The old man dreamed of the broken child: Limbs twisted and features fragmented almost beyond recognition, the boy felt no pain. Pain, the man remembered in his dreaming state, had fallen from him, as surely as he had fallen from the sky. The dreams came each night, coaxing memories the old man wished he could forget. He had spent half a lifetime healing, and another half trying to bury the child he had been.

Waves. It was, in the absence of pain, the sea’s movement which brought sensation back to the child. Unsettled blue, swirled with muddied crimson, babbled at gray pebbled sands. In his dreams he barely remembered the fall, but he remembered the sea and shore.

“Hello?” beckoned a voice.

The old man rubbed his eyes, still weighty with dream-sand. He sat up in bed. The sound of waves came unbidden, intrusions from his slumber bleeding to a faint rumble from the nearby sea.

Another rattle sounded against the cottage door. “Sire, might we speak?”

The tang of salt and copper stirred in his mouth. The old man probed a loose, rotting tooth and spat. “I’m not decent,” he replied.

“We’ll wait,” came another voice. This one was higher, more eager.

Like a child’s, he thought. Impetuous. He stood, shaky. Somewhere below his knee, some rough southerly place between cartilage and joint complained. It had never been the same since that day. In his dream the memory was clear: the leg shattered, twig-cracked. He couldn’t feel the agony, not with his neck equally twisted, but he could feel the sea’s caress. That, and the taste of salt and copper, and the sight of feathers bobbing on the waves.

He pulled a shawl around his waist. The fabric didn’t protect him much from the winter’s chill, but the inclement wind at the bay during colder seasons bothered him little. He opened the door.

“Are you him?” asked the first youth, before the old man gathered his thoughts. There were three all told, perhaps between twenty and thirty seasons. Two had a native look and Athenian cut to their clothes while the third, darker-skinned and by far the younger of the three, stood at the back exuding anxiety.

He stared.

“They say you died,” said the eldest.

“Do they?” asked the old man. Striding back into the cottage, he lit a thin tapered lantern with a shaking hand and set it on a bare wood table. A waft of scent from the candle, or perhaps the sea, stung his senses: honey. “Is that what they say?”

“Yes,” said the eldest, voice a-tremble. “We don’t wish to intrude.”

“Yet you are!” He rummaged on his shelf, rattling clay pots and bowls before he thrust a jar into the youngest’s hand. “Help by milking the cow. I don’t have enough breakfast for the four of us.”

They scurried off, and he walked toward an outcropping to wait for them to finish the task. He had died, the old man decided, in the sea, on the shore. Died fifty seasons before, maybe more, tasting the waves and pebbles and tiny sand-crawlers trespassing across the skin of his lips. A lone gull screeched its call, breaking his daydream, but still the feel of water lingered. No, more than water; a wavering, rolling sway, lapping at him as the sea on the shore. He felt old and cracked, like driftwood.

The eldest of the students, whose name was Heron, returned. “The cow is milked,” he stated, holding the jar in offering. The student’s posture reminded the old man of the Athenian priestesses from a memory half-forgotten, broken, weightless. “Now, will you tell us?”

“I have nothing to tell,” the old man said.

“But you lived!” the youngest student argued.

The old man snorted. Clutching his stave for weight, he sat on the roundest and most well-worn of the rocks to watch the sun’s reflection in the sea.

“Damn you,” hissed the student. He threw down the jar. It smashed on the ground. Bitter milk twisted its way through lax grass threads. “We came all this way to hear your words.”

He could have looked up. For the longest time, the old man thought, I could have looked up. If he did so now, he’d see the eyes of the child. He’d see the person he once was staring back at him, defiant, earnest, light as the wind. He’d see himself, before the fall, before the waves, before the light.

“Fine!” the student said. “We three mean to take the ambrosia, and sought you as a teacher. If you will not, we will do so without your wisdom.”

The three stepped back, one pace, another. Sandals scuffed against small pebbles, and the old man said, “I would give you all I know, had I any to give.”

“You lived!” insisted the middle student.

“Lived?” asked the old man.

Live, the voice had said to the broken child.

The old man could scarcely remember the voice, yet he remembered the words, and the light. The taste of the light. A light which filled him, moving from outside to within. He absorbed it, drawing heat and life, renewal. The dreams always ended before the memory of the light, so vast and full, like the sun, burning away the taste of the sea salt.

The light had made the boy whole, and it had offered more. The old man shut his eyes, feeling the age in his body, the weight on his joints. Some days, he wished he could fly.

The taste of ambrosia lingered on his tongue, as did the image of the woman kneeling beside the broken child, copper cup in hand, cradling his broken head. Live, she’d said.

“I lived,” said the old man to the students, “if you can call it that.”

The eldest turned his head this way and that. “Here,” he asked, spreading arms wide. “Why in this cottage? A man like you, you could be...”

“A what? A teacher? A governor? A warrior? Which life should I lead with this gift? I made my choice: I’m a farmer and a hermit. I tend my sheep and grow my crops and spend the evenings watching the waves and the sun. Is that not enough?”

“It could be more,” said the student. “Could it not?”

Could it not, thought the old man. Could we not soar higher, sail upward, reach ever further? “Aye,” said the old man, “I guess you could. You very well could.”

He could indeed.

In his memories, the broken child stood. His unsteady legs, like those of an old man, adjusted to his weight once again. He stood among the waves, and the driftwood, and broken springs and strands of leather and feathers. The woman held his hand. The boy’s head blazed with the light; his body burned with it.

Light engulfed him once more, only now it brought renewal, not death. It seared him, momentarily, his mouth contorted to a scream. He had not screamed as he fell, but his father’s scream had followed him down. That cry had been so keen, searing through the boy, piercing him like a blade, he could scarce remember any word his father had spoken before.

“You could be more,” said the old man, “but I could not.”

“Please,” said the student, “I seek only your wisdom.”

“Then seek out my father’s pupils. Turn the gifts the light of the gods, this ambrosia, grants you to some good. But speak not of me, nor of my life here.”

Nor, he thought, of the woman. He recalled someone tall, clad in a gown of white, watching the boy as he rose once again. When he tried to remember her face, though, her features changed every time. Perhaps that was her gift. For years since, he had sought her. Tales led him far from home, far from where he’d died and rose again. He wondered, did she toy with them? Perhaps she truly was one of the gods, for all the curses he could spit at her.

It had been so long since the old man had seen the face of his mother. Perhaps it could have been her.

The student bowed his head. “Is there truly naught you can teach us?”

Stiffly, the old man rose. Wrinkled fingers brushed loose gull feathers from the rock. A young bird, more fluff and beak than wings, gave a raucous caw from where it sat on the ground, alone. It pecked needle-like, at the man’s calloused hand. “They’re abandoned, sometimes” he mumbled, scooping the bird up in his palm. It jabbed at him again, more hungry than aggressive. “Or they wash up on the shore. Sometimes they learn to fly again. Other times they stay grounded, living here by the rocks.”

The small bird bit down on his finger. Small serrations brought memories to the surface of wooden splinters, sharp and cracked. They smelled of melted honeyed glue, stitched to leather, basted in sunlight. Pain, hot like sunlight, jammed through his nerves. The old man ignored it. He’d felt pain before, from the sun’s fire, from the golden liquid which had stitched the boy’s torn limbs back together into the strongest they could be.

“Will you fly, little one?” he asked, cupping the small bird. “Even if you fall, will you get up and fly again?”

The student turned, walking back to his fellows. Tension bunched in his brow. “We traveled far!” he shouted back.

The old man shook his head. “I wasn’t asking the bird,” he whispered. He knew the power of the gods. He’d grasped it twice and felt its burn like sunlight on bare skin. It had seared his wings. He muttered a silent prayer for the students, who thought the goodness in their hearts, or the strengths of their will, would keep them safe through the fall. The fall all who took the power of the gods into themselves experienced.

As the students left, the old man reached out, uncurling fingers. The small gull sat, bundled and still.

The bird would not fly, the old man realized. Even when cared for, even when nursed back to health, it refused. Its eyes scanned the distant horizon, yearning, but unwilling. Instead it nestled, home.

Gradually, the old man set the bird back down on the rock, knowing it wouldn’t move. Knowing he, too, wouldn’t. His mouth pulled itself to a smile. Damn those students, he thought, they won’t learn. How could they, when he himself had not?

The old man looked back at the cottage, his home for so many years, a brick birdcage from which he couldn’t fly. A gift wasted, he thought. He’d been burned twice by the light, once felled and once reborn. His refusal to take flight again pulled the memories of the broken boy to him nightly. He closed his eyes; fragments of a half-buried past washed to the shore, speckled with driftwood, broken wings and feathers.

Quietly, he wept, turning his face toward the sun, hoping the light would burn away the tears and the long years that had passed. He stepped through the grass, still wet with morning dew, fingers unfastening his robe. It fell, sunlight folding across skin. Muscles, unused for ages, flexed, and for a moment the old man was a boy again — not broken on a shore, but standing alongside his father, atop a tower and ready to soar. Stepping forward, wings unfurled from his back, feathers upturned. He would not fall into the waves. The sun lifted him up.

Feathers lifted him into the sky. They felt so unfamiliar to the old man, like an arm, half-mended, stiff from underuse. An ache settled heavily into his back, forcing him to push against it, straining against the years and the waves. A cry broke from his throat, a bellow of renewal. A broken boy, whole again. A fledgling gull breaking from its nest. The sky, the ascendancy of the gods, and a sun as golden as ambrosia. With one great beat of his wings, the old man pushed himself upward, and flew into the sun.

Hello Argonauts!

We're pretty much in the middle of this campaign, with an amazing first half behind us and, I'm sure, an exciting second half ahead of us. To help keep our enthusiasm and momentum as we get to the final manuscript chapters and final crowdfunding days, I've got a little preview for you from our next backers-only chapter.

That's right - backers of this crowdfunding campaign will be able to read the entire current draft manuscript before we end and before any pledges are processed or collected. In addition, backers have access to a Feedback Form so they're able to share comments directly with the developers, writers, and editors to help steer this manuscript through the next stages of development.

If you see any bits that may need some clarification or contradict part of the Core Rules or could be misinterpreted, make sure you share your feedback with the team! And if you're not sure... it's better to share and then realize your issue is sorted in another chapter than to not share and have a potential issue linger in the manuscript.

So, please look for the Feedback Form link when the next manuscript preview becomes available on Tuesday.


And the next chapter coming is all about Gifts! Here's a sneak peek to get us through the weekend...

Transformed by ambrosia, the Inspired of the Trinity Continuum: Aegis era display powers that far surpass those of any baseline human. Whether they consider themselves blessed by the gods or believe their dedication and training have granted them superior abilities, they use their unique abilities to explore, to learn, to protect the people and communities they love, and to vanquish monsters. Priests, philosophers, scholars, scientists, and physicians all have their theories as to the powers’ source, but no matter their origin, ambrosia’s effect on the age is undeniable. 

In addition to the Constant, Momentary, Luck, Attribute (type), and Skill (type) keywords introduced in the Trinity Continuum Core Rulebook, the following keywords are used for Gifts in Aegis: 

Ambrosia: Gifts with the Ambrosia keyword require a source of ambrosia, such as a pool or a jar of it that a character previously collected from one.

Champion: Gifts with the Champion keyword represent the Champion’s physical prowess, exceptional intelligence, and deft social skills. Only Champion characters may use these Gifts.

Creation: Gifts with the Creation keyword require the Oracle to create a simple food or drink, or perhaps a liquid to boil to produce steam. In all cases, the substance the Oracle creates is an essential part of using this Gift. All Creation Gifts require at least a minute or two to use, since creating the food, drink, or scented liquid is part of doing so.

Olympian: Gifts with the Olympian keyword represent the Olympian’s innate ability to wreak changes on their environment or their own body. Only Olympian characters may use these Gifts.

Oracle: Gifts with the Oracle keyword represent powers of divination, weather manipulation, and transformation. Only Oracle characters may use these Gifts.

Transformation: Gifts with the Transformation keyword make permanent alterations in the Olympian’s body and often make them appear visibly nonhuman.

Universal: Universal Gifts may be purchased by any character type. They represent either advanced training that any Inspired individual can receive or common powers unlocked by exposure to ambrosia. Some Universal Gifts have Variations that reflect how they manifest for different types of Inspired characters.

Here are some example Gifts with these new keywords.

Keywords: Momentary, Attribute (Manipulation), Oracle, Ambrosia

The Oracle insists that her companions — or her enemies — rest for just a little while.

System: By spending a point of Inspiration, your character conjures a faint ambrosia infused mist that causes sleep. This mist has no effect on anyone in combat, a heated argument, dealing with any sort of emergency, or in any tense situation that could easily become violent. The mist is visible in bright light, but not in shadows or dim light. The Oracle herself is immune to the Gift’s effects. She can use this mist on targets up to Medium Range, and can use it to affect everyone within Short Range. 

Anyone affected must make an Integrity + Stamina check with a Difficulty of 2. Failure means that the target falls asleep over the next minute, while success causes them to be a bit drowsy and distracted, but still very much awake. Subjects sleep for up to an hour or until awakened. Harming or roughly handling anyone put to sleep by this Gift instantly awakens them. 

Keywords: Momentary, Luck, Champion

The world is vast and full of beings invulnerable to all but a single metal, herb, or incantation. Luckily, the Champion is well-read and even better prepared. 

System: Spend an Inspiration. The Champion takes a round preparing an attack against a creature of myth. During this round, the player must tell the Storyguide and other players what this mythical creature’s weakness is as he applies it to his weapon or prepares to strike the foe. On the following turn, if the attack hits and deals damage, the damage dealt is a unique Injury Condition called Anathema that applies a 3-point penalty to all actions that use supernatural power. This Gift does not function against other Inspired humans. 

Keywords: Momentary, Skill (Science), Oracle, Creation 

He can brew up a storm in a pot. 

System: Your character can make tea or simply boil herbs in a cauldron, and spend a point of Inspiration to infuse ambrosia into this brew in order to affect the weather. This Gift affects the weather for a radius of several miles, but your character does not gain precise control of the events. He could call or banish a thunderstorm, but could not cause lightning to strike particular locations. If they occur locally, she could even create a tornado or hurricane, but cannot direct them beyond determining the general direction in which the wind she summons blows or the approximate heading of a tornado. 

The Oracle can only create weather that is at least minimally possible in the location he performs this Gift. She could cause a gentle rain in Aegyptus, despite the fact that it rarely rains, but could not brew up a blizzard there. Also, regardless of what weather conditions your character creates, she can only create the sorts of arctic cold or desert heat that actually causes damage if the weather is already at least moderate cold or hot. 

Your character can remove up to 2 levels in Difficulty or a Condition of up to +3 by transforming bad weather to good. If she does the reverse, she can slow movement by making the affected region into Complicated or Difficult terrain with a maximum Difficulty increase of +2 and a maximum Complication of +3. Typical Complications include howling wind that makes other sounds difficult to hear, or icy weather that creates slippery terrain. If the weather is already hot or cold, she can create extreme heat or cold that has a Damage Rating of up to 2 and the continuous (hour) tag. Weather your character calls in this fashion requires up to a scene to arrive, and lasts for at least several hours, up to the rest of the day.

Keywords: Momentary, Attribute (Cunning), Olympian, Transformation

The Olympian borrows an animal’s shape, climbing with the ease of a mountain goat or swimming like a dolphin.

System: The wondrous power of ambrosia allows your character to transform his flesh into that of another animal. However, your character can only transform into a single animal, which you must select when choosing this Gift. This animal must be a mammal, and it must be Size 0 (wolf), Size 1 (human), or Size 2 (horse or dolphin). Depending upon the animal, it may increase its Speed Scale by +1 for running, or perhaps, like dolphins or seals, it may swim at Speed Scale 2. In addition, it may possess a single melee attack with a number of points of tags equal to your character’s Destructive Facet. Suitable tags include Brutal, Deadly, Piercing, Pushing, or Quality 2 or 3. This animal could also possess up to two points of soft armor, but the total of all Weapon Tags and all points of soft armor cannot exceed your character’s Destructive Facet. This transformation lasts until your character wishes to transform back to their normal form, or until they sleep or fall unconscious, in which case they automatically return to their human form.

Keywords: Momentary, Attribute (Cunning), Oracle

Prerequisites: Inspiration •••, Cunning ••

To anger an Oracle is to invite visions of wrath visited upon one’s head, but few are prepared for how sudden their displeasure can manifest in searing doom or killing light from above. 

System: Spend 1 Inspiration while your character forecasts death and ruin for a target they can perceive within Long range. Dire portents of swirling auroras, gathering clouds, and dancing sky-fires appear across the local sky. Next round on their action, your target is subjected to a sudden environmental hazard as the sky rains fire, lightning, or searing light upon them with a Damage Rating of your character’s total successes. They may attempt to avoid it, their Athletics roll reducing the damage for each success rolled. 

Repurchase at Inspiration 5 to target up to your character’s Cunning in targets. 

Repurchase at Inspiration 7 to allow a second point of Inspiration to be spent, increasing the Power Scale of this effect by +1.

Keywords: Momentary, Attribute (Stamina), Olympian, Transformation

The Olympian has true control over her form, appearing in any shape that pleases her.

System: Your character can transform her body to appear to be any other person, or even a humanoid monster like the minotaur or a satyr. Your character can even change her Size, growing to almost three meters tall or shrinking down to the size of a Size 0 child. To use this ability, you roll your Intuitive Facet + Stamina and spend successes as indicated on the table below. All such changes you make last until you either sleep or choose to undo them, whichever comes first.

Keywords: Constant, Luck, Universal

The Inspired imbues an animal companion with the power granted by their ambrosia, linking their fates.

System: The character possesses a special link with an animal companion imbued with ambrosia. Use the characteristics provided below to represent all companions. Typical animal companions include dogs, cats, snakes, birds, deer, or panthers.

Variations: The Inspired may gain access to unusual companions.

Automaton Companion (Oracle): The Oracle possesses an automaton companion, a machine created from wood, metal, and other materials that resembles an animal and is powered by ambrosia. The companion gains the Unliving Anomaly Power.

Monster of Ambrosia (Olympian): The Olympian’s animal companion is suffused with her mighty ambrosia, appearing more like a monster than an animal. The companion gains the Enormous Size Anomaly Power.

Animal Companion

These characteristics represent a wide variety of animals suffused with ambrosia. Even diminutive animals demonstrate these traits, possessing traits far beyond what are typical of their species.

Of course, the actual Gifts chapter contains many, many more amazing abilities. We'll have more context and more info about all of these on Tuesday, when the next chapter drops.

In the meantime, we've achieved another Stretch Goal milestone!


ACHIEVED! - At $36,000 in Funding- Trinity Continuum: Aegis Mobile Wallpaper - Exciting Aegis artwork will be used to create a wallpaper for your mobile device lockscreen. This mobile wallpaper will be added to the rewards list of all backers supporting this project.

That means our next Stretch Goal target expands our previously unlocked Aegis Atlas supplement to add even more new content for backers!

At $40,000 in Funding - Aegis Atlas: Additional Locations and Devices - The Aegis Atlas bonus supplement will be expanded to include additional non-Greek locations, along with some Aegis-appropriate super-science gadgets and devices.

With the crowdfunding campaign at the halfway point, please continue to spread the word in your social circles and on your social media and let's see if we can't get to some new areas in the world of Aegis by unlocking another Stretch Goal!!

Have a great weekend! I'll be back with a final piece of fiction on Monday, and then Tuesday we'll have our current draft of the Gifts chapter! See you then!

Hello Argonauts,

Are you ready for the second manuscript preview for the week? This one's got some new rules to use for Trinity Continuum: Aegis. We previewed a new take on Dramatic Editing earlier this week with the Mighty Oaths and Dire Portents sneak peek, but there's also Aegis super science to check out!

Draft Manuscript Preview 3 contains the current version of 

Sounds fun, and a perfect little chapter to keep us busy and eager for the Gifts chapter coming on Tuesday. I'll have a quick preview from that chapter coming tomorrow, as well as our final fiction piece coming Monday, but the big feature of these middle weeks are these manuscript preview downloads.

We're closing in on the next of our "Middle Weeks" Stretch Goal targets. Let's keep at it!

At $36,000 in Funding- Trinity Continuum: Aegis Mobile Wallpaper - Exciting Aegis artwork will be used to create a wallpaper for your mobile device lockscreen. This mobile wallpaper will be added to the rewards list of all backers supporting this project.


At $40,000 in Funding - Aegis Atlas: Additional Locations and Devices - The Aegis Atlas bonus supplement will be expanded to include additional non-Greek locations, along with some Aegis-appropriate super-science gadgets and devices.

And our regular reminder about International Shipping before we get into the manuscript previews. Unlike many previous Onyx Path projects, we won’t be collecting funds to cover International Shipping during this Crowdfunding campaign. Instead, we’ll be charging for shipping in the Pledge Manager once the books are being printed and we can deal with the actual shipping charges rather than using our best-guesses this far out. We’re still anticipating pretty hefty costs to ship the book internationally (see our current guesses on the front page) so be forewarned, but we’ll cross that enormous bridge when we get to it.

Throughout the campaign, I'll be sharing a new update whenever we've got the next section of our Draft Manuscript available to preview. Before the conclusion of the campaign, you'll be able to read the entire draft manuscript for Trinity Continuum: Aegis and know exactly what to expect and exactly what you're helping to build.

In fact, you can help build it even better! The Onyx Path team has created a special Feedback Form that you can use to provide feedback on the draft manuscript to help guide the writers and developers through the next stages of work on this project.

Share your Feedback directly with the writers and developers using this form: Trinity Continuum: Aegis Feedback Form

Remember, thanks to BackerKit magic, these download links are visible to Backers only - you must be logged in and reading this on the website to have access to the manuscript preview links. So, if you're reading this via e-mail, click that "Read This Update" or "Reply to this Update" link on the bottom and I'll see you below the title treatment...

 

He watched Achilles from across an ocean of sand, hard-packed and pressed with the weight of a thousand footfalls, beneath a sun which left the land parched and the fiery-haired man’s skin sore from exposure. A thin heat-haze surrounded Achilles, causing his image to waver, as if retreating into the future, instead of approaching. “Did you see?” he asked, a bright smile causing his sweat-slicked brow to wrinkle.

“Aye,” answered Patroclus, “I did!”

Achilles shrugged his bare shoulders. Leather creaked as he dropped his bronze shield to the ground. It landed with a clatter, loose flecks of blood washed from its face and flecking the sand in its wake. “Four!” he announced, as if he didn’t quite believe the accomplishment himself. “Four of the bastards. Here!” He called to a youngster, thrust out his sword in one lithe hand.

The boy hurried over, taking the blade. Its surface was dented, bearing the marks of battle, but the boy accepted it, eyes wide. “You mean it, sir?” he asked, staring at the prize.

Patroclus knew the boy. His name was Jerome, but he doubted Achilles remembered it. No doubt, the man thought his cast-off tools of war would make an aspirational gift for the child — payment for the youngster’s aid in the siege. “Take it!” shouted Patroclus with a laugh from the shelter of the tent where he sat. “Take it, before the great Achilles flies off to Olympus to sit beside Ares himself!”

The boy clutched the blade, beaming in admiration, and retreated into the ramshackle mash of tents. Patroclus felt a pang of regret for the child, knowing he was not the only one who had followed in the warriors’ wake, desperate for food or coin, to find a home or work, or to boast that they, too, had stood side-by-side with the gifted fighters.

Achilles trudged into the tent, nudging several cushions into shape with his heel. “You shouldn’t jest,” he said, slumping down.

“Why not?” asked Patroclus. “You think the gods will grow angry, and take back your gifts?”

Achilles laughed. “Do you think they might?”

“They won’t.”

He looked at Patroclus, staring into the man’s dark eyes. “You know that?”

Patroclus nodded. The gods’ nectar they’d shared together one midwinter, so many seasons before, worked its wonder in different ways. Forging their bodies anew, Achilles had marveled at the might bestowed upon him. They said he was undefeatable, although he doubted these rumors. He was faster, yes. Stronger too, yet others who had tasted ambrosia had found similar strength and still found death.

Unfastening his sandals, he looked upward through the busy tents and into the clouds. “It isn’t worth it,” Achilles said, not taking his eyes from above.

“You killed four.”

“And for what? Four more to populate Elysium, four more bodies in the sands out there, and naught changes. Troy stands. The kings throw us at one another.”

Patroclus leaned over, recovering an apple from his plate. “We’re soldiers. It’s our duty.”

“We should leave.”

He stared at Achilles. Such words sat ill in Patroclus’ heart. “You cannot.” He held out the apple. “You’ve to kill Hector.”

“And if we did leave?” asked Achilles, turning his head. He took the apple. “Would that break your damned foresight?”

* * *

The evening had grown long, sunset painting the sky hues of orange. Achilles lowered the bowl, the taste of honey lingering on his tongue. His arms ached; his entire body bore bruises from the trials. They’d been harsh, combat and endurance feats demanding his greatest efforts. He struggled to stand upright. His left leg was weakened and damaged, his right eye swollen and blackened. But stand he did, clasping the bowl which was his prize.

Three times Achilles sipped from the bowl that held the essence of the gods. He’d fought for each mouthful, pushed himself, and shown his exceptionalism. His ardor to prove his worth to the fellowship drove him through his trials to where he now stood, deserving the might of one of the Circle of Heroes. Their fellowship accepted nothing less, holding what little ambrosia they possessed securely, granting it only to the most promising recruits. Their descendants would call them demigods, yet Achilles didn’t care to think so far ahead. He watched, awestruck, as pain and weariness fell from his arms, stiffness retreating from his legs, bruises vanishing.

“Come.” He turned, holding his hand to Patroclus. “We proved ourselves together.”

Patroclus, quiet and often sullen in those days, hesitantly approached the dais to take his share. As he did, tipping the bowl to his lips, the liquid’s honey taste filled his mouth. Time itself stilled, and infinity filled him.

Images of the past — his youth, schooling, tutorship, and training — assailed Patroclus. Broken glass paintings tumbled around him, absorbing him into their descent. He both saw and felt each moment of his life laid out before him on a starry field. He pushed back, forcing the images away, squeezing his eyes shut. Too much. Too many images. He saw lives beyond his own, including that of Achilles, so close and near. There were many more: His parents, their families, the ancestors of everybody he’d ever met. As his gaze grew broader he realized he could see the lives of everyone who had been, throughout a world far beyond the countries he knew, passing back into time before...

Then, he looked to the future and saw all there was to see: The lives of thousands — no, billions — of people; empires that would rise and fall; explorers’ travels through the world and past the skies; the lives and deaths of gods. Too much! he cried soundlessly, forcing the sight from his eyes. In screaming despair, he pushed the memories away, closing his glimpse of events long gone and far ahead into as thin and as narrow a view as he could.

When time moved again, he lay on the marbled floor, bowl beside him. The taste of honey lingered on his tongue. Achilles crouched beside him. Patroclus stared at him, through those narrow eyes which could see the world, and watched the man’s entire life ahead of him.

“They seek fighters,” he said.

Three summers had passed. Achilles traveled, oft in the company of Patroclus. Tales spread of their accomplishments. Achilles was a fighter like no other, felling terrifying beasts and mortal foes alike. His blade was a haze of speed, giving rise to rumors he was blessed by Hermes. His lithe body shrugged off all but the most grievous injuries.

At his side, always, was Patroclus. Although he bore fewer tales of his prowess, his skill found him darting beneath the sweeping arms of many brutes to drive home a timely fatal blow. People said he was gifted with fortune. He was no stronger than any other, but could readily step aside before an arrow whistled past, or knew preternaturally the perfect moment to strike home. In tandem, the pair were a devastating combination; where Patroclus shouted directions, Achilles dove to make the kill, as if his partner could see the opportunities and risks to come.

Secretly, they knew this was precisely the gift Patroclus possessed.

For three years, Patroclus’ visions guided them. His foresight granted them victories in war, in turn bolstering their reputation among the Circle of Heroes. Words of their deeds echoed across the lands; they’d bested monsters and beasts together with Achilles’ might and Patroclus’ prescience. Patroclus made use of his gift in secret also. Foreseeing the petty arguments and jealousies which threatened to strain their relationship, he shared these with Achilles and deftly weathered the worst of the storms. Sown with seeds of his foreknowledge, their love blossomed, leaving Patroclus fearful the Fates would take revenge for using his insights for selfish aims.

“Yes,” said Patroclus, “they’ll lay siege to Troy.”

“And we will go?” asked Achilles. The pair sat, sipping the last of the summer’s cider, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon.

“Not for another ten summers,” he answered with certainty. “But we will.”

Achilles had learned to hear his wisdom and not question it. He tipped the cup to his lips, finishing its contents. “So, I’ll live another ten years?”

Laughing, Patroclus nodded. “Yes. You’ll live long enough to be a hero.”

He set the cup down. “And how will I die?”

Patroclus remained silent. Moving his gaze from the sun, he stared at Achilles: his sun-bleached curls, his eyes the color of roast chestnuts. A man, yes, but with a youngster’s relish for life, eager to grasp each year in both hands.

Slowly, Achilles rolled over to face him, bedsheets wrapping around him. “Will I die at Troy?”

The answer lingered on Patroclus’ lips. It hung unspoken, an image seated in the corner of his vision which he tried to ignore. For three years, he’d tried with all his will to pretend it would not come to pass. The vision, its knowledge, sat heavy in the forefront of Patroclus’ mind, tasting of honey on his lips.

* * *

The siege of Troy wore on. In its early months, the bitter sands had grown marshy with the blood of the fallen. The war dragged on longer, and those gradually gave way to dust. Achilles watched many fighters struggle to find food, weakening by the day. Yet still they remained, entrenched and encamped. While his fellows faltered, weakened, and perished, the ambrosia in his blood buoyed him.

He remembered Patroclus’ words as his lover cleaned a deep wound on his upper arm. “Stop squirming,” Patroclus chided, drawing a stinging cloth anointed with stinging liquids, “you’re not immortal.”

Achilles chafed at the words, wondering if he’d been too arrogant. The injury would’ve killed anyone else. He winced at the burn, “You knew it wouldn’t kill me.”

“I knew,” answered Patroclus, dipping the cloth into the bowl, squeezing it. Crimson blossomed, swirling into the liquid mixture of herbs, oils, and thistles. “But I might be wrong.”

“You’ve never been wrong.”

Slowly Patroclus squeezed the cloth, pouring out the excess water. He didn’t answer. He hoped his sight of Achilles being carried from the battlefield, bloodied, the flush of life in his skin washed to a pale hue, would be wrong. With each day the image grew clearer: a ragged tear breaking the skin, muscle, and ligaments at the curve of the leg, blood pouring like an overflowing river as the man people thought to be the son of a god convulsed in his dying moments. Patroclus caught glimpses of other times, years when Achilles’ name lived on, remembered by the wound which killed him.

Patroclus prayed to all the gods that he’d be wrong.

“I’ve given thought to what we’ll do after the war,” announced Achilles.

“After?”

Achilles rubbed his shoulder, working the stiffness from his wounded arm. “I wish to sail beyond Thrinacia, past even Scheria. I wish to raise a fleet and travel out across the seas, like the tales told by explorers.”

“They already sing of your accomplishments.”

“I don’t hope for song,” answered Achilles, shaking his head. “I’ll do so for myself. I’ve fought enough monsters and seen enough death. I wish to see life, the world.”

Patroclus wiped Achilles’ wound one final time. “Are you asking if that’s what will occur?”

Achilles stood. “No. I’m saying that’s what I’ll do. What we’ll do together, if you will?”

Patroclus stared at him. Despite his injury, he shone with confidence and certainty in the future he’d envisioned, even without the blessing of prescience. In all their years, Patroclus had never told Achilles his fate.

And I never will, he thought as he stood and grasped Achilles’ shoulder. “I’d travel to Stygia alongside you,” he said. He smiled, as hopefully as he could, trying to ignore the lingering taste of honey on his lips.

Hello Argonauts,

We've got Chapter 5 coming to backers this Friday, with new rules for running Trinity Continuum: Aegis.

I've got a preview from that chapter for you today. This is just a small sample of what's coming our way later this week - a peek at Dramatic Editing working in the world of Aegis, Mighty Oaths, and Dire Portents...

Fate and destiny are not mere words; heroes know that the gods and stranger powers often heap curses and boons upon the glorious general and the humble rural youth alike. Champions may spend their Inspiration on Dramatic Editing as outlined on p. 154 of the Trinity Continuum Core Rulebook, but all heroes may use (or be subjected to) the following Aegis-specific Dramatic Editing Rules.

The sailor escapes a horrible storm through a miraculously lucky turn of the wind, only to find herself in the path of an enemy despot’s armada. The prince escapes his would-be assassins’ knives due to a nighttime desire for a drink, but overhears his childhood companion plotting further betrayals. The healer discovers the cure for the plague growing in her house’s thatch, but the smell of the herb’s preparation attracts horrid monsters. A hero may always trust fate to pull them along, but they may not always like where they end up!

Mechanically, a hero may accept a Twist of Fate when they propose a Dramatic Edit. When they do, the Storyguide suggests an ironic, unfortunate, or unforeseen complication that accompanies the Edit, causing more trouble for the hero even as the character’s player gets what they want. If the player agrees, the Dramatic Edit takes effect, and the complication or consequence introduces itself later during the scene or session. Champions reduce the cost of their Dramatic Edit by 1, though they may not make cost 0 Dramatic Edits through Twists of Fate more than once per scene. If they accept additional Twists of Fate, they gain Momentum instead.

Twists of Fate should never reverse or spoil the original reason for the Dramatic Edit. The healer’s fortuitous herb shouldn’t actually cause the plague to spread further or cause a different contagious malady in their patients; the prince shouldn’t step away from their soon-to-be-stabbed bedding only to run into different assassins next to the wine krater. Similarly, Storyguides shouldn’t push for twists that players don’t buy into. It’s fine for Storyguide and players to talk over what sort of Twist of Fate is appropriate or enjoyable for everyone involved. If a player simply doesn’t like any of the proposed options, they may always reject the Twist of Fate and either pay for the Dramatic Edit normally or abandon it altogether.

From the viewpoint of heroes and their contemporaries, such events are bread and meat of being a hero. That their lives are beset with unexpected boons and challenges is simply the way of the world, and it’s what a hero does in the face of the gods’ fancies that proves their measure.

Anyone may be bound by normal oaths to a friend, fellow citizen, or potentate, but heroes determined in their course may swear even mightier oaths. Whether to a favored deity, the gods at large, the Fates themselves, or simply to whoever is listening, a hero who imbues their oath with full intent to fulfill it often finds the way opened to them... but also courts disaster beyond human opprobrium if they break from their course.

A hero may declare a Mighty Oath to accomplish any feat that seems reasonably possible, but is also challenging or difficult: “I will defeat the Spartans in the field and drive them back to Laconia,” or “I will win the heart of fair Patroclus.” Clearly impossible or farcical oaths (“I will pull the moon out of the sky to crush Athens,” or “I will swallow the entire Aegean Sea”) are often simply a waste of character effort — however, sometimes they might provide interesting narrative opportunities if a player finds a way to make the metaphorical literal. For example, while the character might not be able to yank the moon out of its orbit, she may take advantage of a total eclipse to attack Athens under the cover of total darkness. Ultimately, the Storyguide and player can work together to determine whether a Mighty Oath is likely to be fulfilled, and look for chances to make good on the promise in interesting ways.

Storyguides should indicate whether an oath is outside the scope of the game and allow players to withdraw or change their statement, For example, a Storyguide might say “This game is going to focus on monsters rampaging across the ocean; you probably won’t be running into the Spartan army, but the Tyrsennian Fleet’s been raiding the coast...,” or “Patroclus is gay, Clytie, so that won’t work unless you intend to win him as a bosom companion instead of a romantic partner.” Lackluster, overly broad, or routine activities don’t qualify for oath status. (“‘I will defeat every enemy who raises a weapon against me’ is what your character was going to try to do anyway, David.”)

An oath-taker spends 1 Inspiration and clarifies their goal out-of-character to the Storyguide when swearing their oath. Once per scene until the Oath is fulfilled, made impossible, or broken, a character with an oath may reduce the cost of Dramatically Editing changes by 1 to make pursuing their oath easier or bringing it to relevance in the current scene.

Champions who swear Mighty Oaths may also use Extraordinary Effort (Trinity Continuum Core p. 153) for free once per scene when directly pursuing their oath.

Should a character knowingly break an oath or work against its completion, they immediately lose all benefits of the oath, and cannot spend or regain Inspiration for the rest of the session, or swear another Mighty Oath for the rest of the story. This never applies if an outside force physically compelled them to work against their oath or otherwise prevented them from exerting free will. Storyguides should always warn players if a course of action will result in an oath being broken.

If an oath becomes impossible to fulfill — “The Spartan army was torn apart by monstrous boars; none remain alive!” — the oath ends without incident. Similarly, if the oath becomes outside the scope of the current story (“Well, Patroclus is off with Achilles now and you’re exploring the coast of Africa…”) the Storyguide and player may agree to end the oath.

If the character successfully fulfills their oath, they immediately regain any spent Inspiration and count as having attained an Aspiration for all relevant purposes, once per session.

A character may only be affected by one Mighty Oath at a time, and cannot be forced to swear one they don’t fully believe in (or that their player doesn’t wish to make) by any means.

While Oracles see the future in all its possible variety and wonder, any hero may catch sight of the shadow of doom upon the world. The fainthearted flee or hide at its approach, but the bold meet the challenge to prove their worth.

Once per session, a character may declare a Dire Portent; both something they’ve seen, and the threat it portends. This may be literal (“Clytie makes out the shape of ships on the horizon; the archon’s force will soon be upon us!”) or symbolic (“Solon sighs as one of the pots falls off the table and shatters on the ground; a bad sign for the Thebans standing firm with us during the war council.”)

Once per scene, any character may Dramatically Edit in further signs of the oncoming doom for free, creating a +2 Complication for a relevant check (“The nearing conflict makes the fishermen nervous; if Clytie doesn’t buy off the Complication when she’s bargaining with them, they’ll flee the area for the foreseeable future.” “If Solon doesn’t buy off the Complication when riding down his bandits his lance will break; another bad sign for the war council!”) gaining Momentum when they do.

If the portent comes to pass, the character who declared it gains an Inspiration, which may take them over their normal maximum for the scene. They may immediately spend it to Dramatically Edit appropriate preparations they’ve made for their foreseen calamity; Champions reduce the cost of the Edit by 1 Inspiration, to a minimum of zero.

If the portent doesn’t come to pass or is otherwise averted (“Solon’s generous gifts keep the Thebans happy; all that concern was for nothing!”) the effect simply ends.

Storyguides should be flexible when players introduce Dire Portents, and players should respect the tone and direction of the game. If anyone at the table objects to one being introduced (“Wait, the Atlanteans are attacking? Aren’t we trying to rescue Tiye’s lover from monster hunters and help Clytie woo that archon?”) Storyguide and players should discuss and come to agreement about what’s appropriate out-of-character.

Tomorrow, we'll have some more epic fiction with a Taste of Honey; our manuscript preview will come on Friday, and we'll get our first sneak peek at some Gifts this Saturday!

Please remember to share info about this campaign in your social circles and on your social media. Let's see if we can't add some more backers during these to middle weeks of the campaign so we set ourselves up for hitting another Stretch Goal or two!