The Shattered City: Cutscenes

[NeoTiamat]

“Master Jean!” Mrs. Blanchard, the housekeeper knocked lightly on the door of Jean Lachenal's study, holding a still-warm plate in one hand. “Master Jean! Cook's made sandwiches for you and Paul!”

A moment passed, and after some muffled sounds from inside, the door began to slowly creak open, the young Lord Lachenal straining to open the massive steel-reinforced timbers. The housekeeper gave the stubborn door a good shove, and together they got it fully opened.

“Cooky and I were thinking that the two of you were getting hungry, what with all the racket Paul's been making.” Mrs. Blanchard chatted amiably, sparing her employer a concerned look. The young Lord Lachenal was handsome, in the way of pale young men the world round, with his alabaster skin and mane of rich, black hair. Even with his perpetually half-distracted look, Master Jean had no shortage of admirers. A fact which amused the staff to no end, seeing as the young Lord Lachenal was wholly unaware of his own looks.

“Er, thank you. And thank Cook.” The young Lord Lachenal favored Mrs. Blanchard with a swift smile, then looked around the cluttered study. Absently, he twisted the Lachenal signet ring on his left hand. “Just put them down... anywhere, I suppose.”

This was easier said than done, as the study, never a bastion of neatness and organization in the best of times, was currently being invaded by a small army of workman's tools. A collection of hammers and saws sprawled next to antique letter openers and correspondence from old school friends. A tray of cement occupied the floor beneath the lilac-curtained window, while the stout, oaken door had been given a backbone of steel. Leftover iron bars were stacked haphazardly in a corner, beside the gilded end table. It was onto this last that Mrs. Blanchard placed the tray of sandwiches.

Paul the footman paused in his struggles with the bars he was placing in the last window to reach over and swipe one of the sandwiches, grinning unabashedly as Mrs. Blanchard sent him a black look. “Those are for Master Jean first, you layabout, not you!”

“Sorry ma'am, but this is hungry work!” Paul smiled, wolfing down the sandwich in record time, then returning to working the steel bar into the Chateau Lachenal's stone window-frames.

“It's... it's alright Mrs. Blanchard, it really is.” Lord Lachenal waved it away, sparing only a glance at the sandwiches before beginning to pace about the room. “Paul is doing very good work, truly. How much longer, Paul? It's almost ni--, it's getting late.”

“Nearly done, sir.” Paul the footman braced himself and gave the steel bars gracing the window a firm push. They didn't so much as twitch, which was a fair achievement considering that Paul served Chateau Lachenal as both footman, groom, and general groundskeeper, and had a build that would make a Falkovnian marauder jealous. “That ought to do it, milord. This'd stop a cannon ball, it would.”

“I can call Professor Bellec, Master Jean, if you wish.” Mrs. Blanchard offered. Her sister had been doing the cooking for the elderly academic for a good fifteen years now, so he would come if she asked politely enough. “He can cast a few wards around the windows, keep out anything you like, sir.”

“NO! No mages.” Lord Lachenal shouted, causing both servants to stare at their young master. the aristocrat continued hurriedly. “I mean, it's no necessary to bother the professor. It would... just cause more trouble, there's no need.”

“I'm sure it wouldn't be any trou--” Mrs. Blanchard began to say, but a look from Paul cut her short. If their employer didn't want any mages around, then that was his affair, and none of theirs. “But as you say. Shall I tell Cook to get dinner started?”

“N-n-no...” Lord Lachenal glanced at the wall-clock. Six thirty nine in the evening, it proclaimed. He looked at Paul, who was gathering up his tools, and at Mrs. Blanchard. “It's... I won't be coming down for dinner.”

“Shall I have Cook send something more substantial up, sir?” Mrs. Blanchard offered. It offended her sensibilities that Master Jean should skip a meal. It wasn't as though he had much meat on his bones anyway.

“No. In fact, please, both of you, take the rest of the night off. And Cook as well. You deserve it.” Lord Lachenal said, his voice quivering. He looked so very young. Suddenly, he threw his arms around Mrs. Blanchard, burying his face in her shoulder. “You deserve so much more. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You've been my family, since... since I... Since Father died. I'm so sorry.”

The two servants exchanged another confused glance, and the housekeeper patted Lord Lachenal on the back, even as he let out a couple of helpless, wracking sobs. “There, there, sir, it's alright... we love you too. Been like our son.”

“I'm...G-goodbye, Mrs. Blanchard, Paul.” Then the door closed, and the two servants could hear heavy deadbolt being pulled shut. “Goodbye.”

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The next morning, Mrs. Blanchard collected the quick breakfast Cook had prepared and went to find young Master Jean. The dining room was empty, and a glance inside the bedroom confirmed that the Lord Lachenal had not been there that night. It was with a vague puzzlement that Mrs. Blanchard went to check the study. Surely Master Jean couldn't have spent the whole night there. It was with a stern talking-to about the young Master's unhealthy sleeping habits in mind that Mrs. Blanchard ascended the stairs to the study.

Her scream roused the entire household.

When Paul and Cook arrived, they found the breakfast tray in shatters, as Mrs. Blanchard pointed hysterically at the door. From beneath the massively reinforced oak doors of the study, a large pool of blood had seeped out, staining the beige hall carpet a deep, rich burgundy. The door refused to budge when Paul tried. It was only later, when the gendarmerie had arrived, that Paul was able to kneel in the pool of blood and slowly take the door off its hinges.

The study was a scene out of nightmare. The thick steel bars that Paul had installed just yesterday were torn from their moorings and tossed contemptuously aside, the metal rods twisted apart by brute strength. Two of the three bookcases had been knocked over, spilling old family records and modern novels into an untidy heap, while the third had simply been torn apart, the wooden frame shattered into so much kindling. The thick, solid desk, which had served the Chateau's study since Master Jean's grandfather's time, was still in one piece, though the surface of the desk was gouged with long, deep marks. And everywhere one looked, there was blood.

Blood had pooled out from the body, congealed into a thick sludge by the time the room was opened. Blood had been splattered onto the portrait of Master Jean's great-grandfather, the painted face of that distinguished gentleman now covered with slick, crimson droplets. Blood had soaked through the fallen books, land records and family trees now fit only for destruction. The Lachenals' massive, leather-bound Book of Ezra had fallen open to one of the early passages, but Ezra's words were illegible, coated over with dried, red-brown blood. There was blood on the floor, blood on the walls, blood on the furniture, even a handful of splashes upon the ceiling. There was blood everywhere around the unrecognizeable corpse.

It was only by the Lachenal signet ring upon the hand that the inquest was able to conclude that the corpse was that of the young Jean Lachenal.

[NeoTiamat]

"There she is! Get her!"

Perrine spun around the alleyway corner, sending a stack of crates toppling over behind her. The young woman tore through the maze-like streets without a second glance, pausing on occasion to listen for the gendarme's footsteps. They were too close. If they managed to surround her, her life was as good as over. Panicking, Perrine squeezed her slender frame into a small side-street, taking advantage of the lack of streetlights to vanish into the darkness. It wouldn't stop them for long, but hopefully it would slow them down long enough. She could already see Montmort Prison towering to the left.

Quietly, the young woman skulked her way through the alley, pushing a sweat-soaked lock of hair behind her ear. She clamped down on her lip to stop herself from panting; even the smallest breath sounded too loud to her. She ran her hand across the brickwork of the shops as she walked, listening carefully for any sound of the gendarmerie. She couldn't hear them now, they'd probably lost her in the back-streets, chasing after the sounds of their own footsteps. The gendarmerie had been recruiting heavily this last winter, taking pretty much everyone they could get their hands on, and that meant not all of them were the brightest stars of the bunch.

Even so, it'd been too close that time, and she wouldn't be able to venture out of the Quartier Ouvrier for a while. Once word of the break in got out, the nobles would turn the place into a veritable Falkovnian base. Anyone trying to get to work tomorrow would be in for a very rude awakening, as the private thugs hired by the bluebloods tossed out anyone who looked poor - and none too gently, either. Everyone knew Chantreaux would look the other way, if she wanted to keep the noble thugs on her side, and no one cared about a bunch of "low-born" scum. Perrine snorted softly at the thought. She probably had as much noble blood in her as the entire government Quartier - the man she'd stolen from was more likely than not her own father. In her opinion, he owed her and her mother as much, but try arguing that in a court.

Perrine relaxed as she saw the broken sign of the ruined Peony Glassworks. She wasn't really much safer here. It was not a good thing to be a lone woman after dark wandering around the Quartier Ouvrier, but it was an even worse thing to be a gendarme in same situation. Perrine stuck to the shadows and alleyways, gripping a large breadknife she kept hidden in her skirts for just this purpose. You didn't survive long in this place if you weren't willing to do what it took.

"A bit late to be wandering about, wouldn't you say?"

Perrine whirled on instinct, looking behind her as she drew the knife. A moment later, something clicked in her brain, and she looked up. Two glowing, bright eyes stared back at her.

"I got the pox, m'ssieur, you don't want none of that," she lied, her voice trembling slightly. "I ain't got anything worth taking. I don't want trouble."

"And yet you seem so adept at causing it," the creature smoothly replied. It gracefully lept from the rotting rooftop, landing softly on the ground in front of her, and stretched. Perrine waved the knife threateningly in front of her, staring openly as it flexed its claws. It was a creature out of myth, pure faerie tales and bedtime stories, and she was waving a knife at it. She didn't think she could touch it even if she tried.

"You keep away from me," she said, rather dumbly. "You aren't real. You can't be. Oh mists, maman was right-!"

"Aren't mothers always? I always think that's so unfair. Please, let us dispense with the pleasantries. Yes, I am aware your kind consider me unusual, but I am as real as yourself. Questioning either of our existences is the purview of philosophers, not of anyone with actual talent." The creature smiled, letting its sharp teeth show. It made a slight noise at the sight of the knife, sounding suspiciously to Perrine like a snicker. "I'm not going to hurt you," it said, practically rolling its eyes.

"I don't trust anything what ain't what it should be," Perrine said, backing away slowly.

"The tyranny of how things ought to be," the creature scoffed. "The nobles should rule, the workers should starve, the rich should be rich and the poor should be poor. I don't subscribe to it. No, I am a more pragmatic sort. I believe that people with talent should be rewarded, no matter who... or what, they may be." Perrine wasn't sure where the bag had come from - the creature seemed to have pulled it out of nowhere. Yet there it was, as real as the creature itself, gold coins glittering as they clinked and settled. It was more money than Perrine had ever seen in her life, and she didn't hide her desire.

The creature grinned. "I have a proposal for you."

[NeoTiamat]

[lostboy]

The Collected Works of Nicolas De Castaigne

In Chronological Order (most recent first)

Shades of Serrafina
Ostensibley a poem of courtly love and vengence set in a Borcan noble court, however it quickly transforms into a rather lurid description of the hero’s seduction of the lady of the title. Panned by critics as lewd trash, and banned by the Dementlieuese authorities as an afront to the nations sensibilities, it remains amazingly popular amongst those of both the lower and upper classes. Its is also the cause of the author's recent spell in the Montmort prison.

Heathen Sands – A year in Phiraz
Nicolas’ most recent travelogue documenting his journey to and stay in Diambel’s city. The book contains plentiful information on the life and people of Phiraz, and is almost a useful sociological text, if you overlook the anecdotes of darker activities that pepper the book, which Nicolas appears to have managed to pursue right under the noses of the authorities. The Phirazian Consulate has informed Nicolas in no uncertain terms that a return there will be most uncomfortable for him.

Bloodied Velvet
A rabble rousing pamphlet against the privilege of the upper classes, containing a catalogue of accusations and gory descriptions of atrocities committed by them on the oppressed masses. No names of the perpetrators are given but several are hinted at, although the line between fact and fiction is well blurred in most cases. The pamphlet has been banned by the Dementlieuese authorities and Nicolas narrowly avoided a lengthy prison term through some hefty bribes and a hastily planned trip to Pharazia.

The Velvet Touch of Darkness
Universally acclaimed as his finest work, this is Nicolas at his melancholic best. A dark twisting piece outlining a vision for the end of everything as we know it, where society crumbles and plague, pestilence and evil cover the land and darkness rules over all. Epic, apocalyptic and disturbing it recounts a vision Nicolas received after a Vistani fortune-telling and his ruminations on it.

The Broken Noose
A treatise on social justice and the tyranny of oppressive regimes, this short work recounts cases of oppression from across the core with a concentration on the punishments inflicted. As such it soon descends into a vitriolic rant over the authors unjust arrest and botched execution in Invidia, complete with a long self-indulgent description of the spectacle itself.

The Twilight Crescent – Travels in Hazlan and Nova Vaasa
An encyclopaedic account of Nicolas’ travels through the south-eastern core documenting the ins and outs of Hazlani and Vaasi society. Amongst the more interesting anecdotes are; the hunting of magical beasts in the wilds of southern Hazlan, running afoul of the priests of the Lawgiver in Kantora, and a long treatise on the seamy underbelly of the Vaasi cities. As is easily imagined the book was not well received in Kantora, but has enjoyed immense popularity in Dementlieu and certainly hasn’t helped with the prejudice that many Vaasi immigrants face in the Western Core.

My Sweet Vitriol
A rambling melancholic piece about a young man’s quest for forbidden knowledge that drifts between dark surreal fantasy and pseudo-esoteric wisdom. Many find it impenetrable although it did receive some critical acclaim and has a small loyal following who insist there is more to it than meets the eye and that it contains all manner of arcane secrets and wisdom.

In the Footsteps of Kali – A Rajian Odyssey
A sensational description of Nicolas’ travels to the verdant lands in the company of the mysterious Doctor Najar. The two adventurers explore the steaming jungles and cities of the domain undertaking several plausible and many less plausible activities, culminating in the theft and return of a giant diamond belonging to the Rajah Jayasura of Muladi, and the unmasking of Dr Najar as an unspeakable shape-changing fiend whom Nicolas dispatches in single combat.

The Prince of Rakosk
An engaging tale of intrigue, treachery and murder around the noble house of Rakosk. The tale follows the fortunes of the young prince Karol and the trials and tribulations he faces to become head of the family. Well received by critics and one of the core texts being read on the literature course at the University of Dementlieu.

Wasting the Dawn
A fantastical account of the life of a vampiric spectre of night, a well-to-do creature of darkness that prowls the cities in search of young maids to feast upon. The story is luridly descriptive both in the violence and sensuality of the creature, who meets its ultimate doom after falling in love with one of its victims. One of Nicolas’ earlier works, which despite the comparatively poor standard of writing, did much to gain him a reputation as an author.

[NeoTiamat]

[Nathan of the FoS]

THE THIRTEEN PRECEPTS
UNIVERSALITY: All that is has a Law which pertains to it.
SUBMISSION: All that has a Law which pertains to it must obey that Law.
FALLIBILITY: None but the Law itself obeys the Law that governs it.
AUTONOMY: The Lawgiver is He who rules Himself; He is Law.
UNION: Obedience to Law brings union with Law Itself.
OPPOSITION: Obedience to Law destroys Chaos.
CHAOS: Chaos is that which does not obey the Law.
DUALITY: All is either Law, or Chaos.
JUSTICE: Chaos must be destroyed.
PRESERVATION: Chaos must not be created.
TRANSMUTATION: Obedience transmutes Chaos into Law.
FORBEARANCE: Chaos may choose obedience and escape destruction.
DELEGATION: Those who obey Law represent the Giver of that Law.

THE FOUR COLORS: Gray (Dawn)/White (Noon)/Red (Dusk)/Black (Night)

THE SEVEN VIRTUES: Obedience, Zeal, Courage, Diligence, Honesty, Temperance, Wisdom

The Hazlani/Nova Vaasan solar calendar starts on June 21st with Universality Gray Obedience and runs according to the order given above. This is the divine/liturgical calendar; in addition to the 364 “named” days, Darkest Night (the winter solstice) is called the Day of Mytteri and falls between Chaos White Wisdom and Chaos Red Obedience. Leap Day is known as the Day of Law and Light, (held between Delegation Black Wisdom and Universality Gray Obedience every four years), thereby keeping in step with the solar year.

The Nova Vaasan calendar is purely solar and has no further elaborations (Nova Vaasan astronomy generally is out of sync with that of the rest of the Core, up to and including their habit of referring to the wandering stars Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn as the “five lesser moons”.)

The Hazlani calendar combines this straightforward solar calendar with the lunar calendar used before their conversion to the Iron Faith, so that each “named day” in the calendar is associated with an animal and a plant. These 728 symbols form the Hazlani Zodiac. (The lunar calendar of 12 or 13 lunar cycles of 29.5 days is still used by Hazlani diviners for more advanced astrology.)

The idea of "totems" is strongly associated with the Mulani practice of tattooing, and the first tattoo given an adolescent is usually a representation (sometimes naturalistic, more often highly stylized in any one of a number of different forms) of their totem. Determination of one's totem, the shaving of the head, and this first tattoo together form the rite of passage by which a Mulani leaves childhood behind.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Cyrus and Darius were born on June 30th, 746, so their solar sign is the Phoenix. Cyrus' totem is the Horned Viper, Darius' is the Panther.

UNIVERSALITY WHITE COURAGE (June 30th):
Symbol: The Phoenix. Associated virtues: Courage, Zeal. Associated vice: Pride. The Phoenix is an Epitome, and one of the most powerful signs in the Hazlani Zodiac. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, fire, and air. Because of its association with rebirth it is associated with converts to the True Faith and with martyrs. When appearing as a solar (birthdate) sign, it often points to a heroic life purpose and an early death. Sometimes this “death” is metaphorical and involves a transition to some other very different status or occupation. As a totem it indicates a man of what has been termed the “natural aristocracy”—one disinclined by nature to subservience, and who feels himself deserving of respect. Virtually all men with this totem have strong wills and aspiring natures. It has secondary associations, as a totem, with both the arcane and divine. Those with the Phoenix totem tend to have pale hair and eyes, to be taller than the average (but not heavier), and often have a prominent scar on the face or scalp.

FALLIBILITY GREY WISDOM (August 23rd):
Symbol: the horned viper. Associated virtues: Wisdom, Diligence. Associated vices: Pride, Envy. Usually regarded as an ambivalent, in some cases an outright bad, sign. As a Grey sign it is associated with Venus, air, and water, as well as with divinity, death, and birth. As a solar sign it usually indicates a life of subtle (which is by no means to imply negligible) import. As a totem it indicates a cold-natured man, often not widely liked, but just as often considered indispensable for his qualities of patience, insight, and ruthlessness. Horned Vipers do not make particularly good friends, but they make very, very bad enemies. Those with this totem are usually supple and quick of hand, but somewhat smaller than the average.

CHAOS RED COURAGE (December 23rd):
Symbol: The panther. Associated virtues: Courage. Associated vices: Sloth, Wrath. An ambivalent sign, and one which ought to be considered a warning to those who bear it. As a Red sign it is associated with Mars, fire, and earth, as well as with arcane magic. As a solar sign the Panther must be regarded as a call to arms; the panther is likely to spend his life engaged in conflict of one kind or another. As a totem the Panther is a sign of two natures; on the one hand indolent, easily distracted, and easily drawn into sensual pleasure; on the other wrathful and destructive. The Panther is in its element when in danger, and those with this totem are often excellent warriors; in peaceful times they do not prosper. Panthers are generally of the average size, strong, quick, and graceful, although they often run to fat as they age.

Nerit was born on 15 November 740 (solar sign: Witchgrass), and her totem is Climbing Ivy.

OPPOSITION GREY WISDOM (November 15th):
Symbol: Witchgrass. Associated virtues: Wisdom, Diligence. Associated vices: Pride. Witchgrass is generally considered a “low” or “common” sign. As a Grey sign it is associated with Venus, air, and water, as well as with divinity, death, and birth. As a solar sign it generally points to a life whose contributions will be “often seen and seldom noticed”. As a totem it indicates a strong-willed or even a stubborn woman, one given to setting practical goals and achieving them, and who is well able to endure hardship. Woman with this totem are often proud of their practicality and industry, and inclined to look down on those less practical than themselves. Women with a witchgrass totem are usually short and are not often beauties.

FALLIBILITY GREY DILIGENCE (August 20th):
Symbol: Climbing Ivy. Associated virtues: Diligence, Temperance. Associated vices: Envy. Climbing Ivy has neither strong positive or strong negative connotations as a sign; it is among the more common totems among Hazlani women. As a Grey sign it is associated with Venus, air, and water, as well as with divinity, death, and birth. As a solar sign it generally represents a long and stable life, usually undistinguished by unusual accomplishments. As a totem it is generally emblematic of the virtues of piety and hard work; women with this totem have a tendency to die in childbirth, but those who do not usually remain strong and active well into old age. Women with this totem are often extremely jealous and possessive of their husbands. A slight frame and gray eyes are characteristic of those with this totem.

Kerrian, born February 10th. Solar sign, the Erne. Totem, the Coyote.

JUSTICE WHITE COURAGE (February 10th):
Symbol: Erne. Associated virtues: Courage, Honesty. Associated vices: Pride, Wrath. The Erne (or sea eagle) is regarded as a fortunate sign, especially in eastern Hazlan. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, fire, and air. As a solar sign it represents rising above one’s native condition, especially in spiritual matters. As a totem it usually represents someone of unusual moral courage, although it is also often associated with quick temper and stubbornness. Men with this totem are almost always taller than average and generally have grey or gold eyes.

AUTONOMY RED WISDOM (September 26th):
Symbol: Coyote. Associated virtues: Wisdom. Associated vices: Greed, Sloth. The Coyote is usually considered a “low” or “common” sign, and has some associations with criminality. As a Red sign it is associated with Mars, fire, and earth, as well as with arcane magic. As a solar sign it represents a life lived at the margin of society. As a totem it represents a man drawn to secrets and secret knowledge; those with this totem are usually quick-witted and often have a cruel streak, commonly manifested in a taste for practical jokes. They tend to make few friends, but are very loyal to those who do gain their friendship. Coyotes are almost always smaller than average and tend to be hirsute.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Celeste, born 14 Jan 751, solar sign Quaking Aspen, totem Morning Glory.

DUALITY WHITE DILIGENCE (January 14th)
Symbol: Quaking aspen. Associated virtues: Diligence, Honesty. Associated vices: Envy. The Quaking Aspen is one of the most common signs in western Hazlan and is usually regarded as a positive sign. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, fire, and air. As a solar sign it usually indicates a life of material comfort; it also may point to complacency, especially in spiritual matters. As a totem it represents a woman strongly drawn to the domestic; women with this totem often have many children and enjoy the role of mother. Women with this totem generally have pale skin and dark eyes.

FORBEARANCE WHITE DILIGENCE (May 5th):
Symbol: Morning glory. Associated virtues: Diligence, Wisdom. Associated vices: Envy, Greed. The Morning Glory is generally considered a positive sign. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, fire, and air. As a solar sign it indicates a woman who remains “true to her roots”—someone who fulfills the social role into which she was born. As a totem it indicates a woman who knows how to get what she wants—one who is certain of her goals and determined to achieve them. Morning Glories tend to be very aware of value and insist on getting what is due to them; in counterpoint, they are often deeply involved in charitable endeavors. Women with this totem are often notable beauties.

Tomas: Born 5 March 739, solar sign the Onager, totem the Gold Eagle.

PRESERVATION GREY HONESTY (March 5th):
Symbol: The onager. Associated virtues: Honesty, Diligence. Associated vices: Gluttony. The onager is a fairly common sign and usually regarded as neither positive nor negative in import. As a Grey sign it represents Venus, divinity, death, and birth. As a solar sign it points to a life of hard labor, often unrecognized or under-recognized. As a totem it represents a man patient, hard-working, and perhaps a little slow on the uptake. Onagers are usually pious, stoical, and conservative in outlook. Men with this totem are usually shorter and stockier than average.

JUSTICE WHITE ZEAL (February 9th):
Symbol: Gold eagle. Associated virtues: Zeal, Courage. Associated vices: Pride, Envy. The gold eagle is generally accounted a positive sign, especially in western Hazlan. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, fire, and air. As a solar sign it represents rising above one’s native condition, especially in wealth and prestige. As a totem it represents a man of unusual physical courage, although it is often associated with a quick temper and a tendency to look down on others not so bold. Men with this totem are generally taller than average and usually have blue or gold eyes.

Liability Mourneswaith: 13 July 734 Solar sign: Hemlock. Totem: Snapdragon.

UNIVERSALITY BLACK ZEAL (July 13th)
Sign: The Hemlock. Associated virtues: Zeal. Associated vices: Pride, Wrath. Usually considered a negative sign, especially as a totem. As a Black sign the Hemlock is associated with the moon, earth, and water. As a solar sign it often represents a sharp departure from the life path which would seem evident at birth; numerous and dramatic changes in fortune are to be expected. As a totem it represents a passionate and formidable woman, one who is willing to destroy what she cannot claim for her own. Women with this totem are often intensely charismatic, but are generally highly changeable in their attachments. Women with this totem are often taller than the norm, with dark eyes and strong features.

OPPOSITION RED COURAGE (November 24th)
Sign: The Snapdragon. Associated virtues: Courage, Honesty. Associated vices: Wrath, Envy. Generally considered a somewhat positive sign. As a Red sign the Hemlock is associated with Mars, fire, and earth, as well as with the arcane. As a solar sign it predicts struggle with (and usually triumph over) substantial obstacles over the course of one’s life. As a totem it represents a woman who knows her own mind and is not afraid to speak it—a woman both frank and sincere. Those with this totem tend to be direct and to the point, even in situations where a more diplomatic approach might be more appropriate; their strength of will and disdain for any but the most direct approach often leads them into difficulties, although it generally gets them out again as well. Women with this totem tend to be striking in looks (albeit usually more handsome than beautiful) and to have reddish complexions.

M. Agale: 28 December Solar sign: Carpenter ant. Totem: snapping turtle

CHAOS BLACK OBEDIENCE (December 28th)
Symbol: the Carpenter Ant. Associated virtues: Obedience, Diligence. Associated vices: Envy. The Carpenter Ant is considered an ambivalent sign, although more often negative than positive. As a Black sign it is associated with the moon, earth, and water. As a solar sign it represents a life of constant labor, usually out of the public eye, and often subversive of the existing state of things. As a totem it represents a man careful, diligent, and provident, but fundamentally selfish in outlook and goals. Those with the Carpenter Ant totem often amass significant fortunes—and often do so by working on the wrong side of the law. Men with this totem tend to be small and slender, often with long, delicate fingers and toes.

OPPOSITION BLACK WISDOM (December 5th)
Symbol: The snapping turtle. Associated virtues: Wisdom, Diligence. Associated vices: Greed. The Snapping Turtle is a neutral sign, without strong positive or negative connotations. As a Black sign it is associated with the moon, earth, and water. As a solar sign it represents a static life; one with this solar sign is unlikely to make great changes, for good or ill, in the world around him, being devoted to personal and idiosyncratic concerns. As a totem it represents a man tenacious and most often callous, with one overriding goal or objective to which all other concerns must be subordinated. Generally speaking a man with this totem is cold-blooded and with few friends; they are almost always competent but rarely liked. Men with this totem are usually heavyset and often have bad teeth.

Nicolas August 15th Solar sign: the Toad. Totem: the Lion.

SUBMISSION BLACK WISDOM (August 15th)
Symbol: the Toad. Associated virtues: Wisdom. Associated vices: Envy, Greed. The Toad is one of the more negative signs of the Hazlani Zodiac, especially as a totem. As a Black sign it is associated with the moon, earth, and water. As a solar sign it indicates a life close to, but not actually possessed of, the sources of power—the classic “power behind the throne”. As a totem it represents a man secretive and controlling, almost always obsessed with getting knowledge and often intent on acquiring secrets—whether of black magic or blackmail—which will benefit him and bring harm to others. Men with this totem are often heavyset and commonly have wide mouths and green eyes.

AUTONOMY WHITE COURAGE (September 22nd)
Symbol: the Lion. Associated virtues: Courage, Honesty. Associated vices: Pride, Lust. The Lion is an Epitome and one of the most powerful signs in the Hazlani Zodiac. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, air, and fire. As a solar sign it represents one destined to burn for glory and power, and more often than not, to achieve it. As a totem it represents a man of great personal courage, almost always with a commanding presence; Lions are usually natural leaders and often very skilled at the arts of war. They are generally well-liked, forthright, and magnanimous, but they also tend to have a highly developed sense of self-entitlement and are prone to romantic embarrassments brought about by their common habit of over-committing themselves to several women at once. Men with this totem are often larger than the average, with golden hair and gold or grey eyes.

[Nathan of the FoS]

From the Red Book:

ISFAHANI
DAY: OPPOSITION RED ZEAL
TOTEMS: GRIFFON and HOLLY-TREE
SIGIL: the SWORDSTORM, six swords ARGENT arranged in a circle, points outward, on a field GULES
MOTTO: DOMRBRAND HVERR BITA (The sword of justice strikes all men.)

The house Isfahani is one of the twenty-three high noble houses of Hazlan. The patriarch of the house is, by tradition, Master of the Rjodrbergholt and Thegn of the Fjarvestmark, the territory bordering Kartakass on the west and the Mists on the south; under the present system of government the title of “thegn” has been abolished, but the present head of the House, Nezar III Isfahani, continues to serve as governor of the territory at the pleasure of the Autark Hazlik Horskr. The terrain is extremely rugged and sparsely populated; although the second-largest territory of Hazlan by area, it has the lowest population and no towns larger than Rjodrberg, counting a bare two thousand persons.

The house traces its lineage back to Nebuch al-Spahan, one of the Six Companions of the Iron Emperor; according to legend and the few documents of that time that survive to the present, after the conquest of Hazlan and the final fall of the Vossoth Nor, al-Spahan requested the mountainous far west and the privilege of defending the western border for himself and his heirs in perpetuity, a request which the Iron Emperor graciously honored. Al-Spahan supervised construction of the Rjodrbergholt himself on the site of a Vossoth Nor fortress, incorporating as much of the original structure as he dared into the finished building, including the Vossoth Nor artifacts known as the Yellow Gate and the Well of Stars.

The title al-Spahan, meaning “of the troops” and referring to its holder’s abilities as a general, would eventually become the modern Isfahani; true to its name and totems, the house retains a militant character and is well-known for being the only house to require all able-bodied Rashemani men in its territory to keep and maintain weapons and to drill with them four times a year. Thus, despite its relative poverty, the Fjarvestmark “rising-out” can produce roughly 5,000 militiamen—by far the largest body of troops theoretically available to any Hazlani governor. The house troops number only two score, but are highly trained, well-armed, and captained by a member of the house itself.

The House Isfahani has generally had an uneasy relationship with the Red Throne, regardless of its current occupant, especially in those times in which the ruling house was one of less antiquity than its own. Its remoteness, its well-deserved reputation for truculence and intransigence in the face of any infringement on its traditional prerogatives, and it relative poverty have all combined to make it easier to buy off or ignore the house than to subdue it in most cases, and its territory has sometimes been all but an independent country in times of weak central governance. The house’s relations with the Autark have been distant at best, and at one point a few years after his accession to power a disagreement over tax revenues briefly became violent. A demonstration of force on the part of the Autark proved sufficient to bring the house to heel; Nebuch XIV Isfahani was made to pass through the Yellow Gate, and his son Nezar III Isfahani became head of the household.

[Nathan of the FoS]

The konductor Araamssen, who has stood at this post every day with his longspear bound in iron and his bronze half-mask covering his lower face for much, much longer than Darius has been alive, smiles—his mouth is hidden, of course, but his eyes show it clearly enough—and steps aside. Only the konductors and the Isfahani may descend these stairs unaccompanied; even the Autark, when he has come (twice in fifty years, and may the Lawgiver decree no third visit) has not stood alone at the Well of Stars, among the past masters of the Rjodrbergholt and their ladies.

Darius does not, and indeed cannot, think how strange it is to see his ancestors seated in the niches where they have their final rest, looking down on the Well, their skins stretched over mannequins of holly-wood, their eyes gemstones, so that they seem to sit alive and silent in consideration of this last mystery; it is all he knows of death, and it is more than enough. He comes here often, and it is the only place he never goes with Cyrus. He knows that Cyrus comes here, too, though he suspects it is for different reasons than his own; Darius has never been very interested in the Well, and spares it no more than a glance now, the slow lights playing over the ink-black surface as they always do. Xerxes comes more often than either of them, for reasons Darius does not know. Nezar is almost never here; Father comes often, but never before sundown.

When Darius comes again, it will be for reasons other than the one he has now. A child may run to his mother for comfort without shame; a man cannot.

She is seated well back in her niche, as if unwilling to put herself forward for scrutiny; a trumpet vine blooms at her right temple, vines grow along her arms, her eyes are two pieces of pure green jade, and around her navel are four leaves of holly and four berries red as blood: four sons born alive to Mariasha yf-Isfahani Vinheim. It is a blasphemy to tattoo a corpse, but his father had forced old Yarek to write the last two on her skin; she was still warm, and therefore there was no sin, that was what Father said, and no-one can easily resist one of Father’s commands. That is the story which Darius learned; he has no idea how or when. Surely neither Father nor Yarek would have told him…Nezar, perhaps, because he is the only one who really remembers her.

Touching her hand, Darius crouches and leans his dark-blonde head against her thigh. “Today I am a man, mother,” he whispers. “At noon they will begin the ceremony. The diviner came two weeks ago, and he has been watching us and asking questions. I think he doesn’t like me. Actually, I think he doesn’t like either of us. Or Father, much. He’s a Heron, mother…what do you think my totem will be? Do you think I’ll be a Griffin, like Father? Xerxes says Toad, but he is just mean.”

A scrape, and Darius leaps up and turns to see Father looking down at him. Shocked into silence, he stands staring at the swordstorm tattooed on Father’s chest and waits for him to speak…to ask what he is playing at, why he was touching the silk sarong which must surely be replaced if handled regularly, to promise a beating for having come.

Father is silent too, and after a long time Darius looks up.

Father is crying.

It is the only time in his life, before or since, he has seen such a thing, and it is far more disorienting (and therefore frightening) than any promised punishment.

Father finally nods toward the door of the great vault, and Darius bows and walks quickly away, only running when he has rounded the corner and is (probably) out of earshot.

That is the only moment in Darius’ life that has given him reason to believe his father loves him, and for that and other reasons he would, if asked, say it is the most important thing that has ever happened to him.

[Isabella]

Richard smiled as he walked through the main chapel of Eglise Sainte-Madeleine, still bustling with activity long after the sun had set. The bone church had been one of the first reclaimed after that terrible night, the operators paid in full for whatever rights they had to the property, the ticket sellers replaced by anchorites and volunteers, the souvenir stands replaced with things for the sick and needy. They’d had to bring the plaster skulls back out for sale, by popular demand, but it always made Richard happy to see so many people volunteering to help. It was ironic that such a place, surrounded by the bones of the dead, could feel so alive.

Richard remembered what Kerrian had told him before at this place: You belong here. And he did. It went beyond the bonds of friendship, or faith, or the knowledge that even in all this madness there were always caring people to turn to. He could find those in other places - but here he could relax. Here he wasn’t Lord Blackwood’s son, not the last scion of a dying house or a helpless boy who needed to be chaperoned. He was Richard, and Ste. Madeleine’s took him as he was.

The anchorites seemed to be taking care of all the petitioners, so Richard turned his attentions to taking care of the anchorites. The nights were still very cold, and Ste. Madeleine’s kept its doors open late. While many of the priests that frequented the ossuary would gladly work until they passed out, it was frowned upon in a general sense. The young man headed out to one of the ancillary buildings, where they kept the chapel’s meager kitchens and food stores for the priests. It was a bit cramped compared to the kitchen in the Chateau, but they made do with the space they were given. The stove wouldn’t really look right sitting in the chapel, next to the bones of the martyrs.

Richard ducked carefully under the doorframe to avoid hitting his head upon it, setting his new acquisition down on the stove. It was a strange contraption, looking not unlike an oversized hourglass, with a valve in the middle that allowed for separation of the two halves. Alice had told him it looked like something for boiling mercury. It was actually for making coffee, although she probably would have been more understanding if it had been for boiling mercury. As it was, she’d just smiled at him and shook her head. She’d never really gotten his interest in bizarre Lamordian contraptions, preferring clockworks and simple tools to experimental things that would probably fall to pieces and make a huge mess.

That, and... Richard didn’t actually drink coffee, not without enough milk to turn it pink. He’d suggested using it to make the morning tea, but that had just made Alice start laughing. But he’d bought the thing, and he still wanted to watch it working, so he’d brought it over to Ste. Madeleine’s. Warden Lesueur had a stash of coffee grounds that she kept stocked out of her own pocket, claiming it to be for the ‘comfort of those who visited the chapel in need.’ The fact she herself drank five cups a day didn’t go unnoticed, but everyone had their vices. It had become very popular among the evening shift.

The young man took a moment to examine the coffee pot. In principle, it was a simple concept. Richard took a moment to reexamine that statement in his head and came to the conclusion that no, it was incredibly complicated, especially for making a cup of coffee, but he’d heard nice things about the method. Heat would cause the water in the bottom to expand into the top, where the grounds were, and once it cooled the resulting vacuum would cause it to be sucked back through a strainer and into the pot. In theory, this would leave the resulting coffee without chunks of ground coffee beans strewn throughout it.

Richard took a few more moments to examine the pot before trying to do anything with it, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering feeling in his chest. It was simple in principle, but opening it was something he intended to do carefully. He could be a little clumsy when his strength betrayed him, and if he wasn’t careful with how hard he twisted then he’d open the pot only to have all the pieces fly everywhere. At least Father wasn’t here if that happened, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t done something stupid like that before... in fact, there wasn’t any reason for him to be feeling like this. The young man glanced to the side, frowning as he massaged his chest. He felt betrayed, almost, that this sensation could reach him at Ste. Madeleine’s. Taking a deep breath, which made him feel a bit better, he reached out to pick up the glass coffeepot, where the woman from the mirror was staring back at him.

Richard quickly let go of the glass, stepping back completely out of instinct. The woman looked at him even as he stared back, gaping a bit in what must have been a stupid manner. Still, he didn’t back away any further, or draw his sword - there wouldn’t really be a point. Stepping back forward, he knelt down by the glass, trying to look at the mirror woman eye to eye.

“What happened to you?” he asked her again, but she was gone, vanished in a heatbeat. He didn’t know exactly when she’d left, or if she had even heard him or not. Sighing heavily, Richard leaned against the back wall, idly rubbing his hand.

He should probably tell someone.

A grimace involuntarily appeared on his face as he thought what Alice’s reaction would be. She had just finally returned to good spirits after he’d nearly gotten his arm ripped off. Telling her about this... no, Alice absolutely could not find out about this. Richard felt a slight twinge of conscience, wondering how much of this was actually concern over his sister’s feelings, and how much of it was trying to avoid a fight every time he stepped out the door.

But who else to confide in? Sister Doherty would have been the obvious choice, not too long ago. Mr. Mauganson would just get overly worried about the whole thing, or worse yet, tell Alice. Miss Viardot didn’t strike him as having the kind of advice he was looking for, Miss Rondelet seemed like she’d be more interested in the phenomenon than anything to be done about it. Professor Mourneswaithe and Professor Lessard were right out, Mr. Eisenwald... Richard frowned. He still felt guilty about Mr. Eisenwald. Perhaps Miss Zweibach, or the Isfahanis? There was an intensely painful moment while he tried to imagine what he would say to them, before he just shook his head.

Once you started keeping secrets, it became harder and harder to let them loose. Even when they weren’t really that important. Even when you knew you should.

“I, I will tell someone,” Richard whispered to himself, knowing he was a liar even as he said it. He looked down at the coffeepot in front of him, reaching out to rest his scarred hand upon the glass.

[NeoTiamat]

There was a stack of documents underneath that, prefaced with a cover sheet.



It was a series of files from insane asylums and hospice's all over the Core. They were spaced many years apart, and most of the records were very bad. You recognized one as the event that Cerise has described, with the mirror-phobic woman vanishing and the entire ward becoming hostile. However, there was one file at the very bottom that stood out.



The rest of the document had been mostly inked out.

[NeoTiamat]

”I suppose you think this is funny,” he said, glaring downward.

His brother, standing below, gave a marvelous affectation of wide-eyed innocence. “Me? I find nothing funny. My sense of humor was removed at an early age, due to systematic abuse.”

“I said I was sorry about the rabbit thing,” he grunted back, straining against the hay bale he was rolled up in the center of. How in the Mists had his brother managed to pull this off? “It was hardly anything worth getting so touchy over.”

“I have no idea why you would think such a thing related,” his brother replied, cleaning the dirt out from under his fingernails with a sliver of straw. “I was told to roll the hay into a bale. The hay, as you can see, is rolled. If some worthless layabout happened to be sleeping in the hay instead of doing his chores, I cannot be held responsible for what happened.”

“Alright! Alright!” The hay scratched as he wiggled his shoulders. He managed to set his elbow against a relatively solid bit, pushing himself up a few inches.. “Just get me down from here.”

"I fear I have work I must attend to,” his brother said, with mock regret. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell father about your little roll in the hay.” His brother walked off, humming a merry tune, leaving him to struggle in the middle of the bale.

It had taken him hours to get free. He had to admit, years later, that it had been pretty funny.



Philippe winced as dirt pressed against his eyes, clogging his nose and filling his mouth. His head was still swimming and he felt deathly ill, but he managed to press his elbow against a bit of earth that was solid. He used it to push himself upward the few crucial inches he needed, his arm breaking through the loose ground and grabbing onto a fistful of plant stalks. The earth erupted in a pile around him as he dragged himself out. He clapped one soil-caked hand to his mouth to stop himself from gasping, or coughing, or when he saw the creature in the field, from screaming.

It was torture. His throat was tickling and driving him insane, but he didn’t dare to breathe. Dead eyes in screaming faces stared back at him, embedded in a monster that was larger than his bedroom. For the moment, its attention was elsewhere, chewing at something that Philippe couldn’t see – probably Rachel, he thought, too sick and dazed for that to truly sink in. He frantically looked around him. The woman from before was nowhere near now. Gripping the plant stalks and pulling frantically, he yanked himself free of the ground, scrambling for a bit before bursting into a run. The massive earth-beast whipped its head around, its canine head breaking into a snarl, with teeth made of rib cages. A moment later it was in pursuit, vanishing into the ground, the rumbling of earth the only sign it was chasing him.

He half rolled down the riverbank, terrified that any minute jaws would erupt from the earth, burying him alive. It was madness to try and outrun the thing like this, but hopefully he only needed to run far enough. He jumped from the bank, plunging deep into the water. It sucked him down, the usually easy swim a struggle for him - when he pulled himself on to the other bank he was gasping for breath. The gravehound had emerged from the ground, prowling around the other bank. It spotted him in the darkness, the water barely slowing it as it plunged after him.

Philippe had made it to the tool shed and was unbolting the door when the hound caught up to him, lunging forward to snap at his heels. The teeth tore through his ankle, sending him tumbling forward and crashing to the ground. The gravehound bounded forward, circling wary around its fallen prey. Philippe managed to lift his head as the monster snuffed at the ground, hesitating. Its grey, fleshy tongue rolled from its mouth, licking at a group of rusty nails that had been hammered into the earth.



”What in grace do you think you’re doing?” he asked, putting his hand on his hip.

His brother glanced up from where he was pounding nails into the ground, looking around before he returned to his work. “An experiment,” the younger man explained, setting another bit of metal under the hammer. “I don’t expect you to understand it.”

“I don’t understand why you’re taking all of dad’s nails to cover them in dirt,” he replied. “If he catches his plow on one of those and puts a dent in it, you’re going to catch hell.”

“I have positioned it to ensure against that,” his brother said, with a dull look. “Try not to run through like the invading army of the Tergs and wreck it. I realize this will be difficult for you.”

“If dad tells me to repair the shed roof and I can’t find any nails, I’m ripping that whole thing up,” he’d said back, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away while shaking his head. He loved his brother, but the boy had less sense than a donkey. For all he knew, his brother thought the nails were going to sprout into iron trees.

He never did tell dad where the nails had gone, or pull them up like he’d threatened. Whatever it was, it seemed really important to his brother, and he doubted anyone else would ever care about it one way or another.

[NeoTiamat]

[Nathan of the FoS]

AMBASSADOR MARCOS VEDARRAK
UNION BLACK COURAGE (October 20th)
TOTEM: WOLF
Associated Virtues: Courage, Zeal. Associated Vices: Wrath, Pride. As a Black sign the Wolf is associated with the moon, earth, and water. It is very negative as a solar sign and ambivalent as a totem. As a solar sign it indicates a life shadowed by the specter of violent death; many with this solar sign die in young manhood. As a totem it represents a fearless spirit, impatient and grasping. Wolves are generally both good leaders and good followers; they make good friends but very, very bad enemies, and they tend to make plenty of both over the course of their lives. They are often charismatic, but rarely enough so to be leaders in their own right. They also tend to have bad tempers and to hold grudges with great tenacity. Men with this totem tend to be powerfully built, of the average height, and to have pale eyes.

UNION WHITE COURAGE (October 6th)
SOLAR SIGN: STALLION
Associated virtues: Courage, Obedience. Associated Vices: Lust, Wrath. The Stallion is an Epitome, and one of the most powerful signs of the Hazlani Zodiac. It is positive both as a solar sign and as a totem. As a White sign, it is associated with the sun, air, and fire. As a solar sign it points to a life of early triumphs, followed by a more settled (in the worst case, stagnant) old age. As a totem it represents a man of great physical strength and strength of personality. Men of this totem are often skilled in the arts of war; they generally do not care much for the arcane, but are often notable for their piety. They are always passionate and easily moved by appeals to the emotions; men of this totem are great admirers of women and often take many lovers, whom they generally have no difficulty in attracting. Their lack of introspection, combined with their generally high opinion of themselves, is off-putting to some (especially other strong signs), but winning to many others. Men of this totem are tall, strongly built, and generally have prominent noses and strong jaws.

KATHARINA ZWEIBACH
DUALITY GREY TEMPERANCE (January 9th)
TOTEM: CAMELLIA
Associated virtues: Temperance, Diligence. Associated vices: Envy. The Camellia is ambivalent as a solar sign and neutral as a totem. As a Gray sign it is associated with Venus, water, and air, as well as with birth, death and divinity. As a solar sign the Camellia represents prosperity and excellence, marred by the specter of a sudden death. As a totem it indicates a woman who is calm, committed, and hard-working. They generally seem quite dispassionate and able to view themselves and others objectively; they are not particularly friendly or sociable, but generally have a small ring of close friends and admirers. Even with those they like best they are slow to reveal their inner lives, which sometimes produces difficulties in their married and family life; despite this, they are intensely devoted to those they care for. They may not be particularly talented, but often succeed in making up for the lack by sheer effort. Women of this totem tend to have athletic builds and to mature early.

CHAOS RED OBEDIENCE (December 21st)
SOLAR SIGN: CELOSIA

Associated virtues: Obedience, Diligence. Associated vices: Envy, Wrath. Celosia is considered negative as a solar sign and somewhat negative as a totem. As a Red sign it is associated with Mars, fire, and earth, as well as with the arcane. As a solar sign it represents a life dogged by bad luck and troubles from unlikely sources. As a totem it represent a woman who finds fault easily and finds it difficult to be contented with what she has. They do work well with others and enjoy being busy, but tend to become the person who points out the little problems or faults others were content to overlook; their presence is often useful but rarely enjoyable. This tendency is exacerbated in their family life, and women of this totem are notoriously prone to nagging. Women of this totem tend to have reddish complexions and hair, and to have strong jaws.

CERISE RONDELET
FORBEARANCE WHITE OBEDIENCE (May 3rd)
TOTEM: DAFFODIL
Associated virtues: Obedience, Honesty. Associated vices: Envy, Sloth. The Daffodil is neutral as a solar sign and as a totem. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, air, and fire. As a solar sign it indicates a life of cheerful tranquility, usually without great achievements. As a totem it indicates an optimistic woman who is straightforward and good-natured, but rather lacking in good sense. Women of this totem are often absorbed with something, usually themselves, to the exclusion of everything else. As a result, they tend to be impractical and to have difficulties managing their day-to-day affairs. They are easy to like and make friends quickly, often having a range of acquaintances including some very unlikely people. They are often clever, but rarely industrious enough to be really productive, finding it difficult to work steadily at any one task for too long. Women of this totem tend to be petite and to have a yellowish cast to their skin.

TRANSMUTATION RED DILIGENCE (April 15th)
SOLAR SIGN: HYDNORA AFRICANA
Associated virtues: Diligence, Wisdom. Associated Vices: Sloth. Hydnora Africana is ambiguous, but more commonly negative, as a solar sign and negative as a totem. As a Red sign it is associated with Mars, fire, and earth, as well as with the arcane. As a solar sign it is associated with the sudden emergence of life-changing events—for the worse, in most cases. As a totem it represents a woman who embodies a sort of paradox, as demonstrated by the virtue and vice mentioned it is associated with. Women of this totem are expert parasites and social climbers; they are skilled at insinuating themselves into almost any social group and then living off their friends. They are not charming so much as ingratiating, and may make themselves valuable to those who support them by doing the dirty work of scandalmongering and character assassination on their behalf. Women of this totem tend to have full figures and a reddish complexion.


PROFESSOR SEIGLINDE PETRIK
OPPOSITION WHITE TEMPERANCE (November 20th)
TOTEM: FOXTAIL BARLEY
Associated virtues: Temperance, Honesty. Associated Vices: Envy. The Foxtail Barley is slightly positive as a solar sign and ambivalent as a totem. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, air, and fire. As a solar sign it indicates emergence from early trials into a successful maturity. As a totem it indicates a hard-working and clear-eyed woman who is usually cool and brusque with others. Women with this sign are eminently practical and tough-minded; they may not go out of their way to interfere with others, but are remarkably effective at cutting short any attempt to interfere with them. They tend to be painfully honest and often have only a few friends. The Foxtail Barley is a totem well-suited to hard times; they keep their heads up and press forward even in the most trying circumstances. Women of this totem are almost always slender, with narrow facial features and very fine hair.

FORBEARANCE WHITE HONESTY
SOLAR SIGN: QUEEN ANNE'S LACE
Associated virtues: Honesty, Temperance. Associated vices: Sloth. Queen Anne's Lace is somewhat positive both as a solar sign and as a totem. As a White sign it is associated with the sun, air and fire. As a solar sign it represents a life of physical security and well-being, although there may also be unsatisfied spiritual or intellectual yearnings. As a totem it represents a women who is easy-going and comfortable, and who likes to think well of others; they have a certain innocence, and are slow to take offense or lose their temper. Unfortunately, they are also often slow to stir themselves; they generally prefer idleness to action and are often downright lazy when they can get away with it. They are keen observers, often good artists, and almost always great lovers of the arts. Women of this totem tend to have dark complexions, pale hair, and blue or purple eyes.