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An off-hand reference to Portofiro's colonial past.

A fighter's chin.

Portofiro as a warped mirror image -- re-annexed Luzian lands reflecting against this island's precarious independence.

Same place those old pilots came from, different reality.

The Tenantries of Saint Ulwen, re-annexed in the early 80s.

A particularly brutal annexation, the Tenantries were razed almost to the ground. What remains is a shrunken capital surrounded by non-arable land.

She is either well rehearsed or uncaring.

The irreverent self-image of a trickster people, eternal underdogs.

A fanatic's certainty, forged through sheer trauma.

The final stage of colonisation -- the oppressed become strange parodies of the people that colonised them.

Raised in a military boarding school while her family disappeared into camps marked on no map.

Snarky. Begging to be crushed.

Its smell is the same as all port cities -- damp concrete, diesel exhaust, drifting mats of golden-brown sargassum.

Up here you smell only pine needles, ozone.

The burning, twitching gaze she fixes on you transmits the message with telepathic clarity -- you will not distract her -- she is onto you.

Those little uncontrollable movements of hers will grow up to become acts of violence.

The posture suggests prayer, but a violent one -- every muscle clenched and quivering.

On the statue, a smear of fresh blood from her hand. Open cut on dirty stone.

That stone is smooth. She did it to herself.

She was part of the trio standing in front of the Housing Campaign.

Her costume is a stylized but unemblazoned piece of Luzian military history.

She is disguised as herself.

Most likely a mid-rank Weeping Eye asset.

The air quivers alongside her movements.

Itching to commit violence.

Out-stared. A small tactical victory.

Though she speaks fluent Illuminado, she is not Luzian.

Clean diagonal slit. Superficial. Self inflicted.

ALL GROUND CONCEDED TO WAR CRIMINALS AND ROTTING MICROBES. THE ERA IS LOST.

Make this Boss Star close-gäng. That would really fuck the Luzians off.

Not all can bear the approach.

Most of these people are either dead or missing.

Three hundred tiny windows, ghost hands tapping on the glass.

In the crowded rooms of your life, faces fragment into variations of themselves.

There's a lot of smog and granite cloud in Novessa... but you can see more stars than you might think.

What began at one shrine ends at another.

Somewhere beneath the Noscorrentes Sea, a bloated body turns to face the sky.

Somewhere within the warren-like streets of Lower Viudas, an old man pulls a pelota cap over his face and ducks into a neon-lit bookmakers.

At the bottom of a hidden jail, a trembling old man turns and looks at the blank space where a window should be.

You all seem uncomfortable in a crowd.

Tension on the surface, yet all bound fast by an invisible thread.

You're the highest thing in Portofiro. She can see you from up there.

A black hole in human form. Devourer of stars.

An envoy of the shadow war.

Afraid to carry any more of your words upon itself.

The blackness between the stars, Arch Emissary of the Deathkingdom.

Bar a slight dip in air pressure.

The light cowers from you.

Despite its reputation as an unfortunate star, every Luzian is taught to rely on Canopus above all others.

9,179 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 136 of 184