Outside 51: It's just a weather balloon

[Ironsmith]

Shuttle to L1
(Day 2, morning)

Sekhmet literally has a ball of fire constantly floating above her head! She didn't think it would be a big deal! "I'm fine, uh, what's all this about?" she asks, confused, a large tongue of flame hovering above her hand, completely unaffected by any attempt to put it out. Her free hand wipes foam off her glasses.

[Shuttle to L1]
(Day 2, Morning)

"Um... that was the fire alarm." Miranda points out, reaching out to dust some of the cold white foam off of Sekhmet's dress. "It didn't go off when you first came on board, so I thought there had to be a real fire here... those things are dangerous on a spacecraft, you know."

[Thralkeld]

Fenris Grey-Mane looks down at her map, then back up at the village.

Calling it a village would be...

Generous.

She decides.

It lacked so much as a simple wooden palisade for its defenses and considering the density of unsavory elements she's encountered thus far whilst exploring this fascinating new land that struck her as deeply inadvisable. None the less, the state of fortifications in small backwater villages was hardly her concern. No, her concerns were with procuring materials for her studies and experiments. She had shown the namesake Dwemer alloy to a few smiths in the general vicinity and was informed that there were some ruins in this region featuring odd steam machines and this very metal.

Perfect.

Of course, it was wholly possible that these ruins were unrelated. That is a rather... reoccurring theme in the Nexus, Fenris has discovered. When she thinks she comprehends the situation something utterly unexpected blindsides her.

It should come as a surprise to none, least of all Fenris, that no sooner does she think these thoughts that something utterly unexpected blindsides her.

In this specific case the blindsiding is by a Dwemer spider drone leaping toward her out of a nearby crevice and attempting to stab her in the neck with its immaculately pointy legs.

Should most any regular folk be subjected to such a surprise attack it likely would have resulted in their swift and bloody demise. Thankfully for Fenris she is far from regular folk. With nary a conscious thought Ocato's Preparation blooms in her mind, the magic fastening upon other spellwork and pushing it from potential to reality. Her skin, suddenly as tough as dragon hide, weathers the impact admirably.

She staggers away, shoving the construct off herself with one hand as coppery ethereal geometric shapes coalesce in both her palms. What should have been a relatively weak push becomes a telekinetic thrust, sending the construct bouncing across the muddy road any into the shrubs. Not to be dissuaded, it shortly emerges with four of its friends.

"This is abnormal behavior for Dwemer constructs, I hope you're aware."

Fenris frowns and draws the shield from her back. If one could properly call the artifice of Dwemer metal a shield. She had fashioned it herself with no small amount of work and study. Dwemer metallurgy is truly an amazing art. Most who dabble in it tended to stick with familiar forms. Armor, shields, swords, and the like. But that was hardly inspired, especially when Dwemer engineering is so inspiring. A wide, slightly convex circle lined with chisel-like teeth. The center of the device a pulsing crest of aetherial blue, a fragment of the firmament itself. Shifting the shield in her telekinetic grip, Fenris eyes the spiders.

The first lunges, only to be caught in mid-air with a deft pummeling. Metal bends and groans for a moment before the now ghostly silhouette of the machine is hurled away.

"One momentarily incapacitated, now for-"

That spider looks to be preparing to leap.

Fenris looses her spell, launching the spinning disc at the machine, teeth humming with aether. The spider is neatly bisected and the disc embeds itself in a granite boulder behind. A telekinetic tug wrenches it free from the stone, cleaving off two legs from another construct as it returns to her hands. She grips the handle on the back of the shield boss and raises a shimmering ward with her free-hand just in time to intercept a lightning bolt from another spider. The spell splashes across the arcane barrier, decomposing into raw magic for her to utilize.

One incapacitated. One destroyed. One maimed. Two still active, one of which is a bolt-thrower. Those aren't bad odds, she should be able to finish them off without any great-

Oh.

Ten more just crawled out of concealed holes in the rocks.

"Well. This is going to be something of a slog, won't it?" Fenris sighs. Troublesome, but not out of her league. Twelve Dwemer spiders. That's... no. That's still manageable, provided she is methodical. If things get too hairy then she'll be forced to act in kind, but she would really rather avoid that so close to a village.

[Thrakeld]

A trained Destructionist would immediately note the tactical implications of having a number of targets packed that close together. And a property-damage-conscious adventurer would note that those implications didn't bode well for the surrounding structures.

Yuvan isn't a "trained" Destructionist per se, but he's done his share of spell-slinging regardless and doesn't have much care for the state of the ruins when he's done.

So what Fenris is going to see is a trio of fireballs arcing over her shoulder, barreling into the ground and exploding violently. The first will be the largest, with the impact and pyrotechnic display of a small meteor, and it lands close enough that she may have to worry about being knocked off-balance if she isn't braced for it. The other two, smaller fireballs, will follow in quick succession, hiting close to the same place, with the intent of finishing off any spiders that survived the first explosion.

The spiky-armored altmer will then walk up calmly, surveying the area for any surviving or emerging threats. The wicked-looking mace of Molag Bal is still on his hip; he hasn't seen a need to draw a proper weapon yet, not for soulless automatons such as these. If there are no further enemies to be seen, he'll clench his fists to extinguish the flames in them and start searching the remains.

[bc56]

Shuttle to L1
(Day 2, Morning)

Sekhmet's never experienced a fire alarm before. It's weird. "Uh, why? What do you mean 'real' fire?" She clenches her fist, extinguishing the conjured flame so that the suppression system will stop ineffectively spraying her.

[Deathkeeper]

An Improbable Adventure

G'nichi can't blush but he looks away regardless.
"Yes. Well. Uh. Not really surprising. Let's look for stuff." G'nichi goes to loot the place so he has anything else to talk about. There was a fairly big chest over there.
"I guess I should ditch the armor if I'm supposed to be fighting them that way."

[Earl of Purple]

Bone Hills - The Maw of Akarkhentkats

The gold statues move as the food is removed, standing up and approaching Honeysuckle. Depending on which is closest, the child will try to wrap its arms about her legs to hold her still, the halfling moves its hands away from its face revealing a wide smile, and tries to slap the foxgirl. The elf will instead try to bring Honeysuckle into a hug, and start to squeeze. All three- undead skeletons, not gold golems- are unusually strong.

The southern door leads into a completely spherical chamber, though the door is not truly south- it's in the eastern wall, but the southern corner thereof, and leads to the western wall of the sphere. There's two more doors, one in the north that looks as though it also leads to the old temple, and one in the far wall. The sphere is totally smooth, five metres wide and probably as many tall- fine dust fills the sphere to provide a flat surface, though there's no telling what lies underneath. It looks to be about two metres deep at the centre of the room, as well.

Abandoned Battlefield

"Is Canopus a country or a city? We've... never heard of it either." Now most of the way across the river, the Valentine's tracks bite into the riverbank and start hauling its steel bulk from the water. The girls also prepare to lower the canvas curtain and reembark into the tank's hull, to continue crewing it.

Pixie Grinder's Compound

Yes, Yuvan, that is what illusion magic feels like from the other side... Although the dryad's gifts weren't especially subtle, unlike some.

The dryad does not have bones, at least not bone ones. She can do nothing, as Yuvan pulverises her into splintered wood, sweet-smelling sap, and blood. When she dies, the tree withers; its lilac leaves turn brown, its smooth, white bark darkens and peels away, and the tree seems to die.

When he stops, he'll find Boada small again, standing by the door on another paralysed Grinder. The Grinder is face-down, wearing a tight corset and a pair of white leggings, and she was paralysed in the act of pulling a pistol free from a holster at her hip.

[Rebonack]

[An Improbable Adventure]

"Yes, well, stuff is plentiful if you are the sort that hoards useless garbage and tries to hawk it off on kahjiit," Fenris replies, eyeing the contents of the room somewhat disdainfully. "But occasionally ruins like these can provide supplies of some arcane value."

Like...

That chest!

What sorts of cool things could possibly be found in the chest?

G'nichi walks over and gives the lid a yank and-

click!

It's locked.

Fenris watches expectantly, as if expecting G'nichi to be able to pick the mechanism and open the chest. Maybe this isn't a totally reasonable expectation on her part, but as far as she's concerned if someone involves themselves in 'Adventure archeology' they had better know how to jigger a lock open. It should come as know shock that someone who regularly raids Dwemer ruins would know how to bypass even their most clever locks.

After watching a few moments she turns her attention to the obviously trapped door nearby, her hands glowing a dull green as magic insinuates itself through the trigger mechanisms.


[Thralkeld]

Fenris is weighing options.

Mass Paralysis probably wouldn't be the best plan here. Casting that spell would leave her open for an unacceptable period of time. Maybe a few well-placed paralysis runes? She clenches her right fist, bronze cubes giving way to brilliant emerald green. She'll just thin their numbers out a bit and then begin methodically destroying the constructs. That's probably the best-

Then the fireball comes sailing over her head and detonates in the middle of the largest cluster of Dwemer spiders.

Shortly followed by two more.

She has scarcely more than a moment to react, raising her shield to blunt the impact of the blastwave while throwing down an emerald green rune as she back-peddles away from the mob of spiders.

Well! While destruction is hardly her spellwork is choice one can't argue with results!

Fenris was expecting smoking wreckage when the haze clears but instead she's greeted with the unwelcome sight of only three ruined spiders. The rest that had been caught in that blast are projecting wards from the arcane focus built into the top of the machines.

"That's-"

Terrible!

Dwemer spiders that are aggressive AND equipped with more expansive spellwork are a potentially existential threat to any poorly defended community!

"-incredible!"

Fenris. No.

"Sir, I'm not sure who you are or what your purpose is here but-" Fenris tosses down another rune, which promptly detonates leaving those caught in the blast ridged and helpless. "-if you could avoid completely destroying all of the spiders I should sorely hope for any opportunity to examine one in detail."

She had been planning on examining them in detail already. The mere fact that they were venturing out of the ruins was worthy of investigation. But given the typical behavior of adventurers and their zealous application of destructive violence she considered it wise to request some level of restraint.

Six of the spiders are still-

Whoop, that tooth-rimmed Dwemer alloy shield of hers just when keening through the air and bisected another spider before snapping back to her.

Make that five spiders still ambulatory.

Half of them begin surrounding Fenris while the others skittering toward the newcomer, one of which is lobbing bolts of lightning at him.

For the record, Fenris is a somewhat short (for a Nord woman) human dressed in brigandine armor. Considering the Dwemer alloy collar, studs, and decals on the boots and bracers it probably isn't steel sandwiched between leather and padded cloth backing. She's wearing a sturdy backpack with a number of arcane baubles dangling off it and aside from that disc-weapon of hers doesn't appear t be further armed. Her most striking features, though probably not immediately obvious, are her black lips and golden yellow eyes with no visible whites. Certainly an unusual feature for a human.

[Deathkeeper]

An Improbable Adventure

G'nichi does not know how to pick locks. He is a very honorable hero, not a rogue!
He does however, have a crowbar in his bag. So he just uses a crowbar, puts pressure on the lock, and then smacks it with his considerable strength.
You'd be surprised how many locks simply cannot handle blunt force trauma from certain angles.

[Rebonack]

[An Improbable Adventure]

Well, Fenris isn't a rogue, either!

She just does...

Lots of archeological work is all.

There's a sound like a clear bell as she completes her spell before taking out some tools and physically tinkering with the mechanism on the door. One clunk later and the trap is disarmed.

G'nichi, meanwhile, uses violence.

Ah, the good ol' dwarven lock picking method.

Smack the heck out of the lock until it breaks.

The lock on the chest ruptures and the chest pops open! Within is- well. Not a TON of sweet loot, anyway. But a moderate amount of loot. Coins, mostly silver but a few gold. A couple gems. And an incredibly gaudy looking cap covered in sequins.

"...you haven't ever learned how to pick a lock?" Fenris asks, sounding incredulous.

[Ironsmith]

Shuttle to L1
(Day 2, Morning)

Sekhmet's never experienced a fire alarm before. It's weird. "Uh, why? What do you mean 'real' fire?" She clenches her fist, extinguishing the conjured flame so that the suppression system will stop ineffectively spraying her.

[Shuttle to L1]

"You know, real fire." Miranda sighs. "The kind that uses up precious oxygen and pollutes our limited atmosphere with toxic smoke. Not to be confused with the, ah, apparently decorative fire over your head there." She frowns, just now realizing that she doesn't actually smell any smoke and might have just covered Sekhmet with suppressant for no reason. The alarm system must be malfunctioning. She'd have to get Vlad to take a look at that.

Pixie Grinder's Compound

Yes, Yuvan, that is what illusion magic feels like from the other side... Although the dryad's gifts weren't especially subtle, unlike some.

The dryad does not have bones, at least not bone ones. She can do nothing, as Yuvan pulverises her into splintered wood, sweet-smelling sap, and blood. When she dies, the tree withers; its lilac leaves turn brown, its smooth, white bark darkens and peels away, and the tree seems to die.

When he stops, he'll find Boada small again, standing by the door on another paralysed Grinder. The Grinder is face-down, wearing a tight corset and a pair of white leggings, and she was paralysed in the act of pulling a pistol free from a holster at her hip.

[Pixie Grinder's Compound]

That would make the second time Boada's intervened with her new stick, to his benefit. He doubted this new woman would have been much of a threat to him even with her pistol drawn, but he appreciated the interference all the same.

Yuvan stands and walks past her and Boada into the building, stopping just long enough to brain the unfortunate sod on his way in. It seems slightly less cruel than leaving her for the carrion-birds.

[Thralkeld]

Fenris is weighing options.

Mass Paralysis probably wouldn't be the best plan here. Casting that spell would leave her open for an unacceptable period of time. Maybe a few well-placed paralysis runes? She clenches her right fist, bronze cubes giving way to brilliant emerald green. She'll just thin their numbers out a bit and then begin methodically destroying the constructs. That's probably the best-

Then the fireball comes sailing over her head and detonates in the middle of the largest cluster of Dwemer spiders.

Shortly followed by two more.

She has scarcely more than a moment to react, raising her shield to blunt the impact of the blastwave while throwing down an emerald green rune as she back-peddles away from the mob of spiders.

Well! While destruction is hardly her spellwork is choice one can't argue with results!

Fenris was expecting smoking wreckage when the haze clears but instead she's greeted with the unwelcome sight of only three ruined spiders. The rest that had been caught in that blast are projecting wards from the arcane focus built into the top of the machines.

"That's-"

Terrible!

Dwemer spiders that are aggressive AND equipped with more expansive spellwork are a potentially existential threat to any poorly defended community!

"-incredible!"

Fenris. No.

"Sir, I'm not sure who you are or what your purpose is here but-" Fenris tosses down another rune, which promptly detonates leaving those caught in the blast ridged and helpless. "-if you could avoid completely destroying all of the spiders I should sorely hope for any opportunity to examine one in detail."

She had been planning on examining them in detail already. The mere fact that they were venturing out of the ruins was worthy of investigation. But given the typical behavior of adventurers and their zealous application of destructive violence she considered it wise to request some level of restraint.

Six of the spiders are still-

Whoop, that tooth-rimmed Dwemer alloy shield of hers just when keening through the air and bisected another spider before snapping back to her.

Make that five spiders still ambulatory.

Half of them begin surrounding Fenris while the others skittering toward the newcomer, one of which is lobbing bolts of lightning at him.

For the record, Fenris is a somewhat short (for a Nord woman) human dressed in brigandine armor. Considering the Dwemer alloy collar, studs, and decals on the boots and bracers it probably isn't steel sandwiched between leather and padded cloth backing. She's wearing a sturdy backpack with a number of arcane baubles dangling off it and aside from that disc-weapon of hers doesn't appear t be further armed. Her most striking features, though probably not immediately obvious, are her black lips and golden yellow eyes with no visible whites. Certainly an unusual feature for a human.

[Thrakeld]

"I make no promises, but I sincerely doubt they will all burn in the same way." Yuvan replies nonchalantly, electricity crackling around him as he tanks the bolts to minimal ill effect. "Between the lot, I am certain you will have a complete model to study."

In other words, no, he didn't care to leave them intact.

When Yuvan sees the wards come up, he quirks an eyebrow, though nobody present will be able to see the gesture. That was new. He'd never seen Dwarven Spiders with that kind of defensive capability before.

Fortumately, wards are ultimately a minor obstacle, thanks to the geometry of the situation. He's found that many mages who employ wards assume themselves invulnerable to magical assault, entirely forgetting that wards mostly served to protect them from any frontal attacks and offered no defense from, say, an explosion going off behind them. All Yuvan would have to do would be overshoot their position slightly. Even the great Miraak fell for that trick, which would handily explain Yuvan's victory over him despite the (at the time) massive power gap between the two.

Putting that out if his mind for the moment, Yuvan switches targets to the ground behind the spiders, letting loose another barrage of four fireballs to make up for how much more ground he would have to cover. If that's not enough to deal with the spiders still coming at him, he'll cast another spell, this one causing the air around him to erupt into flames; if they get close, they're going to pay for it. If it is enough to handle his spiders, he'll switch tactics and employ some chain lightning for the spiders going after Fenris, hoping to overwhelm their wards and give her an opportunity to strike while their guard is down.

Though even as he grinds through what looks to be a slightly more gimmicky version of a commonplace encounter, he finds himself intrigued by the magics Fenris is wielding. Green runes which paralyze whoever sets them off? Such a thing was unheard of in the Skyrim he knew. Her armor and shield, likewise, were unique as far as he could tell, but at the same time unmistakably dwemer in origin. She must be from a different version of his world, one which boasted a wider array of spells and crafting techniques. He'll have to pick her brain for a few of them, some time when they're not being assaulted by ancient automatons.

[Deathkeeper]

An Improbable Adventure

G'nichi begins the arduous process of shoveling money into his magic bag. He also tries the hat on to see if it's magic.
"I am a proud (junior) paladin of Bahamut. No, I have never picked up thieves' skills. Though perhaps if I had Rapier with me he might be able to give me tips." G'nichi is a bit at the whims of his daily tool.

[bc56]

Shuttle to L1

Smelling smoke would be kind of useless. Sekhmet always smells like smoke and a bit of sulphur. "Uh, I don't think there's a difference." She doesn't bother to explain to Miranda exactly why she has a fire over her head or what it does, but it does have a purpose. Lizzie points that out in vague terms, If you had any magical talent, you would immediately know what that's for. Sekhmet shakes her head. "I, uh, guess I'll, uh, tone down the, uh, pyromancy from now on?" At least Miranda wasn't woken up when Sekhmet was using her as a model for shapeshifting practice.

Abandoned Battlefield

"Where the hell am I? Canopus is one of the Successor States to the Star League, comprising of hundreds of star systems! How have you not heard of it?" The Griffin stomps its way into the river, splashing water into the air, and barely being submerged to its knees.
"Hold that thought. I've got an unknown on sensors."

[Rebonack]

[Thralkeld]

Fenris declines to reply to the somewhat lacking assurances regarding intact spiders since she is presently up to her hips in spiders. She swats another aside with her Dwemer disc, sending its now ghostly (if badly dented) form bouncing across the ground. It quickly rights itself and lobs some lightning bolts at her, only for the insubstantial projectiles to pass through her impotently. A second spider finds itself bifurcated by the launched disc and the fourth finds itself suddenly gripped in a magic vice as Fenris focuses BOTH hands to wield a significantly more potent telekinetic spell.

She takes a smooth step back, pivots, and lobs the remaining spider into the sky like a bandit who had just insulted a giant's taste in loincloths.

The three spiders after Yuvan make a valiant effort of adjusting ward angles to stave off the fireballs, but on the third their wards shatter and the backlash leaves them momentarily stunned.

Perfect time for fireball four to explode.

Two of the spiders are pulverized and the third, smoking and missing a leg, comes skittering toward the elf with dogged mindlessness. It doesn't even have time to attack before the heat radiating from Yuvan finishes it off.

Fenris, meanwhile, snaps her disc back to herself and stows it on her back, clenching one fist and manifesting that emerald glow again. Right as the first spider she had swatted returns from aetherialness it gets nailed with a bolt of green magic and topples over helplessly. Fenris gets to work quickly, kneeling over the construct as she pulls out a leather pouch full of delicate tools and begins working at the machine's casing. Within the span of ten seconds she's cracked it open and removed the soul gem from it.

A gem she frowns at.

"This... This is impossible. How could this be here?" she mutters, staring at the crystal in her hand. "Parallel worlds. Echoes of Nirn. That has to be it, there's no other rational explanation."

While Fenris is busy being puzzled over whatever she just found there are still three paralyzed spiders laying about and one aetherial spider fruitlessly trying to attack her.


[An Improbable Adventure]

"Bahamut, right. That's your culture's name for Akatosh, correct? The Father of Dragons?" Fenris clarifies as she opens up the doors to-!

A closet!

Sort of.

There's a little altar in there with another chest, some candles, and a silver platter piled with some propitiation.

She frowns at the candles.

"I've always wondered who tends to the candles and torches in these ruins. It's a galling mystery."

Then G'nichi tries on the hat!

Suddenly he feels really funky! Like, if he got put on the spot all of a sudden he could really bust a groove!

The Sequined Hat of Swankitude provides a +15 competence bonus to Perform (Dance) checks.

[Ironsmith]

Shuttle to L1

Smelling smoke would be kind of useless. Sekhmet always smells like smoke and a bit of sulphur. "Uh, I don't think there's a difference." She doesn't bother to explain to Miranda exactly why she has a fire over her head or what it does, but it does have a purpose. Lizzie points that out in vague terms, If you had any magical talent, you would immediately know what that's for. Sekhmet shakes her head. "I, uh, guess I'll, uh, tone down the, uh, pyromancy from now on?" At least Miranda wasn't woken up when Sekhmet was using her as a model for shapeshifting practice.

[Shuttle to L1]

"Well, I don't, and you damn well know it." Miranda replies to Lizzie irritably, but just as importantly, out loud. It takes her a minute to realize she's done this, at which point she gives Sekhmet a sheepish little smile. "...Sorry, that... wasn't meant for you." She clears her throat awkwardly. "Yeah, it would probably be best to keep the number of fires down to what's strictly necessary. Just in case." She sighs and pushes off the wall, floating through the air and returning to her sleeping pod, inadvertently striking a rather suggestive pose on her landing. She reddens and quickly closes the pod door behind her, after which Sekhmet will hear muffled sounds of annoyance at a succubus living in her head.

[Thralkeld]

Fenris declines to reply to the somewhat lacking assurances regarding intact spiders since she is presently up to her hips in spiders. She swats another aside with her Dwemer disc, sending its now ghostly (if badly dented) form bouncing across the ground. It quickly rights itself and lobs some lightning bolts at her, only for the insubstantial projectiles to pass through her impotently. A second spider finds itself bifurcated by the launched disc and the fourth finds itself suddenly gripped in a magic vice as Fenris focuses BOTH hands to wield a significantly more potent telekinetic spell.

She takes a smooth step back, pivots, and lobs the remaining spider into the sky like a bandit who had just insulted a giant's taste in loincloths.

The three spiders after Yuvan make a valiant effort of adjusting ward angles to stave off the fireballs, but on the third their wards shatter and the backlash leaves them momentarily stunned.

Perfect time for fireball four to explode.

Two of the spiders are pulverized and the third, smoking and missing a leg, comes skittering toward the elf with dogged mindlessness. It doesn't even have time to attack before the heat radiating from Yuvan finishes it off.

Fenris, meanwhile, snaps her disc back to herself and stows it on her back, clenching one fist and manifesting that emerald glow again. Right as the first spider she had swatted returns from aetherialness it gets nailed with a bolt of green magic and topples over helplessly. Fenris gets to work quickly, kneeling over the construct as she pulls out a leather pouch full of delicate tools and begins working at the machine's casing. Within the span of ten seconds she's cracked it open and removed the soul gem from it.

A gem she frowns at.

"This... This is impossible. How could this be here?" she mutters, staring at the crystal in her hand. "Parallel worlds. Echoes of Nirn. That has to be it, there's no other rational explanation."

While Fenris is busy being puzzled over whatever she just found there are still three paralyzed spiders laying about and one aetherial spider fruitlessly trying to attack her.

[Thrakeld]

Now that the fight is basically over, Yuvan walks up to the three solid spiders and kneels next to them, extinguishing the flames in his hands. He doubted they would stay this way for long; even experienced Alterationists could seldom make paralysis last more than a few seconds. Better to not risk them getting up and being a nuisance.

KWAM!

Yuvan brings his armored fist down through one. With the ridiculous amount of enchanting that went into that thing, the odds of the spider being in fewer than a dozen pieces afterwards were close to nil.

KWAM!

He'll repeat the process with the second one.

When he gets to the third, he'll go to smash it, too, but decide against it. The nord wanted at least one intact, and while she sort of got that with the one she's operating on now, she might appreciate having one that still has an intact power system.

With that in mind, he makes a quick change in gear, slipping on a silver ring and chugging down a potion, grimacing at its somewhat unappealing cinnamony flavor, which mixes with a fishy aftertaste. But it does its job well enough.

The elf raises his hand and casts a second paralysis spell; this one will be in the duration of a few weeks, thanks to the bolstering effects of the elixir. Fenris should have all the time she needs to study it now.

That really only left the ghost-spider. But that will be momentarily outside his attention; Fenris is on her own if it changes back while she's busy geeking out.

[bc56]

Shuttle to L1
Sekhmet's seen much worse from actual succubi in their own bodies. She doesn't pay the unconscious tics Miranda is picking up from Lizzie any mind.

So time will start passing uneventfully again, unless Miranda wants to bring something specific up to Sekhmet.

Of course, things will get boring very quickly if everything just stays the same...

[Rebonack]

[An Improbable Adventure]

Fenris doesn't glance up from her work while the remaining spiders are demolished slash paralyzed.

No, her attention is fully on that soul gem in her hand.

"I surmise by the fact that your equipment is so heavily ensorceled that it's making my teeth itch that you have some familiarity with enchanting?" Fenris asks as she pockets the gem and moves to one of the... somewhat intact spiders to confirm her suspicion. She begins peeling open its casing-

-and launches her Dwemer disk at the remaining functional spider right as it phases back in, pulverizing it without glancing up from her work.

Once again a soul gem come loose from the casing, though this one has been cracked due to excessive heat.

"Have you heard of the Star of Azura? I imagine most any enchanter who has moved beyond dabbling must have heard tales. A soul gem that can be used endlessly."

She holds up the damage gem, unmistakably the endlessly regrowing core of the daedric artifact.

"This is... well, part of it in a sense. A sign of it being employed. Except this star is black. Some mad fool must have discovered a means of shifting its alignment from Azura to the Ideal Masters. But-"

Fenris shrugs off her pack, reaches inside, and withdraws-!

The Star of Azura.

Uncorrupted.

"That someone is most certainly not me. I believe whoever is behind these modifications must have arrived here from another reflection of Nirn, someone who walked a path not wholly dissimilar from my own. Though... with very different choices made."

[Ironsmith]

Shuttle to L1
Sekhmet's seen much worse from actual succubi in their own bodies. She doesn't pay the unconscious tics Miranda is picking up from Lizzie any mind.

So time will start passing uneventfully again, unless Miranda wants to bring something specific up to Sekhmet.

Of course, things will get boring very quickly if everything just stays the same...

[Shuttle to L1]

(Day 2, Midday)

Hopefully, the ennui of the following hours don't wear away at Sekhmet.

Things certainly pick up once Miranda wakes up properly. She'll have a light breakfast, consisting of stuffed pasta of some sort, before turning her attention to the television. It won't be long before she's started her exercise routine, insisting Sekhmet join her on her "jog"; running in place with a harness, while the TV shows an animated feed of a run through the suburbs in the early hours of the morning.

It's worth noting now that Miranda doesn't bother getting dressed; she gets the impression Sekhmet doesn't mind and all her clothing fits her awkwardly thanks to Lizzie's intervention anyway. Though thankfully, she does keep some basic modesty wear on, so Sekhmet will be "treated" to Miranda running around in a particularly conservative bathing suit.

Even if Sekhmet's holding up okay, Miranda's starting to get mild cabin fever and will likely argue with Lizzie if pushed; Sekhmet may also find herself in the crossfire.

[An Improbable Adventure]

Fenris doesn't glance up from her work while the remaining spiders are demolished slash paralyzed.

No, her attention is fully on that soul gem in her hand.

"I surmise by the fact that your equipment is so heavily ensorceled that it's making my teeth itch that you have some familiarity with enchanting?" Fenris asks as she pockets the gem and moves to one of the... somewhat intact spiders to confirm her suspicion. She begins peeling open its casing-

-and launches her Dwemer disk at the remaining functional spider right as it phases back in, pulverizing it without glancing up from her work.

Once again a soul gem come loose from the casing, though this one has been cracked due to excessive heat.

"Have you heard of the Star of Azura? I imagine most any enchanter who has moved beyond dabbling must have heard tales. A soul gem that can be used endlessly."

She holds up the damage gem, unmistakably the endlessly regrowing core of the daedric artifact.

"This is... well, part of it in a sense. A sign of it being employed. Except this star is black. Some mad fool must have discovered a means of shifting its alignment from Azura to the Ideal Masters. But-"

Fenris shrugs off her pack, reaches inside, and withdraws-!

The Star of Azura.

Uncorrupted.

"That someone is most certainly not me. I believe whoever is behind these modifications must have arrived here from another reflection of Nirn, someone who walked a path not wholly dissimilar from my own. Though... with very different choices made."

[Thrakeld]

Yuvan nods. Saying he was familiar with enchanting was something like saying Windhelm gets a bit nippy in the winter, but he'll leave that sentiment unvoiced.

"A madman, yes, almost certainly." He agrees, reaching into his not-quite-a-pocket and producing a similar, blackened star. "...But no fool. There's a kind of merit to a soul-snaring artifact that can be reused with every bandit encounter. I've found Malyn Veran's alterations to be quite convenient." He sits next to Fenris and examines the removed soul gem curiously.

"It is strange, however, that whoever assembled these machines would not be content with the use of lesser or common soul gems, as one would so often see powering such devices. Using a black soul to power a worker drone is simply overkill, a waste of resources. That, combined with the increased aggression and adaptations for combat, implies to me that this artificer is not interested in simple workers." He stands and grips his mace. "I suspect we are seeing the work of someone... quite a bit more ambitious than a researcher."

[Rebonack]

[An Improbable Adventure]

Fenris stiffens at the sight of the Black Star and the explanation accompanying it's use.

Of course.

Of course a high elf would think little using humans as cattle for fueling his magical experimentation. The rabble of bandits that abound in her homeland are the worst sort, by and large. Robbers and brigands. But some where merely farmers displaced in the wake of war due to their villages being razed. Turning to banditry was hardly justified, but that hardly warrants trapping their souls and casting them to the Soul Cairn once they were spent.

She knows several of her colleges at the College saw no issue with the use of black soul gems, but she still found their application appalling.

Maybe that's just old fashioned Nord sentiment.

Fenris does her best to steel her expression, wearing a stony face.

"I would argue there are ample mammoths and greater undead to be found for the purpose of harvesting souls of comparable utility without resorting to the more unsavory aspects of necromancy," Fenris replies, doing her best to keep her tone polite. "But that's a question of arcane ethics and hardly a pressing concern at the moment. Regardless, I suspect you're correct. These are prototypes, of a sort."

Then?

She takes a pair of gem-cutter's lenses from her pack, puts them on, and begins examining the intact soul gem she removed.

Sure enough.

"Incredible... It would appear as though our madman in question has successfully taught him or herself the Dwemer command language. It's a derivative of Dwemer itself, certainly, but not merely Dwemer. A language of extremely precise instructions that outlines the behavior of their constructs, etched into the surface of the soul gem that serves as both heart and mind for the machine. It has largely proven a mystery to scholars but I've found myself making some degree of headway with understanding it. Not enough headway to begin trying to modify commands let alone create new ones, but it's almost as if..."

A pause.

An epiphany.

"I... I'm going to make a stab in the dark here. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. You're Dragonborn, are you not? I can feel a tension in the air. A pull. A contest of wills tugging against each other. I haven't felt it since I was in the presence of Miraak."

She watches the elf's body language for a moment before she continues.

"I'm right, aren't I? Then no doubt you've noticed the most striking benefit of having a dragon-soul. The aptitude to learn new skills and hone the old. Not just the dragon-tongue. Anything. I had passable skills in smithing before I left to study magic in Cyrodil; more competent than my siblings, certainly. Sufficient that my father hounded me about taking over the Sky Forge when his last winter finally comes. But since that incident at Helgan I spent... what? A few weeks at most improving my skills and now I can create things that no smith on Nirn could have ever dreamed of. I've replicated Dwemer designs. I've improved on them."

Her expression grows grim, here.

"Imagine, then, what someone with an aptitude for honing skills like ours might accomplish if they decided to alter Dwemer constructs themselves?"

Discoveries that could revolutionize the world.

Or subjugate it.

[bc56]

Shuttle to L1
Sekhmet would prefer Miranda wears more clothes, but she's used to people around her not doing that. She doesn't join in the jog. She has no good clothes for it, having brought only long dresses along (she hates wearing pants and feels uncomfortable in anything shorter than ankle length).
And the enclosed space starts to take its toll on Sekhmet as well. She very clearly is fed up with the same four walls, repeatedly mutters about how she wishes she had something to read, and once carried out what seemed to be an entire conversation with an unseen person, who, judging by the terms of endearment she used, is probably her husband.

[Ironsmith]

[An Improbable Adventure]

Fenris stiffens at the sight of the Black Star and the explanation accompanying it's use.

Of course.

Of course a high elf would think little using humans as cattle for fueling his magical experimentation. The rabble of bandits that abound in her homeland are the worst sort, by and large. Robbers and brigands. But some where merely farmers displaced in the wake of war due to their villages being razed. Turning to banditry was hardly justified, but that hardly warrants trapping their souls and casting them to the Soul Cairn once they were spent.

She knows several of her colleges at the College saw no issue with the use of black soul gems, but she still found their application appalling.

Maybe that's just old fashioned Nord sentiment.

Fenris does her best to steel her expression, wearing a stony face.

"I would argue there are ample mammoths and greater undead to be found for the purpose of harvesting souls of comparable utility without resorting to the more unsavory aspects of necromancy," Fenris replies, doing her best to keep her tone polite. "But that's a question of arcane ethics and hardly a pressing concern at the moment. Regardless, I suspect you're correct. These are prototypes, of a sort."

Then?

She takes a pair of gem-cutter's lenses from her pack, puts them on, and begins examining the intact soul gem she removed.

Sure enough.

"Incredible... It would appear as though our madman in question has successfully taught him or herself the Dwemer command language. It's a derivative of Dwemer itself, certainly, but not merely Dwemer. A language of extremely precise instructions that outlines the behavior of their constructs, etched into the surface of the soul gem that serves as both heart and mind for the machine. It has largely proven a mystery to scholars but I've found myself making some degree of headway with understanding it. Not enough headway to begin trying to modify commands let alone create new ones, but it's almost as if..."

A pause.

An epiphany.

"I... I'm going to make a stab in the dark here. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. You're Dragonborn, are you not? I can feel a tension in the air. A pull. A contest of wills tugging against each other. I haven't felt it since I was in the presence of Miraak."

She watches the elf's body language for a moment before she continues.

"I'm right, aren't I? Then no doubt you've noticed the most striking benefit of having a dragon-soul. The aptitude to learn new skills and hone the old. Not just the dragon-tongue. Anything. I had passable skills in smithing before I left to study magic in Cyrodil; more competent than my siblings, certainly. Sufficient that my father hounded me about taking over the Sky Forge when his last winter finally comes. But since that incident at Helgan I spent... what? A few weeks at most improving my skills and now I can create things that no smith on Nirn could have ever dreamed of. I've replicated Dwemer designs. I've improved on them."

Her expression grows grim, here.

"Imagine, then, what someone with an aptitude for honing skills like ours might accomplish if they decided to alter Dwemer constructs themselves?"

Discoveries that could revolutionize the world.

Or subjugate it.

[Thrakeld]

Yuvan stiffens. Of course this unduly sentimental nord was a fellow Dragonborn. Who else could put together such a diverse range of skills quickly enough to develop a fighting style around them? An ordinary alterationist would spend a lifetime honing their craft, as would a smith or a warrior. This woman managed to be all three at a relatively tender age; even more so, considering how short human lifespans tend to be.

Putting the pieces together and learning she was a Gray-Mane didn't help matters, either. He has... mixed feelings about that family. Always getting into more trouble than necessary for terrible but admirable reasons, as nords are wont to do. She's going to be a handful.

But back to the matter at hand.

"That would be cause for concern, indeed." The elf concedes, stroking his exposed chin as he considers the implications. "More than enough cause to go down and have words with them. I trust you are sufficiently motivated to accompany me?" He says, moving towards the entrance to the ruins. He didn't exactly need more incentive to explore a dilapidated dwemer ruin, but the threat of a potential rogue Dragonborn would certainly fulfill the need if he did.

Shuttle to L1
Sekhmet would prefer Miranda wears more clothes, but she's used to people around her not doing that. She doesn't join in the jog. She has no good clothes for it, having brought only long dresses along (she hates wearing pants and feels uncomfortable in anything shorter than ankle length).
And the enclosed space starts to take its toll on Sekhmet as well. She very clearly is fed up with the same four walls, repeatedly mutters about how she wishes she had something to read, and once carried out what seemed to be an entire conversation with an unseen person, who, judging by the terms of endearment she used, is probably her husband.

[Shuttle to L1]
(Day 2, Midday)

In the enclosed space of the shuttle, privacy will be a fantasy, at best. Between that, and force of habit from her previous position, and sheer, unrelenting boredom, Miranda will be listening in on that conversation, trying to piece together what her partner on the other side might be saying, in an attempt at intellectual stimulation. After all, she can only spend so many hours of the day running.

Though thankfully, when Sekhmet mentions wishing she had something to read, Miranda takes that as a cue to be charitable and will fetch something along those lines from the Hotbox. She'll sit down at the table and invite Sekhmet over, holding a thick volume between her hands.

"I thought you'd appreciate this." She says with a little smile. "You have to understand, physical books are horribly obsolete in my time, but every now and then someone gets it in their head to try publishing one anyway. Usually classical literature; it's more of a sort of fashion statement than anything. Looks nice on the shelf." She'll turn the volume over to Sekhmet. "I still have a few from my pretentious college years. I hope you like Aesop's Fables."

[bc56]

Shuttle to L1
The conversation consists, at least from what Miranda can hear, of Sekhmet apologizing for being gone a lot, reassuring the other person that she'll be back in two weeks, and repeatedly saying that she loves and misses the other person.
But one line might stand out to Miranda, "This is, uh, all my fault, uh, and I have to fix it. Someone will die if I, uh, don't."


"What? Why wouldn't you want books?" Sekhmet asks incredulously, "But, uh, thanks." She starts reading.

[Rebonack]

[Thrakeld]

Fenris was right.

Of course she was.

Her observations rarely failed her in such endeavors.

"Would that Julianos grant words alone be sufficient," Fenris half sighs, half prays as she gathers up her tools and the black soul gem. "But I fear power and peerless skill tends to foster a streak of stubbornness that may prove difficult to overcome. One can hope, though."

A quick search reveals that the only nearby entrances appear to be cleverly hidden vents and hatches of Dwemer design, the sort that spiders have a fond penchant for leaping out of at one's face while exploring ruins. Nothing sufficient for a hero to crawl through. There's no doubt a proper entrance somewhere but it isn't immediately apparent.

"I have the dreadful feeling that these constructs represent the baubles one might create while honing their craft," Fenris ponders aloud nudging one of the ruined machines with her foot. She clenches a fist momentarily, gathering the needed focus to cast Deep Storage, opening up a temporary rift to a very small, very stable pocket in Oblivion. "In you go for later study," she says to the remaining paralyzed spider as she dumps it into rift before allowing it to close.

Then?

She turns her eyes to the nearby village.

"I believe we would be well served to begin our search at Thrakeld. They may have more information on this attacks as well as knowledge of the ruin itself."

[Ironsmith]

Shuttle to L1
The conversation consists, at least from what Miranda can hear, of Sekhmet apologizing for being gone a lot, reassuring the other person that she'll be back in two weeks, and repeatedly saying that she loves and misses the other person.
But one line might stand out to Miranda, "This is, uh, all my fault, uh, and I have to fix it. Someone will die if I, uh, don't."


"What? Why wouldn't you want books?" Sekhmet asks incredulously, "But, uh, thanks." She starts reading.

[Shuttle to L1]
(Day 2, Midday)

For anyone else, the implication that they might die if nothing is done would be unnerving. But Miranda's already considered several solutions to this problem which involve her death; that it might be a consequence of failure was hardly news to her.

That this was all Sekhmet's fault, on the other hand... well, that was news. Just not comment-worthy at the moment.


"Efficiency, mostly." Miranda replies with a shrug. "Why bother putting together a library when a digital storage device can hold a hundred times as many books at a thousandth the size?"


Sekhmet's probably going to find that she already knows most of these fables; The Tortoise and the Hare, The Boy who Cried Wolf, The Farmer and the Viper, and a few more obscure tales that she might still be vaguely aware of, like The Fox and the Grapes or The Ass in Lion's Skin. Which, ironically, will make for a fairly uninteresting read. Fortunately, Miranda sprang for an annotated collection that studies the symbolism, the context, and the impact of the fables over the course of human history; Sekhmet may find that more interesting. Or not.

[Thrakeld]

Fenris was right.

Of course she was.

Her observations rarely failed her in such endeavors.

"Would that Julianos grant words alone be sufficient," Fenris half sighs, half prays as she gathers up her tools and the black soul gem. "But I fear power and peerless skill tends to foster a streak of stubbornness that may prove difficult to overcome. One can hope, though."

A quick search reveals that the only nearby entrances appear to be cleverly hidden vents and hatches of Dwemer design, the sort that spiders have a fond penchant for leaping out of at one's face while exploring ruins. Nothing sufficient for a hero to crawl through. There's no doubt a proper entrance somewhere but it isn't immediately apparent.

"I have the dreadful feeling that these constructs represent the baubles one might create while honing their craft," Fenris ponders aloud nudging one of the ruined machines with her foot. She clenches a fist momentarily, gathering the needed focus to cast Deep Storage, opening up a temporary rift to a very small, very stable pocket in Oblivion. "In you go for later study," she says to the remaining paralyzed spider as she dumps it into rift before allowing it to close.

Then?

She turns her eyes to the nearby village.

"I believe we would be well served to begin our search at Thrakeld. They may have more information on this attacks as well as knowledge of the ruin itself."

[Thrakeld]

Yuvan sighs at the lack of a proper entrance. Of course this wouldn't be that simple. This was going to be a whole quest chain, wasn't it?

STARTED : ADVANCED AUTOMATONS

>Gather information in Thrakeld

Yup. Way to overcomplicate what could be such a simple matter.

Yuvan turns to speak with Fenris, only to see her cast yet another spell the mages of his home world never created. Where does she get all these wonderful toys?

And speaking of toys, Fenris's words do carry some weight to them. So far, they've only seen modified Dwarven Spiders. What would this artificer do with Spheres? Ballistas? Centurions? The possibilities are certainly unpleasant.

No sense in worrying about it now, though. Off to the village!

[Deathkeeper]

An Improbable Adventure

G'nichi sighs as he resigns himself on having to do this. Hats are never comfortable for him once he grew horns. He starts taking time to remove his restrictive armor while he glances at the nearby table for anything of note.
He's gotten a magic item to help them through this challenge, so why does he feel like he's still being mocked instead of winning?
"Maybe it's just the ghosts cleaning the place?" he suggests.

[Rebonack]

[Thrakeld]

Off to the village!

Again, village being a generous term.

Thrakeld appears to be little more than a muddy, wide patch in the road with an inn, a general store, and a smithy. Likely to serve the surrounding farms and to server whatever travelers happen past. No one is wandering about the streets here. There aren't even any guards. Even Riverwood has more of a defense than this hovel. Perhaps the most noteworthy features are the Dwemer braziers that have been set up to provide warmth and light.

This of course dispels all notion that the locals might not be familiar with the ruins.

The only person who appears to be outside at the moment is the local smith, a wizened old man with corded muscles and a wispy beard who doesn't look to have many winters left in him. He looks positively shocked when a pair of well armed and armored travelers walk into town.

"Visitors... by the gods it's been a week at least. Those damned contraptions have been murdering everyone along the road! How did you slip past them?" he asks our heroes.

"We didn't slip past them," Fenris replies matter of factually.

It's at that exact moment that the spider Fenris hurled heavenward comes plummeting out of the sky and gets dashed to pieces on a nearby rock outcrop.


[An Improbable Adventure]

The ghosts.

Maybe the ghosts tend to the candles.

"Most ruins like these aren't haunted," Fenris insists.

She should know.

She's checked.

"And corporeal undead don't count as a haunting," she clarifies.

G'nichi decides to look over the table! There are several embalming tools and bundles of linen, but nothing that seems too terrible use-

Oh.

Hmm.

That's interesting.

There's an old bronze key on the stable, too, green with corrosion. Wonder what that goes to?

[bc56]

Shuttle to L1

"But why?" Sekhmet still doesn't understand. "Isn't that cold and joyless? To not hold a book in your hands and to feel the weight and age of it? To smell the dust of its pages?" Sorry Miranda, but Sekhmet is a bibliophile. E-books are heresy. (Also it's hard to get arcane tomes on fiendlore in e-book form.)
Nevertheless, she'll eagerly devour the book. She recognizes many of the stories, of course. The commentary is interesting, but she'd be content with just the fables.

She told the truth. This whole situation is her fault. If she'd realized you were listening in, she wouldn't have said it. Why don't you think that over for a bit? Lizzie cackles telepathically.

[Deathkeeper]

An Improbable Adventure

Do ghosts really make less sense than the assumption that all dungeon based spaces have their own self-supplying altars?
G'nichi finishes doffing his armor and swipes the key.
"Found a key. Wanna see what it goes to?" G'nichi points with his head to the other door. He's going to assume it's to that since that's the only lock he can see at the moment.

[Ironsmith]

[Thrakeld]

Off to the village!

Again, village being a generous term.

Thrakeld appears to be little more than a muddy, wide patch in the road with an inn, a general store, and a smithy. Likely to serve the surrounding farms and to server whatever travelers happen past. No one is wandering about the streets here. There aren't even any guards. Even Riverwood has more of a defense than this hovel. Perhaps the most noteworthy features are the Dwemer braziers that have been set up to provide warmth and light.

This of course dispels all notion that the locals might not be familiar with the ruins.

The only person who appears to be outside at the moment is the local smith, a wizened old man with corded muscles and a wispy beard who doesn't look to have many winters left in him. He looks positively shocked when a pair of well armed and armored travelers walk into town.

"Visitors... by the gods it's been a week at least. Those damned contraptions have been murdering everyone along the road! How did you slip past them?" he asks our heroes.

"We didn't slip past them," Fenris replies matter of factually.

It's at that exact moment that the spider Fenris hurled heavenward comes plummeting out of the sky and gets dashed to pieces on a nearby rock outcrop.

[Thrakeld]

Yuvan will wait for a dwemer wheel to roll past comically, letting the implications of Fenris's statement sink in.

"We are here to help." He says, with a tight-lipped little smile; the wreckage should make it abundantly clear that they could. He expects they'll embrace the help; if they're not receiving any visitors, they're not receiving any commerce, either.

"Would I be correct in assuming that these automatons have only been active here for a week?" He asks.

Shuttle to L1

"But why?" Sekhmet still doesn't understand. "Isn't that cold and joyless? To not hold a book in your hands and to feel the weight and age of it? To smell the dust of its pages?" Sorry Miranda, but Sekhmet is a bibliophile. E-books are heresy. (Also it's hard to get arcane tomes on fiendlore in e-book form.)
Nevertheless, she'll eagerly devour the book. She recognizes many of the stories, of course. The commentary is interesting, but she'd be content with just the fables.

She told the truth. This whole situation is her fault. If she'd realized you were listening in, she wouldn't have said it. Why don't you think that over for a bit? Lizzie cackles telepathically.

[Shuttle to L1]
(Day 2, Midday)

"Don't give me that. This is all your fault." Miranda grumbles back to Lizzie. "You're the one who needs to be dropped off in deep space to avoid hurting anyone. You're the one that decided to bite down hard on the hand that feeds you, once for me and god only knows how many times with her. If the queen did anything wrong, it's only because she's been put in the unenviable position of having to deal with you, where there aren't very many right answers."

Sekhmet will hear that whole rant, of course. Miranda's not exactly trying to hide it.


"That's a bit of an acquired taste." Miranda gives Sekhmet a friendly pat on the shoulder. "You have fun with that. I'm going to go squeeze in some target practice." And with that, she'll push off to the other side if the shuttle.

[bc56]

Shuttle to L1
You don't understand. She is either weak and foolish or terribly cunning. She could deal with me permanently, but she won't. Instead, she left me for someone like you to find. Either it was a mistake on her part, or part of some grand plan. And now the three of us are alone on a vessel headed somewhere that no one would be able to find again. In the first case, she'll probably mess up and we'll all end up stranded out here. Except her. She can make a portal to get herself back whenever she wants. In the other case, we've played right into her hands."

Sekhmet just nods and goes back to reading. She's at least used to Miranda arguing aloud with Lizzie by now.

[Ironsmith]

[Shuttle to L1]

"Curious how that grand evil plan relies so much on a stranger taking you in and then going back to her." Miranda replies, unconvinced. "I could have been anyone. And had I been anyone else, the odds favor we'd be some sort of demon hybrid right now, tearing around Inside and doing whatever it is you succubi do for fun." She pauses and rolls her eyes. "Other than that. Also, not in my body, you don't."

"My point is, that would require an obscene amount of luck to make work the way you're suggesting. And it'd still rely on your host going aginst you, instead of taking care of you and trying to nurse you back to health. You're not the victim of some oh-so-clever scheme to strand you and an unrelated innocent in space. And even if you were, you could have derailed that whole plot just by being a halfway decent person and not a viper." She scowls. "Is the concept of personal responsibility so alien to you that you can't grasp the idea that maybe, just maybe, you're the reason you're being taken to a LaGrange point right now?"

[bc56]

Shuttle to L1
There's no such thing as luck. Even children know that. Lizzie scoffs. You really think you're so much better than me? You... a hand falls on Miranda's shoulder. Erszébet. Enough. Sekhmet speaks into Miranda's mind. If Lizzie is an oily, slippery presence in the mind, Sekhmet is a sun, bright and burning, penetrating through any defenses with seemingly no effort at all. Leave her in peace. You've caused enough trouble.

[Ironsmith]

[Shuttle to L1]

"Oh, no, this I've got to hear." Miranda snaps. "Go on, Lizzie. Just how were you planning to finish that sentence? Were you going try to tell me I'm just one bad day away from becoming you? That I haven't had a chance to really figure out how depraved I am? Ooh, maybe you were going to try to make it an intellectual thing, try to tell me you're taking the smart way through life." She shrugs Sekhmet's hand off her shoulder, her face flushed with fury. "Go on, spit it out! What asinine justification were you going to sling my way this time?"