Session VII

"Zadkiel's legacy."

Players Involved: Ent, Shrike

Return to Ascension Isle: Legacy

Having learned the location of the Clone Archive from which she was rescued by the young cornet Loran Clementine, Chrysanth decides her origin is one mystery worth investigating. Slipping away from her over-protective guardians she sets off north alone, until she comes to the wreck of a massive High Battle Stratodyne half sunken in the frozen mud, across ice from her destination.

Gregorio Arhyna is working on rebuilding his lab in the bowels of the Splendor Solis, humming away to himself tunelessly as he transmutes a girder out of the way, when realizes he's being watched. It's that purple haired girl he saw with Jonas. the one with that creepy intense look. She's sitting on ballast pipe, with no indication when she arrived, or how she got there.

"You! How did you get here!?" Greg calls out to her, not knowing her name or her game.

"The harlequin and the ticktockman are fated to meet." The girl says. "I have need of your services."

"A-Alright, what exactly are you looking for? I'm not exactly in the best of shape to help right now." Greg gestures at the mess all around him.

"The Repositorium of Zadkiel in this city." The girl says. "Would such a thing interest you?"

Greg freezes. "Possibly."

"Excellent." She says as if he has just agreed to something. "I will wait."

"Wait," Greg says, "This is NOT what you asked me about! I don't even know what you want!"

"You aren't interested? Hmm." The girl considers him.

"Yes! I mean no! Gah!"

"It is under Lir island." She says. "It is a cool day, so dress warmly."

Greg sighs. "You're not going to leave me alone until I come along, aren't you?"

"Correct."

Greg sighs again. "...I'll go grab my things."

Greg throws a heavy longcoat and sweater over his praxis plugsuit, pocketing a pistol, pix ball, and summoning one of his pet cogmek crows. He pulls his ski-modified motor scooter out of storage and hitches it to a sled for the trip. Lir Island is just across the inlet from the Splendor Solis, maybe 10km away. You can easily see it on a clear day, which this isn't.

The girl is buried within a slightly too large poofy white overcoat and perches behind Greg on the back of the bike, sitting sideways with her hands crossed in her lap. Greg has no idea how she doesn't fall off. He doesn't ask. He putters his skimobile over through the heavy now, fallowing the indication of his audial - an etheric compass, since magnetic ones are unreliable anywhere around ether power sources.

Reaching the island Greg finds his path blocked by a small rocky cliff rising out of the ice, topped with a brace of trees. As Greg is considering which way to go around his passenger holds out a mittened hand, violet rings of ether flicker through the air forming a faint gravitron bubble around scooter and sled. They glide up through the air to smoothly alight atop the cliff.

"Woah," Greg says, but his passenger shushes him.

"Stop" She says, reaching past him to kill the skimobile's engine. "Quiet. No questions." He holds a mitten to her ear. "Listen."

Out of the blowing snow Greg see's two dull shapes - massive humanoids 7.5m tall. Alephs. Each of the massive AutoClaires has an observer perched on its shield-shoulder manning a large floodlight. As the machines thump through the trees past where Greg hunches over his scooter he can hear the riders having an animated discussion; ". . .You're crazy, the Hinkel 2590 gets twice the kilometers on a tank. . ." The other snorts loudly, "If you want to drive your grandmother's car. Blessings man, you EVER want a girl again?" One of the chest hatches on the closer Aleph hisses and pops open, "Shut the fuck up, you two! We're on patrol!" The pilot closes the hatch again, and the two AutoClaires stomp on past deeper into the woods.

Greg recognizes the three crossed lightning bolts on the shield shoulders of the Alephs. Those are troops from the 915th Wing Brigade "The Lord General's Own." Coreven Crusaders, and Marianne Saint-Just's personal guard.

"That's odd." He says. "What would Saint Just's personal goon squad be doing here?"

"Zadkiel's Repositorium was here." The girl says. "Obfuscated, but now discovered."

"Looks like it was discovered by more than you at the same time."

"Yes." She nods. "The hounds are thorough. But. . . bored."

Moving forward on foot Greg plows through the snow while Chrysanth seems to glide over top of it. They arrive on the western outskirts of what looks like an ether reactor complex, now under armed occupation. In the shadow of two huge thaumic towers Greg can see a squadron of insect-like Arthrodynes on a landing pad, a tent city down at the south east corner, a cluster of buildings in the north east, and a pair of AutoClaires on silent sentry duty.

Greg transmutes a hole in the outer fence. The girl points out a red walled building about 10 stories tall, and topped with a coms mirror. The two of them scurry over to it without notice. Peering in through a window they can see what looks like converted office space with several officers bustling around, and a priestess sitting at a desk with a teletex to her ear. There's a map against one wall, and several officers standing around talking animatedly. It's a map of CZ Central, and it has a lot of big red symbols drawn over the Enduscare district, and particularly Zeta Ward.

Moving around to a quiet corner of the building, Greg surreptitiously transmutes a hole through its outer wall, allowing them to crawl inside. Unnoticed by those in the command centre, Greg and the girl find a staircase and head down into the basement. They are stopped by a passcoded door with a keypad. After several failed attempts to guess the code the door swings open, revealing an angry Crusader guard with raised sidearm.

The girl draws herself up, eyes flashing violet with command. "Yes, in my mercy. Put that down and attend me!"

The Crusader lowers his pistol. "I'm sorry, Highness, but. . . " He seems confused.

"Excellent work, crusader." The girl says. "Introduce me to your squad, if you would be so kind."

"You may consider this a surprise inspection." The girl says haughtily.

Gregorio tries to look really stern like some kind of aide, and *sorta* pulls it off.

Beyond the guard there is a large concrete basement area with naked metal support beams. There's a central column with an elevator, and off to the side are several old overstuffed couches, a table, and a panoptic mirror, which seems to be showing a fuzzy news feed. Greg can see a psyche reporter standing with smoke rising in the distance behind her from what looks like Ward 6, if that huge laser tower in the background is anything to go by. ". . .Still fighting in much of the ward, though Peace Marshal Venamus assures us the Red Brigades are being routed." The News Psyche is saying. The other crusaders lounging in front of the mirror snap to attention.

"Sir!" One of them with Sergeant's stripes says. "Begging your pardon, we didn't know you were taking an earlier flight. I apologize for my men!"

"It is of no consequence." The girl says. "Now, I require escort to the sub-basement."

"Yes sir!" He says, and motions one of his men to the central column. He taps at the pad, then swipes a card, and the elevator doors swing open. "Corporal Ives, go with the Captain."

The door closes, and the corporal fumbles a key into a slot, turns it, then presses a red button. The elevator descends into the archive.

"The Thaumatechs have finished repairing most of the damage caused by the Zenith, sir." He says, "We're waiting your inspection before running the first power test." He swallows nervously. "We haven't connected the electro-cables yet though. The Thaumatechs were unsure of the plans, and didn't want to risk damaging the E2 power converter. They want to wait until the Chief Thaumatech can review the work. So there's no one down there right now, but I can take you wherever you want, Sir."

The doors open onto the Clone Archive. It's a vaulted domed chamber many stories high. There's a column through its center, and then a ring of alcoves all around, 21 in all. There are three levels of walkways above the alcoves, and with banks of Thaumatech equipment in between. There's also scaffolding up against one wall, and a light patch in the ceiling where damage of some sort has has been patched over.

Greg notices cabling coming down from the ceiling. A rubber sheath and copper entwined around a glass core. Greg recognizes the design! It's HIS design! But improved, perfected. Someone has taken the old experiment he was working on a few years back with that young elf assistant. He was experimenting with using electrotech to channel a powerful etheric current without lots of expensive Archenium! Someone with far geater knowledge of Electrotech than he has completed it. It's a set up to channel incredible amounts of Etheric power from. . . somewhere. . . into that converter, and then into that 21st alcove over there. The one with all the extra work on it.

He turns to the girl to blurt out his revelation, but she has a far away look, caught in another time and place. She's staring at the empty alcoves: 21 of them. They should be full. They should all be full!

Silence, like always, and then the earth shakes. A thunderous noise. Something has breached her dreams, but she can't claw her mind to wakefulness. Too heavy.

Heat, burning waves in the ether, the sound of rending metal. She has to get out, she has to get OUT! But her mind is too heavy, she can't think! She can't move!

She can feel the burning ether coming closer, formed into blades to slash out her life before it starts. In a dull panic she abandons the part of her brain that *thinks* and retreats into instinct, and in that moment she *changes,* shedding her body for a smaller one which tumbles down, wailing in fear, clawing at the base of her her prison as death slices through it, stabbing for where she was.

Blinking, Chrysanth turns to the crusader.

"Tell me what you first found here. In your own words, Corporal."

"Sir," He stands stiffly, "I wasn't one of the first in with the Lord General. I only came in for security when Gamma Company landed. But it was a mess Sir. There was a hole blasted there," He points to the patch, "Where the Zenith came in, and they'd destroyed all the host alcoves, the barbarians." He spits. "All but one, which the Lord General saved. The one you were in, sir."

"Their impertinence has certainly cost them dearly." The girl says.

"You think that was the one who escaped sir? In Ward 6 today? The news psyches think it's Artemis Crimsene, but they don't know about the Zenith."

"All the better to keep my presence a secret." The girl says. "I would not want my Crusaders to die valiantly protecting me against a pointless attempt on my life."

"As you say, sir. Best we let her mess things up for those Enduscare betrayers anyway, I figure. Now we have a Chosen back on our side, we'll show them all soon enough!"

"You must be looking forward to putting the Endare in their place, corporal."

"Oh, yes sir. We can't let those faithless mercenaries have all the fun. When you and the Lord General call, the 915th will be ready!"

"What role do you expect to play in this? What role would you LIKE to play, young corporal?"

"Sir, I will fulfill any duty you give me, sir!" Says Corporal Ives, "But with the Chosen's mercy I'd love to send a few of those betrayers who killed our Liah back to hell myself."

While they talk Greg moves into the chamber to inspect the alcoves more closely. Each of the 21 contains a semi-reclining glass pod within a cocoon of advanced thaumatech circuitry. The pods are all damaged, slashed as if by an arclave, with the glass badly scorched, as if by heat. But one of them also has some strange scratches at the the bottom of the glass. As if by a small animal. Perhaps a cat with very sharp claws?

Inspecting the circuitry above the alcove, Greg sees a cross of mnemosyne, an incredibly advanced piece of thaumatech used for memory storage. This is by far the most intricate cross Greg has ever seen - Zeta level thaumatechnology - Chosen tech! With a furtive glance he pulls it loose and pockets it!

"I hope we've met your standards, sir!" the corporal says.

"Indeed. Excellent work Corporal. I do have some small wisdom for you though. If you have the choice between killing a heretic in my name and living in my name, you are a better servant living than dead." She fixes him with unblinking eyes. "Keep that in mind when you fight in my name."

"Highness, I accept the Chosen's divine wisdom." He bows low.

They exit via the elevator, past the guards now standing stiffly at attention, and then out the back door and into the snow. They have made it to the perimeter fence when an Arthrodyne flies low overhead and lands in a storm of snow in an open area to the south, away from the other landing pad. The 'dyne settles with its rear hatch facing them. The hatch opens and Greg sees a young man in the white armour of a crusader Captain, completely unconcerned by the freezing blowing wind. Greg stares. He recognizes that face, because although the silver hair and blue eyes are different, it could otherwise be twin to the face of the girl crouched beside him.

"Who *are* you?" Greg says, feeling a trickle of fear for the first time.

She looks back at him with violet eyes. "Chrysanth de Caritas." She says. "And who *that* is you will help me discover."

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