1??????????????Soul Bound


    1.1????????????Finding her Feet


    1.1.6??????????An Innocent Profaned


    1.1.6.15???????Even the worst laid plans...


    [[GLOBAL ANNOUNCEMENT : “Brody” is the first player in the world to reach 100 hours connected.]]


    Mary-Lynn: “Hey, good on you, Brody.”


    Alderney: “You know him?”


    Mary-Lynn: “Yeah, he used to be in Battlematch. One of the best fighters I ever saw. Then one day a syndicate tried to pressure him into throwing a match, and he did more than just refuse. He announced live on air what they’d asked and played a recording of it. The next day they found him in his house with a broken neck. Still alive, but totally paralysed. Worse, someone leaked footage of him pissing himself, vicious cartoons were posted in a lot of places, and the jackals boasted he wasn’t that great a warrior, and they’d have carved him if he’d ever been unlucky enough to meet them in battle, in fact he probably staged it just to avoid having to face them. It was like the syndicate had paid for a character assassination, trying to force him into suicide just to drive the point home. One thing to die heroically, but quite another to end up like Brody. The last I heard, he was alone in a long-term hospital.”


    Kafana: “What did you mean about me being ‘always like that’? I just went for a swim!”


    Mary-Lynn: “That’s precisely what I mean. Other people might end up being seen doing something like diving off a Kraken after a lot of effort and planning. With you, it just seems to happen all the time, without your intending it.”


    Bulgaria: “It stems from who she is. The rewards of innocence and purity.”


    Kafana glared at Bulgaria: “I’m standing right here, you know.”


    Mary-Lynn ignored her interjection: “What are her vices? You can’t sell an audience on someone being purely good. That hasn’t worked since Superman in the golden age of comics.”


    She kicked sand at them.


    Alderney: “Other than scowling, pig-headedness and violence, you mean?”


    Mary-Lynn: “Oh, please. Violence doesn’t count. Everyone applauds violence nowadays, and pays to see it in big gory detail in gladiatorial arenas. We’re back to Roman times.”


    Bulgaria: “And yet what does violence accomplish? Do violent protests get governments to change their mind, or do they just send in the semi-autonomous armed drones? As a means of change it is futile.”


    She sat down to sulk. Fine! She’d find a way to do something later that broke their view of her as a sweet but violent child who lucked into things. She could plan ahead, and this time she would.


    Bungo: “Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity.”


    Char: “Sometimes it is better to fight and die, if you can hurt the enemy in the process, than tell them there will be no cost, no matter how many they oppress and execute.”


    Wellington: “The enemy on the front line are not the ones who make the decision to carry on with the war. They are just interchangeable grunts, that the elites care little about, except how much it will cost to train their replacements. Hurting them changes nothing.”


    CrimsonMoon: “Are you saying what they do is ok, because they were just following orders?”


    Wellington: “Not at all. Zimbardo showed that every man has the potential to be a hero or a villain, each time they are put on the spot. Those with an authoritarian personality will get angry at their victims for not properly submitting as they ‘ought’ to. But even they are not robots.”


    Kafana looked over at the volleyball court where Blaze and ChocolateTrain were striving to beat Carlo and Gregorio. Gregorio didn’t have as much dexterity as Carlo, but he used his strength to throw Carlo high into the air, from which vantage point Carlo spiked the ball down into the other court with merciless precision. Blaze and ChocolateTrain, forbidden from using orglife coordination by Alderney’s rules, were being taken to the cleaners.


    Columbina, no longer playing, was now wearing dark glasses and a wide brimmed hat. She was openly enjoying the view of the bodies being displayed before her:


    “Kafana, this sport; I think it will catch on. Far more interesting to watch than racing horses or the occasional bare fisted fight.”


    Kafana: “I was wondering why duels were so rare. If there is little penalty for dying, what keeps people from taking more risks? How does society here keep functioning?”


    Columbina: “You can’t become a master in a profession until you reach level 40, and it can take years to reach level 55 where you can gain high master. You can lose that in an instant and be sent straight back from level 54 to 40 or lower with a single death. So it is in the interests of the high levels who run things to discourage a casual attitude towards killing. But, more than that, death does something to you. For a normal person who isn’t a vessel, time spent in the land where deities dream ages a person. Maybe not physically, but it takes away from the natural lifespan. The less in-tune you are with the deity you look to, the worse the effect.”


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    Bulgaria abandoned the group discussing responsibility and wandered over:


    “Do you fear the presence of Questing Spirits will change the balance of your society? The introduction of gelato should be harmless, but what if other spirits create terrible weapons that let common soldiers destroy whole buildings at greater range than even a longbow?”


    Columbina scoffed: “We already have ballista and trebuchet. But suppose you introduced a weapon that could destroy a whole city. How would that be worse than Grand Master mages? Any society that repeatedly engages in brinkmanship will eventually destroy itself. As we did destroy ourselves, and our whole planet, back in the Aeon Exitium. We will weather any changes you Questing Spirits bring with you, and if you try to change us too much, we will find healthier outlets for your energies, as we have for high level mages.”


    Kafana: “What about those whose only interest is in the profit they can make from selling new weapons to both sides of a conflict? How do you fight the power of the market?”


    Columbina: “You mean if a company running a smithy making swords was selling them to our city’s enemies to encourage war, so they could then also sell more swords to the troops of our own city? What would we do about those who invest money in that company because its share price is rising, despite knowing they are setting their own families up for being slaughtered?”


    Kafana: “Yes.”


    Columbina: “The guilds and houses wouldn’t like it, so they would stop it. As long as the laws are written by people who need this specific city to function, rather than by rich merchants merely investing here who would not mind living elsewhere, we’re safe.”


    Bulgaria: {I think I’ll throw this one open to The Burrow. It will make for an interesting discussion.}


    Columbina: “Now, enough questions. I notice you have not yet taken your turn on the court. We need to improve your ability to dodge. You can’t rely upon magic all the time. Some enemies are immune to magic.”


    Kafana: “What? Hey, I’m just a spectator.”


    Columbina dragged her towards the court where the defeated Blaze and ChocolateTrain were being gently ribbed by the rest of FraGamal, and Nastya was drawing diagrams in the sand to show them where she thought they’d gone wrong.


    Columbina: “Tomsk, you and Mary-Lynn come try your luck against Kafana and myself.”


    Kafana hissed at her: “I’m going to look a fool. I’ve only a little dexterity, and no strength.”


    Columbina: “Then we shall have to use guile. That Tomsk, he cannot take his eyes off us. Mary-Lynn also distracts him, I think. So let’s concentrate on sending the ball to his side. They are not used to working together, and I have more dexterity than he has. All you need to do is intercept the ball if it comes to your side, push it upwards, and I shall do the rest.”


    Columbina grinned wickedly, and put a sway into her walk. “Stomach in, chest out, journeyman.”


    Kafana growed at her: “You and I need to have a talk.”


    Columbina: “Certainly. Tomorrow, though. Today we have a match to win.” then yelled “Serving!” and sent the ball behind Tomsk, making him run.


    The resulting match was closer than she thought it would be. She even managed to save a couple of balls. Columbina was in her element, though, practically dancing. She got the distinct impression that Columbina was playing a different game than the rest of them; that what she was after wasn’t the volleyball victory.


    Carlo had been busy sketching everyone. She went over to have a look at them, and was stunned by the detail brought out by his pencil. He was more than talented; the deceptive simplicity of his lines, the eye for composition, the depth of understanding of character shown by the postures and facial expressions captured - he undoubtedly ranked among the greatest artists of the Renaissance period. She briefly imagined some far future Aeon of Covob in which business suited mages walked around sparse white walled galleries commenting pretentiously upon these same pictures now hanging in frames, like butterflies pinned on a mounting board - pretty, but severed from all context and fleeting vitality.


    Big Fishie: Y O U N G L I N G?? H E R E


    Oh my. He must have run much faster than she expected.


    Kafana: “Carlo. I need to sneak off and do something stupid. You can come with me, if you like, but please don’t tell the others.”


    Carlo bowed gracefully: “Sweet Kafana, Alderney would never forgive me if I left you unaccompanied. Besides, sneaking is my speciality. With my mother, I had no choice but to learn.”


    She pointed at a dune, like there was something she wanted to show Carlo, then led him behind it and onto the road. She put her shoes on, but didn’t bother with anything else. Then stealth cast some buffs, including the fastest run she could manage.”


    Carlo: “Which particular stupid thing are we about to do?”


    Kafana: “I’m going to try to save a boy from being permanently killed. It will probably result in my dying, which is why I don’t want to drag my friends into it. They would insist upon standing by me and dying too. What I want you to do is be a witness. Record what happened, so it isn’t just my word against theirs. I don’t want them lying by saying I attacked them and getting me kicked out of the city.”


    Carlo: “It grieves me to do so little, but I shall do as you ask, and not burden you with my death upon your conscience.”


    Kafana: “Thank you Carlo, you really are pretty good at listening to what people say.”


    Carlo: “It is usually what people don’t say that most reveals their hearts.”


    Kafana: “If only you would tutor Wellington on such things. But now we’re nearly there. I’m going to slow down and give you a few minutes to find a good observation spot. Do be wary, these people are highly dangerous. And then I’m going in.”


    Carlo only shook his head, and muttered something about Gregorio, but obediently moved off and seemingly melted into the grassy dunes. Kafana started to slowly count to 100.