Of Silver, Jade, and Steel (Exalted)

[X] Wits: You wish to have the resolve to face your life. Your will must be forged into something that controls your environment just as much as it controls you.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
[x] A raccoon. A city dweller, just like us, and fairly cunning.

You eventually stagger to your feet, after what feels like an eternity. The fisherman is gone, nowhere to be seen, and it appears he took his netted fish with him. The lanterns he had, however, still burn, but their light is pitiful to that given off by the congeries of light radiating from your body. You feel oddly better; perhaps it's just the situation driving it from your mind, but you can shrug off your injuries for now, despite the apparent severity of them. At the very least, the leaden weight in your head is gone, and your focus can finally hone in on what exactly just happened here. You call back on your education, your best way of examining this all.

The monastery had instructed you on the various gods of the world, those immaterial beings whose works upheld the laws of Fate and reality. The gods of the various markets in the city, who ensured the safety and security of the traders there, hampering the more unskilled thieves whose fumbling hands would be turned aside by the wards laid by the divinities. The gods of the canals, who did their best to keep the floods in Water Season from overwhelming the poorer districts and thus depriving the gods of the various factories their devout workers. You would, when you were young, worship them on their designated Feast Days as per the Immaculate Calendar so that they might be given the necessary power to continue to do their jobs; one of the more scientifically inclined monks had said mankind's relation to the gods was akin to a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship, like that of the bee collecting nectar and pollen from flowers and transferring that pollen to other fertile flowers so that the cycle of life would continue. However, you were also instructed of that which not to worship.

First were the Immaculate Dragons themselves; you still can recall the sharp sting of a switch laid on the back of your hand when you once offered a prayer to Sextes Jylis for aid with recovering from an unbearable case of the flu, and you hear echoes of the monk chastising you for offering prayer to those far beyond the need of such things in your thoughts. Second were the Dragon-blooded, for it would dirty their enlightened souls (and swell their already huge egos). The third were the Incarnae, the most powerful of gods, who rule the Heavenly City of Yu-Shan and were akin to the Dragons in their supernatural perfection. They number seven, and of them all, Luna seems the most relevant at this moment.

Luna, the Ever-Changing, was described to you (as best as a mortal could explain something so enigmatic) as having two primary functions: to protect the world from that which lurks in the Wyld while the Unconquered Sun (the King and General of the Gods) rests, and to provide a respite from the Sun's unbending righteousness. While the Unconquered Sun is set in his ways, Luna is flexible; they embody endless forms, infinite roles with which to better protect Creation from its enemies. They are the most active of the Incarnae in mortal affairs, much to the Faith's chagrin, as their escapades have a tendency to galvanize tribal cultures against adopting Immaculate dogma. You cannot think of any other being that bests fits the description of who exactly you just met, try as you might.

You are still baffled, despite at least landing on a good lead on what in the hell just occurred; you have no idea would an Incarnae bother to visit a nobody like you and gift you some kind of Exaltation you've never even heard about; the only Exalted you know of are the Dragon-blooded, those who are rewarded for their enlightened behavior in past lives with the stewardship of the world and mastery of the five elements. You make your way to the river to toss a bit of cool water onto your face and are startled by what stares back at you in its reflection. The only way you can process how you look like after Luna shoved a bit of moonfire into your chest is that you now look like a sister you'd have if, theoretically, your unknown father had spent yet another night in the blue-light district with your mother and sired a girl this time; you still look vaguely the same (you're still as tall and underfed as you were before, with the same black hair that reaches your shoulders and the same almond-shaped eyes), but all your physical features have softened. In addition to this change, you now have a glowing silver mark on your brow that resembles the moon as it is now. You fall back into the mud and river reeds, and after you spend what feels like a few minutes just listening to the sounds of river toads serenading each other with their croaks, start laughing in a tired and irony-laden way; you guess that your fascination with the Dragon Danaa'd wasn't just a mere bit of religious piety, and that Luna had noted that as well when they 'blessed' you.

The thought of the Immaculate Dragons at this time snaps you, almost comically so, out of your weary cackling. You realize, with dawning horror, that right now you matches the description of one of the fourth type of beings you were never to worship in the Faith; the Anathema, those wicked things who could not coexist with the Immaculate Way and Creation, and who must be destroyed as a result. The mark in the center of your head, the shifting aura around you, and the shape-shifting is emblematic of the most dreaded of the Anathema, the Lunar Anathema, said to have stolen power from Luna themselves and wielded it to terrorize and enslave the world with their Solar brethren until the Dragon-blooded, under the banner of the Immaculate Dragons, put them to the sword. Their souls, however, fled their bodies and now enter the bodies of those who transgress against the teachings of the Immaculates and possess them, turning them into mad man-eating beasts that must be ridden down by the holy shikari of the Wyld Hunt.

You look towards where Nexus would be on the horizon, and now think about how the light you're giving off can be seen for miles. The exact location of where you've been standing has almost certainly been noted by nearly everyone in the city and on the Yanaze River itself, and unfortunately, you know for a fact that there's a good chance the Dragon-blooded of the Lookshy Embassy are marching to the Immaculate Shrine, where they will confer with the very people who raised you as best they could, and both will ride out of the city in order to drive a spear through your neck so that another of the Moon-Mad can be slain before it despoils the world. You know the monks will not hesitate (and that's even if they somehow recognize you); to them, this is simply freeing your eternal soul from the grasp of an evil specter that they cannot exorcise any other way.

Your instinctual religious self-loathing spars with the fact that, from what you can tell, Luna gave you their power (an Exaltation, even, like the Dragon-blooded have) willingly; you didn't steal it, and you don't feel any particular urge to eat human flesh. But then again, this could be a ruse by another Lunar Anathema, to prevent you from doing the right thing and submitting to the shikari peacefully, and that in about a week or so you might get the craving to eat a child. Or Luna could just be a huge asshole; after all, they aren't exactly completely sane from what you've heard, and they've just put you in a bad spot without much help and without even the courtesy of asking if you wanted this power. Panicking, you try to think about what to do next. You certainly don't want to die now, not with so much unfinished business, not while so young, not after having the worst day of your life. You note that in the legends, the Anathema can wear other people's faces and the forms of animals, and you figure that means that this light-show surrounding you and the mystical head-lamp you've got might go away if you try hard enough; they certainly couldn't undermine society so well if they were constantly attracting such attention. Trying to calm yourself, you debate on a plan of action.

[ ] Head back to Nexus, stealthily. You know that it would be brazen to head back even if you weren't Anathema after what just happened with the Midnight Queen, but that might just be the ticket to evading the Hunt right now.
[ ] Get to another city. You know that Marita, while not exactly close, is relatively nearby and has its own Golden Crow Society presence. If you can evade the Hunt, you can maybe convince that branch that you need a place to lay low for a bit (and definitely lie about the reason why; no mere criminal organization is going to go up against a Dragon-blooded host).
[ ] Flee into the wild. You have no idea how to survive in the woods, but you figure this is the epitome of a sink-or-swim scenario; you'll either learn or you'll have a daiklave rammed through your spine.

[X] Get to another city. You know that Marita, while not exactly close, is relatively nearby and has its own Golden Crow Society presence. If you can evade the Hunt, you can maybe convince that branch that you need a place to lay low for a bit (and definitely lie about the reason why; no mere criminal organization is going to go up against a Dragon-blooded host).

Taking a look at the river, you try and coordinate exactly where you are along the Yanaze. At the very least, the flaring energy surrounding you helps you see further than you could. Your own best guess and a powerful gut feeling you can't really explain informs you that you're on the south bank of the Yanaze, significantly to the west past where the Gray River forks off from it. That would put you in the thereabouts of Marita, that hub of diplomats. You figure their political neutrality might help you; Lookshy soldiers might not be so eager to shed your blood on territory that's not a part of the Confederation of Rivers, or at least would prefer to wait and find an assassin to do it quietly. And, in addition, there's a few of the Golden Crows there, a smaller operation than the main one in Great Forks, running the same construction rackets as they do in Nexus.

As you start to head west you find that you seem to have slipped unconsciously into a different pattern of walking, your feet barely grazing the soil and grass before they lift up from the ground. That gut feeling returns again, telling you to head away from the river, and this time you take the time to inquire with yourself about what's going on. Thinking about it rationally, it makes sense to not walk so close to the Yanaze; the only bridge close by to Nexus is south of it on the Gray River, a significant delay for your pursuers if they went by land. They would definitely take a boat as a result, so you alter your course, dipping into the nearby woodlands.

You think, as you tread through the trees and bushes, that what just happened to you seems to have altered your instincts in some way; you feel as though your human impulses were augmented with those a completely different species, one that had lived and hunted here in the river deltas for millennia before mankind claimed its own territory here. You know how to step on a branch without snapping it, what direction to go despite your lack of any tools or navigational training, and more. You harvest a few fallen mulberries off the ground, popping them into your mouth. They're bitter, but you find an almost rapturous glee in eating after so long going without anything.

Eventually the light surrounding your body fades, gradually shrinking from its mile high beam to only envelop you then fading out entirely over the course of several hours. You feel glad, but that happiness is tempered by how utterly tired you are from the journey so far. You've only made it to a fifth of where you need to go. You press on until noon, and then hide yourself in an abandoned bear den to rest.

---

The next few days are largely a blur to you. Only a few moments stick out in your mind.

On the first day, you drank a puddle of gritty, muddy rain water that had not dried up due to being in a shaded copse, your newfound instincts shouting at you to continue to stay away from the river. On the second, half-delirious from lack of food, you began talking to a hare, exhorting it to come closer to you, and found that it was actually listening to you. Smiling, you told it you had a bit of food for it behind your back, and when it hopped over within reach, you took a sharp rock you had found and dashed its head in. Later that day, as you meekly poked bits of bloody uncooked rabbit into your mouth on your hike (you deeply wish you could have cooked it, but the gut feeling had forbidden you from lighting any fires), you tried to experiment and see if you yourself could shape-shift like the other Lunar Anathema could, finding that with a bit of mental effort like that of struggling to remember someone you met exactly once a decade ago, you could give your skin a deep tan (an impossibility before hand; you'd always burn if you got too much sunlight, a fact Yazu would always mock you for) and remove several of your old scars. The scar left from your unfortunate encounter with Ephiselle was far more stubborn, never going away no matter how much you tried to force it, and eventually you reverted all changes made, finding the presence of your past wounds a comfort.

On the fourth day, wanting to get at a few grubs you could see wriggling in a fallen tree but could not grasp them with such relatively large hands, you suddenly found yourself in the form of a beast. Your paws plucked out the larvae and you ate them then and there, shoving them into your snout and finding the taste far more suited to this palate than that of your human form. Inspecting yourself with eyes unable to perceive any color, you found you looked like the raccoons that would wander the streets of Nexus at night dueling alley cats and raitons for food. You'd always liked raccoons, but after you returned to your human form, you found it frustrating you could not turn into something more intimidating or fierce.

Day six, you saw your first fellow human in what felt like ages. A hunter, middle-aged and carrying a longbow in one of her calloused hands and a string of felled pheasants in the other. Before she could spot you, you assumed your raccoon form and silently tailed her back to her camp, and when she fell asleep that night, stole one of the pheasants, a spare set of clothing, and a pair of leather boots. You took great care not to spill the bird's blood on your new clothes as you tore into its corpse with your teeth, sparing the russet-colored tunic and black trousers from any stain that would make the militia men guarding Marita suspicious, and disposed of your stained Nexus rags by shoving them down a badger's burrow and cleverly constructing a pile of leaves and soil above it.

---

Eight days of hiking finally brings you within sight of the harbor city of Marita. You spot the Dome of the Concordant first, a gleaming white marble structure recently built to house the various diplomatic missions within as well as the Council of the Concordant itself. Hundreds of ships from all over the Scavenger Lands and the Realm crowd its harbors, as well of those from stranger places; as you get near the city, you see a house-sized lotus flower, a boat made of lacewing and whose sails you somehow grasp are made of solidified poetry and light, and a whale parked near the docks. The streets are crowded, bustling with activity as workers head their ways to support an economy that you can only assume is entirely based around catering to rich foreigners; servants walk towards mansions, teams of strong men carry huge barrels of wine marked with the mon of the new Realm House, V'neef, and slave auctioneers holler out bidding prices for their living cargo.

You find that for whatever reason, you simply cannot suppress anger at the state of things like you once could. You walk through the roads fuming silently, your blood demanding some form of action against all these petty tyrants that make the lives of people like you miserable, but you manage to barely rein it back in once you remember exactly why you bothered moving through hundreds of miles of woodland to a completely foreign city. You decide to not blow your cover, and instead walk into the best tavern you can find that's closest to you, a respectable-looking place named "The Old Sturgeon". It looks like the clientele here are mostly dockworkers, burly and top-heavy from years of hauling cargo off of ships. You find a seat on the bar, and the publican, an elderly man with a face that reminds you of a dog in someway (perhaps its his very long earlobes), says, "Can I get you anything, miss?"

You manage to keep a straight face instead of startling, remembering that you don't exactly look the way you used to just ten days ago. You shrug it off and, surprising yourself, launch into a bold-faced lie instead of your original plan, which was to ask him for work in exchange for lodging. "Yes, I require a room. As I recall, you owe me one."

The man looks confused, and says, "Why, we've never met before."

You say, with a friendly smile, "We have, though. As I recall, I had sent word and payment ahead that a single bed room was to be reserved for me on the third day of last year's Calibration, and unfortunately when I arrived, you had filled all your available rooms. So, you promised me that you owed me a day for later."

As you say the words in a voice far higher-pitched than it used to be, you feel that now familiar gut feeling and you let it steer you. It lends your voice an almost hypnotic confidence; you give off an air of unbelievable certainty in this complete falsehood, and as the man nods, you know that what you just said has taken root in this publican's head. He bows and says, "Oh! So terribly sorry to have forgotten. Yes, m'am, one moment."

He calls over a servant, asking which single occupancy rooms are open, and then says, "Ah yes, room seven on the second floor is available." He presses a small iron key into your hand, and in addition reaches behind the counter and pulls out a bottle of wine. It's not terribly expensive, but a cut above what you've drank before. "And, ah, take this on the house for your troubles."

You do feel genuinely appreciative, but hide the smirk that was about to crawl over your face. "Why thank you. And, tell me, is there a bath? I've been traveling for a while and I've business tomorrow."

The man nods. "Of course. I'll have the servants draw one up for you."
"Ah, thank you, sir." You walk upstairs to your room, bottle of wine in hand, and laugh once you're out of ear shot. You barely take in the features of the room before you collapse into the surprisingly comfortable bed. For once, you feel appreciative of what happened to you. You could get used to this, if you could get that nagging feeling of being a horrible Anathema out of the back of your mind.

---

You soak in the warm water, reveling in the sensation of being clean after such a long week. You think on how best to find the local Golden Crows as you take another sip from your cup. You suppose you could try to ask around the place, but that might raise unwanted suspicion. As you ponder this, you catch a glimpse of movement in the corner of your eye. A six-winged cherub, purple-eyed and clad in fine silk embroidered with phrases in what you think is Old Realm, phases through the wall of the bath room and begins hovering in front of your face. At this point, you're far too tired to be surprised, so you just roll with it when it begins talking, with a rather statue-like look on its chubby face, in the voice of a man, his tone rather uneven and rapid.

"Hello, hi. This is Blue Lantern Ember, right? Of course it is, this spell literally cannot go to anyone else, I'm fucking wasting time again. Anyway, hello! I've found out about your recent run-in with a certain Incarnae, and uh, don't worry about it because I'm not a shikari and also this messenger can't be seen or heard by anyone but you so if you're like walking through a crowded marketplace or are surrounded by Lookshy soldiers right now, they're oblivious to this. So, it's cool, yeah? Also don't bother talking to the cherub, this is prerecorded.

Anyway, just wanted to arrange a meeting with you. I'm gonna guess you're in Marita right now, but uh, if you aren't, please come here. I've got a proposition for you that might be interesting, put you in contact with your fellows, if you know what I mean. And uh, only if you want, I can't really force you. Ah, give me one moment..."

You hear a loud snorting sound come from the cherub before the man resumes.

"Holy fuck, I needed that. I am so very tired. Anyway, yeah, I can offer protection from the Hunt if you accept my offer. I mean, I already have. Let's just say your pursuers have run into everything that could possibly go wrong on their trip along the Yanaze. Maybe a few things that are impossible, if I do say so myself. I'll be at the One-Headed Hydra Pub, north side of town. I know you can read but if you need extra help, I think you can guess what's on the sign. Well, then again, I don't know if you know what a hydra is; in case you don't, it's like a big snake with many heads. But, uh, this one only has one... That sounds really dumb when I say it out loud. Whatever, you can figure it out. Anyway, hopefully you take my offer. I'll be here for about a week or so. Have a good one."

The cherub dissipates into nothing. You stare, blankly, at the wall that was behind it, and try to think on what to do.

[ ] Go to the One-Headed Hydra tomorrow. Despite the, well, quality of that message, you're intrigued.
[ ] Hold off on that and visit the Crows tomorrow. You've got to get yourself secure before you can talk to this guy, in case it is a ruse.
[ ] Fuck this guy. Find the Crows tomorrow and pretend you didn't just have a cherub materialize before you and ramble at you for three minutes.