Yawning Abyss, Soaring Shrike [Exalted]

[] Your group escapes without serious injury.
[] The Despot's treasures (and people) are close enough to untouched that he doesn't angrily seek you out.

You let your control spell spill into the water around you, stirring up a distracting surge and flow in the standing water. It's not enough to even knock either of your foes down, but it is enough to let Ari, standing behind you, finish his spell.

A glowing streak shoots past your ear, and as it passes you the conjured raptor spreads wings of flame. It's the same spell Nine Leagues Strides used to fight the fae before. The difference between a trained Exalt and a hobgoblin, though, is the difference between Heaven and the base earth. This is the third sorcerous spell hurled at these two in short order, and they aren't much the worse for it.

Unsurprisingly, he hurls it at the foe he sees as the worse threat--the albino. The night briefly lights up, brighter than the distant fire the ifrit set, as the magical firebird closes in on her. You flinch away, reflex and Exalt-eyes protecting you from dazzling. You flick back to her as the light fades.

She's unhurt, but she was driven back half a step, nearly knocked over in your waves. Her naked blade is in one hand, wobbling slightly skyward in the aftermath of her deflection. "Whoo! Spells are still weird to handle." She steadies her hand, and comparatively slowly slides it back into its scabbard, giving you your first chance to actually see something lower than the handle.

The gently curved, single-edged blade has a slight, two-tone pattern of mixed materials. The core of the blade is the darker-than-midnight glint of soulsteel in low light, but the edge could be mistaken for mundane were it not for the slight violet glint to it. Even sharper and harder than soulsteel, the edge is starmetal. You're struck, though, by the simplicity of the weapon. Traditionally, a magical weapon is a unique creation forged out of some confluence of factors. They are large to contain their power. They are oddly shaped by conventional standards to direct their inner nature. They are decorated and beautiful to show what they are, to commemorate their history, and because it does not harm their utility. Even her scabbard has slashes of red jade to accent it.

This blade, however, is an unadorned edge two-thirds as long as its wielder is tall, and nothing else. It tells you nothing of its nature save sword.

Now, her forehead opens, the eight-pronged star of the Forsaken standing out as a black brand, the edges seeping blood.

You take all of that in as you're already turning to flee. If you were here to try to fight these two, this would have been the best chance to hit them hard, while they were off balance and not expecting you to try to close, but that's not what you're here for. It is a bad coincidence that you have to deal with them, and the most important thing for you is getting away.

You feel a tiny weight settling in at the back of your collar. "Run," squeaks a half-familiar voice. Ari is a bat now. "I'll watch behind you." You obey. You were planning to, anyway.

Your first choice of path is blocked off as the guards you disabled earlier stagger out of the Despot's treasure house. The Five-Dragon Stylist and the man with jade in his neck stagger out of the entrance, drenched and shivering, but at least not dead from your and Ari's sorcery. They see you and your pursuers, and shout. You turn to run down a different street.

The streets are only getting more crowded, as fires and free water and the general hubbub of unsleeping people attract others. You run with the steady gait of an Exalt, a sprint that you can keep up for longer than a mortal. People mostly get out of your way, and the rest you can weave around. After a wild minute of running, Ari squeaks out "I don't see the deathknight. Just the water guy."

Just as you start to think that that might be a good thing, a huge white apparition explodes out of an alley ahead of you. You lose your footing as you slide to a halt, scrabbling on cobblestones as you fall and immediately lever yourself back up to your feet.

You look up, into the grinning face of the deathknight, held high over Gem's streets as the mount she's on rears back on its back legs. It's a skeleton. She's riding a beast of animate bone, a horse with no flesh. Its front hooves paw at the air as its skull twists this way and that, empty eyesockets seeking you in turn. She's laughing. There's fresh blood streaked on the ribs and legs of the undead horse, but not a drop on her. Her sword is out and bare, but you're out of range, you think, and over short distances a human can outpace a horse. Hopefully that will hold true even for this abomination. "After them, Bony Pony! Let's show that lackey of the Lion who's got the best Deathlord." Bony Pony? She's still laughing.

Peleps Deled is still behind you, and now she's cut you off. You rush for one of the spiraling entrances down to Gem's below-ground levels, where the buildings and streets merge into old mine shafts and simply continue. It's the one direction still open, and you hope that the ceiling will be low enough to inconvenience her.

There's people in the way. You shove the first one aside. Not hard enough. He suffers a hideous slash across his gut from the deathknight. You shove the mother clutching her daughter close harder, praying that the Dragons understand why you did. The ramp down is there. You bounce off the walls four times, angling deeper each time, as a faster alternative to following the curve of the walls.

Now you're on a lower street, and you have just a moment to try to break their pursuit. If you're too obvious, they have an immediate trail to follow. If you're too cautious, they'll catch up, and you're a shadow wreathed in skeletons if anyone looks too closely to begin with.

You pick a half-familiar route and rush off as best you can, shoving past confused people who have murmured conversations together and mill about, some with weapons held listlessly and others in night clothes. None of them know what's going on; they're just all going to their first inclination, whether that's curiosity or a readiness to defend themselves. You aren't much better right now; all you have in mind is running somewhere where other powerful figures will interrupt the fight. Whether they're with the Despot or not, interrupting this chase is to your benefit. No one else wants to kill you out of hand.

There's a clatter behind you. "She's still chasing us," Ari squawks. "She's... she's hanging underneath her horse's belly to avoid banging her head on the ceiling." The disbelief in his voice would be amusing in other circumstances.

Still, you are gaining, by the sound of clamor behind you slowly fading away. They are still inconvenienced by this underground walkway, and the fact that people mill about in your wake after being surprised by your appearance, impeding pursuit more than you.

That's when you unexpectedly see familiar faces. You're too close to your own place, as the area you know best and thus the best place to lose your pursuers in. Dub-dubs doesn't live far from you. You see the perpetually-sleepy Water Aspect in the street, with Flawed Topaz the fae-blood next to them.

On seeing you, the dark figure cloaked with clutching skeletons rushing up the street, the Dragon-Blood's eyes get very wide. They scuttle for cover, while Topaz unsheathes a delicate-looking thrusting sword and stands in front of them.

There's no time to stop, and less time to explain. You twist your course as far as you can from them in the narrow corridor of the subterranean street. It slows you down. You hear your pursuers get closer.

"Now's your chance," Ari comes. "They're distracted by the woman with the sword." That's all you need to hear. You let yourself 'vanish' as you tuck and roll into a gutter barely tall enough to accommodate your prone form. That's the secret to Gem that your pursuers haven't had a chance to learn yet: it's not just exposed streets and one underground roadway. There's layers upon layers of subterranean streets built into the old mines. A gutter like the one you're now bending all your effort into making inconspicuous allows air to get down to make the lower levels breathable, and lets effluvia dribble down, too, to keep the more desirable upper levels cleaner. They're ubiquitous, but honestly hard to notice until you know to look for them.

You latch on to the edge with unyielding fingers to keep yourself from falling down to the next layer and twist until you can peek back out: you need to see to gather intelligence, and you're afraid that the fall would make more noise than your disappearing act.

You see Flawed Topaz, who had been perfectly willing to confront the monster you looked on sight, turn her attention to the next set of monsters. She darts forward, rapier in a raised and ready position near her eyes.

You see the undead steed, with the deathknight peeking out from its belly with naked blade in hand and her feet laced together above its back to hold her in place. She's grinning. "Seek, Throatfinder."

Flawed Topaz's thrust is the sort warriors strive for, something where her weapon is ready and positioned to defend her even as it makes an offensive motion. It doesn't matter. Throatfinder lands a storm of blows. Liver, kidneys, thigh, eyes: there's a splash of blood, and then the horse bowls over her. You think it only stepped on her once.

"Topaz!" Dub-dubs pulls themself together and darts to her. You can hear the raw horror in their voice.

The deathknight stops her steed and brings it around, looking down a series of tunnels you didn't take but could have. "Where'd my prey go?" She asks Dub-dubs, who responds with only a sob. "Eh," she adds with no concern in her voice. "Suit yourself."

Throatfinder swings again, this time with a ringing clash. The weapon is stopped by Peleps Deled. He lowers his right arm, where the orichalcum shows a discolored streak where her soulsteel weapon failed to hurt. "No, Clochard," he tells her, with as much raw hate in his voice as you ever heard aimed at you. "You will not kill Dragon-Bloods in our hunt. I'm not a savage, and I know you don't need to."

Clochard drops off the horse's belly and stands up, her weapon again sheathed and clutched in both arms. "When did you learn to stop even a moderate attack of mine?" She asks, seemingly genuinely curious.

"Arete has an affinity for truth." That must be the name of his arm. "Of course it will help me uphold the Dragons' will."

"Whatever." She shrugs, and looks again down the paths you could have gone, not looking down far enough to see the magically inconspicuous gutter. She scuffs a bare foot on the cobblestones. Her ankle is only just barely out of arm's reach. "Where'd they get to?"

"I think they gave us the slip, thanks to your need to double back unnecessarily." Deled's jaw sets as he considers this. "Do you really think that that Anathema was with the Lion? There were also Lunars back there, even if I never got a clear look at either of them."

"Yeah. I know the Lion's been tryin' to get Lunars to help. He needs 'em to give him a--oh, never mind. You don't care about that. I hadn't heard he's gotten any bites, but I think that was the confirmation."

Distant shouts echo in, distorted by the tunnels, but clear enough: Gem's security forces are coming in, complete with their own real champions, enough to challenge even something such as these two. "We're going to have to leave," Deled says, ignoring Clochard. He spits the admission; he doesn't want to give up the chase. "You really stirred up the hornet's nest, and you're not going to exactly be inconspicuous now."

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Let's go. Heel, Bony Pony." They disappear.

That leaves you and Ari with Dub-dubs and Topaz. The fae-blood croaks something. She's not dead, then. "Your eyes..." The Exalt whispers it. You can't see her face as they cradle her head, but it's clear from Dub-Dubs' face that it isn't good.

Bat-Ari crawls from your shoulder out to the street proper. "You still look like a nightmare," he tells you. "Go hide somewhere until your anima dies down, then go to ground."

"What are you going to do?"

The bat gestures with one wing at Flawed Topaz and the rest of the bloody trail left by the pursuit. "What I can. I'm a healer as well as a teacher. I'm better than anything else these poor people are going to have to work with." He turns back into his human form, and you hear him saying something gentle to Dub-dubs as he approaches. He apparently has no fear of Gem's security finding him out.

You let yourself drop, falling one more layer into Gem's rancid underbelly.


As much as it may not feel it, you've genuinely won something this night. Nine Leagues Strides has the yasal crystal. That's half the plan. The fetich soul it contains should have the raw might to challenge even a Deathlord. You still need the rest: Nine Leagues Strides won't let you use it if it's not meeting her need to overawe the Lap and the Realm, so you need something to draw the Waif out, something to force her to come to you on your own terms. The city is in an uproar, after a fire, a break-in, and a bloody chase through its streets, but there's no evidence that Amphora, the reliable water-conjuring sorcerer, was involved in any of it.

The Shrike makes nothing any easier, either, as the circling bringer of death serves as an ongoing threat. For a little bit, you're keeping your head down, letting attention go from you. It may not be notable to the world at large, but what do you do that sticks out to you?

[] You meet with Understanding Auris and thank her for her warning.
[] You meet with Dub-dubs and Flawed Topaz, who ended up hurt.
[] Before Solace leaves town, you meet with her and catch her up.

After a couple of days of laying low, what happens next?

[] You've had a flash of insight on what the Shrike is searching for. You need to follow that up.
[] Crowson is still flashily dominating the gladiatorial circuits. You confront the deathknight.
[] You finally end up face-to-face with a Sidereal, once you realize what she is.

Votes counted separately.

[] You meet with Dub-dubs and Flawed Topaz, who ended up hurt.
[] You've had a flash of insight on what the Shrike is searching for. You need to follow that up.

You knock on the apartment door and wait a moment for Dub-dubs to open it. The bags under their eyes are more pronounced than ever. "Something for Topaz," you say, handing them a small woven basket.

Dub-dubs takes it and gestures for you to come in. They take a look at what you've put together: a selection of snacks and meals, things that can be eaten just out of the package, plus a few other sundry useful things.

"Topaz, Amphora brought you some things," Dub-dubs calls out.

"Set it on the counter, then," floats out of the back in the fae-blooded woman's voice. "Unless there's something crunchy. Then bring that here." Her voice seems normal, at least.

Dub-dubs complies, selecting a little earthenware jar filled with nuts from among what you'd brought, and leads you into Flawed Topaz's bedroom.

She's sitting up in bed, with a few bandages on her extremities that you can see and a silk cloth worn like a blindfold. "Toss it here," she commands. Dub-dubs hesitates, then lobs it as gently as they can directly at her ready hands.

Despite the care, it bounces off her fingertips, then her forehead. "Ow," she says, mildly, catching it out of the air before it lands anywhere else. She holds it up to her blindfold for a moment, then takes off the wax adhesive holding the cheesecloth in place and has a few nuts.

"How do you feel?" You ask. It's a stupid question, but you have to start somewhere.

"Like I got turned into cutlets and then stepped on." She shrugs. "I don't have quite the magic Exalt healing that you two do, but it's still way better than the average woman." She pours more nuts into her mouth and keeps talking with her mouth full. "No eyes, though."

You wince internally, and Dub-dubs does so externally.

You haven't run into Ari since you two parted ways, but stories of the angel of healing still hit the streets. He didn't work any outright miracles, but a lot of people will benefit a great deal from his triage efforts. You waited for your anima to die down again so you looked like yourself instead of a dark shape covered in grasping skeletons, then went back to your own place.

Of Deled and Clochard, nothing solid is heard. They've vanished. You can reconstruct vaguely what happened: Deled must have tracked you going south by just following stories of travelers matching your description. He almost certainly didn't--and doesn't--know that you're in Gem, but there's not many other places this far South; it's a matter of time to establish no one with your description has been seen leaving and to quarter the area until you're run down. It's basic Wyld Hunt methodology. However, he's not here officially and with local acceptance, so he can't be too blatant after stirring up a hornet's nest like the albino's bloody trail did. You have some time.

"I'm sorry," Dub-dubs says, breaking your review. Their voice cracks with genuine contrition. "I'm supposed to be the Dragon-Blood. If I'd only--"

"Eh, shut up. You've beaten yourself up enough, and you've been repeating that since about ten minutes after the fight." Topaz shrugs. "We've known each other how long? I know you. Besides, it's not so bad." She turns her face directly to you, tapping her temple and giving you a conspiratorial grin. "I can see your dubious expression, you know. One of dad's gifts is a sort of Essence sight. Everything looks like goddamn flowers and it's easier to see you and your skycutter than something like this non-magical jar." She waves it for emphasis. "But I'll adjust. Don't just sit there and look at me with pity. You're not to blame." There's the edge of a lie in there, for all that she mostly believes it and will probably come to more honestly believe it.

It's easy to tell yourself that you couldn't have changed things, that neither Dub-dubs nor Topaz could have recognized you, and in fact didn't. If you had tried to fight there, they wouldn't have known you from the actual threat, and the fight was so fast, and you couldn't have won it. None of it totally sits right with you.

Dub-dubs sighs. "Still, I wish you had been there instead of me, Amphora. You seem like a warrior. Me, I'm not. Not any more."

You cock your head interrogatively at them. It's the best either of you can come up with to not talk about Topaz, who has been clear that she would rather you not. Dub-dubs nods, takes a steadying breath, and beings. "I was actually born out on the Dreaming Sea," they tell you. That's interesting: the Dreaming Sea is far to the east, essentially separating Creation's East and South and extending outward to the Wyld itself. Topaz listens in. It's clear she's heard the story before, but she's still game to hear it once more. "I was a scavenger lord there. A good one! One of the best! The Dreaming Sea isn't completely real, and all sorts of ruins of ancient places can be found by someone with enough nerve and piloting skill: Shogunate ruins, older and odder things yet, even some places and artifacts that seem to be from nothing remotely human. But... one day I was out in my little ship, and a Wyld storm blew up, and I saw something I can't explain." They rub their eyes. "Something in the storm. Something vast, and ancient, and alien to anything I've ever heard of. I was... captivated. Horrified. Just completely lost in it for I don't know how long. When the storm blew out and I recovered a bit, well." They smile, small and sad. "The ship was gone, along with my crew. I was hundreds of miles away, near Gem. And the mere sight of it opened my mind to sorcery. I've settled down here, ever since, never able to get that out of my mind. Especially when I see something too violent or inhuman. Or when I sleep."

So that's why Dub-dubs is one of the rare Exalts willing to sit calmly and seek peace, why they couldn't fight when they and Topaz saw you and your pursuit coming, and why Dub-dubs always looks sleep deprived despite the dreamcatchers in their place.

"You know, I remember back forty years or so, when Gem was very stable," Dub-dubs continues, in a much more normal voice. "Used to be that everyone was on the same side: their own side, trying to grab as much wealth as possible, but with an understanding of the system. We knew better than to tick off the Realm, since they feed us. The nomad tribes, whether let by fae or Lunars or just human tradition, limited themselves to just cautious trade. No whispers of horrible things in the mines. No Shrike shooting everything. No bloody horrors stalking the streets. What's the world come to?" They shrug.

You don't answer. You don't think that an Anathema who fled from his responsibilities to his House and to the Realm is worthy to answer that question.

"How's the water contracts going?" Topaz asks.

Business. That you can discuss. "About as expected," you say. "The Despot's still building back up reserves, so he's buying out every spell offered, but the rain and then the water spill means there's no immediate pressure. We'll be happy to have you back with us, but no one's going more thirsty than normal."

Topaz nods. "I'll be good to go tomorrow, I think. That's what I told one of the Despot's functionaries when she checked on me earlier. It'll take a bit before I'm used to just Essence sight, but in the meantime I'm mostly healed up on everything else, and I can still summon water while very sore if someone points me at the reservoir to fill."

Talk goes on a little while longer, mostly about work or just sort of nothing, before you make an excuse and leave.

If only Topaz hadn't been so brave and willing to defend Dub-dubs, she wouldn't have suffered this.


A few more days pass. The Shrike buzzes the city low one day, its starmetal wings briefly shading the streets as it flaps past, the wind of its passage kicking up columns of dust. It sparks talk, but that curiously human ability to find absolutely anything mundane, given enough exposure, is in full force.

Yes, the Shrike is haunting the city. Yes, there was a mysterious bloody fight on the street. Yes, the water supply seems tenuous. Yes, there is a lurking presence in the mines, which refuses to either show up or go away. But bread needs to be baked, shirts need to be mended, camels need to be sold, gems need to be cut, and mercenary chapters need their silver.

Life is, if not normal, at least somewhat abnormal in a familiar way, and that's very much the same thing. Life goes on, changed but undaunted, in the firm conviction that someone is Doing Something about all of it, and that this will wrap up very soon.

There is one element, however, that no one else is actually equipped to handle, and you only realized an important part of it when talking to Dub-dubs and Topaz. The sympathy visit ended up telling you something special, that you hadn't quite put together before. Except for you, perhaps the only people in town who might be able to grasp the necessary insight to make something of it are Ari and Twine, and Twine is looking in the wrong direction and Ari probably doesn't know to ask the question yet.

Thus it is that, as life begins to feel almost normal in Gem, you purchase a little glowstone, something only half the size of your pinky finger, and head down into the mines.

The exact dividing line between "active mine" and "subterranean city street" is somewhat arbitrary, so it's not hard to head down into a bit of exploratory drilling that had proved a wash, somewhere near where recent complaints have put the lurking presence in the darkness, but somewhere where you should be alone.

The tunnels aren't very high. You have to stoop to avoid smashing your head into the low braces used to hold up the ceiling. You listen and watch as you go along, checking in case any squatters or illegal miners or the like are in the area. Nothing.

You're deep enough, far enough, and the enfolding stone is thick enough that nothing can be sensed. There's just a cramped corridor, a tiny circle of light, and... not much else. You step lightly, one silent shadow among many, through the warren until you find a slightly larger chamber, one where perhaps they found a useful lode or where shafts just happened to come together. It's smaller than your apartment, but it's a place where five different tunnels run off into the black distance.

You stand up straight, this being the first room for perhaps a mile of walking where you can, and crack your neck, the tiny noise echoing like a thunderclap in the otherwise unbroken quiet.

Then, you find a rock, and sit down. You sit facing a wall and place your glowstone between your ankles. Your knees are almost up against the stone face of the wall, your eyes are fixed dead ahead, not able to see any of the five corridors even as peripheral vision. Then, you wait, straining your eyes and ears.

It comes.

Some twenty minutes later, perhaps a little more, your vigil is interrupted as it comes. You know now what the miners and the Despot's soldiers meant, when they described it.

It isn't like the child's fear of the hungry ghost lurking under the drawers, or perhaps it is. While the child's bone-deep certainty is a flight of imagination, this certainty is one of training and honed senses. That impossibly slight non-variation in the background noise isn't an absence: it is the padded footfalls of some beast. Its eyes play over you. For a minute, perhaps two, it considers your back. Then, it pads away again.

You don't move.

After some little time, it comes back. It pads closer this time. Its eyes bore into the back of your neck. You don't quite hear a subliminal whuff noise as it clears its airway. In the quietness, you discern its soundless sniffing, as it takes your scent and measure. It comes closer. You can feel just the barest suggestion of a hot presence behind you. Your imagination fills in the details that the perfect absence in your senses suggests the outline of: some hunting beast, a creature with padded paws but great claws, something of gristle and sinew and ready violence. It considers you from within arm's reach. All you'd need to do is sweep your arm behind your back, and you'd hit it.

You don't move.

It leaves again, and comes back a few minutes later. This time, it isn't the subtle thing in the shadows, nor the curious beast investigating the unfamiliar visitor. This time, it is less concealed. It has grown hungry since you first found each other, an apex predator seeking the warm meat in its domain. There--that sound was certainly a thing, the touch of a claw on stone. Silently, so silently, huge jaws slide open, lips peeling back to reveal an array of teeth suitable to mangling your flesh. The tongue is right there, only just barely not licking the back of your neck, pulling back ever so slightly as the hair there stands on end, just the fraction of an inch needed to not give away a betraying touch.

Its great head turns sideways, its top and bottom jaw encircling your head, teeth nearly at your temples. All you need to do to confirm it, all you need to do to see it, to touch it, to scare it away, is just... anything. Flinch away from its crushing bite that's closing on you, even just twitch your eyes. The tiniest, tiniest flick of your eyes and you could see the inside of its mouth as it closes in...

...but you don't move.

There is a change. A voice, something speaking in unaccented Flametongue, in the most normal voice imaginable. It's not old or young or male or female. "Worthy hunter," it says. This time there's no room for doubt. It's a normal conversational volume. It's just a curious question. "Will you not join the chase?"

You still don't turn around. If you do, you have a feeling that this thing, this strange dogged presence that keeps eluding pursuit, will vanish for good. You do, however, join the conversation. "I want to know more of you, not to run after you."

"Hm. An unusual request." You get the feeling of it sitting down behind you, something like a pet dog settling down for the night. "I am unused to answering questions. What is it you seek?"

"Confirmation, first." You take a steadying breath. This was the leap of logic you suddenly made: the Shrike's confused, persistent hunt for something it can't locate. Anyone from mortals to Dragon-Blooded hunting for something in the mines that they know is there, but which can't be pinned down. The connection: something that can easily be chased, but cannot be caught. It was always the same thing. You just had to find some way to communicate with it, and every attempt to run it to ground had always ended in... nothing. "You're what the Shrike is hunting, right?"

"Shrike. That would be that aerial hunter, the automaton?" You nod without turning. "Yes. Once my closed-in burrow was open, I sought worthy hunters, and it was an excellent one. Simple, nothing like the Green Sun, perhaps, but subtle and swift. I haven't had such sport since time out of mind!"

You try to piece all this together. "You... want to be hunted?" It seems to be the goal, but you feel like you must be missing something. "Who are you? What are you? Some sort of spirit?"

"Hm. An even more challenging question. I was made by--ah. I do not believe this tongue has a word for it. And I am no spirit. I am older than the very concept of godhood. In a time before, my creators sought to be entertained. They created me, the Original Fox that your nobles' hunts emulate. A being to ever lurk in the corners and provide a hunt. That is what I am."

It's not unusual for weird spirits to claim an antiquity they don't possess, but...you can use this, you think. "So you're trying to get the Shrike to keep chasing you?"

"Yes." The Original Fox doesn't offer anything beyond that.

"Could I convince you to lead the Shrike on a chase somewhere else?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Why not? Is there something about Gem that makes you want to play your hide-and-seek game here?"

"No." There is a moment. "I might be willing to, then." Well, that was easier than you were afraid of.

You have the start to a plan beginning to come together, now that you know what it is that's holding onto the Shrike. "Now I have to ask: why did the Shrike actually shoot at you once, then?"

"I did not know how sensitive its ears and whiskers were. I couldn't risk it not chasing me."

So it was more blatant than normal, just to be sure. But clearly either the Original Fox was able to get clear of the attack or--horrifying thought--it walked away afterwards. "I see," you say, working this together. "Can I ask you to go to a particular point and show yourself enough for it to attack you again?"

"You may. If it pleases me, I shall comply." It stirs again, getting itself to its feet. You still can't actually sense it, but you are recognizing its presence in its shaped absence now that you've had time to calibrate against it. And yet, for all that your instincts tell you that you could whip around and see it for true, there's another part of your mind that tells you that you would fail just as much as anyone else who has hunted it. "You will be here, at this same place, in precisely one day to the minute, and I will listen. Once. We shall see what I think of it then. I crave sport, hunter. If you disappoint me, I will never be snared by you again."

The sense of its presence vanishes. The cavern is empty. Now you do take your glowstone, and turn around. Which tunnel did the Original Fox take? Did it take any of them? All of them?

You leave, the same way you came in. You have precisely one day, not a single moment over twenty-five hours, to make a case to the unseen thing.

All that you need is the next piece of your plan.

[] You'll take this to Twine
Twine, you believe, has a connection to the Lonely Waif. You can make use of that, leaving a trail that the Deathlord feels she must follow by demonstrating a control over the Shrike. This gives you the most control over your plan, but entails the greatest personal risk.

[] You'll involve Solace
You might just be able to catch her before she goes back to the Lap. You can bring her into your confidence and get the Fox to go with her. That will call the Shrike in turn, which will pull the Waif's focus as well. Nine Leagues Strides won't like this.

[] Revenge for Flawed Topaz
If you reveal to Dub-dubs and Flawed Topaz that the attackers were after you (without revealing you were that dark shape they saw), you can try to get them on board with drawing the hunters into a trap. Let Deled and Clochard burn in the fury of the Shrike's main weapon.

[] Write-in
You have one chance and one chance only to convince the Original Fox that you are someone to listen to. If it likes your plan, you can summon the Shrike to attack something. What? Why? Who else do you involve in your plan?