The Dream that is Dying (Exalted)

The demon roars, preparing to charge. The civilians scream, fleeing for their lives. Sabah cries, hunched over in her meager cover and desperately sure she is about to see another defender struck down before her eyes.

The river flows.

It should not be enough to draw your attention, should in truth be so far down the list of your priorities as to scarcely merit a note, and yet… the river flows. You can hear it, gurgling along in peaceful symphony. You can see it, shimmering brightly in the afternoon light. You can feel it, rippling and flowing in beautiful microcosm of the grand rhythms of Creation itself. Your blood flows in time with its unhurried rush, and as you contemplate this the memories of lessons you have never had come seeping back into your mind, stolen from beyond the veil of death. You know what to do.

Leaving your sword belted firmly to your waist, you sink slowly into a deceptively gentle looking stance. Your arms come up of their own accord, tracing soft arcs in the air, caressing the invisible flow of essence all around you. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, but gone is the violent clamor that preceded all previous battles in your short yet bloody life. Now you feel only the rhythm, sense only the greater pattern that lies behind all things. It is beautiful, and if the rough beast before you somehow fails to see that…

Then you will tear out his heart and show it to him.

Article:

When you successfully roll over the enemy's defense with your attack, you should compare your strength with their stamina. Should you have an advantage you add automatic levels of damage equal to the difference; should their stamina exceed your strength, then you lose an equal number of levels in turn.

If your stance concerns the demon ape, there is no sign of such in the creature's burning yellow eyes. It simply snorts, then throws itself into a lumbering run, closing the distance with shocking speed and agility for something so visibly deformed. There is none of a true ape's natural grace in the demon's shambling movements, but it covers the ground between you all the same, and with a bellowing roar lashes out with a red-furred arm the size of tree trunk. The air screams around the demon's strike, but you are blessed by the heavens, and you need no great skill to follow their directions - a half step back and you are all but falling out of range, letting the obsidian claws that tip each furry digit slash fruitlessly at the air instead of your vulnerable flesh.

Mid-fall, you reach out behind you and catch yourself on two outstretched hands. The wood of the pier is rough and warm beneath your palms, and the demon's leathery flesh is hot beneath your feet; in lunging so aggressively it left itself open for your counter-attack, and now your feet catch it in the gut with bone-crushing force.


You aren't sure what exactly it is that flows through the veins of a demon, for it most assuredly is not blood… but flow it does, and that is all that matters. You will it so, and with a pained roar the demon stumbles, the fluid in its veins rushing towards your heart like the sea pulled towards the moon.

A brachial leap carries the demon on past your reclining form, and though it stumbles heavily on landing you know better than to think it out of action. On this much the stories are clear; the beasts of the demon realm are far more resilient than any mortal animal, and in truth the sheer fact that it still stands despite your blow stands testimony to that fact.

You roll to your feet, neither fast nor slow, and await the creature's next move.


The demon chooses not to attack immediately; instead it begins to pace, circling around you with long, loping strides that makes the wooden pier creak beneath its weight. It shakes its head, swinging it back and forth in the manner of a creature harassed by some kind of buzzing insects, and growls something that sounds disturbingly like words.

You do not speak the language of the demon realm, but you would hazard a guess that the creature's comment was not complimentary. Your assessment is supported by the way the creature's lip curls back in evident disgust, revealing a mouthful of yellowing fangs. Deprived of more eloquent taunts, the beast falls back on a more primal means of communication - it rears back onto onto its hind legs, thumps it's chest with one ham-sized fist, and roars.

The sound is a physical thing, a hammer-blow of force that shatters the planks underfoot and puts long cracks in the stone foundations that hold them up. You brace yourself as best you can, and find that what should have been an attack worthy to burst the heart inside your chest instead washes off your bare skin like the gentle touch of summer rain.

Whatever else it is that the gods have made of you, you are a mighty weapon indeed.

The demon lunges before the echo has even begun, plowing forwards across the dock and sending shattered fragments of wood falling from its leathery hide, but whatever damage your earlier strike dealt to it is clearly too much for even a monster to entirely ignore; the beast's movements are rough and clumsy, unable to compensate for its own increased speed, and you avoid them with a nearly contemptuous degree of ease.

Then you strike back.

The demon is slow, for it must contend with the internal injuries bestowed by whatever strange analogue to blood it possesses rebelling against its control. It is vulnerable, for in its lunging charge it exposed weak points all along its flank. It is facing a veteran warrior blessed in some ill-defined way by the heavens themselves, who sees every moment before it happens and can bend the flow of events just as they can bend the water in the foe's own body.

You strike the demon once, on the crown of its head, and before the force of your attack the only thing it's inhuman constitution can do is burst.

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Foe Defeated: Erymanthus, the Blood-Ape, Demon of the First Circle

Observed Powers

Shattering Roar - The below of a blood-ape is a sound fit to shatter stone and burst the hearts of weaker foes. It may roll nine dice as a physical attack against any enemy within medium range, which cannot be blocked, only dodged. Once per scene, reset by tasting the blood of a worthy foe.

Principle of Motion - The demon moves with blinding speed. It may take two actions during a round, which can be different or identical as the situation demands. Once per scene, reset by spending a round in pursuit of a fleeing foe.

Breathing heavily, you lower your arm. The rancid pile of meat that was once a savage foe lies broken at your feet, and for a moment it is all you can do to stare. Such an enemy would have been beyond you even a day ago, the sort of foe you would muster an entire unit of your cataphracts to safely confront and defeat… yet you vanquished it, and in less than a dozen heartbeats at that.

You were chosen scarce hours ago. What will you be capable of, given years to refine your abilities?

Then you shake your head and dismiss such thoughts from your mind. There are more important matters to attend to now; your sister is yet in danger, and though you overcame one demon you know you cannot protect her from a whole city full of foes. Already you can feel the fatigue pulling at your limbs, the light that guided you to victory taking its toll on your still-fallible body. You need to get Sabah and then get out of here, before you collapse and become no further use to anyone.

You turn, hoping that she has not run off from where you left her, and…

There is a boat by the pier.

How did you not see it before? It is a junk, of foreign make and bright-hued sail, and it was moored not ten paces from where you left your sister before the demon attacked. There is a woman standing on the deck, watching you with undisguised interest; a tall woman, with arms corded thick with muscle and dirty blond hair cropped close to her skull. She wears leather armour of practical make, and at her side she carries a mace that glitters with a multitude of hues beneath its polished surface.

Sabah clings to her leg with a desperate strength.

"Hey there, beautiful," the blond woman says, her voice rough and cheerful, "hope you don't blame me for standing by there. I was going to drop in, save the day, make a flirty comment, but by the time I got this little one aboard and calm you'd already taken care of the pest yourself. Pretty sweet moves, by the way."

Her words are of no consequence. What matters is that she is unknown, she is armed, and she is next to your sister.

You step forwards, shoulders rolling with the same flowing rhythm of the river, but before you can deal with her as you did the demon she holds up one hand in a warding gesture.

"Woah there, sweetness; peace, alright?" She says, flashing a smile at you that is probably meant to be charming, "I'm not your enemy, far from it, and we can't exactly afford to rumble now, so… ah, fuck it."

She squints for a moment, as though concentrating… and then a mark appears across her mannish brow, etched out in lines of shimmering blue. A mirror of some sorts, perhaps, but with two small horns… oh. The symbol of Venus, Maiden of Serenity, and sister to Mars who has blessed you in turn.

You sag in relief, somehow knowing in a way that you cannot quite express that it's ok, you're safe, that nothing is going to hurt you or your sister. The dull ache across your body seems to redouble at the thought, and you sway slightly, unable to resist it any longer. You begin to topple… and then stop, held safely in arms as broad as another woman's thighs.

"Well, it's not quite a daring rescue mid-brawl, but I'll take it," the foreign woman says with a vaguely bemused air, "go ahead and rest, darling. We'll talk for real once you're back on your feet."

Darkness takes you, and you comply.

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Prologue Over. Character sheet posted to front page. Next arc: The Celestial City.

Farah slumbers, lost in dreams. What do you see?

[ ] A killer with blood on her hands. She runs her fingers through the life of a Titan, staring at them with mute fascination. There will be a cost to this, but it is one she thinks worth paying. Thinks, but does not know.

[ ] A general clad in scarlet. She stands athwart Creation, and all the world drowns beneath the shadow of her name. When she wills it, nations die, and the hosts that exult her name can only guess as to her motive.

[ ] A master with hair of flame. She stands in challenge to any who will meet her, pitting fist and mind alike against the blades of the world's most dangerous foes. Their hatred warms the forge, and with it she shall forge wonders unquestioned.

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