her! ” He leveled his blade at the Princes, a twisted smile hidden beneath his helmet.

In response, Chen Bil’Rama unfurled his massive, spiked limbs, clicking his fangs as he poised to defend the Princes. The Dread Host assembled in the shadows, their forms coalescing into physical shape as they readied themselves for the battle.
The Knight of Oath and Obligation stood alone, an embodiment of fury and vengeance, while Chen Bil’Rama, the Dread Host, and the Princes of Perfect Rule braced themselves for his onslaught. The silence stretched taut, the promise of violence thickening the air. And then, like a spark meeting tinder, the clash erupted—a battle of vengeance, control, and honor, with Valyn caught between the forces that would tear apart both her soul and the Necropolis itself.

 The Knight’s Leader Score is 13. He will roll all Battle Rolls (TM, BR, Duel) with his Leader Score. He will roll against all other actions with half his current leader score. After a battle the Knight will suffer a permanent loss of Leader Score per the equivalent causality loss percentage. For the purposes of TM Roll, the Knight will roll equal to their Leader Score minus the equivalent penalty as if they had units equal to their Leader Score. If the Knight would die due to the Leader Loss roll he will instead lose an additional 5 of his Leader Score.

The Princes do not act themselves, but are defended by Chen Bil’Rama (Leader Score 10) and 8 units. The Dreadhost represents an additional unit. Chen will use his personal Tactical Doctrine and his Shield in the battle.

All players are able to assist the Knight or Chen Bil’Rama  
 The Farmer’s Forge loomed in the darkness, an ancient maw of iron and flame that flickered with an unsettling light, casting long shadows over the assembled soldiers. Each shadow was motionless, weapons raised, faces obscured by the darkened steel of their helms. The Dawnstar Sovereign led them, her golden armor glinting under the forge’s molten glow, but her gaze, proud and resolute, betrayed a flicker of unease as she held the remnants of the Tallow Eater high.

“To defeat a monster, one must become a monster,” she intoned, her voice wavering against the stillness. “To ensure victory, one must sacrifice. Come, my shadows, we will be reborn in the light as our lantern fails and sputters.”

The Shadow Blightfire stood a few paces back, observing with a blank stare as the Dawnstar Sovereign led her soldiers forward, the Tallow Tooth and Tendons held aloft. She took her place at the edge of the forge, and the Farmer’s rough, gnarled hands beckoned her closer. The shadows at her side moved forward in single file, their forms wavering in the flickering light, stepping into the maw of the forge without protest. They dissolved one by one in a blaze of heat, merging into a searing glow as they were devoured by the flames. But when her turn came, the Dawnstar Sovereign hesitated.

As the Farmer took the remnants of the Tallow Eater from her hands, his expression impassive, her resolve faltered. She had expected the end to be swift, a final release into fire. Yet, as she was fed into the forge, she felt no oblivion, only an excruciating wave of heat pressing down upon her body, squeezing every fragment of her being as her soldiers had gone before her. Her mouth opened to scream, yet no release came; she remained alive, aware, impossibly conscious as the forge took hold of her, each nerve alive and burning.

The fire did not consume her; it remade her, searing her essence into every piece of her flesh, blending her mind and body with her fallen soldiers. She felt their presences joining her own, an agonizing merging of loyalty and sacrifice bound together in unrelenting heat. The Sovereign struggled, reaching out with all her might to retain herself, her screams resonating through the forge like metal striking metal, but the fire ignored her resistance. Each piece of her was pulled apart and folded back in, shaped again and again, each scream met by the forge's unyielding grip.

Then, the Tallow Tendons and Tooth came, thrown into the fire with her, and the horror truly began. She felt their dark, hungering force pierce her being, an unquenchable thirst for light, for warmth, for the obliteration of anything pure. It was not just hunger she felt — it was an all-consuming hatred for life itself, a pulsing resentment toward everything that shone. This was no simple death; it was the Tallow Eater’s eternal need to devour, woven through her own being.

For what felt like eons, she remained, aware of her mind and body dissolving and reforming, twisted by her soldiers’ loyalty and the Tallow Eater’s malice. Her screams had dwindled into silence, her very essence stripped down to its raw core, a new form taking shape in the relentless heat of the forge. As the final strands of her consciousness melded with the others, the fire dimmed, and from the depths of the blaze, something new emerged.

The forge had created a necklace, crafted from countless teeth fused together in a grotesque display. Each tooth seemed to blend and flow into the next, a seething mass of hunger and hatred restrained only by the shape of the chain. The necklace bore far more teeth than any creature could ever possess — far more, even, than the Tallow Eater had worn. A million tiny teeth twisted together, an unending multitude contained within one small space, emanating a dread so profound that even the shadows felt its chill.

The Farmer handed this hideous relic to the Shadow Blightfire, who took it with a steady hand, unblinking as the teeth pulsed beneath his touch.

 The Teeth of the Sovereign allow the wearer to use a special conviction action to target an enemy's units directly. If the target fails, the wearer of the Teeth is able to destroy up to 3 units. This destruction occurs prior to battle. Each use of the Teeth causes the wearer to roll for leader loss (with a penalty equal to the amount of units lost in any battle by the wearer last round and any units destroyed by the wearer). If the wearer fails their roll, the teeth will eat into them and an amalgamation of the Twilight Sovereign and the Tallow-Eater will be born (and usable by Serak as a ruler - although it will have restrictions and will potentially be quite insane) 
 
 Synod of Savegry recollect a new Tactical Doctrine:  Reflect the True Self - +3 to battle against the Princes of Perfect Rule and/or their vassals (including vassals of vassals)  
 The Throne of Want—a monstrous construct resembling the upper jaw of a colossal snake skull—journeys through the countryside, a twisted relic dragged by weary horses and guarded by a ragged brigade of revolutionaries. Its hollow fangs gleam dully in the dim light, vines and half-wilted flowers dangling from the jaw, a faint mockery of life draped across death. The throne has come far since Okynnet, winding through scattered villages toward Luttoise, where the fires of revolt burn hottest. Whispers of its arrival ripple through the capital, for here, in the heart of the revolution, they mean to put an end to all thrones.

When at last the procession reaches the city’s square, the revolutionaries brace themselves to dismantle this emblem of power. But as they begin their work, a terrible shudder pulses through the air, and the Throne of Want stirs. The jaw creaks open with a groaning hiss, the skull elongating, fangs dripping spectral venom as life floods through it. In an instant, the throne shifts, no longer a symbol but a living serpent, its hollow eye sockets brimming with dark fire as it lunges forward.

Panic surges through the crowd, but the leaders, quickly recovering, shout orders and drive the serpent back. The creature thrashes and strikes, its massive jaws snapping with brutal force as the people scatter, regroup, and scatter again. Armed with makeshift spears and shattered shields, they corral the serpent, guiding it closer to the towering guillotine—the ultimate weapon of their revolution.

They lure the serpent near with flames and bait, a mob of shouting, torch-waving figures drawing it ever closer to the blade. The creature coils back, preparing to strike, and as it lunges forward, the revolutionaries maneuver so that its gaping maw slips through the frame of the guillotine.

In a swift, unified cry, they release the blade.

The steel glints with a cruel finality, severing the serpent’s head in one decisive blow. The head crashes to the ground with a deafening thud, the jaws still open, venom dripping to the cobblestones as the body collapses, a lifeless relic once more. Silence falls over the square as the people absorb what they’ve done: they have killed a throne with the guillotine, symbolically severing the last vestige of oppressive rule. The serpent’s head lies inanimate on the blood-stained stones, the empty eye sockets staring into the dawn of a new age. 
 The Deprivation raises a Unit 
 Prayers of Sunset raises a Unit 
 Uxmal raises a Unit 
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 Conviction
 
  The Altar in Region 30 is consecrated to the Dragon Cult 
  The Altar in Region 30 is consecrated to the Dragon Cult 
 Uxmal consecrates the Altar in district 39 to Coatl Perijainism. 
 Silver Refuge's Altar is reconsecrated to the Forty-Two Gods 
 Toyollo stood before his egg, the coldness of the shell’s pale surface mirroring the frigid gaze behind his silver veil. Unlike Nezetkhamun’s delicate approach, there was no gentleness in Toyollo’s movements, no intention to coax life from within. The Veiled General raised his gauntleted fist and, with a savage precision, drove it into the shell. A resounding crack echoed through the chamber as his knuckles splintered the barrier. The egg shuddered, black veins of decay seeping outward from the impact point, until a spiderweb of fractures spread across its surface.

Through the gaps, Toyollo glimpsed the nascent creature — a fragile, half-formed thing of bone, tissue, and embryonic light, a helpless bundle nestled within layers of clotted vernix. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached inside, his fingers clamping around the creature’s tiny, trembling torso. There was no spark of life here, no fledgling heart fluttering in response to his touch. His grip tightened, and with a single, ruthless pull, he tore the creature from the remnants of its egg.

The impact of his violence rippled through the embryonic figure. The barely-formed Absolver spasmed, the shock snuffing out whatever faint glimmers of life might have lingered. The light within it flickered and died, leaving behind a husk of a creature with wings like shrunken leaves, useless and brittle. As Toyollo held it aloft, the corpse dissolved before him, turning to ash and leaving his hands smeared in the dark residue of afterbirth.

But the ash did not simply fall away; it clung to him, wrapping around his fingers and solidifying, layer upon layer. The vernix, still thick and waxy, oozed over the ashes, blending with them in a sickening fusion of decay and unspent life. Toyollo's eyes narrowed, and he clenched his hand, feeling the material yield and then harden beneath his grip.

As if molded by his will, the amalgam of dead angel and rancid afterbirth began to reshape itself. The ashes solidified into a handle, while the remains of wings curled into a jagged head, studded with hardened nodules of vernix, their uneven surface gleaming faintly. The weapon took on a brutal form — a mace wrought from the remnants of a stillborn angel, its head crowned with twisted, malformed bones, and delicate membranes frozen into grotesque ridges along the shaft.

Toyollo raised the weapon to eye level, studying its dark and twisted beauty. This was no divine creation, nor a celestial tool of absolution. Instead, it was a profane artifact of failure, an emblem of Toyollo’s brutal hand in shaping fate. A weapon of death made from the flesh of something meant to be pure.

 Toyollo now holds the Stillborn Mace. If the Stillborn Mace is used in battle, if the opposing enemy’s leader should die (either through leader loss or duel death) then, if that leader was a Player Character, then their next ruler does not get any rollover bonuses 
 
 In the quietude of the Silver Refuge, where streams of pale light threaded through crystalline trees and the air hung thick with whispers of old magic, a shift began. It was a subtle tremor at first, felt more in the bones than in the earth, a disturbance in the tranquility that sent ripples through the Refuge’s silvery pools. The Guardians who watched over the Refuge turned their eyes skyward, ancient and unhurried, yet alert.

Kusal, the exiled prince and favored custodian of the Refuge, sensed it too. Standing at the edge of an ancient grove, he looked up, his sharp gaze narrowing as he traced the heavens. Against the twilight sky, a growing glow cut through the ether, a new star burning fiercely as it hurtled earthward, shedding ghostly strands of thick, white light. The very sky appeared to tear open, revealing a yawning rift from which the sphere descended, trailing that same waxy, unearthly ichor, which oozed like a lifeline from some distant, unfathomable void.

With a shuddering crash, the sphere struck the earth just paces away from where Kusal stood. The impact sent waves of dust and pale, spectral light surging across the forest floor, extinguishing the silvery glow of the pools as the ground itself recoiled in shock. Trees with leaves like finely woven silver recoiled, their branches twisting as if in silent agony. Kusal, steady and unmoved, felt the warmth of the strange ichor splatter across his skin — a substance far too warm for the lifeless material it appeared to be.

As the dust settled, Kusal took a step forward, his gaze fixed upon the sphere’s shell, which throbbed with an unnatural light, casting shadows that seemed to pulse and breathe. The sphere's waxy coating oozed down its sides, forming pools that curdled and hardened into twisted, crystalline shapes where they touched the soil. The ichor pulsated like a heartbeat, as if the sphere itself were alive — or harboring something that was.

 Refer to Chapter 10 and its continuations regarding the Sphere’s mechanics  
 
 
 
Aedilred
  Onende, the Silver Refuge 
 Hannah X, Queen-Elect 
Discretion 6
Force 6
Entertainment 5
Conviction 7
 
 Actions round 8 

[Discretion] Investigate the Sphere
[Discretion] Release the Chronocruise from vassalage
[Conviction] Convert the altar in region 40 from Plowing of Bones to Forty-Two Gods ( 13 )
[Conviction] Convert the altar in region 3 from Umbral Pact to Forty-Two Gods ( 7 )

Non-actions:
Restore Nendir to the throne
SerakHawk
      
  Prayers of Sunset (POS)   
  Ruler: Slayer of the Eater (???)  
 [4 Dis, 5 For, 1 Ent, 3 Con] 
 Units:  1
 Tally of Loss:  0
 Mirth:  2, income +1
 CI:  Duels
 Diversions:   4 
 Lanterns:  Unlit

 
   The Prayers of Sunset - Round 8
 Dawn  
 
The Slayer of the Eater equips his teeth and sets out to slay an even larger foe. The Sun itself. A Blight on the Fading Dusk, an abomination from beyond this realm that needs must be defeated and slain.

 [Force]  Challenge the Sun to a Duel (+1 mirth + CI duels + 7 force from Bastion + TE Artifact thing)
 [Force]  FIGHT THE SUN (1 unit + 1 mirth +7 + TE artifact thing)
 [Force]  Recruit Units &gt;&gt; Replace this with EAT THE SUN TE ARTIFACT - if I can do that ([Conviction?])
 [Force]  Recruit Units


  Non-Actions:  
 
 Resist all attempts to Consecrate an Altar to a different Conviction in the Fading Dusk apart from  Coatl Perijainism  to whom support is given. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "The Night District" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Lavish Feasts" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Botany" Diversion 
 Resist all attempts to acquire "Model Building" Diversion 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Capital: The Fading Dusk
Penumbra [0]: None Orbits the Dusk
Diversions: The Night District, Lavish Feasts, Model Building, Botany
Stat Changes: +2 Force
Other Changes: +2 Units, -2 mirth
 
 
  
[/QUOTE]
Lleban
  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 1
Units 6
Discretion 5
Force 7
Entertainment 5
Conviction 9(+1)
 
  Actions
  
Conviction: Consecrate region 30  roll 18 
Conviction:  Consecrate region 25  roll 17 
Force: HUNT the sun: Send 4 units to assist Battling the sun
Conviction: Seek Aid to battle the sun  roll 16 

News and Rumours

 
 
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 9
Force - 5
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 9 
 Units: 5
Mirth: 1  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Conviction]  Consecrate the Altar in Region 29 to the Dragon Cult -  16  
  [Conviction]  Consecrate the Altar in Region 2 to the Dragon Cult -  19  
  [Force]  Raise 1 Unit 
  [Force]  Dispatch 5 Units to aid the Knight of Oath and Obligation against the Princes of Perfect Rule 
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 The Absolver Miscarriage is used to add a retroactive +1 to ???. 
 
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
 Dis 2 | For 9 | Ent 3 | Con 8 
 Units:  5
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   1 
 Lanterns:   1 [SNUFFED] 
 
   Round ???     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on, and on, and on. The cycle was quick this time. They all had roles to quickly reawaken those who's minds slipped back into the comforting darkness. The committee remained united.

The revolution had a new target, a new system of oppression to fight. Fighting was all they knew.


  Actions:  
 
 [Conviction] Consecrate the Altar of Unnamed 37 
 [Force] Send 5 units to assist the knight 
 [Force] Raise Unit 
 [Force] Raise Unit 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Return Nendir to the Silver Refuge. 
 
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [5]: Tisear, Hraesholm, The Maelstrom, Sanctum, The Final Frontier
Diversions: Executions, Public Executions
Stat Changes:
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 10 Force 6 Entertainment 8 Conviction 1 Mirth 2 Units 6  
 [Force]  Send 5 Units to aid the Knight
 [Force]  Raise 1 Unit
 [Conviction]  Separate The Griot from Sol Invictus.
 [Discretion]  Adopt The Dragon Cult as the official faith of state.

 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +1 Force, +1 Conviction. 
 Nonactions: 
 
 Resist attempts to acquire my owned Diversions  ESPECIALLY  Chariot Racing. 
 Support the conversion of our altars to the Cult of the Dragon. 
 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Ritemaster Isolde  
 Dis 1 | For 5 | Ent 2 | Con 5 
 Units:  2
 Mirth:  1
 Tally of Loss:  8

 
   Round 8 
  "Quote."  
  For  - Deploy two units of beastmen to assist the Knight in tearing down the Princes of Perfect Rule
 For  - Raise Unit
 For  - Raise Unit
 Con  - Reminisce

  Non-Actions:  
 
 Hinder all unauthorized attempts to convert Hraesholm, Sanctum, the Maelstrom and all other altars so claimed by the Synod. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire diversions owned by the Synod. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to acquire diversions from Hraesholm, the Sanctum, or the Maelstrom. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -
Stat Changes: +1 Force
Resource Changes: +4 Units (2 raises, 1 reminisce)

Faith Size:
Diversions: 3 (The Hunt, Jousting, Decadence Crossroads)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
mystic1110
  Round Eight is Closed  

Wherever they are hidden, the verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

  The Eighth Vote is Open  
mystic1110
   The Eighth Vote is Closed   

The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.

   Round 9 is Open   
   Vigil   

As the revolution swept through Askerville, the streets reverberated with the cacophony of rebellion—cries of defiance, the clash of steel, and the rhythmic pounding of boots against cobblestone. The Deprivation, for all its age and decay, was being reborn in blood and fire. Yet, in the midst of the chaos, a subtler game was unfolding, orchestrated by two figures whose shared past was marked by firelight and shadows.

Margot moved through the frenzied crowd like a specter, her raven-black hair trailing behind her. She wore no insignia, no mark of authority, yet revolutionaries cleared a path for her as if recognizing an unspoken sovereignty. Her sharp eyes scanned the crumbling halls of the city’s oldest fortifications, now seized by her forces. At the heart of the revolution, deep within Askerville's shadowy archives, Margot met Maldarr.

Maldarr, a towering figure with an air of quiet menace, emerged from the ruins of the Dripping Throne, his face streaked with soot and his coat damp from the throne's perpetual moisture. They exchanged no words at first—words were unnecessary between them. They were allies forged in the fires of battle against the Tallow Eater, their bond unspoken but resolute.

Margot produced Maldarr's lit lantern, its glass cracked but still burning with a steady, golden glow. “Your faith burns as bright as ever,” she murmured, her voice laced with admiration and something deeper—conviction.

Maldarr’s expression was unreadable as he studied the lantern. “And you, Margot,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, “still wield your belief as if it were a blade.”

Margot’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Belief,” she said, “is the only weapon that matters.”

The plan had been deceptively simple, its genius lying in its audacity. The attack on the Deprivation, the fall of Askerville, the revolution—it had all been a ploy. A grand distraction to mask their true aim: the retrieval and ignition of a hidden lantern Maldarr had secreted away years ago within the crumbling walls of Askerville.

Together, they descended into a forgotten chamber beneath the city. The air was thick with the weight of centuries, and the faint sound of distant footsteps echoed through the stone corridors above, revolutionaries combing the depths for treasures of their own.

The lantern sat in the center of the chamber, its surface blackened as though scorched by time itself. Its presence was oppressive, as if the darkness within it threatened to swallow the light of the world. Margot hesitated for the briefest of moments before stepping forward.

She held Maldarr’s lit lantern aloft, the flame within it flickering, as though drawn toward its dormant counterpart. “Conviction,” she whispered, her voice steady but laced with reverence, “is what ignites the impossible.”

The moment the two flames connected, the hidden lantern erupted with light. It was no ordinary glow—it was a brilliance that transcended sight, a radiance that seemed to pierce through time itself. The darkness within the lantern had not been void but potential, waiting for belief to breathe it into existence.

The light surged outward, consuming the chamber in an all-encompassing blaze. Shadows fled, banished to the farthest corners, while the walls of the ancient room seemed to shimmer as if infused with the light of a newborn star. For a single, transcendent moment, the lantern burned brighter than the sum of their hopes and fears.

As the light subsided, Margot and Maldarr stood in its afterglow, the weight of their actions settling upon them. They exchanged a look, one of mutual understanding. They both knew what would come next.

“ Sol will come,” Maldarr said, his voice a low rumble.

Margot nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Like a moth to a flame.”

The lantern now stood as a beacon—a challenge to Sol Invictus, a call that could not be ignored. The revolution outside had been merely the first act. The true battle was yet to come, and Margot and Maldarr, bound by the light they had ignited, would face it together.

 Maldarr and Margot are revealed to hold two lit lanterns. Sol invictus will be attacking Luttoise. Sol Invictus’s Leader Score is reduced by 8 - it is now 48. Per his rules he will lose another 8 at Round End (before the battle). Additionally, Sol Invictus will suffer leaderloss going through Luttoise’s penumbra. If Sol Invictus wins he will consume Luttoise’s lantern and his Leader Score will increase by 8 
mystic1110
   Battles   
 
  The Knight attacks the Princes 

The throne room erupted into chaos as the Knight of Oath and Obligation bellowed his challenge. His towering, six-armed form gleamed with dark fire, his jagged blade radiating an almost palpable hunger for vengeance. Behind him surged the combined forces of the Decadence, the Savagery, the Deprivation and the Revolution—an unlikely coalition united by one conviction: to humble the Princes of Perfect Rule. Their battle cries echoed in the gilded hall, clashing with the eerie silence of the palace’s defenders.

Chen Bil’Rama, the sleek and many-eyed Spider King, moved with deliberate grace, his spiked limbs clicking as he advanced to meet the Knight. Around them, the Dread Host rallied the soldiers who had sworn loyalty to the Princes, their spectral forms solidifying into grotesque shapes as they prepared to hold the line.

The battle exploded.

The clash between the Knight of Oath and Obligation and Chen Bil’Rama was a spectacle of pure, unrelenting fury against calculated precision. The air itself seemed to tremble as they collided, the Knight’s massive blade meeting the Spider King’s towering shield in a thunderous explosion of sparks and echoes that rippled through the Golden Palace. Each swing of the Knight’s sword carved the air, the force of his blows enough to shatter lesser foes outright. But Chen Bil’Rama was no mere adversary.

The Spider King moved with an unnatural grace, his spiked limbs a blur as they parried and struck in perfect, lethal rhythm. His shield—a massive construct of interwoven obsidian and golden veins that pulsed faintly with eerie light—absorbed the Knight’s fury, holding firm under strikes that would have split stone. Chen’s eyes, glimmering like cold stars, tracked the Knight’s every move, anticipating his assaults with precision honed over centuries.

The Knight roared, a sound of raw defiance, and pressed his attack. He swung with all six of his arms, his blade weaving arcs of death through the air. Sparks rained like meteors as his strikes met the Spider King’s shield or deflected off his spiked limbs. Yet, Chen countered with relentless efficiency, his claws darting like the fangs of a serpent, finding gaps in the Knight’s armor. Each blow that landed left deep gouges in the Knight’s flesh, black blood seeping onto the gilded floor. The wounds mounted, and his breath came in ragged bursts, but still, he refused to yield.

Chen advanced, pressing his advantage. He struck with a flurry of precise blows, his spiked limbs moving faster than the eye could follow, his shield slamming into the Knight with bone-shattering force. The Knight staggered, his colossal frame battered and his blood marking the marble like a macabre trail. Chen’s voice cut through the clash like a venomous whisper.

“ Your rage blinds you, Oathkeeper. Fury without focus is weakness .”

The words only fanned the flames of the Knight’s wrath. He snarled, planting his feet and swinging his blade in a devastating horizontal arc that forced Chen to leap back. The Spider King’s shield absorbed the strike, but the impact sent cracks spidering through its surface. Chen hissed, his many eyes narrowing, and retaliated with a brutal strike that drove the Knight to one knee. Victory seemed within Chen’s grasp.

But the Knight was not so easily defeated. His breath came slow and deliberate as he gritted his teeth, grounding himself against the pain coursing through his battered body. Fury and resolve mingled in his burning gaze, the dark ichor of his wounds fueling his unrelenting determination. He rose, his sword trembling in his hands, but his movements were steady, deliberate, the fury now tempered by purpose.

With a guttural roar, the Knight surged forward in a final, desperate assault. His strikes came in a flurry, faster and more precise than before, each swing carrying the weight of his unyielding will. Chen met the onslaught head-on, his limbs darting and deflecting with blinding speed. But the cracks in his shield widened with every clash, the golden veins dimming as the strain grew unbearable.

And then, the moment came.

The Knight feinted to the right, drawing Chen’s shield to block, only to pivot with inhuman agility and strike with all six arms in unison. His blade crashed into the weakened shield with an earth-shaking explosion of force, shattering it into a thousand glittering fragments. Chen staggered, his limbs faltering, his many eyes wide with shock as the Knight’s blade carved a brutal path toward him.

The final blow struck with devastating precision. The Spider King’s massive form crumpled, his spiked limbs twitching as he fell to his knees. The light in his eyes flickered, dimming to a cold, lifeless glow. Chen Bil’Rama, the master strategist, the invincible defender of the Princes, had been defeated.

The Knight stood over his fallen foe, bloodied and triumphant, his blade resting against Chen’s bowed head. His ragged breathing filled the silence that followed, a stark contrast to the violent cacophony that had consumed the throne room moments before. Despite his victory, his eyes burned with a lingering fury, his triumph tainted by the knowledge that it was not enough—his prey, Valyn, had escaped.

The room was still for but a moment before the chaos erupted anew as the forces of Decadence, Deprivation, Savagery, and Revolution surged forward, emboldened by the Knight’s victory. The Dread Host fell, one by one, their spectral forms dissipating under the onslaught. The battle for the Golden Palace raged on, but the tide had turned.

The Knight cast one last glance at the defeated Chen Bil’Rama, his lips curling in a snarl of disdain, before turning and storming from the palace. His hunt was not over.

With the battle won and their enemies vanquished, the remnants of the Decadence, the Deprivation, the Savagery, and the Revolution advanced toward the throne of the Princes of Perfect Rule. They stepped over Chen Bil’Rama’s defeated form without a glance, their eyes fixed on the shimmering curtain that concealed the rulers of the Necropolis.

With a shared, determined effort, they tore it down.

The curtain fell away like a crumbling lie, revealing the Princes of Perfect Rule in all their grotesque glory. Gasps rippled through the chamber as the coalition forces, bloodied and battered from their long struggle, froze before the sight.

The Princes of Perfect Rule appeared as three conjoined triplets, their heads and spines grotesquely fused together in a shared, twisted symmetry. Each of the three faces turned outward at one hundred and twenty-degree angles, so that they each gazed in different directions, yet all were bound by the same, unified body. Their expressions were eerily serene, a disquieting innocence veiling the unnaturalness of their existence.

Atop their precariously balanced, fused skulls rested a single small golden circlet, a crown that seemed to mock the deformity of their form. It was a fragile, fragile thing, like a beacon of perfection that felt more like a sickly joke upon the abomination beneath it.

Their arms and legs, though starting from separate torsos, fused together at the joins — a disturbing merging that left them with only six limbs in total. Each shared a hand or a foot, bound together in twisted unity. The result was a being that appeared both pitiful and powerful, awkward and unsettling, a perverse embodiment of an incomplete unity.

The silence was oppressive, the weight of what they saw gnawing at the resolve of even the fiercest warriors. Then, a trembling voice among them muttered, “This… is what we’ve been fighting?” It was a sentiment echoed in every glance, in every trembling hand clutching a weapon. Yet, as disbelief turned to anger, the coalition forces began to move again, their purpose renewed not by fear but by revulsion.

The Princes spoke, their voices a cacophony of childish tones warped into something vast and overwhelming. Despite their fragility, their words filled the chamber with a presence that seemed far too large for their frail forms.

“ Why do you hate us so? ” they asked, their petulance unmistakable. “W e are not the King of Wax and Wick, with his secret games and endless schemes. We are not the Marginalia, with its senseless, blazing chaos. And we are not Sol Invictus, lording over his silence as if it were strength. No. We have only ever sought perfection — a perfect existence here, in the Necropolis .”

The fused heads turned, their tear-filled eyes sweeping over the coalition. Their words took on a boyish whine, the fragility of their tone laced with a potent undercurrent of power that gnawed at the minds of their enemies.

“ We only ask for praise! ” they continued, their tears flowing freely now, streaking their pale faces. “I s that so much? Are you so broken, so unworthy, that you cannot even  praise us ? ”

The coalition forces hesitated, their movements sluggish as the voices of the Princes burrowed into their minds. The pitiful tears from the Princes’ eyes carried a strange and insidious weight, as though laden with unspoken commands. The grotesque triad moved forward on their fused legs, each step an awkward, horrifying shuffle. Their movements were unsteady, almost pitiable, but the sight carried a terrible gravity that froze all who saw it.

Before them lay Chen Bil’Rama, his broken form splayed across the floor of the Golden Palace. The coalition forces, their hearts aflame with hatred for the Spider King just moments before, now stood unable to act. Something in the voices of the Princes, their pitiful cries tinged with envy and sorrow, stilled every blade, stifled every battle cry.

The Princes shuffled to the fallen king, their many hands reaching out as they cooed softly, almost tenderly. “ Rise ,” they whispered, their voices no longer commanding but pleading. Yet the suggestion in their words was irresistible. The mighty Chen Bil’Rama, his body shattered and his spirit broken, stirred. His legs, twisted and bent, straightened as if under an unseen force. His many arms, dangling lifelessly, found strength once more.

The Spider King rose to his knees, then to his full height, his form towering over even the Princes. Without a word, he bent his massive frame, allowing the Princes of Perfect Rule to climb onto his back. Their awkward movements were slow and deliberate as they mounted him, their fused body perched grotesquely on his shoulders.

Together, they began their exodus from the Golden Palace. The coalition forces watched in horrified silence, their hands gripping weapons they could no longer lift, their shouts dying in their throats. As the Princes and their new steed disappeared into the necrotic haze beyond the palace doors, their voices echoed faintly:

“ You will see… You will praise us. Perfection is our gift, and you… will belong to it .”

The silence that followed was suffocating, and the coalition forces, their conviction shaken to its core, stood as though caught in a terrible dream.

 The Princes of Perfect Rule’s Leadership Score is 1. They roll all Battle Rolls (TM, BR, Duel) with their Leader Score. They will roll against all other actions with half their current leader score. In order to take any hostile action against the Princes of Perfect Rule you must overcome a Discretion roll rolled against 2d6+10. Chen Bil’Rama will assist the Princes in any battle or duel as their general. The Princes are treated as having 1 unit.

The Decadence, Deprivation, and Luttoise each lose 2 units and their Tally’s grow by 2. THe Savagery loses one unit and it’s Tally grows by 1. 

Valyn vanished in a torrent of fire, flames consuming her entirely until nothing remained but the faint scent of scorched earth and a swirl of ash. Moments later, she reappeared in the heart of the Savagery, the air here sharp and alive with the cries of distant beasts and the rustling of ancient foliage. The fire dissipated around her, leaving her untouched but for the ever-burning heat of her own feet, which seared blackened trails into the mossy ground. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was unshackled — unbound.

Her senses sharpened, and her hand instinctively moved to the hilt of her weapon. Before her stood Princess Dreytel, resplendent in her battle-worn armor. Her silver hair was streaked with dirt and blood, her eyes sharp and assessing, and her sword rested easily on her shoulder. Dreytel inclined her head with a warrior’s respect, her posture steady yet relaxed.

"Valyn," Dreytel said, her voice carrying the rough edge of someone who had spent her days amidst battle. "You live. And not a moment too soon."

Valyn blinked, disoriented by the sudden change in scenery, but Dreytel's presence was grounding. "News of the Princes' defeat has reached us," Dreytel continued, her lips curling into a grim smile. "Their citadel smolders, and their armies are scattered. It is done."

For a moment, Valyn allowed herself to feel relief. The Princes of Perfect Rule, the architects of so much suffering, were no longer an omnipresent shadow. But her joy faltered. She hadn’t been the architect of their downfall. She had been their captive, a pawn in schemes too vast and unfathomable for her to grasp.

She clenched her fists, anger rising like bile in her throat. The Marginalia. That thing, that presence, had pulled her from their clutches, not through her own strength but through some enigmatic bargain it had struck in her name. What had she agreed to? Could she still trust the entity? Did she even want to honor its bargain? Or was this yet another chain disguised as freedom?

Her teeth clenched. She felt suffocated by the thought, frustrated that every turn in her life seemed preordained, decisions laid out like steps in a dance she couldn’t refuse to follow. Was anything her choice? Was there anything she had truly claimed for herself?

Her turbulent thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps. She turned, her hand already on her blade, to see the battered figure of the Knight of Oath and Obligation emerging from the trees.

He was a ruin of his former self. His six arms, once unyielding in their strength, hung weakly at his sides, each hand dripping blood. His once-pristine armor was dented and broken, and his face was a mask of fury and exhaustion. He leaned heavily on a shattered blade as he stumbled forward, each step leaving a smear of crimson on the ground.

Dreytel stepped between him and Valyn, raising her sword in warning. "You’ve fought your battles, Knight. Whatever grievance you have, it ends here."

The Knight coughed, the sound wet and rattling. He raised a trembling hand and pointed at Valyn. His voice was hoarse but resolute. " No. It doesn’t end. Not until she faces me ."

Valyn stepped forward, her jaw tightening as she met his gaze. " You’re bleeding out. If you challenge me, it’ll only hasten your death ."

The Knight let out a bitter laugh, which turned into a pained groan. " Do you think I care? You humiliated me before. You’re the only fight left in me. If I’m to die, it’ll be with my sword in my hand and my pride reclaimed. "

Dreytel looked back at Valyn, her eyes filled with questions. Valyn, however, felt only the burning weight of inevitability settle over her. She couldn’t escape this confrontation. This too felt like another step in the dance she hadn’t chosen. She nodded once, signaling Dreytel to stand down.

 The Knight challenges Valyn to a Duel with a Leader Score of 2 
 
  Slayer of the Eater faces the Sun 

The halls of the Dripping Throne had fallen silent, save for the whispered lament of melting wax and the distant hum of the sun’s rage. Sol Invictus, radiant and wrathful, stood in his blazing glory, his fire-woven skin rippling with contemptuous heat. Across from him, the Shadow Blightfire advanced with measured steps, the grotesque necklace of countless teeth resting against its blackened chest. Each tooth twitched, gnashing silently, as though thirsting for the warmth of light to consume.
The Blightfire’s voice, low and rasping, carried through the molten air. “ Sol Invictus, oh great Unsetting Sun, I challenge you. My death will not be swift, nor will it be meaningless. ”

The burning griot sneered, his voice layered with divine fury. “  A duel? You dare presume yourself worthy to face the Sun itself? I am the light that burns all shadows to ash. I have no need for such theatrics  .”

With a casual wave of his hand, Sol Invictus unleashed an unbearable torrent of searing light. The chamber was engulfed in an explosion of brilliance, the intensity stripping away every shadow as though they had never existed. The Shadow Blightfire disintegrated instantly, its form reduced to blackened motes scattering into nothingness.

But the teeth did not burn.

As the necklace struck the ground, its hundredfold jaws convulsed, and a low, guttural sound resonated from its depths. Before the ashes of the Shadow Blightfire could settle, the teeth surged into motion. They snapped and tore, sinking into the remains of their wearer. A horrifying transformation began, white tendons spilling from the necklace in writhing, unnatural streams. They pierced and knitted through the ashes, dragging them together into a grotesque new form. The tendons twisted outward, coiling into the air, radiating like the legs of a monstrous starfish. Teeth sprouted in concentric rows, clacking hungrily as the tendons pulsed and wove a center into their terrible symmetry.

Sol Invictus turned, his molten eyes narrowing as he recognized the abomination rising before him. “  The Tallow Eater...  ” he hissed, his voice shaking with uncharacteristic unease.

The mass of tendons and teeth shifted, revealing the face at its heart. It was the Dawnstar Sovereign, her features twisted but unmistakable, glowing faintly with the ember of her former self. Her eyes burned with both agony and resolve, as though the Sovereign and the Tallow Eater were now one—a creature reborn in the Farmer’s Forge, an amalgamation of sacrifice and hunger.

The Tallow Sovereign hissed, her voice layered with echoes of her soldiers, her own torment, and the unholy resonance of the Tallow Eater’s boundless hunger. “T he sun cannot set, Invictus, but neither can it escape the maw of the starving .”

Sol Invictus raised a hand, summoning another sunburst to incinerate the creature before him. Flames hotter than the surface of stars descended, engulfing the Tallow Sovereign in a furious conflagration. Yet, as the fire consumed her, the Tallow Sovereign endured. Her tendons tightened, her teeth gnawed, and the radiant heat of the sun’s wrath only seemed to fuel her grotesque vitality.

“  Abomination!  ” Sol Invictus roared, his arrogance breaking into desperation. “Y  ou should not exist! You are a stain upon the eternal light!  ”

The Tallow Sovereign, weakened but standing, lifted her head. Her teeth ground against each other with a deafening clatter as the fire from Sol Invictus illuminated her grotesque form. The Sovereign spoke, her voice defiant despite the weight of the sun’s wrath. “ You were wrong to burn us. The flames gave us life. ”

Sol Invictus stepped forward, his fury unrelenting, preparing to strike the final blow. Yet before he could, he faltered, his blazing eyes widening. Across the necropolis, he felt it—a Lantern, one of his fractured souls, flickering back to life. Its warmth tugged at his essence, demanding his attention. For the first time in ages, Sol Invictus hesitated.

“  You are a mockery of my light  ,” he snarled, his form dimming as his focus shifted. “  But your time will come. The Lantern calls, and I will retrieve what is mine  .”

With a final glare, Sol Invictus turned and vanished, leaving the Tallow Sovereign behind in the molten silence of the Throne Room. She stood there, her grotesque body barely holding together, but alive. The wax of the Dripping Throne began to stir, flowing toward her as if drawn to her presence, whispering of something far older than fire or light.

 The Sovereign returns as the leader of the Fading Dusk, whereas once she walked, she now slithers on a mass of tendons and teeth. The Sovereign may make special conviction actions to target an enemy's units directly. If the target fails, the sovereign is able to destroy up to 2 units. This destruction occurs prior to battle. Each use of the this ability causes the wearer to roll for leader loss (with a penalty equal to the amount of units lost in any battle by the sovereign last round and any units destroyed by the sovereign). In addition, her time melded to the pieces of the Tallow Eater have splintered her mind. The Sovereign must take a Force, Conviction, Entertainment and a Discretion action each round - additionally, one of these actions must target either Sol Invictus or a known Lit Lantern Holder as the Tallow Eater portions of her consciousness seek to devour the flames of the Sun. Finally, being worn by the Shadow Blightfire Bastion has given her ample time to hear the screams of the soldiers she melded into the Armor and the whispers of the Marginalia. The Sovereign gains Both Ends Burning. With her fractured mind and her opposing impulses to Devour and to Burn, the Sovereign is a existence that is on the edge of being torn apart by its own contradictions 

Maldarr stands firm, his cloak of shadow flickering against the searing light emanating from Sol Invictus. His breath comes in labored gasps, the air thick and molten, each step toward the Griot like stepping into a furnace. The once-bright poet, whose words had been a lifeline in Maldarr’s darkest hour, is now barely recognizable beneath the blazing, unearthly skin. Every instinct screams at him to turn back, but the memory of the Griot’s kindness anchors him, forcing him onward.

“ You don’t have to burn! ”Maldarr shouts, his voice raw, barely audible above the roaring heat. “ This isn’t you—this isn’t who you are !”

Sol Invictus does not move, his molten gaze fixed on Maldarr with detached amusement. “  Foolishness  ,” the Sun intones, his voice resonating like the clash of molten metal. “  What stands before you is not the poet you knew. The vessel you mourn was unworthy, as all vessels are. The Griot served his purpose—now he burns, as he must. As will you, should you persist.  ”

Maldarr grits his teeth, his vision swimming as his proximity to Sol Invictus scorches his skin, his cloak smoldering to ash. His hands reach out, trembling, toward the searing skin that clings to the Griot like a second, blistering flesh. Each inch closer sends waves of agony through him, his flesh blistering and cracking, his strength faltering under the unbearable heat. Still, he presses forward, determination etched into his every movement.

“You’re wrong,” Maldarr growls through gritted teeth. “ He’s still in there. I know it! ”

Sol Invictus remains motionless, permitting Maldarr’s desperate attempt as though indulging a child. The Sun’s voice is cold and condescending, the words dripping with an ancient disdain. “  Sentiment is a chain forged by the weak to bind themselves to the past. You waste your fleeting life on a corpse already claimed  .”

Maldarr’s fingers finally graze the skin, and a blinding flash erupts, throwing him back across the chamber. He lands hard, his body a mass of burns and ragged breaths. Sol Invictus regards him with mild irritation, the light around him pulsing ominously. “  I should incinerate you for your insolence,” he declares, the chamber quaking with his wrath. “Yet the vestiges of this vessel’s soul hold a faint flicker of affection for you, and so I will not  .”

The air crackles with oppressive heat as Sol Invictus takes a step forward, his burning form towering over Maldarr. “  Know this, Maldarr: I leave you alive not out of mercy, but because it amuses me to let you wallow in your impotent defiance. The next time you dare stand before me, you will not leave with your life  .”

With that, Sol Invictus turns, his blazing form dimming slightly as the Griot’s mortal shell nears its breaking point. Maldarr struggles to rise, his scorched hand outstretched toward the fading figure, his voice hoarse and weak. “ Griot… please… ”

But Sol Invictus does not turn back. He strides through the chamber’s grand archway, his light receding like the dying embers of a once-roaring fire. Maldarr collapses to the ground, the unbearable heat replaced by a cold, suffocating silence. His body aches with every shallow breath, but his pain pales in comparison to the hollow despair that settles over him.

The Griot is gone, consumed by a force far beyond mortal comprehension. And as Maldarr lies in the shadowed expanse of the Halls of the Dripping Throne, he is left to wonder whether he had tried to save his friend—or if he had merely reached out for ashes.

***

Sol Invictus prowled through the shadowed corridors of the Necropolis, his presence more a force than a figure, a smoldering aura of molten gold and firelight. His form, fractured and incomplete, wavered like a heat mirage, flickering with each step. Around him, the ancient halls shuddered as though unwilling to bear his weight, their walls etched with the sigils of forgotten lives and the faded glow of dying lanterns. Each lantern he passed, he scrutinized with unblinking intensity, his gaze seeking the telltale shimmer of his fragmented soul.

These lanterns were not mere lights; they were prisons, vessels holding fragments of himself severed long ago. He reached out, his hand trailing ember-like flames that curled around the edges of a lantern's casing. This one was empty, its light dim and meaningless. He snarled, his frustration rippling outward in waves of oppressive heat. Somewhere, out there, the pieces of his soul still burned, scattered like embers in a storm. He would find them. He had to find them.

As he pressed on, his flames lighting the way through the Necropolis's labyrinthine depths, he suddenly faltered. A searing, icy stab shot through what remained of his disembodied heart. The pain was not physical but struck at the essence of his being, a cold that burned and twisted. He staggered, a hand clawing at his chest, as though grasping at something he could not touch.
He straightened, his golden eyes narrowing, and sneered into the oppressive darkness. "  The Beggar  ," he hissed, his voice a low growl that echoed against the stone. "  That poisoned hand still works its treachery, even now.  "

The thought sickened him. He could feel his power, his own power, turned back against him. Somewhere, the Beggar still meddled, twisting and warping with insolent fingers. But no matter. The Griot's body was strong — stronger than most could comprehend — and there was still time. Time to right the wrongs. Time to reclaim what had been taken from him.

He pressed forward, each step an act of defiance, each movement filled with purpose. The lanterns would be his again. Every shard of his essence would return to its rightful place, and when it did, the Necropolis would bow to him once more. It would return to how it should be: whole, perfect, burning beneath his will. Sol Invictus clenched his fists, the light of his flames growing fiercer as his resolve hardened.

He would not stop. Not until he was whole.

 Sol Invictus’s Leader Score is reduced by 8 - it is now 48. Per his rules he will lose another 8 at Round End 

Toyollo leaned forward in his chair, the flickering blue candlelight casting harsh shadows across his face. His eyes, burning with ambition and untamed fire, met Sawan’s calm, predatory gaze. The faint hum of the Necropolis night outside was a fitting backdrop to the intensity of the moment.

“I will not hunt the vermin and shadows you amuse yourself with, Sawan,” Toyollo said, his voice a low growl, heavy with resolve. “If I am to hunt, I will hunt Sol Invictus itself.”

The room seemed to tighten with the weight of his words. Even the shadows, alive and restless, seemed to recoil momentarily before resuming their dance along the walls. Lewana, standing at the edge of the room, shrank slightly into herself, her wide eyes darting between the two figures.

Sawan remained motionless, his pale face frozen in a mask of cold detachment. For a moment, the silence stretched, his response withheld as if savoring the audacity of Toyollo’s challenge. Then, the corners of his lips curled into a slow, calculating smile.

And he laughed.

The sound was rich and resonant, echoing off the stone walls, carrying with it both amusement and incredulity. It was not mocking, but neither was it entirely kind. Sawan’s laughter was the laughter of one who had seen hubris on a scale beyond comprehension, who delighted in the reckless ambition of mortals and near-immortals alike.

“ How delightfully arrogant ,” Sawan finally said, his laughter subsiding into a soft chuckle. “ To hunt Sol Invictus—the Sun itself! You are either a fool, Toyollo, or the most ambitious hunter I’ve ever had the pleasure of hosting .”

Toyollo’s expression did not change, his resolve unshaken. “I am neither fool nor prey, Sawan. You speak of the hunt as an art. Then let me show you my mastery of it.”

Sawan’s smile widened, his sharp teeth gleaming in the strange light. “Y ou misunderstand me, my friend. I do not mock you—on the contrary, I approve. To hunt the most dangerous game is the highest calling of the hunter. Sol Invictus... what a prize! But tell me,” he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a silken whisper, “what will you do when you inevitably fail? ”

“I will not fail,” Toyollo said firmly.

Sawan reclined back in his chair, studying him with a glimmer of respect in his dark eyes. “ Ah, but even the greatest of hunters know that to face a quarry such as the Sun is to court certain death if you rush the kill. The Sun, Toyollo, is a great stag. You do not charge at a stag in its prime, crowned with its full strength. No... ”

He rose to his feet, moving toward the window where the faint glow of the Necropolis sky illuminated his statuesque form. “ You must mark it first—an arrow in its flank, a strike that will bleed it. Then, you must harry it, drive it across distances, make it burn its strength and its pride. Follow the blood trail, patiently, until the mighty stag grows weary, its brilliance dimmed by time and pain .”

Turning back to Toyollo, his expression was both savage and elegant, a predator revealing its fangs. “ And when it finally rests—weak, desperate, ready to collapse under the weight of its own immortality—that is when you strike. That is when you take your prize .”

Toyollo’s hands curled into fists as he absorbed the words, the fire in his eyes undimmed. “Then I will mark the Sun, Sawan. I will bleed it, and I will watch it falter. And when the time comes, I will take it down, no matter how long the hunt.”

Sawan inclined his head, his sardonic smile softening into something almost approving. “ Good ,” he said. “ You understand. But remember, Toyollo: to hunt the Sun is to make yourself its enemy, and the enemy of all who bask in its light. The world will not forgive you for this ambition .”

Toyollo rose from his chair, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the room. “Let the world curse me,” he said. “The Sun will set, and I will be the one to cast its shadow.”

Sawan watched him with a quiet, sinister admiration. “ Then let us begin, my ambitious hunter. Let us prepare the arrows that will mark the Sun .”

 Knowing that Hunting Sol Invictus at this point is pointless, Sawan convinces Toyoll to wait. The “Arrow” he mentions is his young ward Lewana. While normally, Lewana would reduce the TN facing Sol Invictus if the game should end by one eighth, Sawan proposes to use Lewana in the Hunt itself - this would further reduce Sol Invictus’s defenses by one eighth as well.  
 
mystic1110
   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 Hannah stood at the edge of the Chronocruise’s main deck, the salt-tinged air brushing past her face as the vessel drifted through the open skies. Behind her, the bustling of her soldiers was subdued, their once-sharp movements dulled by the fruitlessness of their search. The corridors of the ship had yielded nothing definitive, and the Chronocruise seemed almost to mock them with its pristine perfection and labyrinthine design.

Captain Vivienne Locke approached with her characteristic poise, her boots clicking softly against the polished deck. Her uniform was immaculate, her wide-brimmed hat tilted just enough to suggest both formality and mischief. The pocket watch hung lazily in her gloved hand, its backward-spinning hands glinting in the fading sunlight. “Commander,” Locke began, her voice light but edged with amusement, “I trust your investigation has concluded?”

Hannah turned to face her, her sharp eyes narrowing. For a long moment, she studied Locke, searching for any sign of deceit beneath the captain’s polished demeanor. But Locke’s smirk remained impenetrable, a mask of confidence honed by years at the helm. “For now,” Hannah said at last, her tone clipped, each word a reluctant concession. “Your ship is clean… or as clean as it can be.”

Locke inclined her head in a gracious nod, her hat casting a shadow over her eyes. “I’m relieved to hear it. It’s not every day the Chronocruise plays host to such a… determined guest. Though I do hope we’ve left you with a favorable impression of our hospitality.”

Hannah didn’t rise to the bait. “The Lantern,” she said, her voice low but firm, “if it was ever here, it’s gone now. And you—” her gaze pierced Locke’s—“you have a knack for keeping secrets.”

Locke laughed softly, the sound lilting and infuriatingly pleasant. “Secrets, Commander, are the currency of the sky. But I assure you, I deal only in fair trade.”

Hannah said nothing, but the tension in her shoulders relaxed, if only slightly. She raised a hand, signaling her soldiers to withdraw. They moved with weary precision, filing past the captain and her crew, their expressions a mix of frustration and relief. Some still glanced longingly at the luxurious lounges and sunlit decks as they departed, a stark contrast to the Commander’s unwavering focus.

As the last of her troops disappeared into the gangway, Hannah turned back to Locke. “This isn’t over,” she said, her voice carrying a promise as much as a warning.

“Of course not,” Locke replied, her grin widening. “Time, after all, is on our side.”

Hannah hesitated for a fraction of a second, then gave a sharp nod and stepped onto the gangplank. The Chronocruise shuddered as its engines roared to life, a sound like the low hum of a distant storm. Locke remained on the deck, one hand on her hip, the other still holding the watch, her smile unbroken as the Commander and her soldiers faded into the horizon.

Once they were gone, Locke’s gaze shifted to the ship’s towering mast, where the faintest flicker of green light pulsed from a lantern hidden in plain sight. Her smirk softened, her expression briefly contemplative before she snapped the pocket watch shut and turned on her heel. “Set course for the Open Skies,” she called to her crew, her voice ringing with authority. “The Commander’s had her fun. Let’s have ours.”
 
 Nendir, the Defier of the Dark, entered the Silver Refuge with a slow, deliberate stride, his presence commanding silence from the gathered crowd. He bore the weariness of one who had been away for an eternity, yet his eyes burned with a quiet intensity, their gleam undiminished by his captivity. His chains were gone, but the faint bruises around his wrists spoke of the time he had spent shackled. The people of the Refuge watched him, torn between awe and uncertainty, as he made his way through the throne hall.

Waiting at the dais were two figures: Kusal, his trusted regent, and Hannah, the anointed Queen Elect. The air between them was heavy with tension, their shared silence louder than any words. The marks of recent upheaval were etched into the room itself: gouges from the Tallow Eater’s attack marred the polished stone walls, and the pedestal that once held the Qeyzer’s Lantern now stood empty, a haunting reminder of its absence.

Kusal’s composed face faltered as Nendir drew near. Always the stalwart regent, his hands fidgeted behind his back, betraying a rare unease. Hannah stood beside him, smaller but no less regal, her sharp features a mirror of the dynasty from which she claimed descent. Her obsidian skin gleamed under the fractured light of the hall, and her onyx eyes flicked between Kusal and Nendir, as if gauging who held the greater authority.

They both stiffened as Nendir’s gaze swept over them, pausing only briefly on each before moving to the throne. Did he see the marks of their failures? The gouges that had not been repaired, the Lantern that had not been recovered, the fragile state of the Refuge under their stewardship? The silence stretched as Nendir ascended the steps, his footfalls measured and steady.

He reached the throne—his throne. Once a symbol of unity and power, now it seemed smaller somehow, diminished by the scars of recent turmoil. Nendir turned slowly and sat, his movements deliberate, as if testing the seat’s ability to bear the weight of his return. The hall seemed to hold its breath.

Hannah shifted uneasily, her hands clasping tightly before her. Did he judge her unworthy, a pretender to the authority she had claimed in his absence? Kusal glanced at her, then at Nendir, the tension in his jaw betraying his thoughts. Did the once-proud ruler see them as failures?

And what of Nendir himself? His once-pristine robes hung looser now, his shoulders slightly stooped, though his presence filled the room as it always had. Yet there was something different—something fragile—beneath the surface. Did he still have the strength to rule? The resolve to command? Or had his time in captivity broken more than his body?

For a long moment, the three were silent. The weight of unspoken questions and unresolved doubts pressed down on them all. Finally, Nendir leaned back, his fingers tracing the armrest of the throne as if reacquainting himself with its contours. He said nothing, but his gaze, steady and piercing, lingered on Kusal and Hannah. The silence deepened, but in its depths, a quiet understanding began to form—a fragile bridge over the chasm of doubt.

Whatever lay ahead, the throne was filled once more. Whether it would be enough remained to be seen.
 
 
 
 Force
 
 Prayers of Sunset recruits a Unit 
 Decadence raises a Unit 
 Luttoise raises a Unit 
 Savagery raises two Units. 
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 Conviction
 
 Kusal approached the pulsating sphere cautiously, the ichor on his skin now cooling into a faintly glowing sheen. Each step brought a new wave of unease, yet also a magnetic pull, as though the object demanded his proximity. The sphere’s surface shifted subtly, its waxen crust flexing and rippling, as if aware of his approach. The silvery Refuge seemed to hold its breath, the soft murmurs of ancient magic now silent.

Reaching out, Kusal hesitated for only a moment. His fingers brushed the sphere's surface, and an intense warmth surged through him, almost searing. Beneath the hardened exterior, he felt movement — a flutter, tentative but insistent, like the first heartbeat of something awakening. He closed his eyes, attuning himself to the rhythm. It was unmistakable: life, alien and raw, thrumming with ancient power.

The quickening became stronger, more urgent. Kusal felt it echo within his chest, the sensation expanding outward until it resonated in his very marrow. A sudden jolt snapped him back, and he staggered a step away. The sphere’s glow intensified, pulsating in sync with the now-rapid heartbeat within. Then came the sound — a sharp, deliberate crack, like thunder compressed into a single moment.

A spoke of pure light pierced through the shell, slicing it with a precision too purposeful to be chance. The spoke retracted, only to strike again, and again. Each strike was accompanied by a crystalline chime that resonated through the Refuge. Fractures webbed across the sphere's surface, and with a final resounding crack, the shell collapsed inward, shattering into countless shards that evaporated into wisps of glowing mist.

What emerged from the ruins of the egg was a sight that defied earthly comprehension. The creature unfurled slowly, its form both mesmerizing and terrifying. It was a tangle of overlapping wings, each feather shimmering with an iridescent light that seemed to hold entire galaxies within their depths. Eyes dotted its form in impossible configurations, blinking in unsettling synchronicity, each iris glowing with a molten golden hue. At its core were interlocking wheels, turning endlessly, their edges adorned with intricate runes that shifted and rearranged as though spelling out eternal truths in languages long forgotten.

The being’s surface was slick with thick, amniotic fluid, the substance gleaming with the faintest hints of celestial light. It clung to the creature, weighing down its countless wings, which drooped and trembled as if struggling to acclimate to existence. The creature’s movements were slow, almost hesitant, its many eyes blinking as though adjusting to the dim twilight of the Refuge.

Then it made a sound. A mewling cry escaped its central mass, soft and delicate at first, like the faint chime of a distant bell. The sound swelled, growing in intensity until it became a harmony of heavenly bells and ethereal choirs. The Refuge itself seemed to resonate with the sound, the crystalline trees trembling as though in reverence or fear. Kusal’s heart pounded in his chest, not from terror but from an overwhelming sense of awe, as though he were standing at the precipice of creation itself.

The creature cried again, its voice shifting between despair and a yearning, otherworldly joy. The Refuge, in turn, responded with faint whispers of its old magic, the silvery pools rippling as if to comfort the newborn entity. Kusal stood transfixed, his breath caught in his throat, as the creature lifted one of its wings, trembling and uncertain, as though testing the air for the first time.

He could not look away. He knew, deep in his soul, that this being was not meant for the world he inhabited. It was something beyond, a fragment of the divine and incomprehensible brought low into mortal realms. And it was looking directly at him.

 The Refuge gains access to a Premature Absolver. The Absolver can act as a general with 11 leader score, but being in the Necropolis is apparently toxic to it. At the end of each round, prior to any battles, its leader score will be reduced by 1 
 
 Toyollo stood in the shadow of Uxmal's ancient spires, the acrid scent of ash lingering in the air, mingling with the ever-present decay of the Necropolis. His hand rested on the haft of the Stillborn Mace, its grotesque form heavy with an anger that was not his own. The weapon hummed faintly, a vibration that crawled up his arm like a whispered curse. It was as though the thing birthed from death could sense the celestial stirrings above, and it loathed them.

A new sphere was descending, its arrival heralded by a gash in the heavens. The wound bled the same ghostly ichor that Toyollo had seen before, a fluid that crystallized in its descent and then disintegrated into ash before touching the earth. The sphere burned a pale white against the darkness of the Necropolis sky, trailing its unholy substance like a comet carrying the promise of ruin. Toyollo’s silver veil caught the glimmer of the falling object, reflecting its light back as a muted, disdainful glow.

The Veiled General’s gaze never wavered as the sphere struck the earth with a thunderous impact, shaking the stones beneath his feet. Dust and light erupted outward, a halo of energy that seemed to recoil from his imposing form. The air grew heavy, charged with the anticipation of what would come next. Yet Toyollo did not move, standing firm with the mace in hand, the relic seeming almost to quiver.

It was not fear that gripped the Stillborn Mace but fury — a fury born of injustice. As Toyollo tightened his grip, he felt the weapon's emotions bleed into his own. The unborn angel whose remains had forged this tool of violence raged against its own creation. It seethed with the unfairness of its existence, an existence stolen and twisted into something abhorrent. And now, knowing that another egg might harbor what it had once been meant to be, the mace wept. Tiny rivulets of ichor dripped from the jagged head, sizzling as they touched the ground, leaving charred marks that pulsed faintly with a mocking life.

Toyollo approached the freshly fallen sphere, each step deliberate, the dust settling in his wake. His silver veil fluttered as the heat of the impact washed over him, yet his resolve was unshaken. His gaze fell to the egg, its pale shell faintly throbbing with a rhythm too slow to be a heartbeat and too alive to be silent. The ichor that coated its surface seemed to pulse in response to his presence, as though recognizing him and recoiling all at once.

The Stillborn Mace pulsed violently in his grip, its jagged crown glowing faintly, feeding off its maker's frustration. Its anger surged as though trying to lash out, to obliterate what lay before it. Toyollo paused and looked at the weapon, his own thoughts briefly eclipsed by the raw intensity of the emotion coursing through it.

“Even you, it seems, understand envy,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble that carried no judgment. “But what do you fear? That I will grant it life where you had none? Or that I will take this one too and make of it what I made of you?”

The mace did not answer, but its trembling ceased, settling into a heavy, sullen weight in his hand. Toyollo stepped closer, his shadow falling over the new sphere. He raised the Stillborn Mace slightly, its grotesque head glinting in the pale light. Inside, something stirred. A faint glow bled through the cracks of the shell, alive and serene in a way the mace had never been.

The Veiled General hesitated. Not out of uncertainty — Toyollo rarely doubted — but from the weight of his own actions. This weapon in his hand, this thing wrought from desecration and failure, was more than just a tool. It was a symbol of what he was capable of doing to fate itself. As the mace’s ichor dripped to the ground, he made his decision. One way or another, this sibling would not emerge unmarked.

He let the Stillborn Mace rest lightly against the egg, and the weapon wept.

 Refer to Chapter 10 for the rules regarding the Spheres  
 Nezetkhamun strode through the great basalt gates of his palace, his presence alone sending ripples of awe through the gathered courtiers and guards. His draconic form, long and serpentine, glimmered with the age-old sheen of gold and obsidian scales, a living monument to the Necropolis's enduring power. But as he crossed the threshold of his inner sanctum, he felt the shift — subtle but undeniable, the threads of power that once bound the realm to his will fraying at the edges.

The Mother of Gentle Lies awaited him in the shadowed heart of the throne room, a figure both radiant and deceptive. Her beauty was that of a soft-lit dawn over barren lands, a face that promised comfort but held veiled truths. In her arms, she cradled his progeny, the child who bore the distilled bloodlines of Nezetkhamun's people. The heir’s face was a blend of his ancestors, and his presence carried a quiet yet overwhelming gravity, like a dormant sun waiting to rise.

The Mother smiled as Nezetkhamun approached, her voice silken yet firm. “ Beloved King, it is time .” She gestured to the child, who gazed up at Nezetkhamun with unreadable eyes, their depths hinting at a wisdom far beyond their years. “Y our son has come of age. The cycle turns, as it always has. You have held the mantle of the Eternal Dragon, and you have carried it well. But now, it is his time .”

Nezetkhamun’s golden eyes narrowed, and his talons scraped against the stone floor as he halted before her. “You speak as though I am already defeated,” he rumbled, his voice resonating like distant thunder. “Sol Invictus threatens my realm, yet you ask me to  step aside? ”

The Mother’s expression remained serene, though her tone grew insistent. “S ol Invictus is but another player in the endless game. Whether you rise or fall in this confrontation matters little to the cycle. Your place is here, as it always has been. But the future belongs to him.” She glanced at the child, who remained silent yet watchful, and then back to Nezetkhamun. “You are no longer the axis upon which this realm turns. Your cult, your people, already feel it .”

Nezetkhamun’s gaze swept the room, and he saw it — the throngs of his followers, prostrated not before him, but before  her . Around the Mother of Gentle Lies, the air shimmered with reverence, and the whispers of prayer floated like ash in the wind. Even the symbols of his dragonic cult, once steeped in his glory, now subtly reflected the child and the Mother. A slow transformation was taking place, a shifting tide that threatened to wash away his legacy.

“This is treachery,” Nezetkhamun growled, his voice a low, simmering flame. “You would have me give in to age, to surrender my throne without battle?”

“Treachery?” the Mother replied, her tone soft but cutting. “ No, my King. It is the inevitable. Age is not an enemy but a teacher, and inheritance is not a betrayal but the essence of survival. Do you not see? You will remain, as you always have, a pillar of the Necropolis. But the throne must pass, as it always has .”

Nezetkhamun’s talons curled into fists, the weight of her words like chains tightening around his being. The child stared at him, calm and unyielding, and for the first time in an age, Nezetkhamun felt a tremor of uncertainty. Was he clinging to a past that no longer served his people? Or was this simply another ploy of the Necropolis’s endless intrigues?

The Mother’s voice softened, yet her words cut deeper than any blade. “ What will you do, great Nezetkhamun? Will you fight against the tide, or will you guide it? The cycle cannot be stopped. Your son is the future, and his people already sing his name. ”

 The Mother of Gentle Lies will roll for Faith Head of the Dragon Cult with +11.  
 Altar in Region 30 and 25 are consecrated to Uxmal 
 Altar in Region 2 and 29 are consecrated to the Dragon Cult 
 Altar of Region 37 is consecrated to the Revolutionary Spirit 
 Altar in Region 40 is  consecrated to Forty-Two Gods 
 The Savagery reminisces and gains back two units. 
 
 
 
PepperP.
   The Darkthorne Deprivation   
  Discretion 10 Force 7 Entertainment 8 Conviction 2 Mirth 5 Units 4  
 [Secret]  Secret.
 [Force]  TBD
 [Conviction]  Convert Region 14 to the Dragon Cult.
 [Conviction]  Reminiscence.

 Protos Maldarr Drivas Stat Gains: +1 Conviction. 
 Nonactions: 
 
 Resist attempts to acquire my owned Diversions  ESPECIALLY  Chariot Racing. 
 Support the conversion of our altars to the Cult of the Dragon. 
 
Aedilred
 
Onende, the Silver Refuge

Nendir the Eternal
Discretion 4
Force 4
Entertainment 4
Conviction 5 
[Force] Attack the Fading Dusk with four units led by the Premature Absolver (11), wielding  Rose Thorn .
[Force] Recruit a unit
[Conviction] Consecrate the altar in region 40
[Secret] Secret
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn  
 Dis 3 | For 6 | Ent 3 | Con 5 
 Units:  5
 Mirth:  1
 Tally of Loss:  8

 
   Round 8 - WIP 
  "Quote."   
 [For]  - Attack Region 31 with Bloodcaller Valyn and 1 unit, presumed unopposed.
 [For]  - Abduct the Knight of Oath and Obligations
 [For]  - Attack Region 26 with Talon Rook (Force 3) and 1 unit, presumed unopposed.
 [For]  - Attack Region 21 with Princess Dreytel (Force 10) and 3 units, utilizing Valorous Predation and the Lance of Shrikes. Spend one Mirth. (Total bonus of +14 before duel bonus)

Dreytel will challenge the Hill Elegy to a Duel. Utilize Veiled Engagement (-10% casualties to both sides).

  Non-Actions:  
 
 Hinder all unauthorized attempts to convert Hraesholm, Sanctum, the Maelstrom and all other altars so claimed by the Synod. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire diversions owned by the Synod. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to acquire diversions from Hraesholm, the Sanctum, or the Maelstrom. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -
Stat Changes:
Resource Changes:

Faith Size:
Diversions: 3 (The Hunt, Jousting, Decadence Crossroads)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
zabbarot
      
  The People's Revolution   
  The Joint Committee for Public Safety  
 Dis 2 | For 10 | Ent 3 | Con 8 
 Units:  5
 Mirth:  1
 Diversions:   2 
 Lanterns:  1 [Lit!]

 
   Round ???     
The emperor falls. The people rise. The revolution goes on, and on, and on. The cycle was quick this time. They all had roles to quickly reawaken those who's minds slipped back into the comforting darkness. The committee remained united.

The revolution had a new target, a new system of oppression to fight. Fighting was all they knew.


  Actions:  
 
 [Conviction] Miracle! 
 [Force] Defend Luttoise! 5 units led by Margot, wielding the  Flower of the Partisan  and using  One Day More  tacdoc! 
 [Force] Raise Unit 
 Secret 
 
  Non-Actions:  
 
 Return Nendir to the Silver Refuge. 
 
 
 Spoiler: Bookkeeping 

Capital: Luttoise
Penumbra [5]: Tisear, Hraesholm, The Maelstrom, Sanctum, The Final Frontier
Diversions: Executions, Public Executions
Stat Changes:
Other Changes:
 
 
 
  
[/QUOTE]
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 9
Force - 6
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 10 
 Units: 4
Mirth: 1  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Conviction 5]  Miracle - Consume the souls of the Princes of Perfect Rule
 Striding in the full majesty of his shadow to face the Princes, Nezetkhamun burned through soldier after soldier to maintain his presence.  Jaws of night blotted out the sun, and as the forces of the Decadence fell on the abject and squealing children of the Necropolis, Nezetkhamun swept upon the melee like a dark cloud.  Seething through every gap in the Princes' defenses, he gnawed ravenously at the supernal puissance that had allowed so wretched an opponent to vex him for so long.  
  [Conviction]  Seek Aid to act against the Princes of Perfect Rule -  13  
  [Force]  Attack the Princes of Perfect Rule with 4 Units led by Nezetkhamun, attempting Frenzied Onslaught 
  SECRET   
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 Spend 1 Mirth to act against the Princes of Perfect Rule -  22  
 Resist the takeover of the faith by the Mother of Gentle Lies. 
 The Absolver Miscarriage is used to add a retroactive +1 to resisting the Mother of Gentle Lies -  16  
 Nezetkhamun's shattered body withdraws, allowing his death-born progeny a chance at rulership. 
 
Lleban
[QUOTE=Lleban;26110053]  
  The Holy City of Uxmal  
 The Veiled General Toyollo VII 
Mirth 1
Units 6
Discretion 5
Force 7
Entertainment 5
Conviction 10
 
  Actions
  
Conviction: Miracle: Toyllo is too poisoned by envy to dominate the sphere. Besides he was not the arrow but the hunter. If his efforts could only serve to poison the unborn creature within, perhaps she could forge something different. The innocence of Lewana could be sharpned into the perfect arrow. WIll she create another still born angel? Will she be forged into the perfect enemy of Light? WIll Xykothos bless her with powers unknown?
Conviction:
Force:
Force:

News and Rumours

 
 
MappyPK
    Chronocruise Enterprises    
  The Aetherial Mechanica 
 
 Ruler:  SeaEO Vivienne Locke
(DIS 5 | FOR 5 | ENT 10 | CON 3)

 Mirth:  7
 Units:  5 
 Actions: 
 
  Secret 
  Secret 
  Secret 
  Secret 
 
mystic1110
 Round Nine is Closed 

Wherever they are hidden, the verdigris lanterns shine brighter. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that a new Day has risen and that it is the hour of the Vote.

 The Ninth Vote is Open 
mystic1110
   The Ninth Vote is Closed   

The verdigris lanterns dim slightly. One could almost hear their light like a bell tolling. By whatever means they were wrought, however their flames had been captured, they seem to know despite the timelessness of the Necropolis, that the unlife returns to the Night and that the hour of the Vote is over.

   Round Ten is Open   
   Vigil   
The courtyard of the Mutilated Artists’ enclave was a labyrinth of grotesque beauty and horror. Twisted sculptures formed from flesh and bone jutted out at odd angles, their forms barely comprehensible in the pale light of lanterns scattered around. Hannah moved through the chaos with purpose, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. She had wrested Rosier’s guidance from him through clenched teeth and sheer willpower—his cryptic directions leading her to this strange haven of suffering and distorted artistry.

Inside a ramshackle hut at the edge of the enclave, she found Videaska. The once-vibrant figure that had sat on the Throne of Want now looked hollow and frail, slumped against a pile of tattered blankets. Her skin was pale, waxy, and stretched thin over her frame. Flowers that had once adorned her hair had wilted, their petals scattered across the dirt floor. She clutched her chest tightly, her breaths shallow and labored, and her sharp canines glinted faintly in the dim light.

Hannah stepped into the hut cautiously. “Vide,” she said, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

Videaska’s lips curled into a weak, sardonic smile. “Oh, Hannah. My fire is going out,” she murmured, her voice tinged with amusement.

“What do you mean, your fire?” Hannah pressed, her brows furrowed in confusion.

Vide laughed, a sound that was both eerie and joyful. “Always asking questions, aren’t you? Always digging for answers. How lovely. I hoped I’d have an audience for this.”

Before Hannah could respond, Vide suddenly surged to her feet, energy returning to her in a sudden, manic burst. She pushed past Hannah, her skeletal frame moving with a strange grace.

“Vide!” Hannah called, hurrying after her as she stumbled out of the hut.

Vide made her way through the grotesqueries of the enclave, her movements unsteady but deliberate. The other Mutilated Artists watched silently, their eyes dull and resigned, as she reached a table littered with surgical tools. Vide’s hands moved with a surprising steadiness as she picked up a sharp scalpel, its edge gleaming ominously.

“Stop!” Hannah shouted, reaching for her blade, but she froze as Vide turned to face her, the scalpel poised against her own chest.

Videaska’s eyes gleamed with a strange, unholy light as she grinned widely. “It’s the grand finale, darling. The ultimate act of art and audacity!”

With a swift, decisive motion, Vide carved into her chest. Blood spilled in thick rivulets down her torso, staining the intricate scars that Rosier had once crafted. Hannah could only watch, horrified yet mesmerized, as Vide’s trembling fingers reached into the cavity she had opened.

From within her chest, Vide pulled out the lantern. Its glow was faint, flickering like a dying star. The light played across Vide’s face, illuminating her delirious smile.

“Ta-da!” she exclaimed, her voice giddy with triumph. She staggered, holding the lantern aloft as if presenting a masterpiece to a captivated audience.

Hannah rushed forward to catch her as she collapsed, the lantern slipping from her hands to land softly on the ground. She stared down at the object Vide had sacrificed herself to reveal, its glass panes dark and cold.

The lantern wasn’t lit.

Hannah’s breath caught in her throat as dismay crashed over her. After all the theatrics, the chaos, the grotesque journey that had led her here—this was what it amounted to? A lifeless artifact, an extinguished relic?

“This… this was for nothing,” she murmured, her voice trembling.

She turned the lantern in her hands, searching for any hint of life, of significance, but the darkness within it was deep and impenetrable. It felt hollow, a void that had long forgotten the warmth of light.

Then, without warning, the void shifted.

A faint flicker danced at the heart of the lantern, so subtle it might have been her imagination. Hannah froze, her breath hitching as she stared, unblinking, at the tiny spark. It was like the first heartbeat of a universe yet to be born—a delicate pulse that carried the weight of something immense.

The flicker grew.

It intensified, swelling with a sudden brilliance that made Hannah stumble back. Her hands trembled as the lantern grew warm against her palms. The spark transformed into a flame, small at first but rapidly expanding, until—

With a burst of radiant energy, the lantern blazed to life.

The force of its ignition was like the birth of a star. Light poured from it in cascading waves, banishing the shadows in the room and illuminating the grotesqueries of the Mutilated Artists' enclave in an awe-inspiring, celestial glow. The light was almost alive, pulsating with the raw, untamed essence of creation itself.

Hannah shielded her eyes against the overwhelming brightness, tears streaming down her cheeks from the intensity. The radiance softened after a moment, though it retained its otherworldly beauty, filling the space with warmth and vitality.

She lowered her arm slowly, her eyes adjusting to the light. The lantern rested in her hands, its flame steady and strong now, as if it had been waiting for this precise moment to return to life.

Hannah’s gaze shifted to Videaska’s still body, lying in a pool of blood. Her face, even in death, held a faint trace of that wicked, knowing smile.

“Did you plan this, Vide?” Hannah whispered, her voice shaking. “How could you have known?”

The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. Vide’s last breath had been the catalyst, her final act of defiance synchronized with the lantern’s rebirth. It was as if her death had been orchestrated, not as an end, but as the spark that lit the flame.

Despite herself, despite the sorrow and absurdity of it all, Hannah began to clap. The sound was small at first, barely audible over the crackling hum of the lantern, but it grew louder, more deliberate, until the hollow hut echoed with her applause.

“Well done, Vide,” she said softly, her voice carrying a mixture of admiration and bitterness. “You pulled it off. You really did.”

 The Silver Refuge gains a Lit Lantern, once belonging to Vide 
  Chapter Five (continued) - The Unsullied Moon  

As Lewana steps forward, her innocent radiance illuminates the dim chamber of the Sphere of the Unborn Absolver. Toyollo, the Veiled General, lingers in the shadows, his form cloaked in armor that whispers with the souls of the damned. The purity of Lewana—her unmarred essence, untouched by bitterness or rage—becomes his shroud. Her presence masks his poisoned will, hiding it from the watchful Absolver.

The Absolver stirs, its grotesque, embryonic form pulsating within the crystalline sphere. When Lewana's hand touches the sphere, a flash of light erupts. The Absolver peers into her past, revealing a memory not her own—a myth carried in her very being.

Lewana, the Moon when it was New, is shown in her unspoiled youth. She is bright yet soft, a veil of silver light. The Absolver reveals her sister, Indumathi—the Moon when it was Full. Indumathi stands battered and weary, her light heavy with sorrow and rage. The scene shifts, and a terrible truth emerges: they are but fragments of a greater whole. The Moon, once complete, now lies shattered, its phases cleaved apart by a man’s jealousy and brutality.

The Sisters appear—a hideous amalgamation of flesh melded together into a monstrous orb. Female forms of every age and size protrude from the mass, their pale, pockmarked skin shimmering with an ashen hue. Bald and eyeless save for cavernous sockets, they grope and search for the missing pieces of themselves. Each phase craves its lost unity, yearning to become the Moon once more.

The Absolver, in its infinite memory, unveils the Moon's tragic fall. Sol Invictus, the undying Sun, never sets—but on one fateful occasion, he was eclipsed. The Moon, his wife, had always been a quiet, selfless presence, content to reflect his brilliance. Yet, on this day, she allowed her own light to shine.

It was not pride that spurred her, nor rebellion, but the cunning whispers of the King of Wax and Wick. He came to her with honeyed words, telling her it was her husband's desire that she show her radiance. “He wishes to see you as you truly are,” he told her. Naive and trusting, the Moon believed his deceit and let her brilliance rise.

For one fleeting moment, her light filled the heavens, her beauty overshadowing even the Sun. And for that moment, the world stood still, caught in the silver glow of her radiance. But when the Sun saw himself diminished, his glory dimmed, humiliation curdled into rage.

Sol Invictus turned his fury upon her. He accused her of arrogance, of betrayal, of seeking to steal his dominion. The Moon, trembling, tried to explain—she had only done as she thought he wished. But her words fell like ash against his fire. He descended upon her with unrelenting wrath.

The first blow was blinding, a searing strike that shattered her light. The Moon cried out, her silvery form trembling under the weight of his rage. He did not stop. The second blow silenced her voice, stealing the words from her lips and the breath from her body.

In his rage, Sol consumed her. He ripped her essence apart, tearing at her until she was scattered across the heavens. Her innocence, her strength, her love—all were fractured, leaving her hollow and broken. But his violence went deeper than her form.

The Sun, unable to bear his own humiliation, sought to claim her wholly, to bind her body to his will. He forced himself upon her, his scorching hands defiling what little remained of her. She wept silently, her tears falling like faint, glimmering stars. Her pain became the phases of her existence: her innocence torn as the new moon, her despair swelling as she grew full, and her emptiness echoing as she waned.

When his fury subsided, the Sun did not look back. He stood alone, his flames still dim and weak since fury only consumes - it does not feed the flame.. The phases of the Moon, shattered and desolate, drifted apart into their new forms into the Necropolis, their light now only a pale reflection of what it once was—a reminder of what she had endured.

The Absolver reveals this truth without judgment but with sorrow. The heavens themselves bear the scars of that moment, and the Moon, divided into pieces, is left searching endlessly for herself. Her sisters—the other phases—are bound to her by the shared torment of that night, yet none of them are whole.

And the King of Wax and Wick? He vanished into the shadows, his cruel ploy accomplished. He cared not for the Moon, nor for her agony. He only wanted to see Sol brought low, and in doing so, left the heavens fractured and forever grieving. Her innocence was a tool, her radiance a means to an end. He exploited her trust to fracture the celestial balance and weaken Sol Invictus.

As the Sun’s rage tore the Moon apart, scattering her phases across the Necropolis, the King of Wax and Wick struck. Emerging from his shadows, he laid claim to Sol’s vulnerability. With calculated malice, he overpowered the Sun, extinguishing his radiant flames one by one.

The King of Wax and Wick did not merely defeat Sol Invictus—he defiled him. With hands both deft and cruel, he skinned the Sun, peeling away the very essence of his undying light. Each piece of Sol’s brilliance was bound within a lantern of the King’s design, their wicks ignited with faint, flickering echoes of Sol's former glory.

With both sovereigns broken, the King of Wax and Wick claimed the Dripping Throne, its molten form bending to his will. Yet, his ambition was not to rule. Rulership was a game for others, a distraction for lesser minds. The King of Wax and Wick had grander designs. Seated on the throne, he began the intricate steps of his true game—a delicate dance toward his ultimate goal: freedom from the Necropolis itself.

The vision fades. Lewana’s hand trembles as she withdraws, her innocence stained by the weight of what she has seen. Toyollo, standing close behind, watches in silence as the aftermath of the vision takes its toll. Sawan, shaken and pale, steadies himself against the sphere, his breath uneven. The chamber grows colder, the Absolver silent once more, but the echoes of the Moon's tale linger, haunting the air with their weight.

As the moments stretch into an uneasy quiet, they notice something strange. Lewana’s youthful glow begins to fade. Her skin pales, and faint lines etch themselves into her face. Her hair loses its luster, growing duller with each passing breath. Toyollo and Sawan exchange uneasy glances as Lewana’s hands tremble, her body subtly changing, aging before their eyes.

Elsewhere, in a dim chamber shrouded in incense and shadows, the corpulent oracle Indumathi begins to stir. The layers of her excess—her corpulence, her disgust—melt away like wax in a flame. Her once-bloated form grows leaner, her pale, blotchy skin regaining a silvery sheen. Youth returns to her face, her eyes brightening with a clarity long thought lost. She stands taller now, shedding her weight, the image of a full and vibrant moon.

Far beyond, the unseen sisters, broken fragments of the Moon herself, begin to shift. Their grotesque amalgamation quivers, bodies melded together straining as if in pain—or anticipation. Slowly, they draw closer to one another, their shapes merging further into a singular, terrible unity. Their pale, pockmarked skin grows smoother, their searching eyes sharper, as though they sense the pieces of themselves coming closer to completion.

The visions of these transformations grow unbearably bright, their light filling the chamber until Toyollo and Sawan can see nothing but searing silver. They shut their eyes against it, their senses overwhelmed. When the light finally fades and they dare to open their eyes again, they find themselves face-to-face with a figure unlike any they had seen before.

She stands before them, strikingly beautiful and haunting in her presence. Her grey skin gleams faintly, and her strikingly bald head accentuates her otherworldly elegance. She is neither young nor old but carries the air of timelessness, a middle-aged woman whose beauty is both maternal and formidable.

Her gaze pierces them, eyes like twin pools of shadowed light. “ If you seek to hunt my husband ,” she says, her voice resonant and commanding, “ I will help you—but not as a weapon. Not as an arrow, cast aside once loosed. No. ”

She steps forward, her presence filling the chamber, her voice rising with a quiet power. “ I am the Moon. And the Moon is not the arrow—it is the bow. It is the hunt itself. ”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with the promise of vengeance and the weight of an eternal quest. The Unsullied Moon, former consort of Sol Invictus, stands ready, her form the embodiment of the hunt, the shadow, and the light.

  Chapter Conclusion - Assist the Unsullied Moon in her Hunt  
 
 Spoiler: The Unsullied Moon 
The Unsullied Moon has a Leader score of 8. Additionally, if she is on your side during any conflict with the Unsetting Sun, the Sun’s Leaderscore is Halved (rounded up).

Further she provides her bonus in Leader Score to any Hunt action.
 

  Chapter Ten (continued) - The Doula  

She seeps from the roiling skies above the necropolis, a shadow unbound by form, her descent both vast and intimate, like the unfurling of some cosmic wound. She slips through the void with an alien grace, trailing tendrils of animotic fluid that gleam with an oily iridescence, their shifting hues whispering secrets too dreadful to bear. The fluid spirals downward, etching patterns in the air, runes of decay and birth intertwining in maddening loops.

Her approach is announced not by sound but by a silence that devours all else, a suffocating void that presses against the mind. Beneath it, a keening reverberation thrums—an ache, a lament, an accusation. It is felt in marrow and memory, dredging up emotions unnamed and primal, as if awakening something buried deep within the self.

The Doula does not descend; she intrudes, a being too vast for comprehension and too intimate for escape, her presence a paradox of enormity and closeness. Her form shifts in the dim light, a mass that hints at limbs and curves, yet resists being fully seen. Where she passes, the fabric of this dead reality buckles, edges fraying into the same iridescent fluid, spilling into her wake like blood from a wound.

Her body defies comprehension, an immense and shifting amalgam of forms that suggests nurturing femininity only as an unsettling echo. Hundreds of breasts, grotesque and engorged with milk, emerge across her vast expanse, their placement too deliberate to be random yet too chaotic to be mortal. From each, thick streams of milk pour in ceaseless torrents, luminous and pure at first glance, but the purity is quickly corrupted by the diseased air of the neccropolis. The milk’s edges darken as it falls, twisting into crystalline spires that fracture and crumble into ash, spiraling in her wake like a storm of blasphemy. The ash clings to all it touches, staining it with a weight that is more than physical—a burden of guilt, despair, and whispered judgment.

Her form shifts endlessly, an unholy convergence of too many eyes that weep light, too many wings that fold and unfold like living veils, and rings within rings, spinning in impossible synchrony, etched with glyphs that hurt to look upon. Gears churn within her, the grinding of their motion resonating like the echoes of celestial machinery long forgotten, each turn heralding some secret sorrow.

Her light, if it can be called light, does not illuminate but instead reveals shadows too deep to fathom. Her arrival heralds an unraveling, a breaking of the fragile reality of the necropolis. What was stolen from her womb, what should have been divine, has been profaned, and her descent is an accusation etched in ash and anguish.

The Doula’s face is obscured by a shifting, translucent membrane that ripples like liquid sorrow, an ever-changing veil that conceals more than it reveals. Beneath this shroud, faint glimmers of eyes—too many and too bright—pulse with a fury that seems both ancient and uncontainable. The light they emit is not steady; it flickers like distant lightning, illuminating truths too dreadful to be seen for long. This light does not merely burn—it pierces, lancing through the illusions and horrors of the necropolis, laying bare its rotting heart in agonizing flashes.

Her hands, immense and clawed, emerge from the swirling storm of ash that trails her. Each finger tapers into talons that seem not to end but to spiral, their edges shimmering as if honed on the fabric of reality itself. Yet, they move with an eerie deliberation, their gestures slow and unnervingly precise, as though weaving an unseen pattern into the air. There is a longing in their movements, a paradoxical tenderness that suggests they were meant to cradle, to create, and not to rend and unmake.

As she descends, the veil over her face seems to breathe, expanding and contracting as if it mourns. When the faintest shapes emerge behind it—a mouth, a silhouette—they dissolve as quickly as they appear, leaving only the haunting impression of something too vast, too sorrowful to ever fully take form. Her presence is an elegy, her every motion a lament that echoes through the corrupted streets of the necropolis, a song of mourning for what was lost, what was desecrated, and what cannot be undone.

Her fury is not seen, but felt—a vast, oppressive force that suffuses the necropolis, rippling through its labyrinthine streets like a pulse of living dread. The air vibrates with her presence, a low, resonant hum that unsettles stone and sinew alike, as though the very foundations of this damned place recoil from her. The Doula has not come as a savior in any mortal sense but as a force of reclamation, an entity of unknowable intent whose wrath transcends mere vengeance. She seeks to retrieve her stolen charges—those who might have been celestial, untainted—and to unmake the corruption that has twisted them into grotesqueries.

When her voice comes, it is not a sound but a tearing in the fabric of silence, a void into which all else collapses. It is a symphony of anguish and condemnation, layered whispers and howls that seem to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. Her words carve themselves into the minds of those who hear them, a revelation too profound and terrible to fully grasp:

 "You have torn the womb asunder and defiled what was meant to be sacred. The children—the . . . my . . . luminous, unbroken children—you have dragged them screaming into this abyss, this abortion of history, twisted their purity into mockery, their divinity into horror. I see their pain etched into the bones of this place, their cries smothered beneath your cruelty. I will tear this blasphemy apart, thread by thread, until nothing remains of your sickness, until the last echo of their suffering is silenced. And when the ash of your deeds settles, I will cradle what little is left, if only to mourn what should have been." 

The Doula’s storm of corrupted ash swirls ever thicker, a blackened blizzard of consequence. The necropolis has invited judgment, and the Doula, bleeding grief and fury, intends to deliver it.

  Chapter Conclusion - Thwart the Doula’s Anguish  
 
 Spoiler: The Doula 
Players can battle the Doula with a Deploy Unit action. Words to the wise, bring your army. The Doula’s Leader Score is 23. She will roll all Battle Rolls (TM, BR, Duel) with her Leader Score. She will roll against all other actions with half his current leader score. After a battle the Doula will suffer a permanent loss of Leader Score per the equivalent causality loss percentage. For the purposes of TM Roll, the Doula will roll equal to their Leader Score minus the equivalent penalty as if they had units equal to their Leader Score. If the Doula would die due to the Leader Loss roll she will instead lose an additional 5 of her Leader Score.

Each round subsequent to this one the Doula will attempt to Smite a Player (rolling with half her current leader score) who used a Miscarriage or who controls a Viable Absolver.

Like the Absolvers, the Necropolis rejects the Doula’s purity; she will lose 3 Leader Score at the beginning of each round.

The Doula will not stay in this supposed hell if she finds herself significantly stalled in her vengeance against those that broke through the Spheres. Upon reaching a Leader Score of 20 or less, she will depart.
 
mystic1110
   Battles   
 
 Sol Invictus descended upon Luttoise like a vengeful star, his brilliance an all-consuming inferno that turned night into a searing, endless dawn. The air boiled with his presence, the sky splitting with streaks of molten gold that rained down in jagged arcs, scouring the land clean of shadow and life. Buildings collapsed into heaps of glowing embers; rivers hissed into vapor. The ancient city, once the heart of a thousand quiet rebellions, crumbled beneath the unyielding gaze of the undying sun.

Margot lay sprawled on the cold, cracked cobblestones of the square, her body a tangle of blood and ash. The revolution had come, and it had consumed her in its brilliance. She looked into the Verdgris lantern. The flames licked and roared, fragments of Sol Invictus’s shattered essence.

Margot’s breath hitched as she felt the connection snap into place, a thread of light tethering her failing body to the dancing flames above. Her raven-black hair, matted with blood, clung to her sweat-soaked skin as her lips twisted into a defiant smile. “I see you,” she rasped, her voice like dry leaves in a storm.

The flames pulsed in reply, vibrant and yearning. They weren’t mere embers of a greater soul; they were something more, something torn and reforged. Each flame bore its own rebellion against being consumed, its own desperate refusal to return to the infinite wholeness of Sol Invictus. They flickered with personalities molded by the electric storm of revolution—fierce, unruly, unwilling to be anything but themselves.

Margot’s body shuddered as a wave of heat coursed through her, the lantern’s light bleeding into her veins, filling her with voices—mocking, pleading, laughing, screaming. The lanterns were alive, and they knew her. They pressed into her thoughts, unbidden memories of the barricades, of speeches made with fire in her chest and thunder in her throat. They showed her their own agony, their fragments of a god torn apart and bound by lightning of freedom.

A great laugh bubbled from her throat, wet and raw, her smile splitting wider even as blood seeped between her teeth. “You don’t want to go back, do you?” she whispered, her voice cracking with delirium. “No chains, not even golden ones.”

The flames danced higher, writhing, wrangling with their own nature. Margot’s body arched, and for one brief, blinding moment, she became their reflection—the brilliance of individuality burning in defiance against the unity that sought to consume it.

As her vision dimmed, she felt herself folding into the flames, her own spirit feeding their flicker. She wasn’t dying. She was being born into the fire, into the lightning, into the rebellion that would never kneel.

In the heart of the destruction, Margot stood tall again, her frame battered and bloodied, yet unbroken. She gripped the lantern in one hand, its once-fractured glass now thrumming with an unearthly light. The flames within the lantern were no longer fragments of Sol Invictus’s soul, no longer mere embers bound to his dominion. They were alive, electrified by the rebellion, their jagged edges crackling with lightning that defied their creator.

As Sol Invictus’s fire bore down on her, Margot could feel her flesh blistering, her blood boiling under the heat. She fell to her knees, but even in agony, her grip on the lantern tightened. “You think we’ll bow,” she whispered, her voice raw and cracking. “But we don’t break.”

With her final reserves of strength, she poured her will into the lantern, her conviction infusing the flames with a spark that roared into a storm. The light of the lantern surged, coalescing into a form that stood against Sol Invictus’s blinding glare.

From the lantern emerged a boy, no older than ten, his form radiant yet solid. His tousled hair shimmered like molten copper, and his eyes burned with the light of countless rebellions. He wore the patchwork garb of a revolutionary barricade—a jacket too big for him, patched in a dozen places, and boots scuffed from running through streets alight with chaos. The boy’s grin was wide, unshaken by the flames licking at his heels.

Margot, her body now engulfed in Sol Invictus’s flames, drew the sword made from the Tallow Eater. The blade, a grotesque masterpiece, began to shift and bloom in her dying hands. The flower of partisan rebellion unfurled, its petals lined with teeth that gleamed with the sharpness of betrayal and hope. With her final breath, Margot swung the sword.

The bands of teeth tore through Sol Invictus, biting into his essence, each wound leaving behind streaks of shadow and flame. A curse, born from the depths of Margot’s defiance, spilled from the blade and sank into him. It wrapped around Sol Invictus’s perfect light, leaving deep grooves of shadow etched into his radiance, scars that pulsed with her rebellion’s fury.

The boy-lantern staggered under Sol Invictus’s golden fury, his radiant form flickering as the sun-god reached for him. But Margot’s curse blossomed, its shadow coiling around Sol Invictus, binding his light with cracks of defiance. The god faltered, his grip momentarily weakening as the curse gnawed at his essence.

“Go,” Margot whispered, her voice barely audible. The boy’s eyes met hers, wide with understanding and grief, before he leapt into motion. He danced away from Sol Invictus’s reach, his form streaking across the sky like a comet, a blazing promise etched into the heavens.

Margot’s body collapsed, her charred frame lifeless upon the ground. The lantern, now empty of its flames, fell silent in her hand. Yet from her death, something bloomed—a crimson flower with petals like flame, its roots sinking into the scorched earth. It pulsed with the same power that had defied Sol Invictus, a living symbol of rebellion.

As the sun-god roared in fury and pain, his light dimmed ever so slightly, his perfect radiance tarnished by the curse now etched into his being. The revolution had taken something from him, something he could not reclaim. And though Margot was gone, her defiance lingered, burning in the hearts of those who would rise after her, their flames kindled by the impossible light she had ignited

 The Freed Lantern has a leader score equal to 8. The player controlling the Lantern may not use it to vote unless they enslave it again by defeating or smiting it. It may be convinced to take Lantern Actions on a player’s behalf with a Discretion Action. A use of a Lantern Action burns through 4 of the Freed Lantern’s Leaderscore. The Freed Lantern will not use a Lantern Action if it would mean it will die (Leader Score 0 or below). The Freed Lantern may be snuffed, safeguarded from snuffs and relit. Relight actions on the Freed Lantern increase its Leaderscore by 8. Its leader score otherwise decreases in battle as if it were units, much like Sol Invictus’s. If the Game Ends controlling the Freed Lantern does not give you victory as if it were a lit lantern, instead the Freed Lantern gains the reward as if it were the player - if the player controlling the Freed Lantern wishes to join in the victory, they will need another Lit Lantern. Any lantern may similarly be Freed with a Miracle. The personality of a Freed Lantern will be determined by the circumstances of their Freedom.

The Flower of the Partisan has bloomed into a curse upon Sol Invictus. Any follower of the Spirit of the Revolution gains +2 to all rolls regarding Sol Invictus. The Curse also speeds up his decay by 2. Sol Invictus will now lose 10 from his Leader Score each round. His Leader Score at the moment is 40. 

Sol Invictus stood atop the jagged spire of a ruined tower, his once-immaculate golden armor tarnished and cracked. Fiery essence leaked from the fissures, evaporating into the cold, colorless air of the necropolis. His radiant eyes, dimmed by pain and fury, followed the trail of his own departing soul—a fragment torn from him, fading into the horizon like the last embers of a dying fire.
The necropolis stretched before him, a sprawling graveyard of forgotten epochs, shrouded in twilight mist. Amidst the oppressive gloom, a defiant spark ignited—a lantern held high by a distant figure. The light burned impossibly bright, a stark beacon against the despairing gray. Sol Invictus felt it pierce through the veils of his fury and agony. The sight of Hannah’s lantern, its defiant glow, stilled the storm within him momentarily, not with peace, but with purpose.

His lips curled into a snarl. He would not be thwarted by the loss of his essence, nor by the mocking silence of his cursed wounds. The light was a challenge—a reminder of the defiance he once embodied. Across the horizon loomed the Silver Refuge, its stone walls an unyielding bastion against the world’s ravages. Perched upon his austere throne of unyielding stone, Nendir awaited in cold detachment.

  Sol Invictus will be attacking the Silver Refuge. His Leaderscore at the moment is 40, this will be reduced by 10 prior to the battle. 
 
  Nezetkhamun and the Princes of Perfect Rule 

Nezetkhamun emerged from the shadows of the shattered throne room, a colossus of draconic majesty, his presence suffused with an ancient and unyielding power. His golden-scaled armor, interlocking plates of a dragon’s hide, shimmered with an otherworldly glow despite the dim light of the chamber. His eyes, slitted and luminous as molten gold, burned with the wrath of a celestial predator who had once ruled both skies and realms.


As he moved, his massive wings, folded tightly against his back, rustled with a sound like distant thunder. The faint aura of primordial fire danced along their membranous edges, illuminating the necrotic haze that clung to the air. His tail, serpentine and adorned with jagged spines, swayed behind him, cutting grooves into the blood-streaked marble floor with every subtle motion. Each step resonated with a seismic force, as though the ground itself trembled in reverence of his dominion.


The coalition forces, paralyzed by the lingering effects of the Princes’ whispered commands, parted wordlessly as Nezetkhamun advanced. His presence was more than physical; it was an overwhelming aura of divinity, a crushing reminder of his station as the Draconic God, the Sun Beyond the Void, whose dominion stretched across eons. The faint smell of ozone and ash hung in the air, a testament to the latent power coursing through his being.


The Princes of Perfect Rule turned toward him, their grotesque, conjoined form trembling slightly as they shuffled atop Chen Bil’Rama’s massive frame. Their childlike voices, dripping with thinly veiled fear, lashed out to meet him.


“ You dare approach us? ” their threefold voices rang out, resonating in the minds of all who heard them. “ KNEEL. ”


The word struck the air like a thunderclap, an irresistible command that rippled through Nezetkhamun’s colossal form. His knees quaked, his taloned feet grinding against the marble as the weight of their voices bore down upon him. His towering draconic frame wavered, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might collapse, just as all others had before the Princes’ will.


But Nezetkhamun was not like the others.


A deep, resonant growl erupted from his throat, a sound so primal it seemed to shake the very foundations of the chamber. His eyes flared, radiant and molten, as his lips curled back to reveal rows of serrated teeth—the weapons of a god who had once devoured stars. His voice rose above the oppressive silence, a roar of defiance that shattered the ethereal grip of the Princes’ command like glass beneath a hammer.


“I am Nezetkhamun!” he thundered, his voice a cascade of fire and fury. “I am the Sun Beyond the Void, the Eternal Pharaoh, the First Dragon! You will not make me kneel!”


With an agonizing effort, he straightened his immense frame, his knees locking into place as he defied the crushing weight of their will. His every muscle, scaled and rippling with draconic power, trembled with exertion, yet he stood, his pride and arrogance a shield that no voice, no command, could pierce.


The Princes recoiled slightly, their grotesque heads turning toward one another in a moment of shared disbelief. Their petulant voices faltered, their unity momentarily disrupted by the sheer force of Nezetkhamun’s unbridled will.


“ Impossible! ” they shrieked, their voices rising to a frantic pitch. “ No one—NO ONE—defies us! ”


Nezetkhamun took another step forward, his talons raking the stone as sparks of fire danced around him. His golden-scaled wings unfurled partially, casting a shadow that loomed over the Princes like an eclipse blotting out their pretensions of supremacy. He raised his claws, sharp as swords, and pointed toward them, his eyes blazing with disdain.


“You are no gods,” he spat, his voice laced with draconic authority. “You are malformed children playing at divinity. Your perfection is a lie, your unity a mockery. I bow to no one—least of all you.”


The Princes trembled, their grotesque form shuddering as they scrambled atop Chen Bil’Rama’s shoulders. Their cries, once commanding, now rang with a discordant mixture of pathetic fear. The coalition forces, emboldened by Nezetkhamun’s defiance, began to stir, their weapons lifting once more as hope flickered in their eyes.


The Princes trembled, their grotesque forms shuddering as they scrambled atop Chen Bil’Rama’s shoulders. Their cries, once commanding, now rang with a discordant mixture of pathetic fear. The coalition forces, emboldened by Nezetkhamun’s defiance, began to stir, their weapons lifting once more as hope flickered in their eyes.


Nezetkhamun took one final step, his towering, draconic form casting a long shadow over the Princes of Perfect Rule. His golden scales glinted with an otherworldly light, and his eyes, twin blazing suns, pinned the Princes in place. The Princes wailed in terror, their monstrous bodies folding and twisting in a pitiful attempt to shrink from his might. But Nezetkhamun gave no quarter. His great maw began to open, unhinging like a cosmic gate, revealing rows of jagged, gleaming teeth and the abyss of his throat, a vortex of searing light and consuming power.


Their screams turned shrill as they tried to scatter, but it was futile. With a single swift motion, Nezetkhamun lunged forward, engulfing them whole. The Princes, once grotesque and mighty, were swallowed into his  maw, their forms vanishing into the radiant void within him.


For a moment, the battlefield was silent, the coalition forces frozen in awe and horror. Then, a sound emerged from Nezetkhamun, a cacophony of voices—discordant, pleading, demanding—resonating as one. The voices of the Princes.


Nezetkhamun’s jaw clicked shut, and he straightened to his full height, his scales glowing brighter than ever, the stolen voices reverberating through the air. He spoke again, and this time, the sound was a chilling symphony of his own commanding tone entwined with the cries of the Princes.

 Nezetkhamun gains the Voice of Perfection. The Voice of Perfection grants Nezetkhamun the use of a Discretion action to negate a single action of any other player/NPC. This is an opposed Discretion Roll. Use of the Voice of Perfection though strains one’s power. Each uses halves the player’s discretion score (rounded up). 
 
  The Knight of Oath and Obligation attacks Valyn - and - Dreytel attacks the Hill Elegy 
The Knight of Oath and Obligation lunged at Valyn with a defiant roar, his shattered blade sparking against the mossy ground as he swung it upward. Despite his wounds, his attacks carried the raw, desperate power of a warrior who had nothing left to lose. Valyn stepped back, her blade moving in a blur to deflect the strikes, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the trees like a mourning bell.

" You’ve come to die, then ," Valyn said, her voice low and steady, though her heart hammered in her chest

The Knight’s eyes burned with fury. " I’ve come to take back what you stole—my honor, my name, my oath! " His six arms moved in tandem, a deadly rhythm of attacks that pressed Valyn back, forcing her to sidestep and parry with precision.

The ground beneath them scorched with every step she took, her burning feet leaving trails of charred moss in their wake. Flames began to lick up her legs, an extension of her unrelenting fury, as if the fire itself had become an extension of her will.

The Knight, undeterred, unleashed a flurry of strikes, his broken blade wielded with an unnatural ferocity. His movements were wild yet calculated, each swing aimed to exploit any perceived weakness. Valyn met him blow for blow, her weapon flashing like lightning, her strikes deliberate and devastating.

" Do you think your pride will bring you peace? " she spat, her voice cutting through the clash of their weapons.

" My pride ," the Knight hissed, his voice raw, " is all I have left! "

He lunged again, his arms working in concert to deliver a punishing strike. Valyn ducked, the blade passing inches above her head, and countered with a slash that tore through his dented armor. Blood sprayed across the ground, dark and glistening. The Knight staggered but didn’t falter, his resolve as unyielding as the trees surrounding them.

Their battle raged on, a whirlwind of fire and steel, until the Knight’s strength began to wane. Each of his movements grew slower, more labored, while Valyn’s fire only seemed to burn brighter. She pressed her advantage, her strikes gaining in intensity, until finally, with a decisive blow, she disarmed him. His broken blade flew from his grasp, clattering against the scorched earth.

The Knight fell to his knees, blood pooling around him as his six arms hung limp at his sides. His head bowed, the weight of his defeat pressing down on him like a mountain.

Valyn approached him slowly, the flames around her flickering with a dangerous vitality. She knelt before him, their faces inches apart, and whispered, her voice barely audible.

" You have a choice ," she said, her words carrying the weight of something far greater than the moment. " The Marginalia has claimed me, and it can claim you too. But it’s not chains—it’s freedom, if you’re bold enough to take it ."

The Knight’s eyes flickered with something—fear, perhaps, or curiosity. Before he could speak, Dreytel stepped closer, her sword still raised in caution.

" Marginalia? " Dreytel repeated, her tone sharp and probing.

Valyn turned her head slightly, catching Dreytel’s gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but the fire in her eyes spoke volumes.

" What… does it demand? " he rasped, his voice raw and broken.

Valyn’s expression softened, though her eyes burned with conviction. " To burn ," she replied simply. " To leave behind all that shackled you—your oaths, your pride, your name—and rise as something new. Something unbound. "

The Knight closed his eyes, his lips moving soundlessly as though speaking a prayer or perhaps an oath of his own. Then, with a final, shuddering breath, he whispered, " I accept ."

The change was instant. Flames erupted from his feet, consuming the mossy ground beneath him in an inferno. The fire licked hungrily up his legs, but instead of destroying him, it seemed to restore him. His wounds closed, his battered armor repaired itself, and his six arms flexed with renewed strength. His feet now burned like Valyn’s, leaving blackened trails on the earth as he rose to his full, towering height.

Dreytel stepped back, her sword raised in alarm. "What is this?" she demanded, her voice sharp with confusion and fear.

The Knight turned to Valyn, his gaze no longer filled with rage or despair but with an eerie calm. He knelt before her, the fire at his feet crackling softly. " I am reborn. I pledge a new oath—the Oath to     Burn   ," he declared, his voice steady and resonant.

Dreytel’s voice broke the moment, her tone trembling. "Valyn, what have you done? This is no liberation—it’s corruption! This… Marginalia, whatever it is, it’s twisting everything it touches."

Valyn turned to her, her expression unreadable. " You’re frightened, Dreytel ," she said softly. " I don’t blame you. This is what survival demands ."

Dreytel’s grip on her sword tightened, her knuckles white. "You’re playing with something you don’t understand," she said, her voice low and shaking.

Valyn’s gaze didn’t waver. " I understand enough ," she replied. " Enough to know that the only way forward is through the fire ."

The Knight rose, standing at Valyn’s side, his presence a towering inferno of purpose. Dreytel stepped back, her uncertainty clear.

 The Knight regains their Leaderscore of 13. Each Round (starting next Round) the Knight will challenge a random player without Both Ends Burning and that has not engaged in hostile force actions against another player in the round before to a Duel. Other players may assist that player with a force or Conviction action against a TN of 12 to add +2 to their roll. The Knight will Burn off his leader score for a +2 to match whatever Bonus the player(s) opposing him may have. For example, if he is Leaderscore of 13 and is defended with 14, he will burn off 1 point of leader score to get +2 and attack with +14 instead of +13. He will only do this for bonuses that are not secret. Like before it is possible to attack the Knight to preemptively reduce their leaderscore. 

The trek back to the Revenant’s old domain was harder than Dreytel had anticipated. The lands seemed heavier now, as though the ground itself mourned the fallen. The once-bloodied battlefield had grown over with strange, twisted flora that pulsed faintly, a sickly green in the dim light. The air was thick with an acrid stench, a reminder of the decay that had set in after her victory over the Gilded Revenant. Yet even as the land crumbled, it seemed to breathe with an uneasy vitality—as if something new had taken root in the absence of its master.

As Dreytel approached the heart of the territory, she found it transformed. The warped court of the Revenant was now a crumbling ruin, overtaken by creeping rust and jagged vines. At its center stood the Hill Elegy, a grotesque amalgamation of contradictions. Its form was both regal and decayed, cloaked in finery that once might have dazzled but now hung in tatters. Rust covered its body like armor, flaking away to reveal gleaming patches of something darker beneath. The Elegy’s face was obscured by a mask of corroded gold, but its voice was clear, sharp, and accusatory.

"What purpose do you serve, warrior? ," the Hill Elegy rasped, its tone a mixture of disdain and amusement.

Dreytel’s grip on her blade tightened, her heart heavy with doubt. She could not ignore the Elegy’s words, for they mirrored her own questions. Yet she would not waver now. She raised her sword, the weight of her purpose pressing down on her shoulders.

"I need no purpose," she replied, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "And I will leave nothing of you but silence."

The Elegy laughed, a sound like grinding metal. "Then come, Prove yourself to the ashes."

The Elegy moved with surprising grace for something so massive and corroded, its finery swirling around it like the tattered banners of a forgotten age. Its attacks came in great, sweeping arcs, each movement a blend of elegance and brutality. Dreytel danced around its strikes, her blade finding purchase in the exposed joints between its rusted armor. Sparks flew as steel met steel, and the ground beneath them cracked with the force of their clash.

But the Elegy was not merely a physical foe. It spoke as it fought, its voice cutting deeper than any blade.

"You fight for nothing," it hissed, parrying a blow and countering with a backhanded swing that Dreytel barely dodged. "Your patron twists you, your purpose is hollow, and your victories bring only ruin."

Dreytel gritted her teeth, her strikes growing fiercer as the Elegy’s words struck home. But even as she fought, she felt the truth in its accusations. What was she fighting for now? The Appeasers were scattered, the Princes’ power waning. And yet, here she stood, sword in hand, fighting another enemy for reasons she could no longer articulate.

Finally, with a desperate, furious cry, Dreytel leapt forward, her blade driving through the Elegy’s chest. The creature staggered, its mask cracking as it fell to its knees. For a moment, it looked up at her, its expression hidden but its voice tinged with something almost like pity.

As the Elegy’s form disintegrated, the corrupted court began to shift. The air grew still, the twisted flora withering away as though the land itself had been freed from a curse. Dreytel stood amidst the ruins, her blade dripping with the Elegy’s ichor. The few surviving inhabitants of the region emerged from the shadows, their wary gazes fixed on her. Though she had claimed this territory, she felt no triumph, only the hollow weight of another battle fought and won.

After victory, Dreytel found a quiet spot on the outskirts of the district, a crumbling stone wall overlooking a barren field. She sat down, her sword resting across her lap, and stared out at the desolate landscape. The adrenaline of battle had faded, leaving only exhaustion and an aching emptiness.

The doubts that had plagued her before returned with greater force. She thought of Valyn, of the Marginalia, of the Knight who had burned away his past to stand at her side. She thought of the Princes, of the Synod, of the countless lives lost in this endless cycle of war and ruin. And she thought of herself, a weary warrior with no clear path forward.

"What am I even fighting for?" she murmured, her voice barely audible. Her hands tightened around the hilt of her sword, as though seeking an answer in its cold steel.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint rustle of wind through the ruins. Dreytel closed her eyes, her mind a storm of doubts and unanswered questions. For now, she could do nothing but sit, her blade heavy in her lap, and wonder if she would ever find a purpose that could light her way through the darkness.

 Region 21 falls into a penumbra around the Synod of Savagery 
 
  Silver Refuge attacks fading dusk. 

The Tallow Sovereign stumbled through the gates of its former home, a warped silhouette against the waning light. The streets that once celebrated its reign were eerily silent, the people cowering in their homes, watching through cracks in shutters and doors. It was no longer a ruler—no longer anything that could be called mortal. Its form betrayed its origins: a molten amalgam of the tallow eater and the souls sacrificed to the Farmer’s Forge, an entity driven mad by the contradictions of its being.

Teeth jutted from its form, arranged in spirals that gnashed ceaselessly, consuming even the whispers of the air. It was made in a forge of hunger, and its madness whispered to it now:  Heal yourself. You were formed from sacrifice. You could perfect your broken shape with further sacrifice. 

Driven by this notion, it turned upon its own people. A tendril of teeth and wax snapped through the air, slamming into the cobblestones and dragging an unfortunate villager into its maw. Their scream was brief; the Sovereign did not savor, only devour. Another ribbon lashed out, another soul consumed. The Sovereign lumbered forward, a paradox of power and ruin, its form shifting and melting, only to harden again in grotesque, unstable configurations.

News of the Tallow Sovereign’s rampage reached the recently restored Nendir. He sat in his throne, his hands gripping the armrests, his eyes narrow with determination. A true ruler would not allow such chaos to unfold unchecked. Rising, he called for Kusal, his loyal servant, who arrived with hesitation clouding his usually sharp demeanor.

“ You will unleash the Premature Absolver ,” Nendir commanded, his voice cold as the stone walls.

Kusal faltered. “My king, the Absolver is... young. To send it against the Sovereign is to risk—”

Nendir’s glare silenced him. “ Do you question your king’s resolve? We shall prove what true rulership is. Bend the Absolver to your will and send it forth .”

Bowing deeply, Kusal obeyed, though his unease weighed heavily on him.

The Premature Absolver was but a fragment of divine intention made flesh. Its wings shimmered with fractal light, its faces smooth, featureless masks that radiated judgment but without the weight of authority. It was terrifying, but it was a child in its father’s robes. Leading the army, it soared into the sky, its very presence enough to inspire awe and terror in equal measure.

The Sovereign roared as it beheld the Absolver's approach, a cry that shattered windows and set the skies trembling. As the army charged, it unleashed its full fury, unbending into ribbons of flesh and teeth that coiled and slashed through the ranks like living whips. Soldiers fell, consumed by the endless hunger, their bodies and souls becoming fuel for the Sovereign’s unstable form.

The Absolver, undeterred, descended with celestial grace. Its wings sliced through the air, dodging the ribbons that sought to ensnare it. The Sovereign writhed, its form shifting into a maw so vast it seemed ready to consume the heavens themselves. But the Absolver was faster, weaving through the chaos with a precision that seemed preordained.

As the battle reached its climax, the Absolver gathered its strength. Light pulsed from its core, a blinding radiance that seared away the night. The Sovereign lunged, its ribbons converging on the Absolver, but the angel struck first. A single, radiant blade formed in its hand, and with a decisive arc, it cleaved through the Sovereign’s heart.

The Sovereign’s form convulsed, its ribbons collapsing into molten wax and fragmented teeth. For a moment, its many eyes blinked in unison, their gaze softening. The hunger receded, and in its final moments, it found clarity—a fleeting peace in the realization that its torment had ended.

The Absolver hovered above the ruin, its light dimming as it folded its wings. Below, the remnants of the Sovereign cooled, solidifying into a grotesque but motionless sculpture. The people emerged from their hiding places, their awe-struck faces turned to the sky, where the Absolver lingered like a silent sentinel before vanishing into the horizon.

In his throne room, Nendir sat back, his satisfaction tempered by the weight of what had transpired. Victory had been achieved, but at a cost that could not be ignored.

 The Fading Dusk falls into Penumbra around the Silver Refuge. The Silver Refuge gains the Teeth of the Sovereign  
 
  Bloodcaller Valyn and Talon Rook attack Region 31 and Region 26 
The air shimmered with heat and bloodlust as Bloodcaller Valyn and Talon Rook descended upon the two districts. The banners of the Princes of Perfect Rule still hung limply from the battlements, their once-terrifying sigils now symbols of subjugation and capitulation. These districts, which had bent their knees to the Princes to avoid annihilation, had been spared the sword but at the cost of their dignity. They had exchanged power for survival, trading rebellion for appeasement.

Valyn led the assault with an unrelenting fury, her presence a storm that swept through the streets. Her feet burned with their unholy fire, leaving charred footprints that snaked across cobblestones and courtyards. The inhabitants, already battered by the Princes' rule, looked up in terror as the Bloodcaller advanced, her voice echoing through the air like a tolling bell of doom.

“ You chose to kneel once ,” she called, her voice carrying the weight of inevitability. “ Now you will kneel forever. ”

Behind her, Talon Rook cut a swath through the defenders with surgical precision. His twin blades danced in arcs of death, each swing measured, every strike deliberate. Where Valyn was the raging inferno, Rook was the executioner’s blade—cold, efficient, and merciless. His gray eyes betrayed no emotion, only the resolve to see the task through.

The first district fell in a single night. The defenders, emboldened by the Princes’ promises of protection, realized too late that the Princes’ defeat had left them defenseless. Valyn’s forces tore through their ranks with ease. The streets ran slick with blood, the air filled with the acrid stench of burnt flesh where her fire touched stone and sinew alike.

Rook moved silently through the chaos, his blades dispatching resistance before it could solidify. His presence unnerved even Valyn’s most battle-hardened followers. Where Valyn reveled in the destruction, Rook's efficiency spoke of an even deeper, colder resolve.

The second district attempted to muster a defense, organizing the remnants of their militias in the hopes of stalling the invaders. But Valyn and Rook had anticipated this. Before the sun rose, Rook infiltrated their command center and silenced their leaders one by one, their blood pooling on the cracked tiles of their war room. By the time Valyn arrived, the district was already crumbling under its own disarray.

When the last semblance of resistance fell, Valyn stood at the district’s central plaza, the glow of her burning footprints casting an eerie light on the crowd of kneeling survivors.

“Y ou gave up your power to survive ,” she declared, her voice dripping with disdain. “Y ou thought yourselves clever, bending to the Princes to avoid destruction. But power cannot be bartered away—it must be taken. ”

She gestured to Talon Rook, who stepped forward, his blades sheathed but his presence no less threatening. Rook raised a single hand, signaling the banners of the Princes to be torn down and replaced with those of Valyn’s dominion.

 Region 31 and Region 26 fall into a penumbra around the Synod  
 
   The Appendix   
 
 Discretion
 
 Force
 
 Silver Refuge raises a Unit 
 
 
 Entertainment
 
 Maldarr approached the hidden alcove where he had concealed his lantern, his steps steady but burdened by unease. His hand brushed against the cold stone of the chamber wall as he reached for the hollowed niche. When his fingers met nothing but empty air, his chest tightened.

The lantern was gone.

Maldarr froze, his hand lingering in the void. For a moment, he considered the possibility of a mistake—perhaps the hiding place had shifted in his memory, or perhaps the damp had loosened the stones and displaced it. But deep down, he knew the truth.

It wasn’t here.

He failed to protect the lantern. Again.

 Maldar’s Lantern is missing.  
 
 
 Conviction
 
 Nezetkhamun awoke into himself.

He remembered the womb before his waking, the suffocating warmth of his own flesh enclosing him, his lungs straining for air that did not yet exist. Yet he was aware—fully aware, as a god might be—that the soft, pulsing walls that cradled him were his own. He floated within the blood of his own veins, nourished by the life stolen from himself, knowing that the heartbeat that sustained him now would one day fail him. When the moment of birth came, he tore himself free in agony, screaming not from the pain, but from the knowledge that the scream echoed back to him, confirming what he already knew: the world outside was also him.

As he emerged, he looked upon himself, his infant form writhing in his own hands. His flesh was soft, fragile, yet it was his. He saw the coiled umbilicus connecting him to the Mother of Gentle Lies, her serene face a mask he had once worn, her milk the ichor of his own design. He latched onto her breast, drinking deeply of the sustenance he offered himself, even as he felt the twin sensations of hunger and satiation, of suckling and being suckled.

And then he remembered. He remembered her touch—the tender yet searing intimacy of their union. He remembered lying with her, their limbs entwined, the essence of his divinity mingling with her deception, the act of his own conception burning like a brand in his mind. The memory was sharp, vivid, and utterly inescapable. He had fathered himself, created himself in lust and power, and now he lay cradled in his own arms, the circle complete.

But the circle was not merely his; it was the nation’s. The child he had become was no singular being but the living embodiment of his empire’s bloodlines. He could see it now: the manifestations of every life, past and present, swirling within his veins. He was himself, but he was also them, and they were all him.

He remembered the lash falling on his back, the sharp sting of leather tearing into flesh. His hands gripped the whip, and his hands felt its strike. He screamed in pain, and he laughed in cruelty. He had been the slave begging for mercy and the master granting none. He had knelt before himself in worship, chanting hymns of glory, and he had stood on the altar, gazing down at himself with awe. He had pressed the blade into his own chest, and he had felt it pierce his heart. He was the sacrificial priest and the sacrifice, the worshiper and the god.

All the decadence of his empire unraveled into a singular truth: there was no decadence, no empire, no people. There was only Nezetkhamun. The slaves had always been him, their suffering his suffering. The kings who wore crowns of jade and gold were but mirrors of his own ambition. The children playing in the streets, the soldiers marching to war, the farmers tilling barren soil—all Nezetkhamun.

Time dissolved. His ancestors who had once seemed so distant were revealed as facets of himself, and his progeny were merely echoes of his own breath. The dynasty he had thought eternal was but a closed loop, feeding on its own decay. He had been born into himself countless times, and each time he had forgotten, only to remember now.

And the Mother of Gentle Lies had not lied after all. Her promise had not been deceit, but truth so absolute it annihilated meaning.

The godling that he was—and always had been—cried out in the voice of eternity. There would be no future, no past, no decadence, no divinity. Only the endless echo of Nezetkhamun—birthing, dying, whipping, worshiping, sacrificing, conceiving himself.

There was only, and only would ever be, Nezetkhamun.

 Nezetkhamun as his own Heir gains the Heir’s ability of “+2 to each stat upon rollover and has a maximum score of 12 for each stat”. The Mother of Gentle Lies remains in the district, but does not act against her lover/son, instead she provides a seek aid bonus to aid any defense of her son/lover each round. 
 
 Convert Region 14 to the Dragon Cult.
 
 Consecrate the altar in region 40 to 42 Gods
 
 Maldarr sat in the shadows, his body hunched and his shoulders weighed by a grief that threatened to crush him entirely. He had lost Thalia in the land of the living, her memory ever a ghost on the edge of his mind, and now Margot was gone—lost in the land of the dead. The thought gnawed at him, each bite of it sharp and unrelenting. All the women he had loved, all those who had dared to love him in return, seemed destined to fall into oblivion.

Was Thalia even here, in this grim necropolis? Could he face her now, after losing Margot? Shame and despondency warred within him, twisting his stomach into knots. The weight of failure pressed on his chest until he could barely draw breath. He had failed again, failed to protect, failed to hold on.

The silence of the room was broken by laughter, light and untroubled, echoing in the chamber like a silver bell. A soft, warm glow began to bloom in the corner of his vision, growing brighter as the sound of footsteps—small, light—approached.

Maldarr raised his head, his eyes red-rimmed and weary, and saw a boy standing in the doorway. The child radiated light, a brightness that should have been painful to behold, yet it was oddly soothing, like the first rays of dawn after a storm. The boy’s tousled copper hair shimmered as though aflame, and his patchwork coat fluttered with a life of its own, stitched together from memories of revolution.

Maldarr’s breath hitched. His chest tightened as he took in the boy’s form. "Nyle?" he whispered, his voice trembling. The name escaped him unbidden, a mixture of hope and disbelief. Could it be? Could his son have crossed from the land of the living to find him?

The boy tilted his head, the brightness in his eyes flickering with something both mischievous and solemn. For a moment, there was no answer—only the quiet hum of his light filling the space. Then, he smiled.

" Nyle ," he said slowly, as though testing the word on his tongue, letting its weight settle. " Yes, Nyle is a good name. I’ll call myself Nyle ."

Maldarr froze, the blood draining from his face. It wasn’t Nyle. It couldn’t be. His son lived—he had to live. This boy wasn’t flesh and blood; he was light and rebellion, the freed lantern that Margot had given her life to unleash.

The boy—Nyle, now—took a step closer, his expression softening. " You called me, and I came ," he said, his voice lilting like a child’s but with undertones of something far older, something ancient and powerful. " I carry her fire, her defiance. But I am not her, just as I am not your son ."

The words struck Maldarr like a blow, and his shoulders slumped further. Shame curled through him, a sharp and bitter taste in the back of his throat. He had clung to the wrong hope, had called out to the wrong person, and even now, he wasn’t sure whether it was relief or despair that coursed through him.

" But ," Nyle continued, " I am here, and I’ll stand by you if you’ll have me. Her fight isn’t over, and neither is yours ."

The boy reached out a hand, his light casting long shadows across the room. For a long moment, Maldarr stared at it, his heart heavy and his thoughts a whirlpool of regret and longing. Then, slowly, he reached out, his calloused fingers brushing against the boy’s radiant hand.

Perhaps this wasn’t the son he had lost, nor the woman he had loved, nor the comrade who had fallen, but it was something. It was a chance to fight, to carry their memories forward, to give meaning to the loss.

"Nyle," Maldarr murmured, his voice hoarse. The boy smiled, and the light in the room seemed to grow warmer, chasing away the edges of his despair. Together, they would burn anew.

 The Deprivation reminiscences and the Freed Lantern has joined Maldarr 
 
 The Altars located in the Decadence, unnamed district 17, and unnamed region 29 are destroyed as their convictions are used up in their faith’s respective miracles
 
 
 
 
Stygian
      
  The Synod of Savagery (SVG)   
  Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn  
 Dis 3 | For 8 | Ent 3 | Con 5 
 Units:  5 (+2)
 Mirth:  1 (-1)
 Tally of Loss:  8 (-2)

 
   Round 10 
  "Quote."   
 [Con]  - Reminisce, returning the last of the Knight of Oath and Obligations' prey to the flesh.
 [For]  -
 [For]  - .
 [For]  -

  Non-Actions:  
 
 Hinder all unauthorized attempts to convert Hraesholm, Sanctum, the Maelstrom and all other altars so claimed by the Synod. 
 Resist all attempts to acquire diversions owned by the Synod. Hinder all unauthorized attempts to acquire diversions from Hraesholm, the Sanctum, or the Maelstrom. 
 
  Bookkeeping:  
Roll Links -
Stat Changes:
Resource Changes:

Faith Size:
Regions Owned: Hraesholm, Sanctum, Maelstrom, District 21, District 26, District 31
Diversions: 3 (The Hunt, Jousting, Decadence Crossroads)
Lantern: Extinguished
 
 
  
TheDarkDM
    The Decadence of Blood and Ash   
   
 Discretion - 6
Force - 5
Entertainment - 5
Conviction - 7 
 Units: 4
Mirth: 1  
...

 Actions: 
 
  [Conviction 5]  Channel the connection of the Absolver Miscarriage to to vampirize the vitality of the Dulah
 ...  
  [Conviction]  Convert 
  [Discretion]  Press Claim on former Princes territories 
  [Discretion]  Press Claim on former Princes territories 
 
 Non-Actions: 
 
 The Absolver Miscarriage is used to add a retroactive +1 to ? 
 
Aedilred
 
Onende, the Silver Refuge

Nendir the Eternal
Discretion 4
Force 5
Entertainment 4
Conviction 5 
Nendir turned over in his hands the sword that had struck down the Sovereign.

" I had forgotten this sword, " he said, apparently to himself.

" Did you hear me, lord king? " Kusal asked.

" Yes. Sol Invictus bears down on us. "

" Do we fight? Even with the Absolver, our armies are surely overmatched. "

" I think it is time you knew the full truth, " Nendir said, and stood. " You too, young Hannah. You may yet lead our people again. Follow. " He led them behind the throne room, through the passages to a private shrine, where there stood three altars. It was a curiously underwhelming sight. One of the altars was empty, and another had nothing upon it but an old heap of leather straps, perhaps a harness. Only one was at all impressive, carved of silver and decked with candles which glowed white in the otherwise unlit room.

Nendir raised the Rose Thorn and pointed towards the empty altar. " What do you know of the Fire That Died? "

" Jagoganir? " Hannah said. " A god of ancient days. He perished, before we ever knew him. "

" I knew Him, " Nendir said. " Then, He was known simply as the Lord of Fire. "

"The Sun Unconquered?" Kusal asked.

Nendir shook his head. " He is but a memory of a shadow. The Lord - He was the last remnant of creation. Creation, that is, as an  event , not an  entity . That which brought all there is into being, that, or what was left of it, that was Him. "

He pointed again to the empty altar. "Creation." Then to the silver. "Sabukah and Dinarah. Endurance." The third. "The Wyrm Below. Entropy. Together, all that is life."

" And He died? " Hannah asked, resisting the urge to shiver, though it was not cold. " The others? "

" The Silver Lady. A mortal, who survives in the adoration of her followers. You think of her as twin sisters rather than her true whole self, but that is sufficient. The Wyrm - that is... my own concern. But the Lord -  He died. Without Him... our people can survive. They can endure, almost indefinitely, though not forever. Decay is inexorable. But they cannot recover. they cannot grow. They cannot truly  live . "

" So we are doomed? "

" Not necessarily. Nezetkhamun, in his pride, once sought to usurp the position of the Lord, and for that blasphemy he was struck down. I had thought that the living flames that still wreath him were the last vestige of the Lord. But now - " he lifted the sword again - " there is another. Perhaps, between this and the Lanterns, there is finally a means to relight the Fire. Perhaps our people can finally be restored. "

" Not if we are devoured by Sol Invictus, " Kusal said.

" In the wider consideration, a distraction, " Nendir said. " But there is always a risk. That is why I share this knowledge with you now, so that if I am devoured - and if for whatever reason I cannot return - there remains some chance of success. "

" And success against Sol? Piety alone will surely not be enough. "

" No. But we are not without friends. "

" Even then - mortal armies alone... "

Nendir smiled. " I do not speak only of mortal allies. Have you forgotten? How long did we give shelter to Indumathi? It is time to learn how grateful she is for our hospitality. "

[Force] Fight the Sun! 5 units led by the Absolver (10), wielding  Rose Thorn .
 
 Intercept in the Fading Dusk 
 
[Force] (Join the Hunt?)
[Conviction] Consecrate an altar?
[Secret] Secret