Muse’s Log

Sing in me, oh muse, of planets unseen by the eyes of those who share my blood; of that interstellar sea, dark as midnight; of those travelers, weary of their strange roads, who pray for familiar worlds to unfold upon that next horizon. Sing in me and through me of that long journey home. 

Seven months and seven days we have wandered here now, and oh muse — the things that I have seen. On jeweled Nymest, its skies adorned with rings of red stardust, there are temples that channel scouring wind into a sound of prayerful song, some ceaseless hymn-wise rhythm. I have stood astride comet-kingdoms, travelling cities that scar the velvet heavens with the blue fire of their passing. I have supped with presidents and empresses over dishes of scorpionfish and vat-grown veal, tasted wine untouched by gravity’s cruel grasp. Such wonders have I seen in our wanderings, and yet…

…and yet, such horrors. On the moons of Khophesat, I saw a plague of twisted shapes, each madness the bespoke torment of a genius long maddened. I have seen warships clad with world-wrecking armaments, the restless lightning-javelins of warriors in search of quarrel. I have seen starving worlds and lonely worlds and worlds long dead; their once-glittering cities open to the sky like the cloven chests of corpses. 

And that crew, my crew; my far wandering and lonely crew. They labor beyond what I could demand of them, their faces hero-masked and stoic. I see exhaustion as it creeps into their bones; I see despair as it coils round their hearts. Brave and strong and brilliant as they are, none of them are accustomed to this strangeness. We have gained an infinity of novel worlds, and lost all possibility of home. End log. 

Tamara Lowery looked down at the transcript of her day’s log and hovered her finger over the delete button. She was as no-nonsense a captain as the Martian Union had ever made, a steady presence to her relatively unseasoned crew. She came up through stellar cartography and deep space astronomy; she was a scientist, an officer, and a mother, not a poet. But there was something about being so far from home. It was easy to treat their journey home as some great odyssey worth a muse’s attention because that meant it was possible to get back. And there was no promise of that yet. 

Mother. The word stuck in her mind like a thorn, and she tried her best not to pick at it. Twenty-nine weeks of wandering meant she’d already missed Virginia’s birthday. Lamar would turn five in a few more days, too. Not for the first time, she wished her love was a lasso long enough to reach her children from across endless space, and sturdy enough that she could pull herself home along it. 

It wasn’t though. The little fits of poetry this place — the Tenebrium — provoked in her? They were a distraction. Worse: they were an indulgence. Love wasn’t enough to get them home, and prayer was a slim hope, too. The crew of the Forgiveness knew that they were going where they weren’t wanted when they’d signed up for a trip to Despina. Neptune told them nothing when he wrapped their starship in his wrath and flung them here, beyond all maps and hope of return. 

She splashed her face with water from the sink. No moping today. No poetry. She was a rock, upright and steady. In the dim light of her quarters, Captain Tamara Lowery of the M.U. Forgiveness dressed herself and straightened, making her face the same mask of resolute confidence that she wore for her crew every day, and stepped through her door —

And into madness. Gone, the familiar corridors of glassteel and ultraplastic. In their place were high, crumbling walls of weathered stone. The floors were strewn with dust and debris, and overhead the sky — sky, she thought, on my damned ship — was ominous red streaked with clouds of offensive neon pink that hurt to look at for longer than a blink. 

Captain Lowery looked down, activating the communicator on her wrist. She called out for a sitrep from anyone who was listening. At first all she got back was static, but she scrolled up the comm frequencies, examining the noise. The pattern reminded her of the signals she’d once gotten from the background radiation of a dying star, and once she knew what to scrub out, the signal came in clear and easy. 

“Captain,” a voice came from the communicator. It was a brave voice, but rattled, and it belonged to Lieutenant Jackson. Jarrod was her youngest officer, a baby-faced engineering genius who’d never been outside of the Sol system before…well, before all that unpleasantness with Neptune, the planet and God alike. “I’ve got your signal locked now, Captain Lowery. I’m having trouble keeping up with everyone; the bridge is still here but the other floors have been overtaken by some sort of extradimensional incursion.”

“You’ve got a read on me,” the Captain said, her voice meticulously even-keeled. “That’s good. Good work, lieutenant.” She didn’t have to see the man to imagine him taking a big breath out. Jackson was a good kid, but he flailed around if you cut him off from other people. He didn’t need praise, just contact. Another voice on the comm line. And one day, he’d grow into the confidence he deserved. “Can you get a read on my surroundings?”

“The incursion continues throughout most of your deck, but I think you could still get to the maglift. It’s hard to be sure though; the interference on sensors is a lot thicker than on comms, and even when I get something concrete, the whole place is just a mess, captain, just —”

Tamara Lowery didn’t hear what Jackson said next. Something else pricked her attention. As casually as she could, she peered around a turn in the stone wall. More walls greeted her. Many, many more; branching off in at countless intersections. And there, fifty yards away and stalking towards her, was something so big and so heavy that the walls shook with its every step. It reminded her of a minotaur, but wrong — the horns curled like a ram’s before forking like a deer; the fur was a garish motley of blue and yellow; the snout had a hardness to it, like a beak. It saw her and sped towards her, its war cry enough to deafen her to whatever else Jackson was saying, still. 

That was the Tenebrium, through and through — just familiar enough to get an inkling of what was happening, but alien enough that you couldn’t coast along on what you knew from home. 

“It’s a maze, lieutenant,” she said, taking off at a run. She chose her path second by second, putting as many turns between her and the creature as she could manage. With luck, it wouldn’t be able to build up too much momentum that way. “Get those sensors sorted out now and point me towards the maglift.”

 

At $39,000 in Funding - NEW ADD ON - FOUR COLORS-THEMED DICE SET - A dice set selected to represent Four Colors will be offered as an option Add On to all backers pledging to a reward tier that includes a hardcover copy of Scion: Mythic Shards. A drawstring bag with ten 10-sided dice in For Colors colors can be added to your pledge for +$20 each.

At $40,000 in Funding - ADDITIONAL MYTHIC SHARD #2 - A seventh Mythic Shard setting for Scion second edition will be added to the Scion: Mythic Shards PDF and hardcover book. The theme for this additional Shard will be decided by Backer vote!

That's right! If we manage to achieve $40,000 in Funding, the developers and writers will come up with a SEVENTH SHARD to add to the Scion: Mythic Shards book. The theme of the new shard will be decided with a Backer Poll.

Your options for a new shard, should we achieve this Stretch Goal target:

 

 

The poll for backers to vote on their favorite will run until the moment the campaign ends. You must be a backer to have a vote for the possible new shard, so join in before the end if you haven't already!  Again, we'll be voting now, but this shard will only be added to the development list and added to the eventual Scion: Mythic Shards book if we unlock this Stretch Goal at $40,000 in Funding!