- Location
- HELL
- Pronouns
- They/It
an entire people voted
bleeding hearts: an exalted story
- Thread starter mothematics
- Start date
- Mature
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
I know I'm too late, but RL kept me from catchin up all month. I'd have voted 'Offense' too, so I'm happy.
Tesaki, you are a dead man and you know it. A Dragonblooded? Are you even going to last 5 seconds, let alone 30?
Tesaki, you are a dead man and you know it. A Dragonblooded? Are you even going to last 5 seconds, let alone 30?
mothematics
How wide is the concept of "you"?
- Location
- the bottom of a coffee cup
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Update in a day or two! I just finished getting everything editor-ready, and I'm really proud of this one.
I HOPE YOU'RE READY NERDS
I HOPE YOU'RE READY NERDS
- Location
- HELL
- Pronouns
- They/It
chapter 7: exaltation, part 1
mothematics
How wide is the concept of "you"?
- Location
- the bottom of a coffee cup
- Pronouns
- She/Her
chapter 7: exaltation part 1
You walk from the dais steps to the center of the chamber and take position opposite Rivdatka Himself, the same way you have so many times with Gojai. The Exalt is talking, but you can't hear him. You can't hear anything over the dull rush of blood in your ears. You couldn't talk if you wanted to, either; screams bubble in your throat, rising hot before popping in wheezy exhales. You're perilously close to losing your self-control too early, and with it any chance of survival; the thought of that only makes you angrier, starting the cycle new again.
Little girls. Little girls. How dare he. Little girls; how dare he!
How would he like to feel weak? How would he like to be told he has no value, no place, no right to life? How would he like to believe every harsh word about him justified, every cruelty deserved? How would he like to--
Face twitching, you bite down on your gums hard. Blood's sharp tang floods your mouth; you cling to the pain. Don't lose it. Not yet. Not yet. Keep it together, for Masumi. Keep it together so you can hurt him.
You feel for your knives as you sink into your stance--but they're not there. No, you didn't bring them with you. The closest thing you have to a weapon is a garrote. Slowly, you unwind then throw away your sash, and roll up your sleeves. You grip the garrote handles tight in your left hand, its wire coarse against your stinging palm.
Rivdatka Himself assumes no stance. He stands across from you still wearing all his jewelry. Still wearing his smile. For all the world seeming as if he were about to take a leisurely stroll, save for the faint wash of essence that outlines him. Shimmering whites and rippling blues clinging to him like rainwater. He's not tense at all as he motions to Great Teacher, who produces a mallet.
You know how this goes. In a straight fight against an opponent superior reach, strength, speed and experience, there's only one thing that can possibly even the odds: sheer, violent unpredictability. The only way out of this is by doing the unexpected.
He doesn't expect you to put up much of a fight.
They never do.
Great Teacher rings the gong.
He called you little girl.
You close the distance in a heartbeat and unleash a series of rapid jabs. Rivdatka Himself blocks them all, but he's on the back foot, unprepared for the force and intensity of your onslaught.
It buys you a few seconds, nothing more. He parries a right hook then stomps forward at your ankle. You leap backward to dodge. His foot hits the floor and a shockwave pulses out, pushing you back further.
Your balance is shot momentarily, and that moment is all he needs to close the distance and slam his shoulder into you with his full weight.
You see the tackle coming, but your arms can't get up fast enough to protect your chest. He drives the air from your lungs, and you retch as you go flying backward.
"Tesaki!" Masumi cries in horror.
Rivdatka Himself tut tuts, disappointed.
And then he notices the garrote you roped around his hand.
You reach the end of its length and hold for dear life to the handles. It feels like an angry god is trying to rip your arms off, but you hold on, slamming into the floor as the wire goes slack.
The wire carves through the flesh and bone of Rivdatka Himself's hand with a hideous sound, like paper tearing. His hand torn right below the fingers, three digits hanging on by red strings. Cracked bones poking out. He screams like thunder, the sound resounding in the great hall.
You gasp for air, forcing painful breaths down. You think you dislocated your arm, the floor under you is spinning, and you don't have any more tricks up your sleeve.
But that's fine by you. You're smiling, savage and toothy.
For even dragons can be made to bleed.
"You... you bitch! You devil! Hurting a Prince of the Earth! How dare you!" Palm makes warding gestures from behind Great Teacher. After all, assaulting one's superiors is blasphemy. And what higher blasphemy can there be than hurting one of the Dragon-Blooded?
Masumi stares at you, eyes wide. Face frozen in disbelief. "Tesaki... How?"
"Don't get excited for your little sister." Great Teacher's eyes are hard. "It's not done yet."
She's right. Fifteen seconds have passed; you're halfway through. It's more than you were expecting, but you're not done yet.
That doesn't mean you're going to let her get away with calling you a girl, though.
You stagger to your feet, barely managing to step up right. It hurts to raise your arms, and the left one won't come up at all - you're down to one trembling hand. So you point that hand right at her creased face, and snarl.
"I," you yell at the punna, your vision red, "am NOT A LITTLE GIRL."
"That's right. You're much more interesting than a little girl."
There stands Rivdatka Himself. Painted sky at his back. Blood dripping from his maimed hand, alight in cold blue and white that's growing in brightness and intensity. Something stirs in those colors, wisp of forboding dark. A chill settles over the room and sets into your bones; fog blankets the stone floor.
"You impress me. And so I shall show you what happens," says the Dragon-Blooded, "when the cold winds blow."
He raises his arms.
The world explodes.
Bright light, then cold, wet winds.
Gale force wind and rain buffet you in the cloud bank. It's hard to see, but even through your eyelids the blinding light reaches, the shining pillar of Rivdatka Himself's anima.
"This, young one, is what it means to be Exalted."
The storm growls, and through squinting eyes you see your opponent's outline, his voice carrying clear through the storm. Behind him a flat-topped, black cloud that thins toward the bottom. Lit from within with threads of electricity.
A gargantuan head made of rainwater and lightning rears from the cloud.
And...
Oh, Dragons.
It's a dragon.
A mighty, coiling dragon. Its tongue long and forked, its eyes lustrously dark. Lipless mouth pulled back in a sadistic smile.
Its tongue flickers, scenting for your fear.
The dragon likes what it smells.
You can't move.
You try, and you try, but you just. Can't move.
"Awesome power. Divine mandate. It means that my equals are few, and my steps are mighty, and all shall behold me."
He approaches slowly, essence whipping eddies in the air. The hurricane inhales, and the final booming gust is come.
"You have been worth my time, and for that rare feat, you have my appreciation and respect. Thank you."
The strike impacts your jaw.
You hit the ground with a sickening crack.
It's over.
But blackness does not swallow you. Not for long.
You're still conscious.
You're still alive.
Your head swims with pain. Constellations erupt and dim behind your eyelids. You want to scream and vomit and cry, but you can't do anything but gasp for air.
Great arms lift you, and your vision resolves into the face of Rivdatka Himself. The storm gone, leaving you soaked and weak in its wake.
"I thought you were familiar, though I had never seen your face before. But that's not true, is it?" Lips peel back into a cruel smile. He reaches one hand into a pocket. "I recognize the way you move. Yes, I have seen your face before. Your other face. Your true one. Isn't that right?"
In his good hand is your mask, shattered in two. Oceanwater glaze and white wood chipped. A great crack down the middle, bisecting it from where it cushioned your fall.
Your face in pieces.
You open your mouth to scream but no sound comes out. Only blood, oozing rivulets down your split lip.
"My, my. Roshi does know how to pick them, doesn't he? Vashra's Fang unmasked. You're a boy-girl, barely grown, a wily martial artist and accomplished assasin. What's your body count. Two dozen? Three?" The Air Aspect's eyes glitter with dark amusement. "You are, I think, the singular most spiteful creature I have ever encountered. You, a mortal, hurt me." His laugh is airy.
"Why, you don't belong here-" He gestures with the hand that holds the mask. To the wind-torn chamber, a place of wealth and piety. To its drenched inhabitants; the Immaculate monks, so horrified to see violence this close to their noses; your sister, watching with rapt attention and hanging on his every word. "You belong in the wild. And what wilder place than our fair city, mm?"
Rivdatka Himself sets you down gently on your feet.
Your legs buckle.
"I will hunt you myself when you come into your own. You deserve no less.
"Then, and only then, will you die."
You start to wakefulness with a pitiful moan, the sound feeble as it leaks out of your cracked and swollen lips. Everything hurts. You slowly peel your eyes open to the blinding light and see your sister, standing at your bedside. Gray light streams in from the window, breaking on her back, spilling shadows across her face and plainclothes.
"Masumi? What..."
It's hard to think. Thoughts going nowhere fast, smothered under your headache.
"It's morning, little brother. I carried you home. You slept through the night. Gojai and I set your arm back and tended to your wounds."
"We... the mission. It was a failure. Roshi-" You try to sit up and immediately gasp in pain. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Father is still asleep, and will likely remain so for some time, given how much wine he had last night. He doesn't know yet."
"Oh."
"Don't worry. There will be time later to tell him all about how I failed (because it has to be my fault), and how you survived fighting Rivdatka Himself, an Azure Dragon, in one of the most sacred places in the entire city; ripped through his hand and made yourself an enemy for life. You saved our lives with nothing but your wits and a garrote."
Her voice is toneless, the unexpected words all the more painful for it.
You look up uncomprehendingly. "... Masumi?"
"Yes?"
"Did--did I do something wrong?"
"Not at all, Tesaki. Not at all."
The room falls quiet. You're used to silence between you and Masumi--you don't talk much, and she respects that--but not like this. This is different.
"But, you know, it's not how things should be. You shouldn't suffer for me, not when you've already suffered so much and become so strong. Not when I've suffered so little and am still weak."
Bands of light and shadow ripple on her face. Momentarily illuminating her wide, dark eyes and porcelain smile before casting them in black again.
"You're so special, little brother," she says sweetly, "and I'd like to be special too.
"So."
"I am going to do what I'm good at; I am going to take care of you. I will tell Roshi how the mission was a failure; how special you are; take all the blame for things going wrong; weather Roshi's temper. And it will hurt, but not too badly."
"And then we'll go back to normal"
"and things will be okay."
"Okay?"
Nothing about this is okay. Your sister resents you and is espousing Kind One doctrine and Roshi is going to be mad and
"... okay."
You can be mad at Masumi.
But you can't take her being mad at you.
"Good." Masumi kisses your hair gently. "Thank you for understanding. I love you."
The door swings shut with a click.
"... I love you too."
Self-loathing rises like tide. You let it wash over you. It feels comfortable, like an old wound never allowed to close.
You should have said something, anything, to make her feel better. But you didn't.
What should you have said?
What could you have said?
You don't know.
What can you possibly even do for her-
Yelling the next room over.
Masumi's voice crying out in pain.
You're at the door and opening before you can think.
All the parlor's candles and braziers are extinguished. The early morning light from the windows as dun as the stormclouds far above, washing the life and color from the room. From Gojai, posture tense, worried. From Vashra Herself, expression annoyed and weary. From Roshi, eyes wide in outrage.
From Masumi, corpse-pale and still, save a red welt on her cheek.
"You stupid child," Roshi says. He's trembling in his voluminous robes, the rings on his spotted hands clacking against one another. "You've ruined everything! This is what I get for trusting you."
His words are barbed and familiar, not leaving new wounds but ripping open ones that don't ever heal. Spewing invective until he's windless to a daughter accustomed, borderline indifferent in her acceptance of it all. How worthless Masumi is, yes Roshi-chbab; how incompetent she is, oh, yes father. Yes, of course you're being reasonable, I'm so sorry for putting you into this position honorable parent. I know I messed it all up.
"Roshi..." Gojai grimaces, scrubbing at his stubbly cheek. He catches your eyes as you silently approach - and blanches. "I, uh, I think you've made your point. You can stop now."
But he doesn't. He keeps going. Even though he gave you the intel that the mission was good. Even though he ordered it done. Even though Masumi is his daughter. Even though there's no point to this but to stroke his own ego.
He raises his hand again.
He doesn't stop.
You don't either until your fist slams into his nose and sends him reeling.
"Don't touch my sister."
"You would strike your superior? In front of me, no less?" Your House matriach asks you. But it's not really a question - her voice is tart, and her eyes are narrowed. As Roshi blinks the tears out of his eyes and rubs the blood from his nose (broken, you note absently. Good.) you know there will be hell to pay for this.
"I do. He gave us bad intel. The target was made before we got there. Masumi never had a chance of success and it's dumb luck that we're even alive."
Masumi inhales through her teeth. "Tesaki, don't make it worse-"
Roshi raises a hand and she falls silent. His eyes flash dangerously, lit with hate.
"It's 'dumb luck' that you're alive? Meaning no thanks to you, eh. And, you left witnesses alive, who now have a face to put to one of our assassins. Is that right, my dear boy? Are you telling me you can't do your job either?"
You say nothing. There's no point.
He stalks forward, the lights of his jewelry glittering. A green glow wrapping his ringed fingers like a shell.
"Masumi needs punishing for her failure. I assume you'd like it--I will grant you it. But you..." Roshi gets right in your face. Bloodshot eyes, crooked nose.
"You can't do your job. You," he hisses, "hit me. Do you know what that means?" His breath smells like rotted tea leaves.
You say nothing. You know what's coming.
"It means that you are no longer no fit for purpose.
"It means that you are no longer of use to me.
"It means that you are no longer under my protection.
It means you are no longer any son of mine."
Roshi throws his arms wide, a wicked smile on his face. "Vashra-chbab," he says with clear glee, "this child is no far-flung scion of our house. He is no blood of ours and of no use to our cause. He is shit I scraped up for I thought useful. And now he is useful no more.
I would see him returned to the blood-foamed gutters I plucked him from."
There are objections. Raised voices. Gojai and Masumi advocating on your behalf. Vashra Herself bellowing in anger at the deception perpetuated over the years.
It all feels so... unreal. Numbness creeps through you. Is this really happening? Is Roshi truly so spiteful that he would do something this stupid? Is he really throwing you back out?
In the end it all comes down to one thing. One simple fact that forces Vashra Herself to call for the guards. One single lie that has allowed you to live this lie.
"You," she intones, "are not one of us. You are no son of the Vashra. You must go." Is that crying yours or Masumi's? Or is it both? "A ship at the port will take you West; this is the last charity of ours you shall receive. If you are still in the city come nightfall, you shall be found and killed. I will not chance you betraying our secrets to the enemy." Is that a young man who's trying to kill Roshi? Being smashed into the floor by burly, spiteful young men that have never really liked you? Never really accepted you? "I strip of of your name, and I cast you out of this House."
Is that a human being, marched through the wrought iron gates and thrown onto the street, shivering in pouring rain?
No.
It's just you.
You are nameless. You are... he? She? They? It?
What you are, is done. Too tired to be outraged. Too numbed to kick and fight and cling screaming to life.
You lost track of where you were going a while ago. Your whole body is a bruise as it limps on in the driving rain, invisible to the crowds of people eager to get out of the rain, churning the road to mud. Stonecrush buildings like sheer cliff faces on either side of you. Multicolor market stalls packing up, scrambling to save rotting produce. Your head throbs.
You're somewhere near the Yori Bay, probably. The underpass is hunched and narrow as you enter, the brass grates overhead providing little light and less shelter. Filthy water drip-dripping down onto sickly puddles and junkies and curled-up khareka. Dead bodies, moving and still. It smells like Red Fever and white lightning. It smells like a place to die. But that doesn't matter to you anymore. Why would it?
Did you really think that this was going to end another way? That you would defeat Rivdatka Himself? That Roshi wouldn't discard you eventually? That you wouldn't lose Gojai and Masumi? That you would keep getting to feel special, feel worthwhile, feel something, anything other than scared, angry and hurt?
Something other than a subhuman nothing?
Yes. You did.
Dragons, you really did. You hoped against all hope that it could last. That if it got better once, it could keep getting better. More the fool you for daring to believe that for once, the world wouldn't spit on you.
But it's done just that.
And then, it does something else.
Agony drives a spike through your head that brings you to your knees. The pressure impossibly, intolerably huge. And it's growing, threatening to burst your head. Far off you hear the sound of screaming; your own voice, in a cracking shriek that rips apart your vocal cords.
The drizzle surges to a roar as water rushes into the underpass, water like fire that stings your skin and blinds your eyes and sweeps you away. Down to the Yori Bay, through streets lit by bronze lamps that hang from many-jointed, angular limbs. Throwing you down an escarpment of black stone pocked with fluted sewer grates, severed arteries spewing foul green acid into the bay. The smell of sulfur choking you, the taste of water burning you. You hit the water hard.
A minute later you breach the glassy shimmer of the bay surface, gasping for air. You're in Great Port, climbing out of the filthy brine onto a rickety dock. You lay there on your back, chest heaving as the rainwater washes you of waste and blood. Nobody even recognizes you; they all step around, ignoring you. Like you're not even there.
Hacking up seawater, you crawly limply toward a stormdrain. The pain flares again, even sharper in your head. It hurts so much you can't even cry, or scream.
Great bronze gongs sound the sixth and final prayer of the day, and you just want the pain to stop.
"It never stops."
Above you is Vashra Roshi, the city at his back.
"Even if you die. It. Never. Stops. The pain will never go away - this cruel world hates you, and you will always hate it. That is the truth this world is built on, little one. You know it to be true, for you have been powerless and powerful in turn. But now, that all can change." He inclines his head to the side, the neck breaking with a sick crack that reveals black rocks where bone should be. Hideous ichor wells, and something big begins to crawl from his slit neck. White Lightning City shimmers in heat haze, the image overlaid a city of twisting brass. Far above, the clouds boil and part.
Revealing a green sun.
The pressure swells in your head. It threatens to obliterate everything you are and everything you know.
"NOW, YOU CAN BE MIGHTY."
It is the king that is the city. Its voice is cracking planets and its heart is a screaming star.
It is the cosmos that is sundered. Its shame is foul hellfire and its chest is a violated universe.
It is the prison that is a prisoner. Its sentence is galactic agony and its vastness is a hideous cell.
It is Malfeas, the Demon City. It is its great siblings and peers, watching eagerly. The focus of their gargantuan, alien presence crushing your mind.
They offer you power to destroy the world.
DO YOU ACCEPT?
What other answer could you possibly give?
"Yes."
---
Vote options coming tomorrow.
I HOPE YOU'RE READY FOR SICK INFERNAL EXALTED POWERS
You walk from the dais steps to the center of the chamber and take position opposite Rivdatka Himself, the same way you have so many times with Gojai. The Exalt is talking, but you can't hear him. You can't hear anything over the dull rush of blood in your ears. You couldn't talk if you wanted to, either; screams bubble in your throat, rising hot before popping in wheezy exhales. You're perilously close to losing your self-control too early, and with it any chance of survival; the thought of that only makes you angrier, starting the cycle new again.
Little girls. Little girls. How dare he. Little girls; how dare he!
How would he like to feel weak? How would he like to be told he has no value, no place, no right to life? How would he like to believe every harsh word about him justified, every cruelty deserved? How would he like to--
Face twitching, you bite down on your gums hard. Blood's sharp tang floods your mouth; you cling to the pain. Don't lose it. Not yet. Not yet. Keep it together, for Masumi. Keep it together so you can hurt him.
You feel for your knives as you sink into your stance--but they're not there. No, you didn't bring them with you. The closest thing you have to a weapon is a garrote. Slowly, you unwind then throw away your sash, and roll up your sleeves. You grip the garrote handles tight in your left hand, its wire coarse against your stinging palm.
Rivdatka Himself assumes no stance. He stands across from you still wearing all his jewelry. Still wearing his smile. For all the world seeming as if he were about to take a leisurely stroll, save for the faint wash of essence that outlines him. Shimmering whites and rippling blues clinging to him like rainwater. He's not tense at all as he motions to Great Teacher, who produces a mallet.
You know how this goes. In a straight fight against an opponent superior reach, strength, speed and experience, there's only one thing that can possibly even the odds: sheer, violent unpredictability. The only way out of this is by doing the unexpected.
He doesn't expect you to put up much of a fight.
They never do.
Great Teacher rings the gong.
He called you little girl.
You close the distance in a heartbeat and unleash a series of rapid jabs. Rivdatka Himself blocks them all, but he's on the back foot, unprepared for the force and intensity of your onslaught.
It buys you a few seconds, nothing more. He parries a right hook then stomps forward at your ankle. You leap backward to dodge. His foot hits the floor and a shockwave pulses out, pushing you back further.
Your balance is shot momentarily, and that moment is all he needs to close the distance and slam his shoulder into you with his full weight.
You see the tackle coming, but your arms can't get up fast enough to protect your chest. He drives the air from your lungs, and you retch as you go flying backward.
"Tesaki!" Masumi cries in horror.
Rivdatka Himself tut tuts, disappointed.
And then he notices the garrote you roped around his hand.
You reach the end of its length and hold for dear life to the handles. It feels like an angry god is trying to rip your arms off, but you hold on, slamming into the floor as the wire goes slack.
The wire carves through the flesh and bone of Rivdatka Himself's hand with a hideous sound, like paper tearing. His hand torn right below the fingers, three digits hanging on by red strings. Cracked bones poking out. He screams like thunder, the sound resounding in the great hall.
You gasp for air, forcing painful breaths down. You think you dislocated your arm, the floor under you is spinning, and you don't have any more tricks up your sleeve.
But that's fine by you. You're smiling, savage and toothy.
For even dragons can be made to bleed.
"You... you bitch! You devil! Hurting a Prince of the Earth! How dare you!" Palm makes warding gestures from behind Great Teacher. After all, assaulting one's superiors is blasphemy. And what higher blasphemy can there be than hurting one of the Dragon-Blooded?
Masumi stares at you, eyes wide. Face frozen in disbelief. "Tesaki... How?"
"Don't get excited for your little sister." Great Teacher's eyes are hard. "It's not done yet."
She's right. Fifteen seconds have passed; you're halfway through. It's more than you were expecting, but you're not done yet.
That doesn't mean you're going to let her get away with calling you a girl, though.
You stagger to your feet, barely managing to step up right. It hurts to raise your arms, and the left one won't come up at all - you're down to one trembling hand. So you point that hand right at her creased face, and snarl.
"I," you yell at the punna, your vision red, "am NOT A LITTLE GIRL."
"That's right. You're much more interesting than a little girl."
There stands Rivdatka Himself. Painted sky at his back. Blood dripping from his maimed hand, alight in cold blue and white that's growing in brightness and intensity. Something stirs in those colors, wisp of forboding dark. A chill settles over the room and sets into your bones; fog blankets the stone floor.
"You impress me. And so I shall show you what happens," says the Dragon-Blooded, "when the cold winds blow."
He raises his arms.
The world explodes.
Bright light, then cold, wet winds.
Gale force wind and rain buffet you in the cloud bank. It's hard to see, but even through your eyelids the blinding light reaches, the shining pillar of Rivdatka Himself's anima.
"This, young one, is what it means to be Exalted."
The storm growls, and through squinting eyes you see your opponent's outline, his voice carrying clear through the storm. Behind him a flat-topped, black cloud that thins toward the bottom. Lit from within with threads of electricity.
A gargantuan head made of rainwater and lightning rears from the cloud.
And...
Oh, Dragons.
It's a dragon.
A mighty, coiling dragon. Its tongue long and forked, its eyes lustrously dark. Lipless mouth pulled back in a sadistic smile.
Its tongue flickers, scenting for your fear.
The dragon likes what it smells.
You can't move.
You try, and you try, but you just. Can't move.
"Awesome power. Divine mandate. It means that my equals are few, and my steps are mighty, and all shall behold me."
He approaches slowly, essence whipping eddies in the air. The hurricane inhales, and the final booming gust is come.
"You have been worth my time, and for that rare feat, you have my appreciation and respect. Thank you."
The strike impacts your jaw.
You hit the ground with a sickening crack.
It's over.
But blackness does not swallow you. Not for long.
You're still conscious.
You're still alive.
Your head swims with pain. Constellations erupt and dim behind your eyelids. You want to scream and vomit and cry, but you can't do anything but gasp for air.
Great arms lift you, and your vision resolves into the face of Rivdatka Himself. The storm gone, leaving you soaked and weak in its wake.
"I thought you were familiar, though I had never seen your face before. But that's not true, is it?" Lips peel back into a cruel smile. He reaches one hand into a pocket. "I recognize the way you move. Yes, I have seen your face before. Your other face. Your true one. Isn't that right?"
In his good hand is your mask, shattered in two. Oceanwater glaze and white wood chipped. A great crack down the middle, bisecting it from where it cushioned your fall.
Your face in pieces.
You open your mouth to scream but no sound comes out. Only blood, oozing rivulets down your split lip.
"My, my. Roshi does know how to pick them, doesn't he? Vashra's Fang unmasked. You're a boy-girl, barely grown, a wily martial artist and accomplished assasin. What's your body count. Two dozen? Three?" The Air Aspect's eyes glitter with dark amusement. "You are, I think, the singular most spiteful creature I have ever encountered. You, a mortal, hurt me." His laugh is airy.
"Why, you don't belong here-" He gestures with the hand that holds the mask. To the wind-torn chamber, a place of wealth and piety. To its drenched inhabitants; the Immaculate monks, so horrified to see violence this close to their noses; your sister, watching with rapt attention and hanging on his every word. "You belong in the wild. And what wilder place than our fair city, mm?"
Rivdatka Himself sets you down gently on your feet.
Your legs buckle.
"I will hunt you myself when you come into your own. You deserve no less.
"Then, and only then, will you die."
You start to wakefulness with a pitiful moan, the sound feeble as it leaks out of your cracked and swollen lips. Everything hurts. You slowly peel your eyes open to the blinding light and see your sister, standing at your bedside. Gray light streams in from the window, breaking on her back, spilling shadows across her face and plainclothes.
"Masumi? What..."
It's hard to think. Thoughts going nowhere fast, smothered under your headache.
"It's morning, little brother. I carried you home. You slept through the night. Gojai and I set your arm back and tended to your wounds."
"We... the mission. It was a failure. Roshi-" You try to sit up and immediately gasp in pain. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Father is still asleep, and will likely remain so for some time, given how much wine he had last night. He doesn't know yet."
"Oh."
"Don't worry. There will be time later to tell him all about how I failed (because it has to be my fault), and how you survived fighting Rivdatka Himself, an Azure Dragon, in one of the most sacred places in the entire city; ripped through his hand and made yourself an enemy for life. You saved our lives with nothing but your wits and a garrote."
Her voice is toneless, the unexpected words all the more painful for it.
You look up uncomprehendingly. "... Masumi?"
"Yes?"
"Did--did I do something wrong?"
"Not at all, Tesaki. Not at all."
The room falls quiet. You're used to silence between you and Masumi--you don't talk much, and she respects that--but not like this. This is different.
"But, you know, it's not how things should be. You shouldn't suffer for me, not when you've already suffered so much and become so strong. Not when I've suffered so little and am still weak."
Bands of light and shadow ripple on her face. Momentarily illuminating her wide, dark eyes and porcelain smile before casting them in black again.
"You're so special, little brother," she says sweetly, "and I'd like to be special too.
"So."
"I am going to do what I'm good at; I am going to take care of you. I will tell Roshi how the mission was a failure; how special you are; take all the blame for things going wrong; weather Roshi's temper. And it will hurt, but not too badly."
"And then we'll go back to normal"
"and things will be okay."
"Okay?"
Nothing about this is okay. Your sister resents you and is espousing Kind One doctrine and Roshi is going to be mad and
"... okay."
You can be mad at Masumi.
But you can't take her being mad at you.
"Good." Masumi kisses your hair gently. "Thank you for understanding. I love you."
The door swings shut with a click.
"... I love you too."
Self-loathing rises like tide. You let it wash over you. It feels comfortable, like an old wound never allowed to close.
You should have said something, anything, to make her feel better. But you didn't.
What should you have said?
What could you have said?
You don't know.
What can you possibly even do for her-
Yelling the next room over.
Masumi's voice crying out in pain.
You're at the door and opening before you can think.
All the parlor's candles and braziers are extinguished. The early morning light from the windows as dun as the stormclouds far above, washing the life and color from the room. From Gojai, posture tense, worried. From Vashra Herself, expression annoyed and weary. From Roshi, eyes wide in outrage.
From Masumi, corpse-pale and still, save a red welt on her cheek.
"You stupid child," Roshi says. He's trembling in his voluminous robes, the rings on his spotted hands clacking against one another. "You've ruined everything! This is what I get for trusting you."
His words are barbed and familiar, not leaving new wounds but ripping open ones that don't ever heal. Spewing invective until he's windless to a daughter accustomed, borderline indifferent in her acceptance of it all. How worthless Masumi is, yes Roshi-chbab; how incompetent she is, oh, yes father. Yes, of course you're being reasonable, I'm so sorry for putting you into this position honorable parent. I know I messed it all up.
"Roshi..." Gojai grimaces, scrubbing at his stubbly cheek. He catches your eyes as you silently approach - and blanches. "I, uh, I think you've made your point. You can stop now."
But he doesn't. He keeps going. Even though he gave you the intel that the mission was good. Even though he ordered it done. Even though Masumi is his daughter. Even though there's no point to this but to stroke his own ego.
He raises his hand again.
He doesn't stop.
You don't either until your fist slams into his nose and sends him reeling.
"Don't touch my sister."
"You would strike your superior? In front of me, no less?" Your House matriach asks you. But it's not really a question - her voice is tart, and her eyes are narrowed. As Roshi blinks the tears out of his eyes and rubs the blood from his nose (broken, you note absently. Good.) you know there will be hell to pay for this.
"I do. He gave us bad intel. The target was made before we got there. Masumi never had a chance of success and it's dumb luck that we're even alive."
Masumi inhales through her teeth. "Tesaki, don't make it worse-"
Roshi raises a hand and she falls silent. His eyes flash dangerously, lit with hate.
"It's 'dumb luck' that you're alive? Meaning no thanks to you, eh. And, you left witnesses alive, who now have a face to put to one of our assassins. Is that right, my dear boy? Are you telling me you can't do your job either?"
You say nothing. There's no point.
He stalks forward, the lights of his jewelry glittering. A green glow wrapping his ringed fingers like a shell.
"Masumi needs punishing for her failure. I assume you'd like it--I will grant you it. But you..." Roshi gets right in your face. Bloodshot eyes, crooked nose.
"You can't do your job. You," he hisses, "hit me. Do you know what that means?" His breath smells like rotted tea leaves.
You say nothing. You know what's coming.
"It means that you are no longer no fit for purpose.
"It means that you are no longer of use to me.
"It means that you are no longer under my protection.
It means you are no longer any son of mine."
Roshi throws his arms wide, a wicked smile on his face. "Vashra-chbab," he says with clear glee, "this child is no far-flung scion of our house. He is no blood of ours and of no use to our cause. He is shit I scraped up for I thought useful. And now he is useful no more.
I would see him returned to the blood-foamed gutters I plucked him from."
There are objections. Raised voices. Gojai and Masumi advocating on your behalf. Vashra Herself bellowing in anger at the deception perpetuated over the years.
It all feels so... unreal. Numbness creeps through you. Is this really happening? Is Roshi truly so spiteful that he would do something this stupid? Is he really throwing you back out?
In the end it all comes down to one thing. One simple fact that forces Vashra Herself to call for the guards. One single lie that has allowed you to live this lie.
"You," she intones, "are not one of us. You are no son of the Vashra. You must go." Is that crying yours or Masumi's? Or is it both? "A ship at the port will take you West; this is the last charity of ours you shall receive. If you are still in the city come nightfall, you shall be found and killed. I will not chance you betraying our secrets to the enemy." Is that a young man who's trying to kill Roshi? Being smashed into the floor by burly, spiteful young men that have never really liked you? Never really accepted you? "I strip of of your name, and I cast you out of this House."
Is that a human being, marched through the wrought iron gates and thrown onto the street, shivering in pouring rain?
No.
It's just you.
You are nameless. You are... he? She? They? It?
What you are, is done. Too tired to be outraged. Too numbed to kick and fight and cling screaming to life.
You lost track of where you were going a while ago. Your whole body is a bruise as it limps on in the driving rain, invisible to the crowds of people eager to get out of the rain, churning the road to mud. Stonecrush buildings like sheer cliff faces on either side of you. Multicolor market stalls packing up, scrambling to save rotting produce. Your head throbs.
You're somewhere near the Yori Bay, probably. The underpass is hunched and narrow as you enter, the brass grates overhead providing little light and less shelter. Filthy water drip-dripping down onto sickly puddles and junkies and curled-up khareka. Dead bodies, moving and still. It smells like Red Fever and white lightning. It smells like a place to die. But that doesn't matter to you anymore. Why would it?
Did you really think that this was going to end another way? That you would defeat Rivdatka Himself? That Roshi wouldn't discard you eventually? That you wouldn't lose Gojai and Masumi? That you would keep getting to feel special, feel worthwhile, feel something, anything other than scared, angry and hurt?
Something other than a subhuman nothing?
Yes. You did.
Dragons, you really did. You hoped against all hope that it could last. That if it got better once, it could keep getting better. More the fool you for daring to believe that for once, the world wouldn't spit on you.
But it's done just that.
And then, it does something else.
Agony drives a spike through your head that brings you to your knees. The pressure impossibly, intolerably huge. And it's growing, threatening to burst your head. Far off you hear the sound of screaming; your own voice, in a cracking shriek that rips apart your vocal cords.
The drizzle surges to a roar as water rushes into the underpass, water like fire that stings your skin and blinds your eyes and sweeps you away. Down to the Yori Bay, through streets lit by bronze lamps that hang from many-jointed, angular limbs. Throwing you down an escarpment of black stone pocked with fluted sewer grates, severed arteries spewing foul green acid into the bay. The smell of sulfur choking you, the taste of water burning you. You hit the water hard.
A minute later you breach the glassy shimmer of the bay surface, gasping for air. You're in Great Port, climbing out of the filthy brine onto a rickety dock. You lay there on your back, chest heaving as the rainwater washes you of waste and blood. Nobody even recognizes you; they all step around, ignoring you. Like you're not even there.
Hacking up seawater, you crawly limply toward a stormdrain. The pain flares again, even sharper in your head. It hurts so much you can't even cry, or scream.
Great bronze gongs sound the sixth and final prayer of the day, and you just want the pain to stop.
"It never stops."
Above you is Vashra Roshi, the city at his back.
"Even if you die. It. Never. Stops. The pain will never go away - this cruel world hates you, and you will always hate it. That is the truth this world is built on, little one. You know it to be true, for you have been powerless and powerful in turn. But now, that all can change." He inclines his head to the side, the neck breaking with a sick crack that reveals black rocks where bone should be. Hideous ichor wells, and something big begins to crawl from his slit neck. White Lightning City shimmers in heat haze, the image overlaid a city of twisting brass. Far above, the clouds boil and part.
Revealing a green sun.
The pressure swells in your head. It threatens to obliterate everything you are and everything you know.
"NOW, YOU CAN BE MIGHTY."
It is the king that is the city. Its voice is cracking planets and its heart is a screaming star.
It is the cosmos that is sundered. Its shame is foul hellfire and its chest is a violated universe.
It is the prison that is a prisoner. Its sentence is galactic agony and its vastness is a hideous cell.
It is Malfeas, the Demon City. It is its great siblings and peers, watching eagerly. The focus of their gargantuan, alien presence crushing your mind.
They offer you power to destroy the world.
DO YOU ACCEPT?
What other answer could you possibly give?
"Yes."
---
Vote options coming tomorrow.
I HOPE YOU'RE READY FOR SICK INFERNAL EXALTED POWERS
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mothematics
How wide is the concept of "you"?
- Location
- the bottom of a coffee cup
- Pronouns
- She/Her
uhhhh MINOR EDITS, fixed a weird formatting/sentence fragment issue
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- Location
- U.S.
I SURE FUCKING AM
- Location
- Canada
I'm curious, so I have to wonder if any of the other options would have had different result, and how much of a difference they would have made
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
People gonna pay. People gonna regret.
mothematics
How wide is the concept of "you"?
- Location
- the bottom of a coffee cup
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yeah. Defense would have been Lunar - Running, I'm not sure - maybe Sidereal, maybe you would have just died and become an Abyssal. I hadn't decided for that one yet. They all would have played very differently.
- Location
- HELL
- Pronouns
- They/It
And I know soon come my time,
For in mine void a pale horse burns
But I fear not the time I'm taken past
The point of no return.
Wage war like no tomorrow
'Cause no hell there won't be one.
For all who deny the struggle,
The Triumphant Overcome.
For in mine void a pale horse burns
But I fear not the time I'm taken past
The point of no return.
Wage war like no tomorrow
'Cause no hell there won't be one.
For all who deny the struggle,
The Triumphant Overcome.
- Location
- U.S.
This was discussed in discord. It's just. Such a hilarious concept.
- Location
- Canada
oh there's a discord, may I have a link?
- Location
- U.S.
Well, it's the Kerisgame discord. So uh, not really about this 95% of the time.
- Location
- Canada
oh, well ok then, never mind
meianmaru
The Devourer of Fiction
*wakes up in anticipation; sees that the accumulated choices have led to an Infernal Exaltation*
*something something keikaku means plan something*
So, an honest question: how many Malfeas Charms can you cram into the third of soul of a small yet very concentrated ball of hatred, anger, self-loathing and agony, that also feels alienated by their own body feeling wrong?
*something something keikaku means plan something*
So, an honest question: how many Malfeas Charms can you cram into the third of soul of a small yet very concentrated ball of hatred, anger, self-loathing and agony, that also feels alienated by their own body feeling wrong?
are we a green sun prince now?
Sightedjt
Everlasting Flames
Well, I'm sure glad we picked attack because IMO infernals are way more interesting than lunars
Also a thought on powersets- Kimbery / Adorjan / Cecylene seems like a decent combination for summing up the mix of pain spite and abuse that's made cheesy tat's like so far, assuming I'm remembering the thematics of them right.
Also a thought on powersets- Kimbery / Adorjan / Cecylene seems like a decent combination for summing up the mix of pain spite and abuse that's made cheesy tat's like so far, assuming I'm remembering the thematics of them right.
BadAtScreenNames
Killed a man in Reno just to watch him die
- Location
- the (currently) United Kingdom
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I believe the phrase is epic!
- Location
- U.S.
Many. But they'll have to share space with something else. Like maybe Mr. Spite's disguise and CCC charms, because Tesaki wants CCC so bad I can feel it through the 4th wall.
Yes.
Tesaki is.....not Adorjani, or Cecelyenne. At all. And also not really very Kimbrey. Adorjan is about letting go, and detachment from what ails you, and Tesaki is.....well, the opposite. Cece is about rules and laws and hierarchies, which I suspect Tesaki is not very fond of right now, nor is he the sort to appreciate hypocracy. Kimbrey.....closer? But he lacks her strong familial theming, outside Masumi, and Kimbrey is more....mob family anyway. She also has themes of sea, and motherhood, and neither of those have any real relation to Tesaki. Her betrayal things....maybe? But not as favored.
Rook will also probably limit our choices for favored Yozi, and IIRC neither Adorjan or Cece were likely to be allowed choices. Charms later may be available, but not as favored, the fit is terrible.
I'll be forwarding Malfeas and TED as favored Yozi, primarily for characterization reasons. Malfeas is.....just so perfect. Anger, pain, discomfort in their flesh, self-expression via violence, the similarities are deep and will bring natural growth to Teaski as he takes in more of the charms that build from and encourage his pre-existing habits. TED is very much tied to CCC, and how the statement that charm makes would mean a lot to Tesaki, and how he'd appreciate the effects that follow after, helping flesh out his assassin role, while also giving him a way to, temporarily, try some other face, and really get a new view on his city, and all the new things he can hate in it. And besides, Rivdatka isn't gone, not by a long shot. We'll face an Air Aspect, and we'll do their shtick better. Make him less in our victory, it is not enough we win, now? Now he must lose.
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Sightedjt
Everlasting Flames
I'd figured them as being less stuff that cheesy tats *is*, and more whats made him him.
Adorjan because how much of tat's pain has come from being attached to this slightly better life and to masumi?
Kimbery because acid and spite and IIRC her coding re parenthood is closer to *abusive* parenthood which roshi fits.
Cece okay I couldnt remember them as well and thiught they were more of the spiteful one thab they are but them being all rules and hierarchy makes them fit this bit better, because its always been the house hierarchy and the rules of city/street/gender roles that tats has chafed with.
Its the sort of idea of "these are the embodiments of all the things that have caused you pain. Take them, embrace them, and use them to return it a hundred times over on those who hurt you"
A yoziset fitting what *made* tats who he is
Sightedjt
Everlasting Flames
Im the opposite really, malfeas and the yozi are just some really strong concepts in terms of the sheer variety of things that can be done with them.
Lunars are just sorta there, Ive never seen any stuff with them that's got as strong a concept of what they do and deal with, its all more vague.
And infernal just fits our cheesy stabgremlin better
Lunars are just sorta there, Ive never seen any stuff with them that's got as strong a concept of what they do and deal with, its all more vague.
And infernal just fits our cheesy stabgremlin better
NormalSightMan
Free Range Incubator
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
DISCLAIMER: I am most familiar with the 2e version of Infernals, which is a mess. If my assessment of the lore contradicts the desperately needed 2.5-style reworking of this splat, I am definitely willing to be corrected.
I might be misremembering things but isn't Adorjan generally analogous to Night Castes? Because He Who Was Once Tesaki's skill set has a lot of Night going for him. I also thought Adorjan's themes were less about letting go and more about...well, the opposite, really. Adorjan's Urge is to obsess over something. I guess you can say she lets go in a sense: she utterly ignores whatever isn't the single thing she clings to.
Meanwhile the Ebon Dragon is, imo, a terrible fit. He has useful Charms but his ethos is to insinuate and corrupt; to be as indirect as possible in achieving his goals. He's a schemer, and our boy doesn't scheme. The only commonality between the two is the theme of freedom and the desire thereof. TED is slippery, and I think we can apply that adjective to our boy in a physical sense, if not a mental one.
I will agree though that Malfeas fits our little rage machine so, so well. The rage, the vindictiveness, the self-loathing and the feeling of being trapped in one's own body are all aspects of Malfeas to which our boy can relate. The Charms might not be the best fit, but that's what dips are for.