Doctor Who? Don't. Just don't.

It's like you're waiting for the nurse to stick you with a needle and instead she punches you in the stomach.

See you next week, Andy!
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As a diversion, here's some more fiction from my Sorrows setting. Not really any rules in this, just some color to give the Citadel atmosphere. (I have worked out most of the rules, so I may be able to organize and offer them soon.)
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Harrowell loved the engineering of the Citadel. Though many others found these meetings of the planning council dreadful and boring, sending surrogates in their stead, he saw the demolition and construction as a marvelous puzzle.

The Councilman's chambers were piled high in paper and dust. The huge room was dominated by a long, high table with reams of notes, curling maps and plans and thick books covering its surface, layers deep. The high bookcases that lined the walls stood half-filled with disused texts and rolls of paper. Piles of split-backed books and loose pages moldered into scraps on the floor.

The Citadel had changed so much, and the courtiers so little that most records were forgotten or useless.

Harrowell took his usual place at the table and pushed back the tide of papers that had drifted or settled toward the open space in front of his chair. He swiped the dust away with a handkerchief and rolled out a fresh map of District 18, an area that had been hit in the latest shelling by the enemy. Elise, one of the only others to take an interest in the workings of urban planning sat to his right and gave a prim, wrinkled smile. She was apt; always knew the details of the Citadel's current status, but Harrowell would rather she were a subordinate than a supposed equal. She would talk too much if he didn't interrupt her.

Other courtiers who made up the council drank quietly and played cards.

"We needn't reinforce the conscript housing in that district. It has never had a strong enough population to justify re-opening."

Elise nodded with vigor. "Probably because that district's recruits are slated to join the ranks of Lady Eleana's forces. I expect a poor man would rather walk half-way across the city to get to work. Better that than to be awoken out of bed one night and told to report to the barracks for those brutes she calls generals. Have you seen the attrition reports? I think they might've forgotten that it's the enemy that need killing, not our citizens."

"Were there many fatalities when the shell hit?"

"Well, it was a change in work shifts. Most of the men and women had just returned from labor duties. Children had been dispatched to school-"

Ah-ha! Harrowell smiled. "A large number of the survivors were children? Orphans now?"

"Yes. Most were just kept in the school houses over the night. Some were sent home to relatives or neighbors. Obviously the youngest weren't out at school when the attack took place so-"

"How much of the neighboring block was damaged?"

"One or two collapsed houses. Just superficial damage beyond that. I suppose they were the lucky ones. Their neighbor's homes a smoking ruin, while they just need to sweep the glass away and throw kindling on the fire. It was-"

His smile spread. "That's enough I think, to condemn the other buildings on that block."

"What? But why? I just said it's superficial damage. If you are doubting the report of my investigators, and have some other source of information, I demand you bring such evidence forth-"

"No doubts. But we'll need a full two blocks to house an academy."

"Oh. I see."

Harrowell was lost in his vision; he did not notice the terse response. "The new construction will serve the dual purpose of housing the orphans of that district, while preparing them for conscription when they are of age." It would be a marvelous structure. Multi-tiered training halls, basement barracks, parapeted classrooms to study the enemy from afar. "Perhaps the deaths of family will also serve as greater motivation for their morale as they yearn to strike back against the enemy!"

Elise sighed. "Do you know what the current age of eligibility for conscription is?"

"No," Harrowell cocked an eyebrow.

"It's just as well."

Here's some Sorrows fiction about plotting, scheming, backstabbing, etc. The stuff that makes being an immortal courtier fun.

"Lady Cora! I must speak with you."

Cora turned from her attendants as the slight man pushed through the curtains of the richly decorated alcove. This was where she saw those of her claque who would be tasked in her service. To enter unbidden was insult enough, and to interrupt her conversation as well! This man was inviting pain.

"Yes?"

The man flinched. The ice in her response shamed him and he began to realize his rudeness.

"This task that M'lady Eleana has set me to may be of worth to you," he fell to one knee, averted his eyes in an attempt at supplication and held out a scroll at arm's length.

Cora sat motionless. Her attendants collected the scroll and passed it from hand to hand and then held it open on the table before her. She glanced down across the elegant script, signed by the much less skilled hand of Lady Eleana.

Attendants still write her missives. Even with the time she has had to perfect her calligraphy. Shameful.

"And how do you suppose that knowledge of her latest feud holds interest for me?"

He stole a glance upward. "Well. It is Rufus. A common foe to both you and M'lady. A man whose shaming will benefit you both. If he is defeated, he falls from the favor of his Lady Peinforte's claque and-"

"I am well aware,"

He cleared his throat. "M'lady has offered me a pittance to fight Rufus. I am looking for a better offer."

"You think that you are ill used? You wish to betray your Lady and her claque."

"Y-yes Lady Cora."

"And you will fight Rufus championing me? What assurance can you offer that you will win?"

He drew his dagger. Cora's attendants fluttered like a disturbed nest. They could not truly die, but murder was still painful and very inconvenient. It could take weeks for the soul to repair the body. He slowed his hand as one courtier brandished a small flintlock pistol.

"With this, I cannot be defeated."

A small crystalline stone hung from a chain on his dagger's hilt. A tear of the Empress. Cora was impressed. A fool like this has earned such favor from Eleana that he would be entrusted with the power? There is more here than he would have me know. And, if he should still lose, then Rufus' victory will no doubt mean a murder painful enough to pay for his impertinence.

"I shall double what Eleana has offered you. No more."

"That is more than fair Lady Cora!" He rose from his stooping posture and restored the dagger to his belt.

"You should know however, that I have a much longer memory than Lady Eleana. You will not suffer lightly should you betray me in such a fashion."

"Of course!"

She held out her hand. He approached with reverence, filling the space vacated by courtier attendants who watched him with suspicion. He kissed her ring and felt the stone burn his lips for an instant.

"I go now to do your bidding M'lady."

"My. Lady."

"Yes. All apologies My Lady."

He bowed again and retreated from the alcove. Soon the buzzing of Lady Cora's attendants filled the air again.

---

In the corridors below the great hall, between candle and lamplight, Rufus found Mervin.

"I have heard we are to be engaged in single combat?" The large man rumbled.

"Indeed sir, we are. You are now my mortal enemy. A foe to whom no quarter shall be giv'n!"

Both men burst into uproarious laughter.

Rufus caught his breath first. "And so I shall fall, before your mighty blade!

"Too long have I been Peinforte's general! A leader of men who care more for polishing their armor than charging against the foe. Once I am 'defeated' Peinforte will no doubt remove me from her claque for shame, and I shall be free, and by no treachery-"

"That she knows," Mervin said.

Rufus clapped him on the back "Yes! I can then find my way into the graces of Cora, or Henrietta. Ladies with legions of true warriors. Men and women begging for my brilliance on the field!"

"So, 'til we meet in the hall, for our duel of honor?"

"Until then, Mervin."

They each left by the way they had come, and it was not until they were well away from earshot before Alicia stepped from the shadowed portal.

---
Rules about this stuff should be ready soon.

Some fiction today from the world of Sorrows. I haven't been writing anything lately, and CW needs those new rules actually written down instead of circling my brain. This just sort of fell out of my head while on lunch break last week. For a throw-away project this is taking up a lot more time than Sci Fi Spi or Insite.

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Art of War

Annabelle stole through the long, dim corridor. Orange light from clustered lanterns reflected off the carved wood fluting and hung in the air. Though it was little used, the hall was worn. Dusting and polishing had rubbed the decorations smooth over the centuries.

When she saw the large doors leading out to the main hallways she quickened her stride. Clutching the parcel to her chest she breathed a plea to the spirit of the Empress that no one would stop her. When she heard the heavy tread of boots, she cursed herself. Too often her pleas went unheard.

Rufus ambled out of the dark doorway of a side apartment. A bottle in one hand and some frail waif dripping from the other arm; girl or boy, it didn't matter.

"Annabelle? Don't rush so. You'll turn an ankle, fall, and in an disused hall like this, no one could be along to help you for hours," he slurred. Wine spilt from the corners of his leering mouth into the ragged curls of his beard. He shouldered his burden into the center of the hall where the light glinted off the badges of his office and the medals of his campaigns.

"I have no time for chatter Rufus." Annabelle craned her neck past him toward the door and hoped her voice would not quaver or break. "Or veiled threats."

"Then, I won't veil them." Rufus dropped the bottle and the body and stepped forward until his broad bulk filled Annabelle's view. "You owe someone a very big favor, and I've been charged to collect. You must remember your exchange with Piotyr? He is now in the service of my Lady Peinforte and she would like to see accounts settled."

Annabelle couldn't hide the tremors. Though it was years past, she recalled the gift. The tear of the Empress. A glittering stone of crystalline energy that had breathed life into a failing creation. The very tear that had won her the esteem of Lady Eleana. "I remember."

"Piotyr has made new work. A statue or something. It's very good I'm told. Lady Peinforte would like it to be the best work at tonight's showing."

Her arms wrapped tighter. The parcel squeezed the breath from her. This was the work of years. A masterpiece that had only taken shape in its final months. Something new and startling. Annabelle had amazed herself by this work.

"I can hurt you if I have to. My Lady has made plain to me that she will act as second to a formal combat. And you know you'll lose." Rufus hung two pistols from his hips, rapier and dagger. "The gift of the Empress will spare you death, but not pain. And either way, you won't see the inside of the gallery tonight."

"There's a good girl."

Annabelle's eyes streamed as she handed him the parcel. He tore it open and turned the statuary over in his thick fingers.

"Is it good?"

"The finest work of any among the Empress' court" she said, more to herself than to Rufus.

For a moment she thought that she could grab it back from him; run and call upon the members of her claque to defend her and her work. But they would be jealous. This work was too good. They would know the threat it posed to their individual standing. No one would let this work exist unless it was their own.

With mock reverence, Rufus placed the statue on the floor and slowly and thoroughly ground it into the carpet under his boot. It was no more than dust now, awaiting some servant's broom.

"There. I'm sure you can whip up another like it for the next gallery show. Of course, by then everyone will be talking about Piotyr's latest work. But maybe to can still give him some competition. Maybe change your style to something we can all appreciate." Rufus picked up the body and kicked the empty bottle away. He slammed the door at the corridor's end open and then shut behind him.

Annabelle collapsed into her rage. Scrabbling at the dust of her greatest achievement. If it took an eon to see Rufus humbled and humiliated as she was, she would spend those years gladly. She had forever to claim her vengeance, as did they all.
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When I think of characters given immortality, I think of children. They don't think anything will ever end. Consequences will never come about. In my eye every Ancient from Vampire:tM is a petulant child.

Next time, some rules I think. Including why betrayal is one of the best parts of the game.