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Sigil last won the day on November 4 2017

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  1. Sigil's eyes widen slightly as the information stream buckles in her consciousness. As if the universe itself had fallen away, leaving a ragged-edged hole in itself; an information sink from which nothing could escape. For a breathless instant she teetered on the edge of that abyss, staring into it and feeling it stare back into her. She found it in herself to wonder what would happen to the intelligence she served if she succumbed to that awful, seductive nothingness. Would it simply lose this appendage, or would it be infected through her, as if she was a limb turned gangrenous? Yet it made no move to sever her. So Sigil struggled, strained to hear the song of nuclear forces, the constant babble of electromagnetic radiation, the feel of wind on her face. Clawed her way back to the realm of sight and sound and movement and existence. And after an eternity compressed into a few seconds...she returned. "It...resists...my attempt to determine its nature at a distance," she reported softly, her voice almost trembling. "It is extremely dangerous to approach, but I see no other way to gather data." Was the fear she felt her own? Where did she end, and 'it' begin? There was something though, in the data from her scans. She had not returned from the edge empty handed. It would take time to decipher. She met Firanis' gaze. "We can wait until day."
  2. Sigil was not normally receptive to interpersonal cues, or empathic awareness. She was much more in tune with cosmological forces; the play of energy and matter, the dance of particles large and small. It was for that task that she was...optimized. But even unoptimized awareness was not zero. Firanis was reacting to something. She was the only one confirmed to have encountered the phenomenon before, so that reaction was relevant. She focused her senses in the direction Firanis had come from, peeling back the layers of information that defined reality in search of anomalies that were not registered in the prodigious encyclopedia she had access to. (using Scan esotery!)
  3. Sigil's golden-irised eyes focused on Tessereah. "I am a Sigil. I'm here to learn more. I must observe this withering blackness." Now she looked at Firanis. "You will lead me to its edge?"
  4. The pale-skinned woman gazed imperturbably at Firanis. Her eyes subtly refocused on a point past the violet-haired mercenaries head for a moment. "I'm not familiar with the phenomenon you describe. I will go with you. It, and your efforts to overcome it, must be catalogued and documented." She paused, then added, "Proceed."
  5. Sigil, having settled down in the shade cast by Gord, noticed his reaction and leaned over a little to get a better look at what was surprising him so much. What she saw was not immediately of much interest. A female human, showing signs of some alteration. Perhaps Gord found her attractive. Or perhaps he was seeing something she wasn't? Her forehead creased slightly with concentration as she expanded her senses, sampling everything from electromagnetic emissions to minute details of trace nuclear decay in the vicinity of the purple-haired female. Gathering information was, after all, her purpose. (Scan esotery on Firanis, hehe)
  6. Sigil A Mechanical Nano who Wields Power with Precision Tier 2: 17xp Might Pool: 10 Edge: 0 Speed Pool: 15 Edge: 0 Intellect Pool: 20 Edge: 2 Effort: 2 Cypher Use: 3 Armor: 1 Esoteries Ward Hedge Magic (1 int) Resonance Field (1 int) Scan (2 int) Onslaught: Physical (1 int, short range) Cutting Light (2 int, immediate range) Hover (2 int) Abilities Sense Numenera Training - Esoteries - Perception Specialized - Understanding Numenera Equipment 0 Shin Dart Thrower, 2 dmg, long range - 12 darts Clothing Book - Numenera 4 torches Large synth bag Cyphers Spatial Warp (increases ranged numenera range to 1 mile) L10 Retaliation Nodule (attacks on wearer inflict 1 dmg on attacker for 28 hours) L5 Banishing Nodule (melee weapon attack teleports target; its defenses hindered) L4 Connection: People my character has never seen before sometimes recognize me and claim to have met me. I don't know why. Their description of my actions ranges from glowing praise to bitter recriminations. I cannot remember having done any of it though. Description: Sigil is a relatively small, slight young woman with pale skin, white hair and large yellow eyes. She carries relatively little in the way of equipment, and dresses in a hodgepodge of styles and garments that appears selected piece by piece and largely at random. Personality: She is quiet, unobtrusive, and often seems uninterested in what's going on around her, though this apparent lack of interest doesn't translate into lack of awareness. Not given to extended conversations, Sigil tends to answer direct questions as briefly as is necessary to give a full answer, and rarely bothers with return questions or additional context unless prompted. The exception is when the subject is numenera, of which she has a deep and abiding interest in. A new, unfamiliar piece of numenera will often earn random strangers a barrage of questions about its function, origin, side effects, and other far stranger questions. Advances: Tier 1 +1 Str, +3 Spd pools +1 Int Edge +1 Effort Training: Perception Type Traits: Nano Trained in Understanding Numenera Descriptor traits Mystical/Mechanical +2 Intellect pool Trained in all numenera-understanding actions/tasks Sense Numenera (1 min) Hedge Magic esotery Unnerving (charm/persuasion/deception hindered) Focus Traits Wields Power with Precision Tier 1 - +5 Intellect Pool Tier 2 Trained in all esoteries
  7. "Oh ho, so it's like that is it?" Sigil inquired. She went to the altar and lifted a quill. "Not very sporting, asking for a bid before we know what we're bidding on..." Trailing off, something occurred to her. "...because we're deciding that too, of course. I could simply walk away, keeping what's mine and what I've paid for. But if I want more, you need to know how much more...and what I'm prepared to offer up in exchange." The fey queen considered. What did she want? As a goddess could she break the wheel of seasons in the Marches and make it a place of eternal summer? Did she want that? No. The Marches are older than me. Made by a wiser hand. Doing that would be like shattering a perfect vase and gluing it back together again with the insides facing out, just because I like that color more. But if there WAS a land of eternal summer, where the fey of my Court could go... Sigil frowned. Then there would be no one in the Marches to help the new Spring take root. The Winter would never be dislodged. It was through struggle that change happened, in Faerie as in the mortal realm. Remove struggle, remove change. Without change though, it may as well be one of the Fey realms that had fallen to twilight, endlessly static under a sunless sky. Beyond the touch of all time, forever. But what good was being a goddess if one couldn't shelter one's allies and faithful? What good was gaining more power, if that power didn't let her transcend the limits she'd had as Queen? This was what she'd come here for. It was what she'd schemed and risked everything for the chance to do. To become something greater than she'd been. There had to be a way. And then it burst in on her. And she wrote, in lines of fire, of light. 'Ink' borne of the power seething within her; as much her essence as her mortal blood would have been, and far less messy. The Fey Marches are sick. New Queens do not rise. The Wheel turns, but the gears grind and catch. This was the essence of Summer. Preservation. Spring marked the Flowering, the rebirth. Autumn the Reaping...both the bounty of the harvest, and the onset of decay and darkness. Winter was the Culling. But Summer took the work of Spring and carried it as long as it could. Protected it. That was what she wanted. I would have the power to mend the Wheel, and let the seasons pass each in their turn. I would heal the Ways so the children of Faerie can pass freely to and from the Marches again. I would guard the cycle, with whatever power I need to do so. Now the hard part. Sigil took a deep breath. For that power, I would abandon my hope of ruling the Marches as Queen. For I cannot preside over the Wheel if I am bound to it still. Sigil paused just before finishing the last letter, and gazed at what she'd almost written. It wasn't too late. Nothing was sealed yet. She could put this quill down and walk away. The plan would still work. Her time in the mortal world would give her a chance to rebuild her strength. She would gather allies, gather power, and strike in the center of the storm of Winter. The fight would be long, and hard, as it had been before...but the Wheel turned. Eventually she would win. She could have it back again. The Wheel would turn, but slowly. The Ways were closed...without some kind of interference, there would be no new Winter Queen crossing over. Eventually when she felt the Autumn stirring...why...she could do it again. She wanted it. She wanted it almost more than anything. She'd risked her soul, breathed life into her mortal foe, all to get it. But it was wrong. The only reason what she'd been planning was even possible was because the Marches were fraying, like old rope. Straining against the Wheel...allowing it to turn only on the barest of technicalities...she'd break it. Not this cycle, not the next...but eventually. Sigil wrote in the last 'L.' The Fey Marches needed more than a Queen. It needed...a goddess.
  8. Sigil waited just a moment, letting the situation sink in...and watching the other 'queen' to see what she'd do. During the battle, she'd registered the presence of another powerful fey, but hadn't gotten a good look at her. In this case Sigil's attention wasn't lustful in the least. She was well acquainted with the idea that appearances are fleeting, while essence was enduring. Aurea, to her eyes, was a changeling like herself. Mortal born, but with fey lineage that in another day and age would have drawn her to the Good Folk like iron to lodestones. Were you the one, I wonder? Were you meant to be the new Winter who would have ended my reign? But you never made it across. The Ways to the Marches are all but gone now. Of course there could have been others, and given how much time here had passed, there almost certainly had been. Still...it was hard to look upon this lovely creature and imagine her with ice-white skin and jet-black eyes, her features twisted by the malice of Winter. Almost as hard as it had been to imagine herself that way. To the issue at hand then. Fey Queen or goddess? When Sigil had been mortal, questions of gods and goddesses were ones of mute faith. Deities didn't walk the Earth, be they the saints of the Christians, or the older, scarier ancestral gods of her people. They waited in the world to come to mete out judgement. Where they moved in the mortal realm, it was with some stealth, some cunning, showing themselves through people...not to people. Now it was different, wasn't it? Now the mortal world was much more like the fey...awash in magic and wonders both beautiful and horrific, where titans strode the land and contested with one another. In the Fey Marches, order was kept by the reigning Queen...but here in the mortal world there was no one who's power was absolute. Entities and people carved out what space they could protect and made it their own, as long as they could. Was being a 'goddess' really that different from being a queen of the fey, in this sense? Maybe the distinction was a distraction. She walked into the garden proper, her eyes searching out and discarding flower after flower, fruit after fruit. Until she found one. A little to one side of the place, surrounded by crystalline lilies growing out of a pool of liquid moonlight, was a tree in full bloom. Sigil reached out and plucked one of the flowers from that tree and held it out. The power of Summer wavered in the air around her, shimmering like heat haze. The flower greedily took that power in, and swelled in her hand into a single red orb as the petals fell off. In seconds the flower had matured into a perfect red apple. "Flower. Fruit. The only difference is time." She took a bite and waited to see what happened next.
  9. "Pantheon?" Sigil asked, startled by the sudden manifestation, but adjusting quickly. "Genesis seed? Explain, jewel. What are you asking?"
  10. Sigil watched the others with a certain wary respect. The world felt in some ways oddly familiar; full of magic and bristling with individuals of power. The thought brought a smile to her lips. Surely she could get what she needed this way...allies and powers to return and contend for the throne. Octavia had no idea what she was sending Sigil into. Assuming she survived, of course. No guarantee of that. The temptation to simply walk the green road back to the arcology tugged at Sigil, but she decided not to indulge. For one, it would take power she might want later. For another, it sent perhaps the wrong message to these others. She wanted them to trust her. Appearing to steal an object of power that they had fought for the safety of wasn't the best way to do that. Steal a handful of honey today, and the bees never let you near them again. Befriend the bees, and have honey for life. So she went to the 'truck,' the metal carriage, and got inside. "Well fought, all of you," Sigil said to the others in the truck in her accented English. "I'm rather new to your lands. You may call me Sigil."
  11. This was not Sigil's world, but she knew power when she saw it. Her armor of fire and light faded, and the blood and ash that had spattered against it dropped to her feet at the ground; having never touched her skin or garb. So too did her sword fade, though it was ever close at hand. The mantle of Queen was all but faded from her, but she was of Summer still. The fey approached the woman holding the gem, and she leaned over it, peering closely. "You offer this freely?" she asked, wary of unspoken terms. The lady simply nodded and pushed it forward. Sigil accepted the gem and cradled it in her hand. "What do yo know of this, and why were you taking it to the arcology?" she asked.
  12. It was a strange world Sigil found herself in. The Marches of Faerie were in some ways 'close' to the mortal realm, even experiencing a kind of passage of time, albeit erratic and unpredictable. It did not, however, reflect the events that transpired there. Even so, Sigil had wondered in the past why no new Queen of Winter was rising to contest her. Why the reign of Summer was so extended...to the point that the turn of seasons threatened to press on with no new Queen at all. Now she thought she understood. The chaos in the mortal world had simply prevented it. The Queens of the Marches were all halfbloods, their ties to both Faerie and Earth binding them to those middle grounds. Born among mortals, they were pulled by their own fate and the seasons' turning across the Mists to the Marches when the time was right. Only here, no girl with the touch of Winter upon her had survived long enough. Or perhaps they had elected to remain on Earth as one of these new quasi-mortal creatures. When Sigil had left the world, all she'd known was her family's cottage, and the nearby village where farmers met every so often to sell to one another. The countrysides were now riven with crumbling monuments to a time when humankind had built towers the equal of the Whitespire, fortresses that would make Icecrown tremble in envy. Vehicles that drove themselves without beasts, weapons that spat fire and thunder. Human beings had invented magic without magic. And then they'd lost it all. Sigil could have warned them. Nothing came without cost...and the longer the cost took to become manifest, the weightier it became. She was in an 'arcology' now...a word that she had come to think meant a 'city in a bottle,' though truthfully it was really just an enclosed city. Like the walled cities of old she'd known, in a way. They looked different, but their purpose was much the same. The name of the arcology was cause for hope...it was one she embraced as a sign she had found the right place. Phoenix. Well, and 'vegas' but that was mortal gobbledygook, surely. A place for humankind to be reborn. Perhaps a place for herself as well. Her 'apartment,' a fancy word that meant 'house inside a larger building,' was incredible to her eyes. Polished floor and walls. Heatless lamps. Various seemingly magical things powered by lightning in copper braids. Even Faerie would be hard pressed to find something more magical, even if she would have preferred more space. The glamours on the 'television' (a kind of flat panel that showed images and sounds) were entertaining enough, but she preferred more immersive illusions. Then again, having expected peasant huts and cold, dank castles, Sigil had little cause to complain. The small black object called a 'phone' chimed at her. It was currently nestled in its little home, after having signaled it needed to sleep and recover its power. Sigil liked to think of it as a thing alive, though she understood it was more properly a device of apparently magic properties. It could send and hear voices from a great distance. The chime meant it was hearing one now. Sigil lifted it from the cradle and with a frown, tapped the spot on its face she'd been instructed to. The face of it, once glossy black, lit up with an array of circles and lines and words. They were confusing, so she focused on the most important one. A green and red oval. The red would reject the voice. The green would activate the link. She pressed the green. "Hello, is this, uh...Sigil?" asked the voice on the other end. She nodded, though the 'phone' did not allow them to see one another. "This is she." Her voice was gentle, soft and warm at the moment, with a rich purring brogue. "This is Jacob Hines, Arcology Command," the voice introduced himself. Sigil frowned slightly. Courtesy was that the speaker introduced themselves first, but the fey of the Dawn Court had carefully explained such niceties were often overlooked among mortalkind, and that it was not a sign of disrespect. "We have a situation outside the city that we could use your help with. A rescue unit en route back has been attacked, and they're requesting immediate assistance. You've indicated you can travel long distances quickly?" "If the touch of Summer is on the land," she agreed. There was a pause. "The...what?" Sigil smiled at the confusion in his voice. "Flowers and all manner of growing things, ripe and mature." "I, uh, all right. It's on the river several miles outside the city. I can send you coordinates..." "No. Your numbers, they don't mean anything to me. Can you put a map on my 'phone?' I just need to see where it is, compared to where I am." "All right. Let me know when you're ready." Her phone chimed again, a little differently. That was the noise indicating an eeemale had been heard. Similar to the voice link, but it sent writing instead. The Dawn Court ambassador had been most patient in teaching her how to see the eemale writing. And, ah yes...not just writing, but also maps. Magic indeed. She squinted at the tiny image, figured out that she could move it with her fingertip across the slick front of the phone. A white dot showed the Arcology. A blue one where she was meant to go. "Very well. I will aid your rescue team." "All right, you'll coordinate on site with..." Sigil set the phone down. Mortals did so love to prattle on, in this world and in this time as in any other. She went to the little garden on the deck out the back of her 'apartment,' which had been built on a platform overlooking the Arcology. It was one of many, which diluted some of the joy of the vista, but more importantly it had access to sunlight and water, and the Dawn Court...when furnishing the place...had arranged a large collection of flowers and pretty shrubs in the center. She went to them and held her hands out. A breeze kicked up, swirling around the flowers, and herself. Petals were torn off and carried around in a vortex that twisted about her. Too many petals...more than there could possibly be. Surely the flowers would be stripped bare...but more came, until Sigil was completely swallowed in a storm of fragrant colors. The breeze died down and the petals scattered. Sigil, the once-queen of the Fey Marches, was gone. ==== The air around Rescue Team 5 was riven by the sharp, staccato cracks of gunfire, the cries of men injured and dying, and the roaring of giants. Through that came a sudden gale, bearing a twisting line of colorful flecks. They spun and twirled dizzily to the river's edge not far off the road, where leaves from the underbrush there was torn up by the wind and joined the circling petals. Together they formed into a kind of small tornado, or dust devil, only with leaves and flowers instead of dust. From that pillar of churning vegetation stepped a woman. Pale-skinned and freckled, with brilliant red hair that was wild and whipping in the wind, and clad in a 'tee shirt' and 'jeans' that she'd been assured were quite fashionable for the times. Beautiful, but tinged with an aura of unobtainability, like the memory of a childhood infatuation. She turned to see the convoy under attack, and began moving purposefully towards it. As she did, lines of light coursed over and around her, drawing breastplate, greaves, helmet in outlines. Despite that seeming insubstantiality though, when a rock was hurled at her by a giant, it shattered to fragments and left her unharmed. In her hand appeared a sword of flames, which she pointed at the offending giant. Her voice was not gentle when she spoke now. Now it boomed like the thunder that came just before a summer's downpouring. "Surrender, Flee, or Die." A white hot line of fire surged from the end of her sword and struck the ogre who'd struck her with the thrown rock. Immediately the creature was consumed, howling and throwing itself desperately to the ground as it was immolated. All that was left of it in the end was a mound of sticky ashes and a thick plume of greasy, foul-smelling smoke.
  13. Name: Sigil - The Lady of Garlands, the Shepard of Roses, Warden of the Fey Marches, Keeper of Whitespire, the Once and Future Queen of Summer Description: Lithe and graceful, flame-haired,freckled, by turns elegant and aloof, or almost childishly mischievous. Level: 1 XP: 0 Facts: Origin: Sigil was born human, albeit with fey blood, to farmers in medieval times long ago. Past Career: On arriving in Faerie, Sigil was swept up in a guerrilla war with plucky freedom-fighters against the then-ruling tyranny of a Winter Queen. Relationship: Upon realizing what her fate was should she remain Queen much longer, Sigil allowed Winter to return and went into exile...but not without swindling the new Queen out of a powerful piece of the Royal Regalia...to ensure she could return quickly and move the turning of the seasons again.
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