Rock the Cradle (Jade)

[GEAR]

72 Hours after the events of "Where Heroes Are Made"
Southern Lunar Settlements
6:18 AM SDT

"Scatter!"​

A series of emerald flashes, almost faster than the eye could follow - and a spray of biomechanical blood filled the void.

The advancing clump of Bull DAMON froze for a brief moment, their forms now riddled with holes where they didn't ordinarily belong, before the color faded from the crystals embedded in their flanks, and they were dragged violently back across the event horizon, vanishing without a trace. Such was the nature of these strange beasts that they didn't even leave a corpse behind - in many ways, it was convenient.

For others... It meant that collecting a trophy was that much more difficult.

Overhead, framed against the distant Earth, five gleaming emerald green components assembled themselves back into the form of a broadsword, before slamming home into the Lunar soil, sending cracks in all directions. A pair of a crimson hands reached out, resting on the weapon's hilt, the Orgone coating now receding from its surface in a cloud of verdant vapor as the Commander-type Raftclanz admired its handiwork.

"Well done, milord!"

With a spray of particulate, a second Knight-Machine, then a third and forth arrived, each one pulsing from nothingness, carried forward fractional steps in space by their Orgone Clouds. No special-issue variants were these, but they bore the red shoulders of House Ashford. In response, the Commander-type simply raised a hand wearily, as if unworthy of their praise.

"How is the prototype? Does it meet your expectations?"

One hand gripped the sword's handle, hefting it from the soil to examine its blade. At first glance, it appeared flawless - but closer inspection revealed a crack running along one of its components, causing its owner to give a grunt of dissatisfaction. The hide of the beasts was tougher than anticipated... Whatever dread realm they issued forth from must have been punishing indeed to breed such things, he thought mildly.

"Still needs some adjustments." - The Prototype Viper Sword was slung over the Raftclanz' shoulder as it turned to face its fellows.

It craned its neck up at the vast structure overshadowing all in its wake - a glistening drop visible even from Lunar Orbit, one of the crown jewels of mankind's journey into space:

The Moon Cradle.​

"Continue the cleanup operation in my absence." Said Ashford, giving a nod to the closest of his companions.

"There's a matter that requires my attention."

---

So it was that Bisen Foris, as the DAMON cleanup operation began to wind down, found itself summoned to the heart of Luna's Aristocratic class, the Moon Cradle. Few had ever been called inside its daunting walls to the idyllic plains within, and its residents were considered the cream of the crop, exclusive even by Lunarian standards. It was initially designed as a superstructure intended to weather even an apocalyptic scenario, a sister to the terrestrial Earth Cradle located on the blue planet that appeared overhead in the Lunar sky - albeit one that had yet to be integrated with the questionable "Machine Cells" of its twin, and were it not fir its tight-lipped policies of secrecy, could well have been considered a national symbol in and of itself.

In time, this structure had instead incorporated all of the latest and greatest cutting edge innovations in EOT, and housed the finest minds and deepest pockets of Luna, consolidating about itself political influence that was secondary only to the Lunar Palace itself - and in some ways, it was whispered, even greater.

The letter was signed "Lord Ashford", and invited them to "Cordially discuss the future of Bisen Foris as it pertains to the sudden departure of the Knight of Knights..."

The only question that remained was... Would they answer it?

 

[Jadwiga]

"Still, 'departure' was a... very diplomatic way to put it, no?"

Kylian smiled a bit ruefully. The tension was readily apparent behind it, no matter how he tried to make it curl into a pleasant expression. There was a pause amid his fellows. A pained silence hung in the air, so that only the birdsongs in the distance and the steady cadence of the silver stallions filled the space between them. The ornate barouche rolled smoothly and cleanly down the path to the designated manor, the select six representives of Bisen Foris a slight bit cramped upon two benches.

Sir Richard shifted in his seat, already feeling a bit awkward to be facing the wrong direction. The pale and wan Kylian to one side, and the deathly silent Leth to the other. The mercy was that he was at least facing toward more jovial company in Kiraly and Cascada, and a stalwart in Grahn. He cleared his throat in spite of himself.

"Yes, well. We don't want to dredge up that ugly business in matters of procedure I suppose."

He glanced aside to the footman's post, where Virgil was standing. The blonde figure was unerringly composed in nearly all situations, so perhaps it wasn't surprising he could cling to the side of a moving carriage just as unflappably. The only motion he could spy was the slight incline of the fellow's head, tracking the flight of a passing bird. The sooner they arrived, the better, he ruminated.

 

[GEAR]

The trek through the Moon Cradle - save, of course, for the cramped confines - was every bit as idyllic as it had first appeared. Rolling green hills met their eyes in all directions, the scent of freshly tilled fields, and only the occasional sight of an automaton or two, perhaps a herd of horses or cows, to break up the otherwise picturesque landscape, kissed with just the right amount of sunshine, and enlivened with the perfectly temperate breeze.

That was really the thing, though. The residents of the Cradle boasted that there was nowhere on Earth left quite like their own little slice of heaven - it was, to them, living proof that anything their Terran cousins could do, they could do better. It radiated the kind of self-assured smugness that their kind were commonly associated with in the outside world, and to the more self-conscious among them, a reminder that even with the advent of Queen Selene III, not all hatchets had been buried.

As Virgil's gaze scanned the horizon, he might have been mildly surprised to see the bird look back. The hawk cocked its head, mechanical eyes sizing up the new arrivals before pulling away. It hurtled along the artificial breeze, wings making the most minute adjustments before diving down, and out of sight.

Leave it to the aristocracy that even their security systems had to appear as quaint additions to their perfectly crafted world.

---

Eventually the barouche trundled to a halt outside the manor, the nature of the gravel underneath such that there were no unsettling pings and clangs as smaller rocks were dislodged - such was the care put into each individual detail that even the most minor of potential inconveniences had been scrubbed clean. Rows of shoulder-high hedges on either side offered visitors discretion, as well as, upon closer inspection, ample protection in the form of concealed magnetic fields - though given how difficult it had been to even gain entry to the Cradle, this seemed almost like an afterthought.

Ashford Manor's exterior had been constructed to reflect the surroundings, with proud, upright brick towers and micro-battlements that were reminiscent of a castle, clustered with just enough creeping ivy to appear mysterious, yet not enough to be unkempt. The occasional sound of a bird chirping in the distance could be heard, but who could say whether those were artificial constructs of a similar make, or purpose-built-and-bred organisms that could only survive within these walls?

Not long after coming to a stop, there was a soft click as the doors of the coach opened simultaneously, likely much to the relief of its cramped contents. Greeting them were a pair of domestic androids - high end ones, as to be expected - each a sleek metallic cobalt and molded in demure, aesthetically pleasing forms.

"Welcome to Ashford Manor, Knights of Bisen Foris." They said in unison, offering a mechanical curtsy;

"Master Thane is expecting you."

 

[Jadwiga]

The barouche had hardly come to settle its stilled weight atop its wheels before Virgil hopped to the ground. He landed as deftly and unflappably as he did anything else. Despite the nature of his transit, his white overcoat was still taut and pristine. There was scarcely a hair out of place atop his head. His icy gaze swept the surrounding area, noting the layout and guessing at the particulars of its components. In turn, they settled on the automata prying open the doors above, regarding them with the same passivity that had greeted the rest of the scenery. A gaze that lingered through the soft rustle of a waif's landing behind him, and then the familiarly weighty and clumsy steps of the Captain disembarking.

"... I swear they make this place more elaborate every time I visit. Like a bonsai or a toy poodle they can't stop fiddling with."

Sir Richard dusted himself off as a matter of rote. There was little actual need, of course, as the air filtration systems eliminated most airborne contaminants and the routine maintenance systems cleansed nigh every domestic surface to a shine at the nanitic level. Suggestion was a powerful thing, however, and be by his ill-ease at these environs or unwitting self-hypnosis in the course of his observation, he fussed with his uniform a moment to ensure his presentability.

Subsequent crackles of boot heels on gravel punctuated the landings of the remaining members of their party. Virgil stepped to the edge of the front stoop and glanced idly back over his shoulder. The four knights and their squire were forming up, making a wall of purple and black. The captain frowned as he replaced the naval cap atop his head, topping off his dress reds. Sir Kiraly and Sir Cascada exchanged knowing glances, the latter offering the former a shrug in response. The front door of a manor house was probably not the place to gossip, maids or no.

"I imagine so sir," came Virgil's belated response. At the prompt, Sir Richard drew a deep breath, stiffened, and moved to lead the way inside.

 

[GEAR]

The two automatons dutifully pulled open the doors to the manor before Bisen Foris as the knights tramped indoors, closing them behind as they did so. They moved gracefully, and in such lockstep as to be almost mirror images of one another - yet they were so much more fluid than the comparatively crude machines employed by the Terrans, that they could almost be mistaken for human. Of course, there were laws against such things on Earth, but on Luna? You could never be too certain.

The interior of Ashford manor was as carefully crafted as its exterior - a polished checkered black and white tile paved the floor of the entry hall, with classical paintings adorning the cream-colored, ripple-textured walls over coat-hooks and boot-racks. Several pairs had been placed already, resting gently in holsters as small, palm-sized automatons gently cleaned traces of dust and dirty from their hems and edges.

Proceeding further inward, the tile gave way to cozy wooden boards laden with rich red carpet, widening into a larger room littered with arched marble support columns, velvet sofas, and a crackling fireplace. Across the walls, any space that had not been taken up by lavish decorations was instead given over to bookcases, their shelves packed with wizened, priceless antique volumes. Overhead, a balcony indicated the presence of a secondary level, and it was easy to imagine revelers clustered along it in fairer times.

Any Lunarian had access to their entire storage of human knowledge close at hand on a personal terminal... but books were something more, in the eyes of certain elites. A snapshot of history, a distinctly human take on the world, flawed and imperfect as it was. To some, it may have seemed a curious fixation, like citing fingerprints on pottery as proof of its home-made nature, but to others it captured a kind of forgotten romance, a spirit that had been missing ever since the advent of EOT, and the great many benefits it had brought to mankind.

The air was heavy with the scent of baking bread, wafting from their immediate right, and barely visible down a hallway was the occasional white-suited chef, carrying some material or another hurriedly into what must have been a kitchen.

Notes of conversation floated towards the Knights as they approached, several individuals already seated in the lobby in the midst of an exchange. One man's voice in particular stood out, rising above the murmured discourse politely, yet firmly.

"Well yes, of course you're already using the best materials," - the speaker, a man said, "I understand that - I'm saying that if there's already fracturing at this scale, then your best isn't good enough-"

He was interrupted as the automatons bowed their heads in unison, both gesturing towards the new arrivals as they spoke together.

"Your Lordship: The Order of Bisen Foris."

A fresh round of murmuring went up from the assembled group, some of whom began rising to their feet - but it was the earlier speaker, seated closest, who rose first, turning to meet the Knights with a smile.

"At last."

There was no such thing as a stereotypical Lunarian noble, because all of what made them great was below the surface - the results of scientific obsession, of painstakingly micromanaged cellular grooming taken to its apex made each individual a work of art, even compared to the already over-designed citizen. Still, this man ticked many of the boxes one would expect - skin? Flawless. Shoulders? Broad, evenly proportioned. Hair? Like threaded snow, soft and cool to the touch. Eyes? Like dusky emeralds, simultaneously charming to behold, but betraying nothing of the intent behind them. And of course, the clothes - inlaid with silver thread, weaved in complex patterns that snaked their way up the long sleeves, giving his outfit an almost oriental flair to it, like a crane.

"Presenting: Lord Thane Ashford of the Moon Cradle."

Ashford gave his guests a warm smile, and a small bow of his head.

"Please," He said, "There's no need for such formalities. Thane will do, if you would be so kind."

 

[Jadwiga]

The group strode casually into the manor, the purple-clad knights falling into a rough arrangement of two lines behind the captain and his assistant. Sir Grahn, unfazed by the splendor (or much else in the mortal world) stared aimlessly at Sir Richard's back. Sir St. Brioche, merely bored of the place already, stared aimilessly into the space ahead. The girls, on the other hand, made furtive glances sidelong at the intricacy of their surroundings. Sir Kiraly and Sir Cascada were already noting things to gossip about later in more private surroundings. Squire Leth, on the other hand, took notice of the entrances, exits, defensible positions, and potential resources afforded by the chambers.

This did cause the latter three to pause just a half a step slower than their peers when the maids leading their delegation came to a halt. Virgil drifted alongside the captain, watching their introduction with him. The captain stiffened ever so slightly, lifting his jaw and steeling himself at the precipice. Behind him, as if on cue, the knights rearranged smoothly into a line of five. Those in front stepped to the side to let the rear three fill the space between and around them, such that they stood in numeric order. Hearing their boot heels fall silent, Sir Richard began his act - plastering a broad, hearty grin across his bearded features, and tossing his arms wide.

"Ashford! Haha, it's been too long! How the hell are ya?"

He marched brazenly right up to the man, and in perhaps a worryingly rapid manner, given the position of his arms. It looked rather like he was going to try to wrap the Lord Thane in a burly bear hug right up until the last moment, when he twisted to jut out his right hand instead, wrapping the stocky, white-gloved fingers tightly around Ashford's own. He settled shoulder to shoulder amidst the exchange, the capelet on the other falling back into place about its arm, already poised to sweep again when it came time to gesture to the others.