Wyrmhero

Who do you think I am, Bioware? >>

Charm refers to appearance and personal charisma, in this system, whereas physique refers to strength, dexterity, etc, and is more about musculature and build. Besides, how do you know the thief is into that?

I mean, it would surely be a Charm roll for that, right? :P. Essentially, if you're trying to convince him it will be Charm, if you're intimidating him it would be Physique. You might also be able to draw on your other stats instead, if you can explain how you are trying to use it.

Week 2, Day 5: The Arbiter Lawmaker’s home is much like the other palaces the gods occupy – Isolated, opulent, and entirely too big to be a home to just one person. You wonder what that says about the peoples’ opinions of the gods, but cut that line of thought off fairly quickly. It’s probably not at all flattering. There is one surprise waiting for you as you get out of the carriage, though – Lawmaker herself awaits you outside her palace. It’s a surprisingly human action, though it is somewhat muted by the presence of her attendants, and by the fine cloth and dye of her dress. Even the grey, which would normally seem so passive, feels vibrant. She seems to be more of a contrast to the other female gods, her clothes highlighting her form, unlike Firesoul’s, but not particularly drawing attention to it, as Fatespinner’s does. “Songbearer,” she says, with a small smile. “It’s good to see you again, this time outside of the Council.” “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” you say. “I know you must be rather busy…” “Oh, not so much,” she says. “Most of my work these days happens on the Council day itself, rather than during the week. It was more hectic when I first assumed this role, and when there were less gods, certainly, but things have settled since then. Please, come in,” she says. You follow her inside the building, passing the same sort of finely woven tapestries and precise paintings that can be found in any of the palaces of the gods. Your thoughts stumble over themselves as you consider it. When did this kind of casual display of wealth become dull and mundane to you? It’s not as though you truly know any other kind, you suppose. She and her priests guide you to a comfortable sitting room, and Lawmaker takes a seat on one of the recliners, though she doesn’t recline but sits facing you. You sink into a plush armchair, sinking down into it a little. Now that you’re sitting down, facing each other, you realise something strange. Lawmaker seems younger to you now than she did before, when organising the Council. Perhaps it’s the larger chair, or her posture being more defensive than the expansive one she took as the head of the Council. You aren’t truly sure. “Now, before we talk on anything, I should clarify that I will not hear anything about proposals other than to clarify anything about the process,” Lawmaker says. “You might have been able to tell, but I try to maintain as neutral a position as possible within the Council.” “I must admit, I was going to ask for your opinion, but I’ll refrain from doing so, then,” you nod, a little disappointed but understanding of her position. It makes perfect sense to keep the person in charge of ordering the gods around to be – as far as is possible – without an opinion. “Thank you,” she replies, with a smile. “I am glad to hear that someone seems to understand why. Some of the other gods I’ve known have been a little… well, you get the idea.” You can’t help but chuckle a little at this, feeling you know all too well who she might refer to. “I suppose I do, yes,” you say. “I assume then that the formal air is also put on for the Council, to seem more… distant?” “Somewhat,” she explains. “It’s part for that reason, and part because my High priest has impressed it into me. I was the first of the new gods, you see,” she adds. “I was informed that I had to act in a certain manner, to show I was worthy of worship. I like to think I’m rather good at wearing that mask.” “Ironic, really,” you say. “For someone with the title of ‘honest’, showing different faces in private to public.” She waves away your comment. “They’re all true, just different aspects. A drab and a Returned see the same cloth, but in different ways, no? And simply because ‘The Trials of Warbreaker the Peaceful’ is performed by actors does not make it any less a true story, even without Warbreaker himself alive to act it, does it?” She offers you a wry smile. “I like to think I was an actor, sometimes, in my old life. Or perhaps that I was never given the opportunity, but could have been one of some renown if things had worked out, and the world lost something when I died.” “You have the acting down, certainly,” he says. “It seems to me that you even go so far as to change your posture to suit your role. Or appearance.” “Yes…” she nods, though she seems to take a moment to respond. Most curious. “I think the appearance is quite important. It primes certain thoughts and reactions in the people you speak to, gives them expectations for you to fulfil.” “I think… it seems like more than that,” you say, watching her reaction. She stiffens, and then looks around briefly to ensure you are alone. “Yes… Yes, that’s true.” She laughs a little. “Well… I’d heard you were very insightful, and it seems that’s right.” “Then… I’ve read that Returned have the ability to change their appearances,” you say. “Is that the case here?” She nods, a little uncertain. “…Yes. I suppose there’s no point denying it, if you know it can be done.” Something changes, though you aren’t sure what as it happens. It’s only when it’s complete that you can tell – Lawbreaker is a bit shorter in her seat, her face less hard, her eyes softer. If this is her true appearance, you’d guess her ‘age’ to be that of someone barely an adult, though admittedly it’s difficult with the bodies that the Returned have. “I learned of it from one of the last Returned still around before the current cohort. I use it to make myself seem older, more authoritative. If I looked more like this…” she gestures to herself, “I don’t think the others would be as responsive.” “A further irony then,” you say, unable to stop yourself from grinning at this. “The oldest returned is, in fact, the youngest in appearance.” She sighs, a frustrated sigh. “Please don’t tease me, I’m well aware of that. And don’t tell anyone,” she adds. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply, with a softer smile. “But I appreciate you sharing it.” “What can I say?” she shrugs, sitting back against the recliner. “You’ve impressed me.” You nod. “Thank you. There was something else I came here to ask though, not related to the Council.” The young woman – the young god – nods. “Well, I’m not sure how much I can help with that, but I’ll try.” “My Priests apprehended a thief last night,” you say, and she sits up at this, looking at you curiously. “My High Priest will be interrogating them, but I’m not sure what to do with them afterwards.” “Hmm… Transgressions against the gods usually lead with the prisoner being sent to the God King’s dungeons, in the palace. And often carry a death penalty,” she adds. “I don’t know how much you’ll get from them though. You don’t get people randomly deciding to steal from Returned, even with how much wealth is in our mansions…” “So you think they wanted something specific?” you ask. “Perhaps,” she says. “Or someone wanted something specific. Like I say, you don’t just steal from Returned. Why do something riskier like that, which carries a higher penalty, when you could just steal from a mansion in the wealthy part of town?” she shakes her head. “Whatever it is, I doubt it’s riches he’s after.” You return home shortly after, thinking on Lawmaker’s words – and her apparent attitude towards being the eldest of Returned. Before Hera leaves for the temporary dungeon your Priest set up, you ask her to gather books on education within T’Telir and the wider kingdom. You aren’t surprised by what you find during your reading – education is the providence of the rich and somewhat-rich, a pursuit only enjoyed by those who do not have to worry about where their next meal is coming from. Any education that the merchant classes get is usually numerical or business-related, whereas the poor get by with poor numeracy and almost no literacy, as they are deemed to need neither for their jobs. Any knowledge they pick up is either from their work or from their family or peers, and is usually incomplete or incidental. While there are some people who act as tutors, usually as a method to supplement their income to support their own research, the bulk of education, both teaching and learning, is done by the Priesthood. Their education is more rounded than most, though still focusing mostly on the Iridescent Tones. The other subjects they learn about tend to be about governance and politics, as well as any knowledge deemed useful for any god they might eventually serve. Any priests that train to serve you, for example, will study some form of music, whereas ones that serve Quickfell might study engineering or trade skills. It would be a very long-term strategy to improve the education of the city, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be worthwhile. You imagine it would be very simple to get Brightweave to agree to this idea, with his library, and if you planned it correctly, perhaps it would be possible to get Coinspender to agree as well. You might never live to see the fruits of this labour, but you’ve never considered that you were doing this for yourself. You aren’t planning on building a legacy for yourself, but for the city. You hope to be around for at least a little while longer yet though, if only to ensure that it begins correctly. A secret discovered slightly earlier than expected due to a very good Wits roll there :P. Slightly shorter chapter this time, as there wasn't too much to say on the education action other than 'this was done, and this is the situation as it stands'. The next chapter will be on the 24th. Free Time What will you do tomorrow? Select two. [X] Visit Quickfell the Digilent [Charm] [X] Visit Fatespinner the Fortunate [Charm] [X] Visit Brightweave the Creative [Charm] [X] Visit Kindsmile the Cordial [Charm] [X] Visit an Area of the City [X] You may suggest others that are not on this list Results:

I would lean towards that as well, to a certain extent, though not as formalised as to have a university as some parts of Europe did by that time. T'Telir is a relatively wealthy trade city (with the immense wealth disparity that implies), so it feels like the situation would be that the two ways to get an education are to be tutored or to be part of the Priesthood. Anyone who isn't would be functionally or actually illiterate or innumerate, and entirely reliant on picking things up from friends and family. In other words, it's only your wealthy and merchant-class citizens that will have any kind of formal education, as much as there is such a thing as 'formal' education here. I don't recall much in the way of 'science' in the books besides BioChromatic research, and that's possibly partly due to the availability of cheap labour in the Lifeless, which suppresses the need for technological advancements for productivity increases, but I might just be reading too much into things. But yes, I would assume there's no collective schooling outside of training to become a part of the Priesthood.

Week 2, Day 4: The Healer This dream is new to you, though it is vague. A room full of people, sitting down. They are faceless, with no features, but their dress is of bright and varied colours. These colours are horrific to your eyes, with a clash of shades and subtle differences in hue that your average person wouldn’t get, but that stand out to your eyes. There is indeterminable talking going on in this room, a low murmur that you can’t make out. There is no one voice that stands out from the others, the words all mingling into one cacophony that almost hurts your ears to hear it, as you try and focus on a single thread and fail. There is a slamming noise, and the room falls silent. You turn your head to see what it is, and the world starts spinning. You catch a glimpse of an older man – Brightweaver? They look somewhat similar, but perhaps all old men do, or your dream has substituted him in for someone else – but he fades away, like dust blown from a surface. The rest of the dream washes away too, a swirl of hues that assault your eyes and make you reach up to try and scrape the sand-like colours from them. When you open your eyes again, you are staring up at a familiar sight again – The ceiling of your bedroom. You don’t tell Hera about this dream. You decide to take your mind off the dream by going out into the city again. As much as you saw some quite horrifying sights while out with Coinspender, there was also great beauty out there too. The centre of the city was vibrant and colourful, and you hope that the precise nature of the painted buildings will wash away the dream of disturbingly inaccurate colours. “Are You certain about this?” Hera asks you, still somewhat cautious. “I’m a god, aren’t I?” you reply. “What’s the worst that could happen to me?” “I… suppose so…” she nods, still uncertain but clearly unable to think of any reasons for her objections. You know that this is an uncommon thing to do, but it’s not as though there’s any danger someone would attack you, or try and kill you. If nothing else, Firesoul would be a far easier god to kill, with how prominent she is. “Then you should stop worrying so much,” you add, trying to say it kindly. “I may still not fully understand what life is like out here, but I’m not naïve, and my nature gives me an innate ability to defend myself. I can’t be snuck up on, for one thing.” “Assuming they’re not a drab,” Hera corrects you, and you have to agree. “True,” you nod, “but I am also stronger than your average person, and can’t be poisoned. I can also assume that my nature gives me a tolerance to pain, and I will generally take longer to die than most people. Certainly I am also viewed with reverence, so a crowd of people would not be the best place to try anything.” Hera nods a little, but she looks anxious. More than when you started trying to reassure her. Perhaps mentioning all of that wasn’t the best idea. “In any case,” you say, distracting her, “my purpose here is to help people. I can’t do that unless I know more about the people I’m helping.” “That’s true,” she agrees, more convinced by this argument. “Regardless, I will insist on a certain distance being enforced. I will not have You mobbed for no reason.” You sigh. “Very well…” You set up shop, as it were, not in the centre of the inner city, but at the edge, by the slums, though not fully in it. It’s a compromise with Hera, to a certain extent, but also encourages all types of citizen, rich and poor, to approach. Even if the richer population’s problems aren’t ones you’re particularly focused on, you do need to convince them to be on your side. You spend much of the late morning and early afternoon speaking to people, and while their problems are numerous, they tend to have a similar root cause – poverty. There are those who have no work, whom you sadly can’t help, but talk about your idea to. You speak to them about the concept of a scheme to support people out of work, with the idea of empowering workers not just to be supported through sickness or injury, but to help them return to the workforce. Many like this idea, though some feel you’re only suggesting it because it helps the wealthy have more workers. There are those who have no life in them, a depressive aura practically emanating from them. They have sold their Breath at a desperate, reduced rate to pay for food, lodging, or whatever they need to survive, and while they do not regret that decision, it is clear it has affected them. They are, in a sense, ‘lifeless’ themselves, drab and dreary, wearing muting colours, speaking softly, and with small movements. You promise them that you want to stop anyone from having to make that choice again, but you are sad that you can do nothing to restore their Breath to them yourself. There are those with a lack of food, who you have your priests aid as best they can It isn’t a long-term solution, you know, but there’s not much you can do to help them beyond that. Their problems are not ones simply solved, as they are in work, but the work is too poorly paid to support themselves properly. They are unskilled labour, performing work that can be done cheaply by Lifeless. They have to work for little not just because they compete against that, but they compete against each other. Coinspender was right about this, it seems. Many are angry at their employer, and to a certain extent some of that feels directed at you. You can hardly blame them, when they are taxed partially to support the lavish lifestyle you lead. They are fuel without a spark, kept in line only because their family would suffer more if they did anything. Some have come to make an unofficial petition, and your priests very quickly stamp that out and pull them aside. It is made clear to people that this will not be tolerated, and that they should follow the traditional method of petitioning. They talk about how you take a fair approach to petitions, hearing them all before making a decision, and how their attempt to ambush you shames them. Most are accepting, chastised and apologetic. Even in those cases, you can’t help but feel bad at watching the flame of hope be snuffed out so heartlessly. You do keep a certain distance from the people, as Hera demanded, though it feels odd to do so. People are corralled towards you by your priests, and while it feels a bit impersonal, it is at least organised. There is no rush, no trampling as people try to get close to you. As your time here draws to a close, an old woman steps forward to talk to you. She trips on the uneven cobblestone road, and even before you realise it, you’re kneeling on the floor in front of her, supporting her and stopping her from falling fully to the floor. “T-thank You,” she says, both awe-inspired at your aid and somewhat quiet, vague. She seems unfocused, and you put a hand to her forehead. Very warm. Standing outside in the midday sun for so long has most certainly not done her any favours. She was probably dizzy even before she lost her balance. Slowly, and with her, you stand up again. The crowd has gone silent. You look around to Hera, who seems a bit torn in how to react. “We’re going to see Firesoul a bit early,” you say to her, in a definite tone that brooks no argument. The old woman starts protesting, but you smile at her. “It’s alright, we were going to see her anyway. And I apologise for making you wait outside like this in the heat…” Perhaps if you did it again you would hold it inside. Hera looks at you, and then sighs and shakes her head, unwilling to say no. You smile at her, and nod, before helping the old woman into the carriage. The journey is quiet and awkward, and it reminds you that, as much as you would like to be, and to think yourself, one of them, you aren’t. You are glad when Firesoul’s hospice finally appears outside your window. You step outside, and help the woman out, who seems entirely bemused and bewildered by the situation. Entering the building, you almost feel as though you’ve been here before, though you shortly realise that it is, in fact, just because of the book you read on all the gods. The hospice is entirely clean and white, almost impersonal, the only colour in the reception area being that of the wooden desk and the waiting chairs. You’re somewhat surprised by this, as you would have expected Firesoul’s colours to be present. The receptionist looks up at you with a mix of awe and trepidation. She might not even be an adult, you realise, though it’s hard to tell at her probable age range. “This woman has suffered from heatstroke,” you explain to her, indicating the elderly woman, “and while I stopped her before she hit the ground, she had a fall because of it. I would like her to be checked up, if possible. And I’m also here to see Firesoul,” you add at the end. “C-certainly, sir. I mean, Your Grace,” she corrects herself. “I’ll see if someone’s free.” She scampers off down a white corridor. “I will return to the carriage, Your Grace,” Hera says to you, “as I have some work that needs doing. Would this be acceptable?” “Hm? Certainly…” you nod, waving it away. “Very well. I hope your meeting goes well,” she says, before heading out. You are left alone with the woman again, but thankfully not for long. A man in a uniform bearing Firesoul’s colours comes back with the receptionist, taking a quick stride. “Your Grace,” he says, bowing to you. “My name is Aeson, I will be the nurse assigned to Your… case.” He looks to the woman, and smiles at her. “If you would follow me, please,” he says. They both leave by a different corridor. “S-Your Grace,” the receptionist says, now giving a slight and imperfect cross between a bow and a curtsey herself, as though unsure which to do, “Her Grace – um, Firesoul, I mean - will see you in Her office. Please follow me,” she says, and walks off, again quickly. You are led down more white corridors, though looking into the rooms that you pass, you do see splashes of colour – Flowers in varying states of decay, mostly – before you come to a large wooden door. There is nothing that states what the room is, but it’s obvious to you from the aura that emanates from there that it is Firesoul’s office. The receptionist knocks on the door, almost entirely pointlessly considering Firesoul will know you are there too. But pretences should be kept up, one supposes. “Enter,” Firesoul says, her voice imperious and commanding. The receptionist enters and curtseys to the other god. “H-his Grace, Songbearer, to see you, Your Grace,” she says. You wonder if people who interact with multiple gods ever get tongue-tied because of it. “Good,” Firesoul nods. “You are dismissed.” The receptionist runs off quickly, and looks glad to be out of it. Firesoul shakes her head. “She’s new,” she offers as way of explanation, before gesturing towards the seat opposite. “We won’t have long, but I can take a break for a short while.” “Well, thank you for putting some time aside to see me, then,” Songbearer smiles. “I’ve heard how busy you are.” She smiles a little. “Well, in truth, the staff tend to be the ones that make me busy, more than anything.” At your look of confusion, she sighs and sits back in her chair. “They are… useless without me. Or rather, they rely too much on my presence to set things straight, when they are perfectly good at doing so themselves.” “That sounds… defeatist,” you say. “As it sounds as though you encourage, or at least permit, that way of thinking.” Firesoul sighs. “True, but the alternate would be leaving people to suffer just to prove a point. Something I can hardly do in good conscious. Songbearer, are you aware-” A knock at the door interrupts her. For a moment, she looks irritated, but it goes away. “Yes?” The receptionist opens the door and curtseys to you both. “Your Grace,” she says, and then winces a little. “Uh. That is, Your Graces. Um, I mean… Mistress Firesoul,” she eventually decides on. She is blushing quite heavily from the scrutiny and embarrassment by this point. “There has been a delivery of flowers for you.” Firesoul’s irritation returns. “I understand that you are new, but you should know this by now,” she says, in a measured tone. “Distribute them among the patients. Tell no-one who they’re from.” “What? But they’re from-” “I don’t care. You have your orders. Dismissed!” “Y-yes ma’am!” the receptionist jumps and runs off. You gently close the door too, as she seemed to forget. Then you favour Firesoul with a curious look. “Coinspender,” she grimaces. “I don’t want them, so might as well give them to someone who appreciates them, until he gets it through his thick skull that they’re wasted on me. More money than sense…” she shakes her head. “You have my sympathies,” you grimace. She smiles a little. “Thank you. But let’s talk on better things, I think,” she decides, “such as your proposal for this week’s Council meeting.” She holds a hand up to stop you before you start to explain. “There’s no need. I think it’s a good idea, and will help many people, and perhaps even reduce the number becoming seriously ill by itself, if people stop pushing themselves and instead take time off. It might even lead to less chance of others catching disease from their colleagues too. It builds well off my proposal last week. Almost, in fact, as though it were designed to impress me,” she says, looking at you now with some suspicion. “It’s nothing like that…” you assure her. “I just… felt it would work well with it. Your proposal made me think, and it’s hardly a bad thing if we work together to improve people’s lives, is it?” She laughs a little. “I think… I think we are just quite similar, aren’t we, Songbearer? We wear the skin of a god well, but inside there’s so many questions, aren’t there?” You can’t help but nod. “I’m not comfortable being worshipped,” you agree. “Hera – My High Priest – has explained that it’s more the ideal we represent that is worshipped, but I can’t agree with that, not after meeting people and seeing their reactions to those like us.” “Agreed,” Firesoul says. “The nuance is lost on those not studied in theology. It’s why I created this place,” she says, gesturing around vaguely at the building you’re in. “Because… It justifies it, somewhat?” you ask, mulling the idea over in your mind. “It’s something that is worthy of praise, so it feels less like you haven’t done anything to deserve it?” “Indeed…” Firesoul says, sadly. “I felt it would be the best place to make an immediate difference, after some research. I could have chosen other areas, as I’m not at all versed in medical practices, but this seemed best. In fact, even while working here, I’ve only picked up the basics, and sometimes what I’ve found has been entirely counter to established practice.” “What do you mean?” you ask. “To put it simply, whatever skill I have is not in medicine, but in statistics. That, combined with my wider view from not being closed to the practice, has lead to taking an impersonal approach to medicine. I am thought of as effective but domineering. It’s not a bad thing, though, as my position as an outsider allows me to make observations others won’t, but my position as a god lets me enforce them. For example, I have enforced higher levels of cleanliness and washing before procedures, which has led to a downturn in deaths. There was reluctance from my doctors to start, but now they all do it because I’ve shown it to be beneficial. And not one of them will admit they were against it, of course, but I don't care about their feelings on the matter. What matters is that they do it now.” “We’re brought back to do something,” you say, remembering the theologies and philosophies you’ve read about the Returned. “It sounds as though you’ve found it.” “Perhaps,” she smiles. “But I don’t feel selfless about it, which makes me wonder if it is, in fact, what I was brought back for. I do it out of guilt, Songbearer. A guilt I’ve felt since I first woke up as a god, and that hasn’t gone away.” She shakes her head. “It’s more than just feeling I haven’t deserved their praise. But as though… as though I’ve actively done things that I regret.” “Oh… I see…” You nod. “Have you started having strange dreams yet?” Sshe asks. “I… have,” Songbearer nods. “The priests say they’re meant to be auguries, or interpretations of things.” “I don’t think they are,” Firesoul replies. “They seem to be memories, to me. As though who we were is there in the back of our minds still, just… locked away. And that terrifies me, Songbearer.” “Why?” you ask. “Because… I think I might hate myself, if I met who I was,” Firesoul says. She seems almost small, now, even with the height of a Returned, run-down and worn, rather than as blazing and beautiful as her name. “What would you do, Songbearer, if you remembered who you were, and they were a bad person?” “I… can’t imagine that you were,” you say, trying to reassure her. “I can’t imagine that we’re different to who we were, or why would we be Returned, rather than someone else? There has to be something about us, our old selves, that matter. In your case, I think you must be kind, or at least want to help people. Or else you wouldn’t have set up this hospice. That's something you wouldn't do out of guilt, but a genuine desire to help.” This makes her smile. “I hope you’re right, Songbearer. I hope you’re right.” You aren't sure if she missed or ignored that you didn't answer her, but you're glad she hasn't mentioned it. You don't know the answer yourself. “Ah, it’s good you’re back, Your Grace,” Hera says, as you get into the carriage. The meeting ended shortly after, as Firesoul’s presence was required for a terminal case. “I have some news. Our guards have caught and incapacitated a probable thief.” “A thief?” you ask, surprised. “Was something taken?” “Well, I should clarify that he may have just been a trespasser,” Hera replies, “but we cannot check that at the moment. Our guards were… heavy-handed… in their arrest. It is likely he won’t wake until tomorrow. What should we do with him?” Thank you to everyone who posted. As I said above, I know real life takes precedent over something like this, and I don't mind if people aren't always here. Having said that, I do want a decent number of votes before moving forward, so should I switch to every two weeks so people have more of a chance to interact? Free Time What will you do tomorrow? Select two. [X] Visit Quickfell the Digilent [Charm] [X] Visit Fatespinner the Fortunate [Charm] [X] Visit Brightweave the Creative [Charm] [X] Visit Kindsmile the Cordial [Charm] [X] Visit Lawmaker the Honest [Charm] [X] Interrogate the thief personally (see below) [Stat rolls depends on chosen approach] [X] Visit an Area of the City [X] You may suggest others that are not on this list The Thief [X] How will you deal with the thief? Write in with what you want to do with them, and how you will have this done/the approach taken to them. If you do this personally, this will use a Free Time slot. Results:

Suddenly, lots of activity! Thank you all for your posts, I understand it's difficult to keep up with things with life sometimes, which is why I was saying that I was going to wait before the next chapter. I was worried that maybe things weren't progressing quick enough to keep people interested, and I'm glad to know that isn't the case. This is very much meant to be collaborative, rather than just me posting a fic, hence why it's in the roleplaying section, and the more people to discuss/vote, the better. To encourage that, is one week enough for people, or should I switch to every two weeks so people have more of a chance to interact?

It's not that I don't want to continue, not at all. I'm enjoying writing it, and I'm glad you're enjoying reading it. I just want to make sure that people have the chance to take part, and I'm not too keen on posting a new chapter when only two people have voted. I will post this coming Sunday, regardless, but I encourage people to vote to affect where or how the story goes

I'm hesitant to move on with just this, so in the interests of reminding people this is a thing, pinging everyone else who has posted on this thread. @DrakeMarshmallow, @Lord Furret, @Rushu42, @Furamirionind, @xinoehp512, @I think I am here., @Wblk, @Lord Bookwyrm

Week 2, Day 3: The Merchant It is with some trepidation that you arrive at Coinspender’s mansion, to meet him properly without any of your other peers there as well. His palace is just as opulent as yours and Quickfell’s, though more gaudy – Coinspender’s colours of silver and gold shine brightly in the sun, threatening to blind with the reflection. Though perhaps that would be a kindness. You are ushered in by a man that would look more like an accountant than a priest, if it weren’t for his garish robes. The insides of the palace is decorated with paintings on the wall, none of which is particularly impressive but all technically perfect to your enhanced chromatic senses. There’s something slightly off to them though. It takes you a moment to realise it’s because they’re meaningless; intended as decoration, rather than having the artist’s soul poured into them to represent something. You wouldn’t be surprised if these weren’t unique, and the artist had produced multiple of them from a template, to be consumed by the masses. Somehow, it seems to fit Coinspender. The god himself is reclining on a chair, a bowl of grapes and a glass of orange wine on the table beside him, but he doesn’t seem to particularly be relaxing. Instead, he rifles through a set of papers on his stomach, which you can barely make out are full of numbers and text. You are announced by his priest, and he looks over. “Ah, Songbearer…” he says, heaving himself up to sitting, and dropping the papers on the table, face-down. “I am surprised by this visit, I must admit.” He gestures to a seat, which you take. “Some more refreshments,” he commands to the priest, who bows and disappears. “You said you wanted to prove to me that you’re not selfish,” you reply. “Avoiding you because we had a… discussion… would hardly be productive, would he?” He chuckles and takes a sip of his wine. “Well, quite… I knew you’d see reason about it. You might be something of a bleeding-heart, but perhaps that’s tempered by pragmatism… That’s my hope, at least.” “I don’t see that there’s anything bad about that,” you reply with a frown. A glass is placed before you, and a selection of differently coloured bottles offered to you. You are dislodged from your thoughts for a minute as you consider them, and select a bright red one. “What’s the point of any of this if we aren’t improving peoples’ lives?” “Yes, yes, I know,” Coinspender says, sighing as he waves it away and takes another sip of his vibrant wine. “But there are ways, you see, and there are ways. We can hardly help people if the country is bankrupted due to short-sightedness, can we?” “So you’ll turn a blind eye to suffering now, if there’s less in the future?” Coinspender sighs, exasperated. “Did I say that, Songbearer? No, not at all. I am pragmatic about it. Certain things provide a good return on investment, but most of the low-hanging fruit is taken. Take, for example, the amount of physical labour in the city. You could argue that the Lifeless reduce the amount of labour we need to do, in and could even eliminate it. Lifeless are subservient, untiring slaves, they can hardly decline any work you give them, and with some minor maintenance they would last for years. One could even sell one’s body after death, as a small inheritance to the family,” he says, chuckling a little. “And you might think that’s a good thing, if we no longer had to do any manual labour. But,” he continues, “If we put even more to work, well… There wouldn’t be any unskilled jobs available, would there? As much as the poor might grumble about their work, they do it anyway. There’s not a man among the dockworkers wouldn’t be there if they didn’t have to be. So, if you take away their livelihood, what are we left with? A starving family, and a restless, angry man. The most dangerous kind of person, one might say, and considering we’ve already had one rebellion in recent history…” “But in the mean time, people are still suffering now,” you point out. “It’s all very well to say that in the long run, there might be a better method, but can’t let ‘perfect’ be the enemy of ‘good’, or we’ll never get anything done.” Coinspender considers his glass, and places it on the table. “Have you been into the city yet, Songbearer?” “What?” His change in topic throws you a bit. “Oh, no. Not properly, not yet. I’ve meant to, but… it’s hard to find the time.” Coinspender lets out an undignified snort. “Time. What do we have but time?” he sighs and pushes himself up, standing up from his chair. “Well, I think now would be a good time to do so, I think.” You and Coinspender make your way into the city by carriage, a priest each at the front, directing it. The trip is silent, though not quite awkward. Coinspender spends much of the time resting his hand on his hand, leaning against the side with his elbow. Eventually, as you make your way to the slums, you decide to approach a conversation. “Have you read Quickfell’s bill?” you ask. “He’s proposed to ban carriages on market day, to help encourage it to expand.” It takes your mind off the mind-numbingly dull and dark buildings, and the quiet desperation and despair that seems to infuse the dilapidated slums around you. Even to your enhanced colour recognition, your surroundings are uninspiring and depressing, a mix of greys and browns that easily displays the difference in wealth, pride and joy between here and the bright parts of the city that you are more used to. “I have, yes,” Coinspender nods a little. “I can’t see any major issues with that being approved. Really, we shouldn’t even need to vote on it, but I think they love giving us these meaningless, agreeable decisions sometimes. Lets us vote unanimously, so we don’t get too frustrated with one-another. Certainly know we need it…” “So you see it all as pointless?” “That’s a strong word for it, but I suppose so…” He shrugs. “The world continues whether we want it to or not. People don’t really need us, as much as they think they do. Any important decisions are carried out by the truly important people.” “The God-King?” Coinspender snorts at this, rather undignified. “He’s a figure-head too, you realise. The Priests make all the decisions, do all the organising, make all the laws that keep the world gently rolling along… They’re the ones with real power.” “You’re beginning to sound like Kindsmile,” you comment. “A little paranoid.” “Some of what he says makes sense,” he replies. “It’s healthy to be a little paranoid, particularly when you live the lifestyle we do. People always want something… Nothing is free, and they certainly wouldn’t entertain us unless they got something out of it too.” You shake your head, and then are jolted a little as the carriage comes to a sudden halt. “Is there a reason we’ve stopped?” Coinspender scowls. “There’s someone in the way.” You wonder for a moment how he can tell, but then you realise. Paying attention to your Life Sense, there are three people in front of the carriage – Two priests, and a third person. “A beggar, most likely.” He shifts and reaches up to open the viewing slot between drivers and passengers. “Just keep going,” he instructs. “They’ll have to move out the way of the horses.” “No, don’t,” you interrupt, earning a glare from Coinspender as you override him. “Please…” You open the door, and a filthy man scrambles there, prostrating himself before you with as much fervour as any petitioner ever did. “Your Graces,” he says, “Divine Ones, most holy Returned…” “Yes, yes, get on with it,” Coinspender grumbles. “Then leave us in peace.” The man stammers a little, and you try and offer him a gentle smile. He seems to draw himself up a little, though deflates again as he tries to begin again. “I… I don’t ask much… Just some money so I can eat… Please, Your Graces, I have been a devout follower-” “Songbearer didn’t even exist before two weeks ago, you can hardly be a devout follower of him,” Coinspender cuts him off. “Your pitch is just that you want money, say that and be done. Don’t waste our time with meaningless deference.” “I-I’m sorry, Your Graces…” “Good. Now be gone with you.” “No, wait…” You say, frowning. You go to address your Priest, who has now stepped down to keep an eye on what is happening, but realise you don’t know his name. You sidestep the issue and address him directly. “See to it that this man is taken care of, for a while. Get him a bath, some new clothes, good food and a bed.” “Your Grace?” he asks, a bit startled. “I’m sure Coinspender’s priests can attend to my needs, thank you. We will return to his mansion soon, I imagine.” “As you wish, Your Grace…” he nods. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace,” the man says, still prostrate. “Thank you…” Coinspender grimaces and closes the door. The priest indicates to the beggar that he should follow, and they head off into the centre of town. “Bleeding heart,” Coinspender mutters. He bangs on the wall behind him. “Drive!” The carriage sets off again, heading back towards the Court. “I could hardly do nothing while he needed help,” you say, frowning. “You might be able to idly stand by, but I couldn’t.” “I don’t help people who don’t help themselves,” he says. “I don’t think he could help himself,” you say. “Sometimes people need some help to get to that stage. I hardly think that’s a fault against him.” “Your heart is in the right place, but I’m not so sure about your brain,” he sighs. You scowl at the insult, but say nothing. “Think. I could sense him. What does that mean, Songbearer?” “I’m not sure what that means, exactly…” you say, before it registers properly. “He had a Breath? So…?” “So, he had the ability to pull himself out of that situation,” Coinspender explains. Realisation slowly dawns on you as to his point, the economics of Breath not being something you had focused on in your recent education. “A Breath would pay for a solid foundation that he could use to repair his life, if only he could swallow his pride. Why, I…” he trails off, and then shakes his head. “I don’t know that I could do that, even if my situation were that bad,” you honestly say. “With all I’ve read about it how it affects people, not having any Breath, it could just be a temporary solution with long-term effects.” “That is why you don’t do it for something as basic as food or shelter, but to build something of it,” Coinspender says. Then he sighs. “I understand why you did it, I suppose. I do the same with my loans, if I believe it to be a cause worth investing in. There are certainly worse things you could have done. You could have given him money, but this has the potential for some longevity, at least.” You nod a little. “It seemed the best way to help treat the cause, rather than the symptoms.” He gives a short laugh. “You sound like Firesoul…” he says, quietly. “Prevention is better than cure, as she always says. Not that I disagree, but I feel your method is ultimately naïve. Your problem is, I think, that you believe any cost is worth bearing to help someone, that a life is priceless. It isn't, and some are worth more than others," he adds, ignoring your frown. "You can’t change society one person at a time, and you can’t rush a permanent change. Change needs to be gradual, and targeted at the most effective individuals, or else you'll do more harm than good.” You fall silent as you return to Coinspender’s home, thinking about his words and the events of the day. “You are a curious God,” Coinspender says, as he steps down from the carriage. “You clearly want to win me over to your way of thinking, or else you wouldn’t be here today after our last talk … I will say that you should stop; you will not convince me of sacrificing long-term profits for short-term gains, so to speak. However,” he adds, before you can say anything, “that does not mean I am not amenable to certain causes, if I feel they align with my philosophy.” “So what about my current proposal?” you ask. Coinspender considers his reply for a moment, and then shakes his head. “I don’t believe it’s correct. You focus too much on the goal in your mind, instead of the path to get there. It’s always the way with people like you, assuming that everyone will be happy provided they could only understand what you want out of things… But the world doesn’t simply go from one state of being to another at the snap of your godly fingers. It would be worth remembering that.” Your personal carriage pulls up on the pathway, Hera sitting inside. “We aren’t enemies, Songbearer,” Coinspender says, as you step inside. “I'm glad that you seem to realise that.” Free Time What will you do tomorrow? Select two. [X] Visit Quickfell the Digilent [Charm] [X] Visit Fatespinner the Fortunate [Charm] [X] Visit Brightweave the Creative [Charm] [X] Visit Firesoul the Merciful [Charm] [X] Visit Kindsmile the Cordial [Charm] [X] Visit Lawmaker the Honest [Charm] [X] Visit an Area of the City [X] You may suggest others not on this list Apologies that this took so long. I was unwell the previous weekend, and the last week has been rather hectic. But we're back on track now, and I hope this was enjoyable Results

So, fun fact I discovered while trawling through WoBs during my lunch break - Nalthis has a seven day week, not a five day week. I have no idea why I thought it was five (I guess it makes sense? Five is a powerful number on Nalthis...), but I was completely wrong about it. Thankfully, I caught it early enough that it's an easy fix, though it does mean you guys have more time than I at-first intended, so I might force a few events on you instead

Week 2, Day 2: A Game of Throws Your dreams are troubled, a whirling mass of formless questions and cryptic answers. They flicker in and out of existence, living for just a brief moment before vanishing in puffs of brightly coloured smoke. Was that the right decision? Can you live with it? All this power, this incredible, miraculous power, and you did nothing with it. You left it idle, and decided none of them were worthy to receive your final blessing. Harsh words, perhaps, but they haunt you in the night, and cause your sleep to be restless. Hera seems to take pity on you the following morning, seeing how tired you are, and doesn’t rush things. You are handed a warm drink, dark and somewhat bitter, and are surprised to find that it helps quite a bit. She waits patiently until you are prepared for the day as best you can be after a sleepless night, then takes you to the gallery for this week’s offerings. Your songs have clearly been distributed throughout the city by now, as a few more offerings this time are in some kind of musical or lyrical form, though not all are sung. Most are poor quality, however, the musicians clearly throwing something together quickly to try and make use of your apparent affinity. Their technical skills are perfect, you know that, but there’s more to music than simply hitting the correct notes perfectly. The first offering that truly stands out is not a song, however, but a limerick. The man reciting it is animated as he tells it, performing the actions along with his words with no shame for them nor what he says. It catches you off-guard, and you can’t help but laugh. Hera, for her part, looks scandalised by the subject matter, but tries very hard not to let it show. The second is another sculpture. Perhaps they heard of your pick the previous week, or perhaps it is even the same person commissioning it. Even if it is simply an offering someone wished to make, it still catches your eye for the detail and colour applied to the stonework. The sculpture depicts yourself, with a book in your hand as you walk between the tall stacks of a library. The book is ornate, gold leaf providing the ghost of lettering on the front and spine, though it is a representation of books in general rather than a specific book. It seems your researching has become known to a few people. The third surprises you; it is a pair of little doll-like figures made of cloth and stuffed with straw, both of which have a BioChromatic aura (though on closer inspection, they are in fact one doll, joined at the hands). They waltz before you to unheard music, keeping to a perfect time and with perfect balance over the tiled floor. You can almost hear the tune they dance to, anticipating their moves as the imaginary music reaches its highs and lows. But there is a sadness, as you realise how many people must have become Drab just for this one moment. You make your decision, and then turn to Hera. Yesterday’s judgments are still playing through in your mind, so you ask for three things – Books relating to economics and health, books on Tarachin, and an invite to be sent out to the other gods. Auguries As a Returned, part of your job is to select impressive artworks, using your enhanced capability to detect colour hues, vocal tones and all the other aspects of BioChroma that your Divine Breath gives you. Regardless of how or what you pick, it will then be intensely scrutinised by philosophers (who apparently have nothing better to do than guess at why you chose something instead of just asking you for your reasoning) to determine what it means for the future. Each Augury you can choose between has a hidden stat boost associated with it, which may or may not be obvious from the description. This boost will last until the next time you need to choose an Augury. Note that the stat may not suit any roll at all for the period, depending on choices and paths taken. Auguries will be chosen every five days in-game, though if we skip an Augury choice the previous one will continue to apply. [X] The limerick [X] The Scholar God [X] The waltzing dolls Tarachin is a game of strength, skill, deception, knowledge and, above all, extreme extravagance. It truly is a game for the gods, and the gods alone. As you make your way to the balcony, the entire courtyard below you has been transformed into a playing field, with stakes driven into the ground and ropes used to divide it into sections. After you finish playing, it will be disassembled again as though it was never there. Many of your priests and other gods’ priests stand at the sides of the field, ready to keep score. But it’s not just the sheer lengths that one has to go to in order to play it that marks it as a god’s game. The balls that you will throw are extremely heavy, made of a dense wood designed to not bounce, and it would be practically impossible for a normal human to get enough distance with them, and certainly they could very possibly injure themselves in trying to do so. The rules are lengthy and convoluted, and it took you much of the morning to memorise them as best you could, though no doubt there are rules you will be surprised by even still. The game requires a mind for strategy, as it’s not as simply by any means as ‘pick up a ball and throw it as hard as you can’. No, certainly the distance matters, but it’s not at all the only thing that does. Certain sections of the field are worth more points than others, with some high-scoring areas surrounded by low scoring areas and making it a risk to attempt them. Certain balls interact with others in certain ways, which means that devising a strategy before the game begins can be as important as the actual playing. But at the same time, your opponents could take elements of that strategy away from you with their own, meaning that it could all come crashing down around you if your opponent figured out what you were doing. But was it even right to interfere with one opponent's strategy, when it was traditionally played with multiple opponents? You could simply be hurting yourself and one opponent to the benefit of your others. One of the books you read went heavily into the ‘metagame’ of Tarachin, developed by the gods over many, many years, and how it had evolved through layers of strategy and deception until it was almost unrecognisable at this point from the game it started as. One recent figure, Lightsong the Bold, was talked about in great length for his effortless skill and ability to deceive the other players in his strategies, and it seemed he was a major part of this evolution in the past decade. You only hoped you had picked up half his strategies by now. Though honestly, it is debateable whether it would be good for you to win. There are, you believe, two ways to be liked for sports such as this; either achieve a modest victory that allows others to feel challenged but not hopeless, or to be endearingly, amusingly bad without simply playing badly. You will try for the former, but wouldn’t be surprised at this point if it ends up the latter. “It’s your throw, Songbearer,” one of the priests in the balcony says to you. You nod and get up, placing your drink on the table, and look out at the field, judging your opponents’ strategies against your own. Your strategy currently remains intact, though only barely, and it feels as though you and Coinspender will be clashing quite soon. Perhaps it would be best to change track before that happened. You select a red ball from the rack, and step up to the balcony again. Judging your aim, and thinking over your new strategy once more, you throw the ball across the field. It lands about halfway, and your priest at the side runs over with a measure, notepad and pen, and starts checking. He then jots it down and heads over to the balcony, giving the number to the announcer, who then announces, “Two hundred and fifty six!” “You could have done better,” Coinspender says lightly, “if you’d gone for the blue and thrown a bit further.” You look over to him. You’re not quite sure about him. Perhaps he realises there’s no point complaining about the one you did vote for, as he lost that vote quite badly. Particularly as Brightweave is one of your other guests today. “Perhaps this turn,” you agree, “But what about next? If I have judged your strategy right, we’ll both want a green next turn, and as I am going after you, that seems like a losing strategy.” He chuckles and raises his glass of wine in a lazily salute. “Quite right. Cut your losses while you can. No point throwing good money after bad.” You’re not sure if you like his praise, but for now you ignore it and sit down again, picking up your own glass. You take a sip of the cool liquid, and consider your next few moves. It’s a bit of a reactionary strategy, but you have little choice in the matter. Fatespinner, of course, seems to have leapt at the chance to play a game with the new god, but despite her immediate reply to the game, she’s far less impulsive during the actual play. She stands now, smoothing her dress down as she approaches the balcony. You’re unsure whether the slow movement is because she’s thinking about the game so carefully, or to draw attention. “I must admit, I was disappointed by your abstaining on a few of those votes,” Coinspender says lightly. “Though I suppose I can understand it. A new god, you don’t want to upset anyone, so it seems like a safe thing to do. You can’t abstain forever, though. Eventually, you have to take a side.” “I probably would have voted against yours, and for Firesoul’s, in that case,” you say fairly bluntly. “You may not wish for me to take a side.” “Bah,” Coinspender says. “I am a pragmatist, and you seem like a logical god. I can convince you of the worth of my proposals, I am sure of it. The others… Firesoul’s heart is in the right place, but she’s always been too kind for these decisions. She doesn’t realise that the dockworkers can’t be protected if there’s no dock for them to work at because she’s driven all the merchants out of the city by cutting their margins so thin.” “I don’t see anything wrong with wanting people to be hurt less,” you say. “And I understand that,” Coinspender says, “but, like most things, emotional desires such as that must be tempered with pragmatism. We are gods, we’re used to getting our own way, but that doesn’t work in the real world, outside the Court. We need to think of things from the perspective of the people, not us. If we take extreme positions all the time because we want it, and because we see an ‘obvious’ conclusion to take them to, we will see the people become disgruntled.” “So you’re taking a longer view on the matter?” you ask. “That doesn’t help the people hurt now. It seems as though you only care about the profits they make.” “Profit leads to higher standards of living,” Coinspender replies easily. “It’s the only way to grow this city in size and the comfort its people can afford. You seem to think I’m a selfish person, Songbearer,” he frowns. “I assure you, I am not. I just have a different perspective than most. I’d like to believe you’ll give me a chance to prove that, instead of just assuming me to be ‘bad’ because you’ve been told I am. Like your recent proposal – Convince me that it’s good for the city long-term, even after Firesoul’s one passed, and that it will help the city grow. Then I might vote for it. Treat this with the dignity and scrutiny it deserves, instead of just hoping for bleeding hearts agreeing with you.” “I’m still fully developing the specifics,” you say, lightly. “But I’m sure I will be able to talk you round when it gets to the Council, if not before.” Fatespinner finally takes a ball from the rack, and you grimace. There goes your second strategy. She notices this, and smiles brightly at you as she hefts the ball in her arms. “You aren’t very subtle, Songbearer,” she says in a teasing manner, before throwing it. It’s a different throw than you were going to go for, but that’s just the difference in your strategies showing. The announcer gives her score, another consistently high result, and she sits down. “I don’t know that any of us are especially subtle, even in this bright city,” Brightweave says, with a wry smile. Your third and final opponent today surprises you; you expected Kindsmile or Quickfell to agree, but they both declined, as did Lawmaker and Firesoul, and the ‘older’ Returned that reminds you of a grandfather accepted. He isn’t particularly good at the game, but he doesn’t seem to mind too much. “That’s the point of being a god, no?” He gets up and selects a ball. Despite his apparent lack of long-term strategy, he carefully selects a ball from the rack and steps up. He throws it, and it comes to ground beside another of his from earlier. “Three hundred and twenty-six!” the announcer declares. A good scoring single-shot from Brightweave, but against a longer strategy it was not going to win him the game. At least it was better than some of his other throws. “Well, I suppose it’s right, that we aren’t subtle,” Coinspender allows, returning to the conversation again as he drags himself up from the recliner he was using with a sigh. “We are Returned; we are meant to be visible. To be leaders, even. Though there’s often cause for subtlety, I feel, and we shouldn’t simply discount that.” He finishes his glass and hands it to a servant, who immediately goes to refill it with more of the sweet-smelling alcohol. He does indeed select the last green ball from the rack, and steps back. You can see his strategy now, and you know he needs distance on this one. The further he throws it, the more points he gets, enhanced by his previous throws. He hurls it forward, and then swears. “Out-of-bounds!” the announcer declares, as it comes to a rest. Coinspender huffs and sits down, almost petulantly. He picks up his glass and drains it, glaring a little at Fatespinner. She shrugs, as if uncaring, but can’t keep the smile off her face. “I may be the Goddess of Fortune,” she says, “but I’d hardly cheat, would I? Hmm, though you wouldn’t believe me on that, I suppose, when you would if you could…” You step up and select another red, this time placing your last ball of the game in the section ahead of the previous red one. “Perfectly placed,” Fatespinner comments, as you sit down. “And impressive that you changed your strategy so quickly, considering your first two didn’t work out.” You smile at the compliments. “Thank you,” you say. “I spent a while thinking about this earlier.” “Oh, not another one who researches this bloody game…” Coinspender grumbles. “At least Brightweave’s bad at it.” Brightweave had admitted to doing the same thing earlier today when invited. “I have to agree,” Fatespinner says, as she stands up. “A strategy should be developed by the player, not by other players you’ve read about. All that leads to is paralysis when it doesn’t work perfectly, I’ve seen it in so many players. They think they’re an expert because they know what good players do, without realising that a good player is a good player because they develop their own strategies during the game, rather than treating them as static.” She shakes her head and selects a ball. “I suppose at least you’re better than people just repeating strategies without understanding them.” “Thank you, I think,” you reply dryly. Fatespinner throws, and the ball collides with one of Brightweave’s at an angle, coming to a stop just outside of the section she was aiming at. She looks at him oddly as she sits down. “It’s been there all game,” Brightweave points out, “it was hardly a surprise it was there.” “I suppose so…” she says, hesitantly, frowning. “Well, this is the problem with games where physical skill matters as well as mental alacrity. Things don’t always go well.” Brightweave stands and selects the final ball from the rack, an orange one. He takes aim, and throws. “S-six hundred and three!” the announcer says, before rattling off the final scores. Brightweave first, yourself second, Fatespinner third thanks to that poor final throw, and finally Coinspender last. Brightweave sits down again, and spreads his hands and smiles as he sees the others stare at him. “Perhaps there is at least one Returned who is more subtle,” he says. “How?” Coinspender demands, as he finishes processing the final scores. Fatespinner sighs. “I feel hustled,” she says, as she lies back on the chair. “Your ‘bad’ throws set the final one up, and you made up the rest with relatively high-scoring individual throws which also helped to cover up the others. Well played.” “That won’t work again,” Coinspender says, clearly quite frustrated. He probably thought he was at least salvaging some of his dignity by not coming last. “No, it won’t,” you agree. “It only worked because none of us expected it from you.” “That’s a rather cruel thing to say,” Brightweave replies, and you wince. Perhaps it was unfair to take the amiable, grandfatherly figure and assume he wasn’t particularly cunning. “But I suppose it’s true. I made use of that lack of expectation. I haven’t been invited to a game before, so I play with my priests instead, throwing for them but letting them devise their own strategies against me. So despite my lack of experience against other gods, I’ve played quite a bit.” “Fine. We’ll play again another day,” Coinspender says, gritting his teeth. “And this time, we’ll be ready.” He storms out. Fatespinner smirks as she follows his departure. “He really feels played for a fool, doesn’t he? Well, so do I, but at least I bear it with grace,” she says, standing up. “I bid you both good day, and unless I see you before then, I shall see you at the Council. I’ve heard there are some quite interesting proposals, in light of last week.” She smiles, and gives a slight bow, and then she leaves. “I shall be returning to my home too,” Brightweave says. “Thank you for the invite, though I will caution you choose your words with a little more tact.” “I apologise,” you say, looking down a bit in chastisement. “I’ve heard worse from the children I entertain,” he says lightly. “Though being compared with them is, perhaps, not where you want to be. You took a strong line against Coinspender as well, earlier. As you can see, as much as he claims to be pragmatic, he is a prideful god. If you hoped to win him over to your proposal, I’m afraid that was the wrong way to go about it. You need to… entertain his ideas, at least. Though, I suppose you don’t need him to pass it, if the others agree.” “It would be good to get him to agree with it,” you say. “If only because I feel he’ll be the main person disagreeing with it.” “Certainly, he would be a strong ally in the Council, though it may alienate others depending on how you get him on your side. In any case, Songbearer, I must be going now, as I have other engagements. Thank you for the invite.” He shakes your hand, and heads off. You are left alone on the balcony, watching the servants return your courtyard to its previous, unblemished state. Free Time What will you do tomorrow? Select two. [X] Visit Quickfell the Digilent [Charm] [X] Visit Fatespinner the Fortunate [Charm] [X] Visit Brightweave the Creative [Charm] [X] Visit Firesoul the Merciful [Charm] [X] Visit Coinspender the Generous [Charm] [X] Visit Kindsmile the Cordial [Charm] [X] Visit Lawmaker the Honest [Charm] [X] Ride through the city [X] You may suggest others not on this list I suggested the title as a joke to Kas, and then was talked into it, so you know who is really to blame here for it >>. Results

As Kas will know well by now, but people who haven't played my games before might not be so aware of, I generally try not to say 'no' to anything a player wants to do, unless of course it directly contradicts game rules. I prefer to ask 'how?', as in, 'how are you going to try to do this?'. Though that's useful in general, as more detail in how you want Songbearer to act or carry out his actions is always useful, in this case it's more a question of your long-term strategy. This would be a big societal change, and as has been noted, Songbearer is a new god, and not too influential yet. At this point, big changes should be done more gradually, and politicking will be important in convincing other people to let you make use of their power and influence to make up for your own new-ness to the world. Something big like this wouldn't be impossible at all, but would be hard, and need to be navigated rather than just trying to ramp up to maximum change immediately. I should warn you though that the wider plot might interfere at some point with your goals (not intentionally on my part - I don't want to deliberately frustrate you guys or put barriers in your path for the sake of it), but I always encourage players in this kind of game to pursue what they want. It's a goal to aim for, right? And to answer Kas' direct question, you feel the Priests are cautiously optimistic about you. Your time spent with Hera has won her over a bit, so the priests that follow her are also endeared to you more than they were at first. They aren't exactly for you, as they haven't known you long at all, but they're definitely not against you in your day-to-day life. You'd get the feeling though that it's too early to lean on them for favours beyond what they'd normally do for a Returned, though.

Interesting ideas, and it's a shame I wasn't able to reply earlier in the day. My thoughts on this were as Kas has posted for age, that it would most likely be as we saw in Mistborn, with rapid aging. We see in Stormlight Archive that limbs can be regrown, but I think there's an implication that it only works because Lopen never really 'believes' his lost arm isn't a part of him anymore. His image of himself that he holds in his mind is before that occurs. This is why Kaladin keeps the slave brand, even when the others have theirs healed - It's how he sees himself, and I expect that his personal apotheosis will be when it finally heals, and he forgives himself for his failure to protect his brother, and accepts that he is no longer a slave and no longer deserves his punishment. I think this matches with how Returned work, in that they shape themselves to their cognitive ideal of themselves. The fact that healing in general is cognitive is confirmed here: https://wob.coppermind.net/events/31/#e9623 Diseases and conditions, I think, depend on the nature of them. If someone lives with it for many years, does it become a part of themselves? Could a person blind from birth have their eyesight restored if they never knew anything different? It's a strange and unusual form of healing that the Cosmere has, to say the least. I expect you could definitely make use of Breaths for someone who is dying if the illness isn't killing them but the weakness that causes them to die. Something like a last-resort if someone is too weak to eat, a few days of perfect health could be a miraculous boon to someone who needs to shore their strength up, even if the illness returned after they gave the Breaths away. I do feel that there has to be some 'consumption' here though, for healing. Stormlight seems like a good comparison for Breath, and that gets used up by healing. Likewise, we see Breath be used up by Nightblood, and the Divine Breath loses its extra power when given away. Does the underlying Breath go away too? I don't know if we have a WoB on that, but it seems like it would be fully expended, as they're not quite the same thing. We also know that the Divine Breath is not the same as attaining the Fifth Heightening using many small Breaths. My - entirely unfounded - thought would be that there needs to be some 'loss' here to convert Investiture into an effect or physical matter, but that might just be that I'm a physicist :P. In general though, I think the reason this doesn't exist comes down to the fact that Breath is highly valuable capital in Hallendran. Fifth Heightening is approx. 2000 Breaths, so two thousand people need to sell or give them away. Most people who buy Breath stop at 50, which is enough to give an extra 10 years of life, so it seems that anything above this is very, very pricey. Not insurmountable, mind, but very valuable. The question also becomes 'what do you do if someone doesn't give them back?'. Fifth Heightening makes someone strong, and lets them Awaken things easily. I imagine it would be quite difficult to give that sudden power back, especially since it has to be voluntary; you can't steal them from someone (not without Hemalurgy, anyway, which has its own issues), and you can't hurt them too badly trying to stop them escaping, as killing them would lose you all those Breaths. So overall, it seems like a huge hassle to sort out in such a way that it won't be abused. Also, I have to say, I would expect that the Priesthood wouldn't be happy with it, as it would upset the Iridescent Tones quite a bit. People approach gods for their Breath, asking for a miracle, and if suddenly miracles were available easily, you don't need the gods anymore. It seems to me as though there's a political reason as much as there is a security one. But as I say, just my thoughts on the matter. Maybe if Brandon's doing a signing near someone soon, they can ask for a WoB on what would happen if such a thing was set up :P.

Oh, you certainly can. It would mean the end of the story, mind But I do need you to vote there. Even if it's for the unspoken fourth option

Week 2, Day 1: Breath of Life You awake restless, and alert. Distressed, even, would be an accurate descriptor of your waking state. Your mind whirls with thoughts and half-forgotten memories, your uncomfortable and disturbing dreams already hazy in the light of the new day. “Your Grace?” Hera asks, after a moment, as you stare at your hands. They shake a little, and you will them to stop. They do, but one almost instinctively curls itself, and for a brief moment you can imagine holding a sword. Blood streaked across the palm of your hand. It’s not yours. “Is something the matter?” “What?” You ask, roused from your stupor. “Oh. No, no… Just uncomfortable dreams.” It’s not entirely true; there are many things the matter. To begin with, your head hurts, either from the restless sleep, or from a general weakness. You feel lethargic and listless, even though you’ve just slept a long while in your comfortable bed. Perhaps it’s because you’re going to die again soon, your body knowing that it’s running out of Breath. “I see…” she nods. “It might be useful if we record these, so my priests can analyse them.” You think about it, but already the memory is slipping. Books in a library. You take a book from a shelf, and the pages crumble as you open the cover. You aren’t sure if you’d want to keep a grasp of it, even if you had the choice. “It’s gone,” you lie, though it’s not too far from the truth, the dream slipping more from your grasp every second. “I suppose I’d better get up.” “Indeed, Your Grace,” Hera nods, and she heads towards the door. “I will see you shortly, then.” You get up after she leaves, and begin your morning routine. A luxurious bath awaits you, followed by an equally decadent breakfast. Then you are dressed in your finest robes, though the competition there is fierce. You can’t help but think they’re laying it on thick. The appointed time arrives, and you take a deep breath. Time for the worst day of your new life. The room you are led to is a small room, more of a space than an actual room. There is little in the way of furniture on the room; two cushions, nothing more. The walls are decorated, but not with your colours; these are darker colours, of many varieties. This room isn’t yours, but belongs to the Iridescent Tones. They flare up as you approach, your Divine Breath twisting them to a more true version of themselves, simultaneously more vibrant, but just as dark, and even more foreboding. This is a room not of comfort, but of harsh realities, of sacrifice. Today is a day of sacrifice. A small girl sits on one of the cushions, an utter contrast to the finery around you in your day-to-day life. She looks uncomfortable, shaking slightly, looking down at the floor. The robes she has been given hang loose on her thin frame, and already seem to have been scuffed up. She makes no sound as you make your appearance, and doesn’t even look up to see who it is. A priest stands beside her, and it’s clear she has been prepared for this quite heavily. You kneel on the other cushion, crouching down a little so you are closer to her height, though that will never be entirely possible. You are a Returned, a giant amongst men, both figuratively and literally, and she is a small girl, not even a decade old. Does she truly understand what she’s doing? It can’t be her choice, only her parents’ trying to sell their child’s Breath. But even if it was her choice, how could she arrive at it herself, when fed a life of the devotion you see from your priests? But ultimately, you don’t want to die. She won’t die from this, just give up her Breath. She will be paid handsomely for this, or at least her parents will. Maybe it would be enough to get her out of poverty, to provide a life that she would never normally be able to have. Maybe she’d get a good enough education to earn enough money to buy a replacement Breath. You realise belatedly that it would be a Breath that someone else gave up, in a never-ending cycle. Or maybe she wouldn’t, and there’d always be something missing from her life, something she might not ever recognise. You feel hesitant and regretful over your decision, but it’s one you know you’ve already made. You still don’t want to die. You reach out, cradling her head in your hands. Your heart beats hard in your chest, and each pulse seems to resonate with the drapery. The girl stares at you, and while her eyes are somewhat sore, she seems determined. Afraid, you can tell, but certain. “M-my life to yours,” she recites, stumbling slightly as she starts, but gaining surety as she continues, “my Breath become yours.” Almost a vapour, but not one with any physical presence, puffs into the air from her mouth. Almost immediately, it starts creeping up your arm, travelling up, and you breath it in. At once, your headache clears, your fatigue vanishes. You feel entirely reinvigorated, as good as you did the first day of your revival. And yet, the opposite happens to the girl. She dulls, slightly, her eyes less bright, and her hair losing luster. You know that she might never realise what being a Drab means. She is young enough that she probably won’t remember how bright the world used to be to her. She won’t miss what she won’t remember. Indeed, it might not even be obvious to anyone without Aura Recognition that she ever gave away her Breath. The money she gets for this service, one she may even have believed was the right thing to do, will help her achieve a better life, you tell yourself. That’s a good trade, you say to yourself. But the girl isn’t the only one to whom the world becomes darker today. You task yourself to the petitions afterwards. It seems like the least you can do, and even if you don’t feel in the mood to hear any, the guilt gnaws away at you. Maybe someone needs your help badly enough that you will give them your Breath, and the pain will go away. Perhaps someone will inspire you, and you’ll both get what you want today. Would that be cowardly? It’s certainly contradictory; you want to help people, but you took that Breath because you didn’t want to die. If you balance the two out though, perhaps that is a reasoning you can follow. A Breath to prevent anyone’s death seems like a small price. But would you follow through, and give your own life to save someone else’s? It, too, would be a cheap price, if one considers the girl’s Breath in exchange, rather than your own life. But something tells you otherwise, that it doesn’t feel like a small price. Your Breath feels like it’s worth more, because it’s your life as well. Even though it wasn’t yours originally, it was someone else’s, and only by their grace are you alive. They made a sacrifice for you, so why was it so hard to decide that you would do the same for someone else? To pass it on to someone else, as though you were just a conduit? You’re a hypocrite, but this is your life on the line. Perhaps it doesn’t make it any better, but you feel it’s more understandable. You can hardly tell yourself anything else. Hera calls the first forward, though the queue isn’t particularly large. Maybe it’s because you’re a new God, and they don’t think you’ll kill yourself for them. “Your grace,” the man begins. He is dressed in fine clothes, and has something of a gut. He reminds you of an older Coinspender, in a way, he certainly has the same bearing, though he seems more deferential than the other god. “I will not waste your time, but will get to the point. There is a woman that I wish to marry, but she is gravely ill. Her family have said that I may have her hand if I can cure her disease.” He stretches his arms out in a helpless gesture. “I am no god, who can heal such a thing so easily. I have asked Firesoul for aid, but I fear she is disinclined to help, due to our status. So, I have come to ask you if you will save my wife-to-be.” You wait, aware of all eyes on you. “I… I cannot decide immediately,” you say, after a moment. The man’s face falls slightly. “I will hear everyone. Then I will decide.” The man grits his teeth, and bows. “As you desire, Your Grace,” he says, stepping aside. The others waiting seem more hopeful, now. It strikes you as rather morbid. More step forward after that, and you hear them all in turn, letting them plead their cases, and then an unexpected man steps forward. The elderly man wears robes of soft teal and royal blue, and you realise after a moment that this must be one of Kindsmile’s priests. He is accompanied by a woman of around his age, who helps him forward. He looks at you, but you realise quickly that his eyes are unfocused, and vacant. “Your Grace,” he says, kneeling to the floor in supplication. You feel guilty about such an old man feeling he should kneel, but it’s not necessary. As a priest, he would know this, and you feel you must respect his choice. “My name is Benan,” he says, “and until a month ago, I had the honour of being the High Priest of Kindsmile. My sight has been failing me for some time, but until that point, it was manageable. I have no great wealth that I can afford to buy Breath, and fix my eyesight in that way, for I gave all that I had away, following the generous example of my god.” He sighs. “I… admit that my faith has been shaken by this condition. I cannot see the beauty of the colours of the world, not can I carry out my duties as a High Priest since my eyesight rapidly deteriorated. My priests are lost without me, I understand, and I have heard… rumours… of dissent within Kindsmile’s priesthood,” he says delicately. “I ask if You would honour me with your Breath, and allow me to return to my life in the priesthood.” He bows his head to the floor again, and then slowly stands. “Regardless of your decision, thank you, Your Grace.” More petitions, the requests almost blurring into one. You are thankful of Hera’s presence, recording the details that they give, though none stand out to you again until your final petition. The woman settles down before you. “Your Grace,” she says, “My husband is a prideful man, and would not come to You even if he was able. In truth, he wouldn't want me to be here, but I can no longer sit idly while he suffers. He has been struck down by a wasting disease, and even movement is painful for him. He worked hard in the docks, which was all that kept us eating, as I cannot support our family myself. Certainly I cannot nurse him to health without the food his money would bring, and even if he overcomes this disease anyway, he will not be able to return to work for many weeks without his strength. I ask if you will help him, and our family, by restoring him to health.” Perhaps this one, at least, does not necessarily require your Breath, just a better system in place to support workers. It would be a shame if, long-term, the docks lost an apparently hard worker due to an uncaring attitude towards the workers. Wheels turn in your head as you think of a potential motion you could raise in the Council this week. But to argue your point, you’d need to be there, wouldn’t you? Though perhaps Firesoul would argue your case. “I will consider it,” you promise, though you know it might be a different idea you’re considering. Hera takes you aside to another room, while the petitioners await with baited breath to see who you’ll die for. “Have you made your decision, Your Grace?” she asks. Who will you give your Breath to? [X] No-one [X] The merchant’s wife-to-be [X] Benan, Kindsmile’s ex-High Priest [X] The Dockworker Free Time Assuming you're not dead, how do you wish to spend the following day? Choose two. [X] Visit Quickfell the Digilent [Charm] [X] Visit Fatespinner the Fortunate [Charm] [X] Visit Brightweave the Creative [Charm] [X] Visit Firesoul the Merciful [Charm] [X] Visit Coinspender the Generous [Charm] [X] Visit Kindsmile the Cordial [Charm] [X] Visit Lawmaker the Honest [Charm] [X] Ride through the city [X] You may suggest others not on this list Week two begins! I'm glad that people are enjoying this, it's really pleasing to see. For those that are thinking that nothing much is happening yet, don't worry. I have a solid plan in mind, and many seeds of the wider plot have already been sown. Motions for the Next Council Meeting The meeting will take place on Week 2, Day 7. You will not vote on these until that day, but you can talk to other Returned about them. Install an ‘insurance’ system to take care of dock workers while they are unable to work - Songbearer Lower taxation on Breath sales – Kindsmile Forbid carriages in the centre of the city on one day a week, to allow a grander market - Quickfell Previous Motions

I will be posting the next Day tomorrow - Don't worry if your arguments above aren't fully formed, you'll have time to decide what to go for still :P.

Yup. Though to be fair, NI (National Insurance, not Northern Ireland ) doesn't work quite like that. It's a tax on income (around 9%, I believe?), which was originally ring-fenced for generally taking care of people when they fell out of work (it's an insurance against being unemployed, basically), but now it's been expanded quite dramatically, including welfare and some NHS stuff, so part of the health insurance stuff Sorana mentioned above is covered by it or just generally by other taxation that funds the NHS. So it's not actually what you guys are considering here, I suppose, which is more just sick pay in some form or other. For comparison's sake to Sorana's post again, we get it for 28 weeks paid by the employer, though it's a relatively tiny amount compared to current living costs. It's £94.25, a flat amount not related to your pay at work. You'd be hard-pressed to survive on it while unwell, that's for sure, especially if you didn't have another earner in the household, or had kids. But we're not here to discuss politics outside the game, but inside it . I think suffice to say that I'm not looking to implement this in any mechanical way, but your arguments (and any visiting you do) may help to push people in one direction or the other. I'm not going to be trying to figure out if the country can afford it long-term, particularly as this story probably won't go on for years in-game . Not only do you have nothing to apologise for, it's great to see! If this has captured your imagination and thoughts enough for this, that's a fantastic thing, and I hope to see more of it. Remember, it's not just me telling this story, it's you guys too. I might decide most of the details within the writeups, but you guys set a direction and a method of approaching everything, and ultimately Songbearer is your character as much as, if not more than, mine, and your discussions will shape his thoughts on things.

Guys, are you seriously going to make me look up how Britain's National Insurance actually works? But hey, why not? Just need to be convincing

Week 1, Day 7: Gods at Council Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise you that you can simply request musicians whenever the fancy takes you. Everything else is provided at your request, so why wouldn’t that be as well? Though in this case, it doesn’t seem as though they have been dragged up from the town, at least; you recognise some of them as being your Priests, and all are dressed in the same robes. “Was my staff chosen based on my name?” you ask Hera, while they assemble. “Partially, Your Grace,” Hera replies with a small nod. “When Your priesthood was first created, a number of positions were left open, to be filled at my discretion according to your needs. There aren’t too many musicians among them, but I ensured that the more common instruments and vocalisations have been covered.” "That makes sense," you agree, and return to tapping the sheet in front of you with your pen. It seems familiar to you, the patterns, but also not too familiar at the same time. You know how to write on it, at least. Perhaps you were more of an improviser, or had a less formal education in these matters. “Are you musically inclined?” you ask Hera, casually, as you wait for inspiration to strike. “Not especially,” Hera admits. “I have an education in these matters, and enough Breath for Perfect Pitch, but I am out of practice, and have never written my own compositions. Though, I have been re-educating myself on this since You chose Your name.” “Huh…” you reply, thoughtfully. That makes a little sense. Her poise and speech does suggest the kind of education that only the more wealthy families could purchase, especially with the number of Breaths she seems to have. “Well, I suppose I’d better start composing, then…” The question was, would it be wrong to start simple, or should you go with a grand ideal? The flash of inspiration hits you. Why not both? There is no simpler idea than to be kind to others. To follow what you believe. To enjoy life, for not all will be lucky enough to have a second. And yet, these things are difficult. They are grand ideas to aspire to. Before you realise it, you hand a sheet to Hera, ink carefully placed on the lines. Even as you look at it, you can hear the music in your head, each note chiming like crystal. Hera simply stares at you, as if unable to process your sudden fugue. Eventually, she takes the paper, with rather more reverence than you’ve seen before. It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve actually acted the part of a god. It feels… good. Exhausting, but productive. She takes the sheet music to the assembled priesthood band, and they start to play. You’re surprised at how well they play and sing, and from their aura, you have to assume that they too have Perfect Pitch, though their souls don’t flare as bright as Hera’s. You’re also quite taken aback at how well you’ve written the music. Considering this is your first time doing so, it’s good. Though it most likely isn’t actually your first time, you realise. It’s also a bit embarrassing, now you’ve heard it. The words are indeed simple, and the song doesn’t contain any great purpose or concept. But it doesn’t feel like a song to teach children, more just to teach anyone who hasn’t yet understood the concept of 'kindness' yet. There’s quite a few adults who could stand to be reminded about them, after all. You clap at the end, as it only seems polite to praise them for their work. Then you turn to Hera again. “It’s not… childish, is it? As a first tenet for my religion, is simply saying ‘be kind’ enough? It doesn’t exactly add to the cloth…” Hera considers the question, and then shakes her head. “I think that if more Returned began their religion with that concept, the world would be a better place.” You can’t help but smile at this, and take another sheet of parchment. Taking up the pen again, you once more dive into the act of creation. You are surprised when, a few attempts at composing later, you are not the only one who claps along with you. Standing by the door, leaning against the wall is a familiar, stick-thin man, smiling broadly. “Kindsmile?” Hera mutters, looking at your priest beside him, who looks worried, and sheepish. It’s clear that she would have liked a little more warning of any Returned paying you a visit. “Oh, don’t worry,” Kindsmile says, and Hera flushes as she realises that he heard it. He holds is hands out in a calming gesture. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony, we’ll have enough of that later. I simply wanted to meet the newest god in a less formal manner before the Council.” “Of course,” Hera says, forcing a smile and vacating her seat. She indicates it to him. “Please, take a seat, Your Grace. I will send for some refreshments.” “That won’t be necessary,” Kindsmile says, “I don’t intend to stay too long. Some privacy, however, and music, would be appreciated.” Hera gestures to the musicians, and they start playing. She’s less willing to leave your side, but eventually does so, standing some distance away, where you doubt she’d be able to overhear. “So, Songbearer…” Kindsmile begins, with a small grin. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve heard you’re something of a recluse.” “I’ve been… finding my feet,” you say, defensively. “I need to know what position I’m in before I meet other people, who understand everything far better than I do.” “Perhaps,” Kindsmile allows. “I prefer to dive in, as it were. No better way to understand your position than to meet people who can tell you what it is.” “I’ve got my priests for that,” you point out, and he frowns. “I wouldn’t consider your priests your friends,” he says, carefully. “What do you mean?” you ask, and now it’s your turn to frown as he doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks back to the band, pensively. He listens to their song, and just before you prompt him for an answer again, he replies. His timing throws you a little off-balance, but not as much as how disconnected his comment is. “You’re a good songwriter,” he says. “Sorry?” You ask, blinking. “You can’t change the conversation after saying something like that.” Kindsmile gives you another grin, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve had no training in these matters since you’ve become a god, have you? No, of course not, why would you learn something you already know so well? Your skills, and your name… They come from your previous life. Were you told what it was?” “No,” you say, wondering why he’s asking. Surely it was the same for him? “They said they couldn’t tell me.” “Ah, but ‘couldn’t’, or ‘wouldn’t’?” he asks, sitting back in Hera’s chair. “There’s the problem, isn’t it? A good friend wouldn’t hide such things from you as your past. They discourage us from looking, from being complete. It’s the one thing that any priest will deny us, their gods. It makes you wonder why, doesn’t it?” “I’ve been told because it doesn’t matter,” you say, slowly. “That it has no effect on who we are now. And so we don’t abuse our position, to use our new status to unfairly help people in our old lives.” “Oh, don’t be so naive,” Kindsmile sighs. “Everything I’ve heard says that you’re quite intelligent, so it would be a shame if you blindly accepted their reasoning without a second thought.” You try not to show your irritation, but consider the question. “They don’t want us to know,” you say, puzzling it out as you speak, “because they don’t want us to have a connection to our old life. It’s partially about not abusing our godhood, I’ve seen how Coinspender’s less savoury actions have been thought of…” it clicks into place. “Oh. It’s our Divine Breath. They want us to be more willing to sacrifice our Breath for them, and not having any attachments make it easier for us to do so..” “Quite,” Kindsmile smiles. “They pamper us, give us everything we want, partially because we’re gods, and partially so we don’t have to do anything. We don’t earn anything, we don’t own anything. Our only contact is with other Returned, who are going to sacrifice themselves eventually, and our Priests, who keep us at arm's length. We are disconnected from the life other people live, even if they dress it up as simply honouring their ‘gods’. But in the end, they want us to die.” “So… what, then?” you ask. “What’s your point about all of this?” “No point, I suppose,” Kindsmile shrugs. “More questions, than answers.” He looks back to the band as they start another composition, this time one of your own from earlier in the session. “Your songs have a theme of following your conscience, hm?” He taps the chair’s arm, and stands up. “I think we should follow our sub-conscious, if anything.” “What do you mean?” you ask, looking up at him. “If you want to know who you are, rather than being told who you are, Songbearer,” Kindsmile says, quietly, “follow your dreams. It will terrify your priests, and that will tell you everything you need to know about them.” “I’ll bear it in mind,” you say, with an unsure nod. Kindsmile’s face quickly turns into another smile, as Hera approaches to provide an escort to see him out. “It was nice meeting you, Songbearer. I look forward to our next conversation. My door is always open to you.” You make your way to the Council chambers with Hera after midday. Kindsmile’s comments still weigh on your mind, and you distract yourself by looking out the window, at the new sights. It’s the first time you’ve been out from the Court of Gods, and it’s almost jarring how different the city you travel through is compared to the majesty of the Court. It’s not an ugly sight, but you’re quite aware that this is simply because you’re not travelling through the less affluent areas of the city. You’ve thought about it before, but it takes that thought to really consider strange it is that you’ve been given such wonderful accommodations and waited on hand-and-foot for simply being lucky enough to Return. The Council room isn’t what you expected, though. You expected a small but affluently-decorated chamber, closed off from the world for the affairs of government, but it is the opposite in almost every way. In fact, it’s more of a closed-air amphitheatre, a large and open space, with a circular table and large, colourful, comfortable chairs in the centre, with some smaller ones beside them, and raised seating tiers set back all around it, giving a good view from any position. Already there are a good number of people sitting in them, and you feel self-conscious as you walk in. When you approach the centre, you see that it’s obvious where you are intended to sit; a large chair has been draped with your colours. In fact, the smaller chair beside it has been too, and its purpose quickly becomes apparent as Hera takes that seat as you sit in yours and removes a notebook and pen. All the chairs are marked with a Returned’s colours, except one: The largest chair around the table has no smaller chair beside it, and is marble rather than the fine wood of the others. Only one other Returned is present when you arrive, a woman you quickly recognise as Lawmaker. When you approach, she’s in discussion with an elderly woman wearing the same purple and grey robes. Like Hera, Lawmaker’s High Priest has a book out in front of her, and is ready to take notes. Lawmaker smiles a little at you, and pauses her conversation to nod in your direction. “Songbearer,” she says. “It’s good to finally meet you.” “And you,” you reply. You aren’t sure what to say, but thankfully you don’t need to say anything, as Lawmaker returned to her conversation. You aren’t sure what they’re talking about, but after a little while, you realise it’s simply going through all the boring minutae of the meeting ahead. The other Returned filter in less punctually, though none are actually late, even if Coinspender cuts it close. The portrait in the book you read was perhaps a bit flattering, though he isn’t greatly overweight. You greet them all shortly as they arrive, and are greeted somewhat formally in turn. Perhaps it’s the setting that makes even Quickfell seem stiff compared to normal. Coinspender’s appearance and sitting down marks the beginning of the meeting; the marble chair remains empty. Lawmaker quickly gets things underway, her voice practised and clear, carrying throughout the room. It’s perhaps as you could have expected; a formal welcome to you, followed by a quick summary of events that have happened of note. None of it means much to you, the context missing from their previous decisions. But then, finally, it’s time to discuss the new laws up for voting this week. Coinspender seems quite happy to begin, drawing himself up as best he can on his chair, and taking an imperious tone. “My fellow Returned,” he begins, “I understand that most of you will be against my motion before we even begin. My reputation is not the best, but I have only the best of interests at heart here!” There’s a scoff from Firesoul at this, and he offers her a smile before continuing on. “Simply put, we Returned are our colours. We wear our colours, sit on chairs made up in our colours, and our priests are in our colours.” He gestures here to the man sitting beside him, who looks more like an accountant than a priest, even if he wears gold and silver robes like Coinspender himself. “To allow others to wear our colours is to allow them to implicitly call on our authority for their actions.” “So you’d rather tax them, of course,” Fatespinner says, leaning forward. The movement draws a few eyes. “Well, I can’t say it’s a bad idea. I could always do with a bit of spare change.” Coinspender smiles an easy smile at her, and you’re somewhat surprised to see that his eyes don’t wander, as some others have. Perhaps you’ve underestimated him. “Well… I feel this would be a more palatable solution than simply banning colours without our authority. This is a disincentive, not forbidding them.” “There are a few things that would need clearing up,” Kindsmile says, leaning back in his chair. The motion calls to attention just how thin he is, practically disappearing behind the wooden frame from your angle. “There are questions about shades, and our own priests. In reverse order, would the tax affect our priests? That would seem like a good way to skim money off the top…” Coinspender shakes his head. “Not at all. While I would call this a tithe for those devoted enough to wear our colours, there’s simply no point in charging our own priests for their work. As for shades, well…” he picks at his robe. “This is a specific shade, is it not? As I said, this isn’t meant to be a tax, just a disincentive.” Overall, you’re somewhat surprised by his reasoning. Certainly there are arguments against it, but it seems as though he’s given it some thought. Perhaps he isn’t as bad as Hera implied. But a thought rises in your mind, and you have to ask. “I’m not sure how useful a law like this will be,” you say, looking at Coinspender as you raise your point. “The wealthy are the only ones who will be able to discern the specific shades, and they can pay this tax. Other people either can’t tell they’re breaking the law, or can’t pay any fine. Also, people will just wear slightly different shades to avoid the fine anyway. Most people who see them won’t be able to tell.” “Perhaps,” Coinspender shrugs. “But a different shade is enough to be able to point out that we don’t actually support these people. And trust me, even if you are wealthy, the thought of paying anything extra to other people will still irk them, even if it’s easily affordable,” he says with a wry smile. The debate draws to a close, as Lawmaker looks around to check no-one else has any points to raise. Only then does she speak. “For the benefit of Songbearer, and others who are watching the Council for the first time,” Lawmaker says, “I will ask you all to vote on these slips of paper,” she says, handing them to her High Priest, who gets up and passes them around. For an older woman, she seems quite spry, and to your eyes, the reason is obvious. While almost drowned out by the brightness of the souls of the other gods around you, the woman herself is a small light, similar to your own High Priest’s. “You will them pass them to me. I will not confirm the results until the end, to ensure that further votes are not compromised.” You write your vote down on the paper and pass it back. Firesoul takes a more upright position, ready to begin her own proposal. “The docks are dangerous,” she says bluntly. “I’m tired of having to put yet another dockworker’s broken arm in a splint. We need a proper set of processes in place to prevent people hurting themselves. Rules and regulations that must be followed to ensure that work can be carried out in a safe manner. If the merchants aren’t in such a rush, aren’t so callous in their disregard for lives in pursuit of profit, then we can save lives without needing to treat anyone. Prevention, rather than cure.” “Dockworkers are paid quite handsomely for their work,” Coinspender says. “They knew the risks when they signed up.” Firesoul sighs, and it’s a weary sigh. “We both know that often a person has no choice when offered work of any kind. Besides which, it’s hard for someone to judge risk when applied to themselves. They simply don’t consider that they could be hurt.” “I disagree,” Quickfell says, his booming voice cutting across the room. “You aren’t the only one who talks to the manual labourers. I see many asking for my Breath to cure their injury, to return back to work. I’ve spoken to them, and they know the risks. Most know someone who has had a close call, or an accident of some kind. It’s something that they all know.” “Know, yes,” Firesoul replies, “understand, no. Statistically, there is a clear lack of care being taken by the workers, and a culture of efficiency over safety imposed by the employers. A conscious effort has been made to sacrifice peoples’ well-being for the sake of profit. That should end.” “What’s life without a little risk?” Fatespinner smiles. “It seems as though everyone in the arrangement is happy enough with it, or it would collapse. Or are you simply saying you know better than them?” “We’re gods, are we not?” Firesoul asks. “Yes, I do.” Her priest, in red and white, hands out sheets of paper. “These are the records I have made over the past month. They show clearly the level of danger workers in this sector are under, compared to others.” Everyone takes a look at the notes. They paint a fairly grim picture. “I’m convinced,” Quickfell says simply, letting the sheet drop back to the table. “Well, I’m not,” Coinspender says. “The businesses there that unload the ships have low margins. You take away their profit and they’ll fire people until they’re profitable, if they ever will be. People will lose their livelihoods, and that could lead to all manner of things. You might starve as many as you save.” “So your opinion is that it’s better to maim people for the sake of financial gain?” Firesoul replies, harshly. “I shouldn’t be surprised.” “Firesoul, please,” Lawmaker interjects. “This is an emotive topic, I understand, but such a strong reaction helps no-one.” Firesoul grimaces, but sits back, hands uncurling from the fists they had found themselves forming. Coinspender, for his part, looks chagrined. “I think they will adapt,” Brightweave says, his voice calm in the council room, but no less clear and reaching as the others. “Things have always changed, and we will always adapt and overcome them. Short-term, perhaps, there will be some difficulty, but it will be better in time. And what are we here for, if not to steer this country towards long-term success?” “Perhaps we should vote?” Kindsmile suggests. “I think everyone has said what they wanted to say.” Paper is passed around again, and you mark your vote on it. Then, finally, Brightweave speaks up. “I see a lot of children at my puppet shows,” he says, sadly, “and I know that many of them will never escape the poverty that has trapped them, and their parents, and their parents’ parents, and so on. They are punished through no fault of their own, or anyone’s, just trapped.” “Dockwork used to be a way out,” Coinspender says, his tone measured. “Who knows if it still will be, hm?” “Education is the way out,” Brightweave replies. “A library would help them to have a better life through improving their knowledge and their skills, even if it will be hard work. It’s more of a chance than they have at the moment.” “Agreed,” Firesoul says. “It is a long-term strategy, but that is what we are here for, as you yourself said. And it doesn’t need to only be children that benefit from this. Medical textbooks could save lives by educating people on first-aid and disease prevention.” “That’s assuming they’re ever used,” Kindsmile says. “You’re talking about a cultural shift, more than anything. The slums are rife with crime, it could just end up being ransacked. Though I think it’s worth a try, in any case. I know some people that could help make sure it’s not troubled.” “It’s a risk worth taking,” Fatespinner simply comments. Then she shrugs. “But it does feel odd to vote on something that won’t have any noticeable effect until long after we’ve given up our Breath.” “Then I suppose it’s down to me to be the bad guy, yet again,” Coinspender huffs. “May I remind you that a war was narrowly averted recently? And that this was done by sending Kalad’s Phantoms themselves to hunt down our own, subverted, Lifeless? We have no army! We can’t be frivolously spending on vanity projects until that, at least, is rectified. And a standing army, or mercenaries, don’t come cheap.” “We have Kalad’s Phantoms themselves,” you point out. “They are still present, and useful, and everything that I’ve read about them suggests that they are quite a powerful force. Stone warriors that feel neither pain nor exhaustion are strong alone, but they can also be repaired and rebuilt in new statues. Why would we need to use people in war?” “Because the God-King is just one man,” Coinspender says. “You are new, so you may not know about recent events, but recently he was kidnapped by his own staff, and apparently couldn’t stop them without the sacrifice of two of us. What happens if he is kidnapped again, and cannot break free? Or an assassin kills him? Like us, he might be hard to injure, and immune to poisons, but all God-Kings have died before him. He will not be any different.” “The God-King was captured because he had no ability to Awaken,” Firesoul says. “Lightsong the Bold gave away his Breath to repair his tongue, so he cannot be captured as he was before. Murder is another matter, but we are hard to kill in the first place, and he is protected by guards who also have Perfect Life Sense, like us. The God-King’s in particular is very strong, as he has Tenth Heightening. There is no concern that he will be assassinated, I feel.” There is a pause, and Lawmaker speaks up again. “If there are no other points to raise, then we shall vote,” she says, and paper is handed out. For a third time, you place your vote. Then, as they are returned to Lawmaker, she starts to tally the votes for each motion. The results provoke stronger reactions in some, more measured ones in others, but Lawmaker’s stern gaze cuts them off. “This meeting is adjourned,” she says. “Please have any motions that you wish to raise sent to me by tomorrow evening at the latest.” You leave the room with the others, and climb into your carriage with Hera. “So… do I have any plans for tomorrow?” you ask her. She nods. “Yes. Your day will mostly be taken up by Petitioners, so I’m afraid anything you wish to do will have to wait until the next day. ...If they are still possible,” she adds, after a moment. “Ah.” Kindsmile’s words return to you. They want us to die. “I can’t wait.” Council Vote ‘For’, ‘Abstain’ or ‘Against’ for each of the following motions: Tax on clothes dyed a Returned’s colours - Coinspender [X] For [X] Abstain [X] Against Impose new safety regulations on dockworkers – Firesoul [X] For [X] Abstain [X] Against Build a new library near the slums – Brightweave [X] For [X] Abstain [X] Against You may also suggest one proposal to be put forward for the next Council meeting, though you don’t have to. Depending on the nature of your proposal, it will change how other Returned feel about you slightly. And there is the first council meeting. My thoughts are that it’s somewhat like a cabinet meeting in British politics now, except there’s no parliament, just the cabinet. And the monarch (Susebron, in this analogy) hardly ever shows up, rather than never shows up, but there's no Prime Minister… Actually, it’s quite different, now I think about it . But anyway, it’s more modern and personal than the previous government, though most of the simple proposals are still debated by the Priesthood rather than bothering the Returned about them. You have also obtained your first stat increase. Your Spirit was boosted, in this case, for performing your first three 'spiritual’ actions – Understanding Breath and Heightenings, learning more about the Iridescent Tones and Hera's interpretation of it, and developing your religion. As an aside, you guys have been very fortunate with your rolls >>. Results:

Just to confirm, this will still count as 'meeting' them and testing against your Charm, but it might be a better way of getting to know a few gods, as your Physique score might help you here in a physical game . Thanks for the kind words, Rushu. Just to point out, only one vote this Day, I'm afraid, so I'll be taking Develop Religion as it's first, unless you change it. I will post the next Day in two days time. At this point, basically just Sunday-Sunday for a Day, I guess :P.

Not as an Action, but you will. The hearings will take place every five days, beginning Day 6.

Thank, Drake, I hope it remains that way with some of the ideas I have And sorry Furret for any confusion, there's no need to vote on Council stuff now, though do feel free to talk about stuff, as that will influence how Songbearer interacts while on the Council. Originally I was going to have you vote now, but I've changed my mind on that until the other Returned have made their cases to you.

Week 1, Day 6: Thread and Weave If your meeting with Quickfell has taught you anything, it’s that you don’t really know what you’re doing. Whoever you were before clearly wasn’t a sociable person. It’s perhaps telling that your reaction is to delve back into research to solve this, but even that irony isn’t enough to stop you preferring it to actually trying to talk to another Returned before you know more about them. Unfortunately, the general priesthood aren’t forthcoming with information on them. Whether because they don’t want to offend you or talk about the other Returned, or even just that they don’t feel right talking to you, it’s like getting blood from a stone. Instead, you are directed to the drawing room, and a pile of books is brought to you. It’s a somewhat eclectic set of books, containing all manner of information about the Returned. ‘Comprehensive’, or ‘broad’ would be good descriptions of it, though perhaps ‘random’ and ‘daunting’ would fit just as well. Nevertheless, you sit down in your armchair, fire roaring beside you, and start reading. The book that most piques your interest is a slim volume containing information about all the Returned currently in the Court of Gods – Currently being a slight misnomer, as it doesn’t contain you. No doubt a new and updated version of the book is being written and sold to the masses even as you read this one. Regardless, it is quite informative despite its modest size. You read about Quickfell even though you have already met him, and honestly it doesn’t tell you much you don’t already know. He is a hard-working and honest man, not given much to the political games that the Returned sometimes play. He is thought of well by everyone, but not considered a particular ally by any. He would be termed a ‘wildcard’, except for the fact that he is consistent and forthright, and most will be able to predict where he falls on any given issue. Fatespinner is quite the opposite, a political and playful Returned. She is known for enjoying games of chance and skill, and her religion’s tenants encourage people to think of life in similar terms. The portrait accompanying the text is of her relaxing on a chaise longue, and it seems that her appearance is tailored to distract her opponents. She does not hear petitions, but holds tournaments each week, with the winner pitting all that they own against her Divine Breath in a final match. Needless to say, she hasn’t lost yet. You can’t help but smile at the image of Brightweave, as it reminds you of someone you can’t remember. A grandfather, perhaps, or an old teacher. His hair is white and wild, and his beard is bushy and speckled with salt-and-pepper colouring. His eyes are blue and mischievous. In his hands, he holds two wooden crosses, with many coloured threads hanging down to a marionette. He only hears petitions from children. Indeed, he also seems to regret needing their Breath to live, asking that any child that does so remain in his mansion for a week, with front-row seats to his puppet shows. Firesoul seems to be the epitome of a no-nonsense matron. Her portrait is set in her hospice, unlike the others, which are set in the Returned’s home. Hers is an active image, commanding the chaos around her in the otherwise sterile, white-inked room. Perhaps she didn’t have the time to sit for a proper portrait? Regardless, it’s certainly a striking image. She doesn’t hear petitions, but it is noted that no Returned for quite some time has done as much to save lives. Perhaps her time is her sacrifice. Coinspender is a disappointment, after the selfless portrait on the previous page. He reclines in a chair, entirely uncaring. The book takes great care not to call the gold and silver colouring of his robes ‘garish’, but instead ‘striking’ or ‘unique’. Surprisingly, he does hear petitions, but he doesn’t offer his Breath to those in need. He instead offers money to those who he feels have conveyed their case well, whether for medicine or for a new business. Regardless of the reason, he takes a cut of future earnings in return. The book notes that this has helped many people when they had nowhere else to turn, and has improved many lives, but you can’t help but keep Hera’s thoughts about him in mind, and wonder if anyone else sees this as shrewd and calculating rather than generous. Kindsmile’s portrait initially surprises you, and you wouldn’t think he would be known for his friendliness if it wasn’t for the broad smile on his face, though you aren't surprised to find that he has a dark sense of humour. Rakishly thin and pale, he looks more like a Lifeless than a Returned. He is known for hosting a banquet for people from the city once a month, and invites both the rich and the poor, though it has been noted that, regardless of wealth, these people are usually fairly influential in their spheres. Finally, there is Lawmaker. Her sketch is less serious than you were expecting, more understanding. She is apparently more personable when met socially than she comes across in the Council, which makes sense when you remember that hers is the unenviable job of herding the other Returned into making a decision. She requires her petitions to be examined by her priesthood first, and only hears those that meet her rigorous standards. You flip back through the book as you finish your initial skim-read, and a thought strikes you as you flick through the portraits. Quickfell is the very image of a hard-worker, both physically and in personality. Fatespinner is carefree and playful. Firesoul is stern. Most Returned seemed to be, to a greater or lesser extent, physically similar to their personality. Hera mentioned that a Returned’s body is a perfect physical specimen of some kind or another, but what if it wasn’t quite that? What if it was reflective of the personality, of how the Returned saw themselves? You pick up one of the other books that you skimmed before, the one about the God-King. Susebron has his own book almost entirely to himself, but that seems fair enough to you when he’s lived 50 years and is the ruler of this entire country. But ironically, it wasn’t for him that you were searching through his book for, but his wife. Ah, there it is. Her hair, the ‘Royal Locks’ as Idrians call them, changes colour. Supposedly, it is a legacy of one of their ancestors being a Returned. Did that mean that Returned could change their hair colour? Or perhaps more? Nothing you had read had explicitly stated this, but it seemed like a logical conclusion from all the information you had available to you. You itch to try it out, but perhaps there’s a reason it’s not been in any book you’ve read yet. Maybe it’s something that has been intentionally hidden, or maybe it’s just unknown and kept secret by Returned who discover it. You reach over and pull a rope, which rings a bell. Hera appears duly, giving a small bow. “Your Grace?” “I would like the servants to run a bath, please,” you instruct her. “And I wish to bathe alone, no servants with me.” That would give you the perfect excuse to have the privacy to test this without worrying about others finding out. “Very well, Your Grace,” she says, stepping outside of the room. You can just about hear her telling some servants to fetch hot water, warm towels, new clothes and scented soaps and all manner of things that she seems to think you’ll need for a bath. She returns shortly after. “It will be ready soon. Was there anything else, Your Grace?” You hesitate for a moment, wondering how best to ask this. “I asked some of the other priests for information about the other Returned, earlier,” you say, “and they seemed reluctant to say anything. Why was this?” “I suspect that they did to colour Your opinions about the other Returned,” Hera explains, “for good or ill.” “You were quite willing to talk about them to me, though,” you point out. “I live to serve You,” Hera replies. “I cannot do that if I am not honest.” “Hmm…” you nod. “That’s true. Though when you say you ‘live to serve’ me, I can’t believe that’s really true. You haven’t known me for even a week. And it’s not as though you would feel religiously obligated to serve me, my religion didn’t even exist before me either.” “Ah…” Hera says, thoughtfully. “I think I understand why You say that, but, and as long as I am being honest, I think You have misunderstood what your position is.” “It’s quite possible,” you freely admit. You indicate a chair opposite, and she sits in it after a moment’s hesitation. “Then please, clarify it for me.” “Perhaps it would help if I explain that you are not the first Returned I have been High Priest of,” Hera begins. “Indeed, I have been High Priest for one other, and served another one before that. This is not uncommon; some of the other priests here have served another Returned, though most are new to serving a specific Returned rather than being a member of the priesthood. Many priests will choose a new Returned to serve when their current one grants their Breath to someone, though most priests will retire, and return to working in the city.” “There must be something I’m missing, then,” you say, carefully wording your thoughts on this. “Why are you happy to follow the religions of multiple Returned? Isn’t each new one a betrayal of the previous one?” Hera shakes her head. “No, Your Grace. Your ‘religion’ is more of a… viewpoint. A way of looking at life. Each Returned has their own perspective, and each perspective is a part of the Tones. Just as a cloth is woven of many threads, the Tones are made up of the beliefs and philosophies each Returned creates. The Returned may give up their Breath and pass one, but their tenants and teachings remain. They build on each other, inexorably moving us towards a better life.” You nod a bit. Was it daunting that you were expected to leave such a lasting mark on this country, or diminishing that it would only be a small part of it? Perhaps that was another question of viewpoints. “So it’s not a betrayal, because they’re all the same religion?” you ask. “They’re all threads, but the weave is what you follow as a whole?” “Saying that they are the same religion is correct, but there's some more nuance to it in my opinion,” Hera replies. “I am not the same person I was ten years ago, or five years ago, or even five days ago. The Iridescent Tones are always changing, always evolving. But they are a part of me, as much as each Returned I have served has left a mark on the Tones, so they are both the same and not the same. More threads have been added, which changes the weave, but it’s still the same cloth regardless of which Returned add to it.” “I see…” you nod. “So, if most priests retire when their Returned dies, why have you stayed on to your third?” you ask. Hera thinks about it for a moment, hesitating, and then seems to come to a decision. “It’s nothing too special,” she says. “It’s simply that while many priests might believe in their Returned, I would say that I believe in the idea of Returned. Of what they mean, regardless of the specific Returned. And,” she smiles a little. “I’ve discovered that I quite like being the High Priest.” “Ah, I see,” you say, smiling. “You like giving people orders. That explains a lot.” “Your Grace!” Hera protests, “I merely like ensuring that things are proper and orderly.” She looks around and, seeing no-one else is around, she smirks. “Though, if I was pressed, yes, that is a part of it.” “I thought as much,” you say, sharing a conspiratorial grin. The moment passes though, and Hera returns to her more serious expression as she stands up. “Your bath will be prepared now, Your Grace. Please, follow me.” “Very well,” you say. “What’s happening tomorrow?” “The morning is Your own,” she says, as she leads you through the halls that are slowly becoming familiar to you, “but the Council will meet tomorrow. Previously the Main Assembly, as it is usually known, would be a much grander affair, but with the few number of Returned we have currently, it is much more austere,” she explains. “A list of motions being put forward by the other Returned will be with You by tonight.” “I can’t put forward any myself?” you ask. Hera shakes her head. “As this is your first meeting, no, but if You wish to suggest something for next week, that is possible. Remember that you need to convince others to vote for any proposal You make as well, though, and they may require You vote for theirs as well. Be cautious when agreeing to anything, Your Grace.” You arrive at your bathroom, and she opens the door for you. “If you require anything, please ring the bell.” “Very well, thank you,” you say, stepping inside. You look around as the door closes behind you, and find the floor-length mirror. You move it towards the bath, but still a distance away to stop it from steaming up quickly, and settle down for a relaxing soak and, hopefully, to try and change your hair colour. Good grief, that power cut could have been better timed. Two hours writing, without saving, and for what? Losing it all for a cut that didn't even last a second. I'd say I've learned from this, but let's be honest, I haven't . I'm not quite as happy with the second half of this as the first half as in my initial draft, but sadly I can't remember how I phrased things or ordered things to reproduce it. Regardless, I get to espouse some half-rambling philosophy and interpretation, so I'm happy . Free Time What will you do tomorrow morning? Select one. [X] Visit Quickfell the Digilent [Charm] [X] Visit Fatespinner the Fortunate [Charm] [X] Visit Brightweave the Creative [Charm] [X] Visit Firesoul the Merciful [Charm] [X] Visit Coinspender the Generous [Charm] [X] Visit Kindsmile the Cordial [Charm] [X] Visit Lawmaker the Honest [Charm] [X] Ride through the city [X] Develop your religion (you may suggest new tenets) [Spirit] [X] Take up a hobby (suggest which) [X] You may suggest others, not on this list Council Once a week, proposals will be put forward for debate and then voting. Each other Returned has things they favour, things they dislike, and things they are indifferent about. Your ability to convince people to vote the same way as you will be dependent on your Influence. You can also now use your visits to other Returned to convince them to vote for a proposal you put forward, using your Charm, or just to gauge their opinions on next week’s proposals. Bear in mind that while you can vote for, against or abstain from any or all of these proposals, other Returned may take offence if you vote for a proposal they dislike, or against one they like! The proposals are presented below, but there will not be a vote until the following Day. Proposals up for the next vote: Tax on clothes dyed a Returned’s colours – Coinspender Impose new safety regulations on dockworkers – Firesoul Build a new library near the slums – Brightweave Results