Act I: A Distant Glimmer of Hope

With a mechanical thunk the main lights in the Hive ignite overhead. Each one along the spine of the Hive igniting in sequence with the same thunk, and each one echoing in the hollow metal halls far below. The lights along the spine serve as your artificial sun, alerting you to sunrise outside and giving the dark cool interior of the hive an artificial day and night cycle. The spine lights are far overhead and the intricate criss-crossing of wires, supports, and pipes, combined with the additions made by the Hivers over the last few generations, leave much of the ground level overrun by shadow and patches of dim light. Where the overhead lights do not reach the ground the Hivers have placed torches in sconces upon the walls and fulgurite lanterns cast muted flickering candle light along the metal and synth footpaths that are common among The Hive.

Despite the age of the Hive much of it remains intact. What has rotted with age has been maintained by those who seem to speak to the Hive itself. These engineers and their prodigy repair and maintain much of the equipment here, sometimes without recognition from the original and other times in a primitive and hodgepodge manner. Much of The Hive is an amalgamation of the ancient and the ninth world. Old rotten footpaths have rusted away and crumbled into dust falling deep in the depths of The Hive below. These have been replace by precariously placed metal grates and other salvages parts never really meant to support the weight of humans walking upon them. These man made bridges connect sections of The Hive that have long since been separated by decayed flooring. Crossing these bridges is an everyday routine for most workers who dare not look down into the underbelly of The Hive from where they faintly hear ghastly sounds and shrieks all shrouded a midst impenetrable darkness. Those who work among the great numenera of The Hive hear the skittering sounds of metallic legs as dozens of numenera spiders skitter along pipes and walls trying to repair what is left of The Hive's original numenera.

Biiliik has just awoken as the spine lights cast their light upon The Hive floor. The previous night was atypical and she found it rather difficult to sleep, but she does not quite know why. Perhaps it is the recent civil unrest which she has been largely responsible for dealing with instead of being free to leave the Hive as she usually prefers. With the current worker uprisings most warriors were pulled from their usual duties to protect the Hive infrastructure and the well being of the loyalists. The water shortage has gotten her on edge as well, though as a member of the warrior caste, and even more importantly a female descendant of the queen her needs have been well taken care of.

Vizim's evening was no better, Biiliik and other warriors have ensured that his evening was filled with wound care. Vizim slept well enough but was up far too late treating the injured from last evening's riots. When the spine lights ignited and Vizim awoke greeted only by the "through the eye" headache typical of sleep deprivation. He knew today would be no better, the unrest has gotten worse over the last few weeks and desperate workers would fight amongst themselves at best or band together to take on warriors like himself at worst.

Seyyal Daima perhaps had the worst evening of all. While Vizim spent the evening and much of the night treating wounded workers and Biiliik did her part by putting some of the riots to an end; Seyyal has spent the entire night counseling desperate workers. Like Biiliik, Seyyal is a direct female descendant of the queen and her physical likeness to the first prophet of the sacred scrolls has much of the worker caste believing her the reincarnation of said prophet and the likely next queen. This lofty status weighs heavily on her responsibilities but gives her an uncanny ability to keep the unrest in check without violence or intimidation. Her temple has just emptied of the last of the desperate, just in time for the spine lights to ignite. Seyyal is completely overcome by weariness, but a new day has dawned, and new problems are inevitable.

[This is the first story post mainly intended to set the setting and recent events. Feel free to elaborate on your previous evening and the night. Your first post should largely introduce your character and their morning routine. I will respond to each post if a GM response is needed. Look out for the next plot post tomorrow evening.]

Seyyal slowly and deliberately starts to arrange the temples trinkets and symbols on their appropriate altars in the appropriate formation, preparing it to receive the prayers and offerings that make up the daily prayers of the more devout. Once her morning duties are finished she leaves the main chamber for the quiet room tucked away in the back of the temple that she calls her home. Inside is a small cot and a bedside table. On the table is a well worn book with bits of paper sticking out at odd angles, and a candle burning lightly beside it. The candle, an oddity she is grateful to have, never burns out.

Resiting the temptation of sleep, Seyyal tucks the book into her robes and collects the candle, then moves to the neighboring chamber. In the middle of the chamber is a small table on which sits a roughly made metal bowl. The bowl is filled with water. This small amount, delivered secretly to the temple every evening, is intended for her own daily rituals. In light of the recent shortage, however, Seyyal has seen to her prayers without water and instead has been secretly giving water to the poorest visitors to the temple. This morning, however, with exhaustion already numbing her arms and weighing heavily on her eye lids, she puts the water to a different use. Cupping her hands and lowering them into the bowl she fills her palms with a small amount and splashes it onto her face. The sudden chill suppresses the weariness, if only for a moment, and she immediately is filled with guilt over the waste.

Drying her hands and face, she returns to the main chamber of the temple and kneels before the altar, bowing her head in silent prayer. In a few moments, as the Hive stirs to life, others will trickle in and make their morning offerings.

Vizim rises from bed, starts to walk arund the room, only to fall back into a chair, rubbing his forehead. The previous night wasn't particularly difficult, but it was exhausting. Only having gotten a few hours of sleep, he shakes his head as if to clear it, and gets up to walk to the kitchen for some water. I really should start taking notes, before I forget, he thinks as he add some powders to the water to help clear up the headache.

He walks over to a desk with a small bag next to it. Undoing a lock on the bag, he reaches in, getting a feather pen, a bottle of link, and he reaches into a hidden pocket to pull out a small notebook. He starts writing in characters that look vaguely familiar, but not quite sensible to the common person. He scribbles for a while, absorbed into his work. Yes, they'll find this interesting...

He stops after a while, picking up the notebook and pen, and continues to write as he makes some food. Must have good food to make for a strong day...

Vizim's office doubled as his home. As a member of the warrior caste his place was not merely the cobbled hovels found about the market district but was somewhat posh. While still small in area, restricted like most others by the interior dimensions of the Hive, the number of luxuries present in the room was far greater. For one Vizim had three rooms; a living space of sorts, like a rather well to do studio, a room to use for his practice, and another which served as his office. His office shared a door to his practice which in turn hid the living space behind a door within. The entrance to Vizim's home brought one directly into the office which was adorn with high quality synth and metal furnishings, well stocked metal book shelves, and all manner of numenera oddities and amenities. Unlike the hovels of the workers the dwelling is lit by the cool pale blue glow of the tentacle lights common throughout the Hive instead of lit by lanterns and candles.

Having just finished brewing a simple tea and fixing a hearty meal of Sand Dragon soup Vizim made his way toward the office. His intention was to attempt to nourish for the day and try to wake up. Despite his exhaustion he intended to continue on his notes as he always did. Upon reaching the office he was surprised to a man standing in the doorway at the entrance to his home. It seemed he had forgotten to lock up since he had fallen fast asleep in his chair after treating and seeing off the last of his patients the previous night.

The man standing before Vizim would have been intimidating had he not been recognizable. His name was Mujahid and though he was no friend to Vizim he was fairly important figurehead. The man was built like a Saurian and had his share of battle scars. He wore the loose fitting pants common among dwellers of The Golden Sea and he wore a metal breastplate upon his great chest. His most striking feature was the strange black metal wrought so neatly with the flesh of his face, and the glaring pale blue glow of his numenera eye. This eye has been called the Eye of Jabbar and it is said that he can watch any of his soldiers at anytime with this eye. He was the captain of the Janissaries, a standing army of sort consisting primarily of worker militia who were lead and trained by members of the warrior caste. All warrior caste members do or did serve in the Janissaries and Mujahid has been the captain for a long time. He is known to be a good leader, but he is also known for his lack of compassion and his no nonsense attitude. He stood with arms folded in the pale blue glow of the tentacle light near Vizim's door.

Vizim stands up a bit taller, rubbing his forehead as if to wipe away the headache. "Mujahid, it is a pleasure to see you. Do you require medical aid?" he asks, in a somewhat flat tone.

Seyyal's temple, like many amenities for the workers, is located in the market district. The hustle and bustle of daily life and business can always be heard from the temple's halls. Today was no exception, as the spine lights ushered in the new day the Hive's workers quickly filled the halls and tunnels of the Hive's interior. Seyyal sat quietly in meditation preparing for those who needed guidance but much time had passed and none had visited. It was unusual for the normally very religious Hivers to not come for morning ritual. While it was no requirement of law or scripture it was unusual.

In a way it was a welcome break. The tireless night prior had Seyyal practically falling into micro sleeps during her rituals. The temple was much larger than Vizim's office, with room for many workers to perform the rites and rituals meant to give thanks to the Lords of Abernath. Many oddities and numenera artifacts adorned the walls and altars within. Each a sacred relic left over from the times before man. Many of these items so sacred that even Seyyal dare not disturb them, but many more adorned her living quarters, making life far easier and more comfortable than that of a worker.

As Seyyal began to fall into another micro sleep the sound of the great metal door grinding against the metal floor paneling echoes throughout the temple halls. It was startling but to be expected. The sounds of hurried footsteps echoed down the metal walkways throughout the hollow vaulted ceilings of the temple. Opening her eyes Seyyal saw as the figure of a young man, a worker, emerged from the darkened hallway into the prayer chamber. He was short on breath and had a panicked look on his face and he spoke, quite improperly, to a higher caste member before being spoke to. His words were convincingly panicked, "Prophetess, our future queen, a grave matter has come that only you may adjudicate. He his misguided, you must come quick before he makes a grave mistake."

Seyyal calmly stands, and moves to the back of the room, collecting a heavier robe and draping it over her shoulders, "Who do you speak of?" Her voice is as calm as her motions.

Mujahid chuckled dismissively before speaking in his gruff unempathetic tone, "As if anyone could harm me." He stared for a moment in silence, his eyes met Vizim's. Vizim swore he could feel the cold blue eye gazing into his very soul. "As you likely know the warrior caste is of diminished size this generation, many workers feel the queen is weak and a daughter will usurp her soon. Workers are gathering near the water numenera below, I am calling on any warrior to come aid the Janissaries, especially someone with medical knowledge."

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A sense of relief flashed across the face of the weary young man. Though barely a man he looked haggard and overworked. His face was wrinkled with stress and dehydration and his body was wrought with scars, open infected scratches, and other signs of overwork. Despite years of physical labor his muscle mass was wanting and he clearly wore hunger more than clothing. His garb was tattered and old, likely the only clothing he owned and likely provided in his youth by his family. Though visibly calmed by Seyyal's apparent willingness to help panic still sounded in his voice as he spoke, "Its Ashjad, a friend of mine, he got his hand on a detonation cypher and I fear the worst. He has gone to the rally at the tanks."

"Aid the Janissaries? To what end?"

Seyyal nods and speaks calmly, "Take me to him." As they leave the temple, she turns and closes the door - locking it. While trust is supposed to be a trait that she cultivates, the value of some of the artifacts in the temple make it simply foolish to leave it all unattended.

Mujahid furrowed his brow as if frustrated by the questioning. He was an impatient and uncouth man who was used to people following his orders rather than asking questions. He spoke to Vizim with increasing disdain, "I need warriors for security, the workers pathetic little rallies have turned violent before, this one is in a very sensitive area. I mostly need you to ensure my men are safe if one becomes injured. I may need you to fight, but I mostly want you to do what you do best." Mujahid did not wait for more questioning from Vizim, but instead turned his back and opened the door. He had expected Vizim to follow out of a sense of duty, but knew he more likely would follow to ask another question or simply out of natural curiosity. Mujahid paused for a second just outside the door to see what Vizim would do. His massive back leaned against the open door to hold it open.

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The young man sighed with relief when Seyyal agreed to help him, but he continued to hover close to her as if proximity to such a holy woman helped calm his nerves. As Seyyal shut the doors to the temple and locked up, the young man continued to shuffle and sway nervously. Panic and concern both registered on his face simultaneously. Finally when Seyyal had turned to him, having completed her task of securing the artifacts within, the young man began hurriedly walking through the market. Seyyal followed and she noticed each step had become more hurried than the last. The market was still crowded and the pair had to duck and weave between those who chose to do the labor required of them, but Seyyal noted the population in the market was clearly diminished implying something big was about to happen.

Vizim smiles in his mind. He nods to Mujahid. "I won't fight unless I choose to, but I will help heal those who are injured. Give me a moment to pack some belongings." He turns without waiting for a response, getting together medical supplies, some clothes, and necessities into a sack, and walking out his door with Mujahid.

Seyyal, calmly, leans near her companion and whispers, "Take me to your friend, and swiftly. I sense something is out of place, and I would not want to compound whatever problems are on the horizon." She looks around the market as they move through it, looking for evidence of what might be about to happen. Are the vendors acting normally? What of the crowds, they are diminished but are they also acting peculiarly? Perhaps avoiding some regions, or some people?

Mujahid waited patiently and fairly quietly as Vizim gathered his things. He continued to lean against the door propping it open. After a moment of silent observation he spoke in his usual tone, "I should expect my men could handle the fighting, its your more delicate talents were hoping for. I just advise you not forget your training, the workers are becoming increasingly desperate and I suspect the ever increasing violence is about to crescendo." As Vizim approached the doorway Mujahid threw himself off of the door with a flexing of his shoulders and back. The two men walked out into the marketplace and immediately things seemed out of order. The normally busy market was populated by far fewer workers than would be the norm and though voices could be heard all around, many spoke in hushed tones and fleeting whispers.

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The young man picked up his pace at Seyyal's urging. As he hurriedly stepped through the market, deftly moving around other workers, he looked back at Seyyal and spoke, "I feel this is worse than I may have imagined. There is more you should probably know. Some of the workers feel that the queen hordes water for the elite, that there is no shortage and that we are being lied to. These movements started out small but as the rationing has gotten worse and workers have witnessed secret deliveries of water the movement has gained momentum. Some believe the Abernath faith is a lie and are turning back to Makaan for guidance. I of course am not one of these people, lest I would not have come to you, but sadly Asjad is one of the misguided. The movement has called upon their supporters to help prove the queen horde water." The man sighed as he finished his confession and a weight was visibly lifted from his shoulders. He continued to walk quickly, albeit quietly and with his head hung low. Seyyal scanned the area for a clue as to what might be going on as she listened to the young man speak.

Vizim merely follows, quietly, observing all around him.

Mujahid and Vizim mostly walk in silence. Their steps are hurried but they do not run through the market. While both look about for potential danger neither are particularly intuned to the happenings around them. The pair quickly make their way through the sparse crowds to a winding metallic stairway which is largely hidden in a sparsely used corner of the market. The crowds here are thinned out and only a few vendors of luxury or rarely used peculiarities have set up shop here. The maintenance stairwell that spirals down into the darkness below is lit only by the peculiar blue eyestalks the grow in seemingly random places throughout the hive. The pair begin to descend with each step rattling the old stairway. More eyestalks cast pale blue light from the walls along the stairway, each stalk just far enough apart to cast a few steps in shadow. The skittering of numenera spiders can be heard along the pipes and ventilation shafts that crisscross below and in the distance voices echo throughout the tunnels.

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Seyyal had to split her attention between looking about while listening to the hushed whispers of passing workers and listening to the words of her guide. The young man's troubling news made concentration difficult and Seyyal was incapable of piecing together any of the words the passerbys said. Looking about she noticed the diminished crowds and the fact that they avoided gaze with the upper class, and seemingly her in particular; almost as if they wished to avoid the judgement of the prophetess. Largely everything seemed in order to Seyyal, perhaps she even only imagined the avoiding gazes. It wasn't long before the pair reached the spiral staircase that descended into the maintenance abyss. It was not a place for the like of Seyyal, generally considered far too dangerous for anyone of value. The rickety old staircase rattled and shook in the pale blue light with each step into the abyss below. Before long the pair had descended past the piping that criss crossed below the catwalks and stairways above. The ground level, partially obscured by darkness and steam, was just barely visible a few stories below. Seyyal felt a wave of vertigo as she looked down into the darkness and in that moment of discomfort the entire structure of the staircase rocked as if a very heavy individual stepped onto the upper stairs with all of his or her might. Seyyal focused on her footing to keep her balance but quickly snapped her attention to her comrade as the sound of rusted metal breaking echoed out and her guide fell through where the step once was. The young man cried out and grabbed hold of the siderail further shaking the entire structure. In obvious panic the young man cried out, "Please oh please help me. Lord Jabbar hear my prayer.". The young man held tightly to the rail as he hurriedly whispered out a prayer and the ringing sound of the metal stair echoed out from the darkness below.

This is a GM intrusion. Seyyal is awarded 2 exp here, one to keep for herself and the other to give to another player of her choice, in this case Vizim.

Seyyal reacted quickly. She moves to a place that she can reach her guide and holds out of her hand, "Calm yourself. Panic will only kill us both. Take my hand and pull yourself up." With her other hand she braces her body by gripping the opposite railing. She knows that strength is not something she was blessed with, but leaving the man to die is not an option. She has to try. Gritting her teeth she looks him in the eye, hand held out in offering, "Grab my hand."

The young man looked up at Seyyal. Panic was evident in his eyes and he continued to mutter his prayer fervently. After a moment of watching Seyyal the man fought back his fear enough to let go of the railing with one arm and reach for Seyyal. As his weight shifted the sound of metal groaning under stress echoed throughout the chamber. Seyyal felt the opposite railing which she braced herself on give a little as some of the old welds broke from years of rust and decay, and though her weight shifted forward a little with the sudden snap of one of the welds the railing seemed to hold fast after. This did little to give the young man comfort but he knew he had little choice; he had to put his faith in the gods and their chosen prophet if he were to survive. Luckily faith was something the young man had in abundance. After what seemed like an eternity of supporting his weight with one arm and slowly struggling to reach for Seyyal, the young man grasped Seyyal's wrist with an exasperated exhalation.

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Mujahid and Vizim had felt the stress on the structure as they descended. With each step the pair had to struggle to maintain their footing. The entire structure groaned in protest of being walked upon and the voices below, though still no clear, were evidently cries of distress.

The spine lights clicked on, and a beam highlighted Biiliik, who was huddled on the floor beside her bedpad, dressed only in her smallclothes. She rose hesitantly, stiff from half-remembered blows from the frightened workers. Her arm was also stiff, from repeatedly striking at those same workers with her truncheon, protecting the access corridors to the water tanks, working hard to not maim or kill. Not killing so many people extended the effort into a blur of faces, raised arms, gnashing teeth, rocks and curses raining down on her and the other warriors. Still, a good rest should have restored her, but she felt as if she had barely slept at all.

A small sip of water refreshed her parched lips. She had drunk deeply last night, but had not slaked her thirst. Still, she knew how to preserve, and while she was used to living decadently here in the Hive, looking into her water bowl she could see in the reflection only dehydrated workers' faces. Perhaps she should consider an extended hunt, to relieve the stress on the Hive's resources, and perhaps bring back... no, it's hard to bring back sufficient water, which is what they really needed. Maybe the mechanics could find a solution.

She stretched more, some light exercises to get the blood flowing, and then dressed and ate some jerky and dried fruits, squatting down desert style. She looked over at the table, the chair, the unused bed. Even the clothes that she had chosen were loose, but form fitting, chosen to avoid tangles but protect her from heat. Bandages were wrapped up her calves to her knees, and covering her arms up to her elbows, providing protection as well as sheathes for knives. Her survival instincts were taking over, which told her everything she needed to know about how precarious life in the Hive had become.

Well, best finish and clean her weapons, too. Then, perhaps the keffiyeh head wrap. Who knows what fresh wars this day would bring.

Using the opposite railing to brace herself, and putting her own faith in the already failed stability of the rusted welds, strains to haul the man back up onto the stairs. "I can't do this myself. Grab onto the railing and help haul yourself up." She barks at the man, and without hesitation he does as she commands. Their muscles strain as they work together and, slowly, he gets himself up onto the stairs.

Breathing heavily she nods to him and smiles weakly, "Let's not linger. Come." Seyyal moves on down the stairs at a steady, but careful pace. Her ears attending to the groans and creaks of the metal, and she uses her toes to firmly prod each step before moving onto the next.