[Exalted] The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

Ascending Water, Realm Year 759

On the night of your sixteenth birthday, things hit a breaking point.

"I need to go out."

Maia blinks up at you, startled and confused. "It's curfew in a few minutes," she whispers. It's a little unnecessary — it's just the three of you alone in your dorm, and L'nessa can hardly fail to overhear.

"I know," you say. "I just... need to go out."

"Why are you telling me?" Maia asks, looking distinctly nervous.

"I need you to help me sneak out without being caught," you say, bluntly.

"Ambraea, don't drag Maia into trouble," L'nessa says, frowning at you. She's already dressed for sleep, sitting on her bed as she goes through some lecture notes. "What's gotten into you? It's not safe outside, and it's freezing, and there's a storm coming on." Raised all your life in Scarlet Prefecture, you'd thought you'd experienced winters before. This first year on an island somewhere north of Chanos Prefecture has disavowed you of that notion — the weather here turns on a dime, and the winter storms are merciless.

"I need to," you say, keeping your voice calm. "I need to be out there in the storm. I need to feel the elemental power surging in the dragon lines — drawing on Air is the hardest for me, it might be what I need. I'm so close."

"If you're close, why does it have to be tonight?" L'nessa asks.

You try to take a deep breath, to calm down, to master your frustration, hands balling into fists at your sides. But what comes out of your mouth is: "Because I've been close for months!" Both of your roommates are staring at you — it's the first time they've ever heard you raise your voice. "I've been working as hard as I can, I've been doing everything they've taught us, I've been skipping ahead where I can!"

"Yes, you barely sleep!" L'nessa says, open concern on her face. "Even less than the rest of us."

"I don't have time to sleep," you say. "I need to do something." You're pacing — with an effort, you force yourself to stop.

L'nessa opens her mouth to say something else, but Maia cuts in: "I'll help," she says. "If... you think I can." You appreciate that she's not trying to be coy about whether or not she's capable of this anymore.

You give a light sort of snort. "The amount of times we've seen you disappear, when you want to?" Maia blushes, looking down at her feet. You spare her a slight, harried smile and add, very quietly: "Thank you."

Maia's face reddens further, and she only nods.

L'nessa puts her head in her hands. An orange leaf drifts free from her hair — they appear to do that more often when she's stressed. "Just... be careful. And don't get eaten by a spirit."

---

You don't have Maia's utterly silent tread, or her uncanny sense for when to creep, when to dash, and when to hide — you don't even see the supernatural servants whose attentions she's evading, and you suspect neither does she. It isn't strange for a Water Aspect to have such talents, of course, but as you struggle to follow her without giving you both away, you gradually come to appreciate that Maia is either a rare prodigy, or she's had some manner of formal training. Likely both — the patrician families of the Thousand Scales have their own petty intrigues, you suppose.

The two of you slip through darkened corridors down unlit stairwells before, eventually, coming to a first-story window. At Maia's gesture, you leap out of it, landing on the rocky ground below without injury.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Maia whispers, leaning out the window to look down at you. You don't actually think she wants to go out into the night with you, but the fact that she's offering is a small salve to your over-stressed nerves.

"I'll be fine," you say, the freezing night air harsh against your skin, even where you're dressed for it. "Just go back to bed."

Maia frowns, shaking her head. "I'll... be back in a couple hours to help you get back in. You don't want to be caught, right?"

You think about telling her not to bother, but in all honesty, you don't want to be caught either. "Thank you," you say. Then you turn to face the nighttime gloom, and walk out into it, shoulders hunched against the wind.

It's a dark enough night that this would ordinarily be a foolish and dangerous thing to do even without the spirits to think of. The ground is rocky and uneven at the best of times, and just now, it's covered in a fine dusting of snow, periodically hiding pockets of black ice. You can see with more than just your eyes, however — you flood your senses with Earth Essence, every footfall painting you a rough picture of your surroundings. Enough to avoid falling into a crevice, at least.

Eyes follow you as you go. Strange wisps light the night, sometimes accompanied by disturbingly human cries or whispers. Invisible creatures rustle through scrubby underbrush, and silent figures flit at the very edge of your perception, even enhanced as it is. Once, a many-fanged mouth had lunged at you through the mist — you'd been ready for it, seizing the attacker by its thin neck. A particularly delicate and fleeting form of Air elemental, it had all but shattered in your grip, blowing away on the breeze like loose powder snow.

That nothing worse comes for you is luck, more than anything.

All the while, even as you're forced to focus on where you're going, your supernatural senses are also straining to feel the dragon lines beneath your feet, the flows of elemental power that intertwine so thickly beneath the Isle of Voices and its mist-shrouded archipelago.

At long last, after half an hour of walking, your hands already cold in your gloves, you reach the spot you want — a small nexus of Dragon Lines of Air, Water and Earth, near the edge of a sharp drop off with the sea crashing below. For just a moment as you arrive, the clouds part enough for the crescent moon to filter a little light down to you. You decide to take this as auspicious, even if it lets you see the ominous cloud mass bearing down on you from the North.

You sweep away some of the snow on a conveniently placed stone, and settle yourself down onto it, ignoring the bitter cold from the rock as well as the biting wind. The hardship involved, you decide, should help. You haven't been taught this, but it feels instinctively true.

You've just begun to commune with this place where three elements meet when, fatefully, you catch sight of something in the water. A strangely captivating glimmer, many-hued and iridescent, moving against the current. There are many strange things in the waters here, of course, but this one makes you creep forward to the edge of the cliff, just far enough to peer down into the dark, churning water. You can't quite make out what you're looking at, but you can tell that it's vast. And you can tell the precise moment when, somehow, it begins looking back up at you. It's a cold, assessing sort of attention you feel in your mind and your bones, and it makes you shiver more than the cold.

Then, impossibly fast, the shape is gone. The clouds are already beginning to go back over the moon. You force yourself to relax, sit back up, and take a deep breath. Whatever it was, it's hopefully gone now.

"I didn't expect to see a human out in this," a voice says from behind you. It takes iron resolve not to jump, and only slightly less not to immediately whirl around and punch the speaker in the jaw. You feel abruptly, horribly unarmed and exposed — maybe Sola has the right idea, wearing a sword everywhere, even at school.

Maintaining an air of cool unflappability, you climb to your feet, and turn to look at the speaker. Seemingly they're a youth your own age or a little bit older. Ordinarily, their features and complexion wouldn't look at all out of place on the streets of Chanos, although the pale blonde hair would imply a bit more Northern blood than most — present circumstances contextualise many things. The thread-of-silver robes they're wearing are perfectly dry, but their hair is soaked, as if they've just come from a swim. And they have, in a sense — they're brushing snow and dust from off their narrow shoulders, and the ground beneath their feet has an odd, freshly turned quality, as if they had somehow burrowed into the cliffside from below the water and popped up here. You can see this in such clear detail because they're giving off a soft, white glow, almost as if from beneath their skin. It's the only thing that clearly marks them as non-human, just now.

"What are you?" you ask.

The youth gives a mocking shake of their head. You can't quite pin a gender to them, for all their beauty. It's... confusing. "And here I thought Dynasts were supposed to have manners," he says. "Unbecoming of a young Prince of the Earth, don't you think?"

You bridle at the tone, but they're right. It's also just not wise to offend an intelligent spirit of unknown power and providence when it seems more interested in talking than in trying to bite you in half. "I apologise. You surprised me," you say. "Who are you?"

"You have the great honour of speaking to Diamond-Cut Perfection." They're wearing such a profoundly self satisfied look on their face now that you're very certain they picked that name out themself.

"A pleasure to meet you," you say, still playing along. "I am Ambraea, twenty-second daughter of the Scarlet Empress." You notice a distinct shift in their bearing as you say this last. Before, they'd had the look of a bored aristocrat entertaining themselves for the space of a novel conversation. Now, they're looking at you with a thoughtful sort of interest that you're not sure you like. "Regretfully, I must focus on my meditations."

"You're a student here," Perfection says, noticing the uniform you're wearing beneath your heavy cloak. "Studying all alone at night, outside, right before a storm. You're either doing something you're not supposed to, or pushing yourself harder than you're supposed to. Or both, perhaps?"

"I'm afraid that it's none of your concern," you say. "It is extremely important that I make progress tonight. Perhaps we can continue this conversation a different time." Or never.

"You wouldn't be the first student here to push yourself too far, early in your training," Perfection muses. "Although, you have something none of the others do: My attention, in person."

"How unfortunate for them," you say, unable to suppress your sarcasm.

They take a step forward, uncomfortably close, eyes staring into yours with an inhuman intensity, hard and unyielding as a mountainside. "It was," they say, completely sincere. "I have never shared a tenth of what I know with any Dragon-Blood from your school or the one before. Much as they've sought out my knowledge."

You want to brush them off, but they're so serious all of a sudden that you can't actually bring yourself to. That desperate, grasping part of you that brought you out here in the first place simply won't let you. Still, you have your pride. "Are you trying to make me an offer, or are you just bragging?"


They stare at you for a moment longer, before throwing back their head and laughing. "I like you!" they say, deciding on the spot. The levity dries up quickly. "Fine. I know things about the elements and the deep magics at the root of Creation that you cannot imagine. That you could not learn on your own in twice the short lifespan you have in front of you. I will make this knowledge available to you, for a price."

Your eyes narrow. "A price?"

"Favours for favours!" they say. "Nothing odious, or beneath your dignity."

"That is incredibly nonspecific," you say.

Perfection sighs. "I have been... stuck in place for a very long time. Longer than your Scarlet Realm has existed. Things are suddenly very different, though. And I would like well-placed allies I can call upon at need."

"And so you ask the first sixteen-year-old Dragon-Blood you meet?" you ask.

"And so I ask the first daughter of the Empress training to be a sorcerer who I meet," Perfection corrects. "Earth is slow and methodical, but I know an opportunity when I see one."

It's started to snow now, small, stinging flakes born in on a steadily rising wind. You have to raise your voice to be heard: "How do I know you're telling the truth about any of this?"

Perfection closes their eyes for a moment, and inhales a great lungfull of frigid air. Just for an instant, their body shines like brilliant crystal, transparent and dazzlingl — then the youth is gone entirely, and you're looking up at the creature you've really been holding this conversation with:

Serpentine coils fill the space, blocking off any avenue of escape you might take other than leaping into the sea behind you. Scales in every dazzling colour imaginable, each one cut from a different kind of gem. Teeth and claws of purest adamant. A great, reptilian head lowers to regard you with an eye of faceted diamond. It's the same voice from before that speaks, somehow, but deeper, sharper, colder. "Heed me, Ambraea of the Terrestrial Exalted: I have knowledge that you seek. I will ask boons of you in return for bestowing that knowledge, now or in the future. We will be bound together by this congress. I do not offer that lightly, or suffer those who break faith with me. Do you still doubt me, or will you accept? There will not be a second offer."

For a few seconds, you're left stunned, processing the situation you've found yourself in as quickly as you can. There are certain weaker elementals that might imitate a draconic form, but you know in the very fibre of your being what you're looking at now. And, while you're not at all sure what they're doing here, you do believe that what they're offering is well within their power. Risks or not, this is not the kind of opportunity you have the luxury of spurning. You swallow, and speak:

"I, Ambraea, Chosen of Pasiap, do swear in his name to bargain future favour in exchange for sorcerous knowledge. I do not suffer betrayal either, dragon." You stare into that burning, gemstone eye with all the steely resolve you can muster. It's difficult.

Perfection laughs again, a far more intimidating sound now, before reaching out a talon that could easily punch through your whole body, just barely touching its razor point to your brow. "And I, Diamond-Cut Perfection, Lesser Elemental Dragon of Earth, do likewise swear. With the Earth as our witness." As they say this, you feel a slight tremor underfoot, and struggle not to cry out as foreign Earth essence floods your body, centred on the claw against your forehead.

You succeed in not screaming, but you still fall to your knees, gasping and shivering all over. You hear a clink of metal, and something small flashes through the air as it lands on snow in front of you. Tentatively, you reach out to pick it up by the fine silver chain attached to the object: It's a scale the size of your palm, one of the many thousands from Perfection's true form, seemingly carved from a solid gemstone. It has no fixed colour, shifting constantly as you watch in a slow, steady gradient. You can feel the dragon's essence still pulsing through it.

"Wear that," Perfection instructs you. "Sleep with it, and you will learn what I have to teach."

"Wh-why did no one tell us you were here?" you gasp, clutching the object in your hand.

"They may have," Perfection says. "The gemlord in a cavern beneath a neighbouring island. Master of a small and isolated court. Nothing overly concerning. One of my mice overheard a Heptagram instructor declaring that I would surely take at least another century to ascend to draconic form. And I might have, before she gave me motivation to hurry." The tone is thick with satisfaction.

You nod. You had heard mention of the gemlord, an ancient creature to be respected, but like all of its kind, almost fully sessile. A mass of living gemstones attended by lesser elementals, visited once or twice a year by instructors and senior students. Not a cause for major concern otherwise — the fact that this same elemental could now not only move, but literally fly and walk undetected among humans, would certainly change that. "They'll realise it was you, when they notice what I've done," you tell them.

"They will," the dragon says. "I have broken none of the strictures they've extorted from me, although I am sure they will attempt more now. Go, before the storm begins in earnest: you will hear from me very soon." Then, in a flash of scales and wings and power, Perfection soars over your head, entering the churning water behind you with barely a splash. And you're left alone.

You stagger back to your feet, slipping the chain around your neck. The metal is cold against your skin. Taking a deep breath, you set about retracing your steps back to the school, the concrete sense of the stone and thin, frozen soil underfoot helping to convince you that this all hasn't just been a strange dream. Whatever the consequences of your actions will be, you can strangely already feel a great weight falling from your shoulders — you can sense yourself on the utter cusp of the understanding you've been chasing all these months. The sensation of the scale worn against your skin is a reminder of that, as much as it's also a source of uncertainty.

You're about halfway there when a figure looms out at the edge of your sight. "Ambraea!"

"Maia?" You stare at your roommate as she comes out of the snow, flummoxed by her presence. She's wearing a cloak as well, but it's the same one she'd been using to ward off the much lesser chill of the halls of the Heptagram.

"I saw—" she hesitates. "I saw something. Did it hurt you?"

"... No," you say. "No. I'm fine. You shouldn't have come all the way back down here just for me."

Maia takes on an oddly guilty expression, before turning back in the direction of the school. "Well," she says, voice very quiet, "it's not as though you don't have friends here."

With how distracted you are, between the strange bargain you just struck and the process of getting back to bed unnoticed and the faintly warm feeling of hearing your own words repeated back at you, you don't think about the obvious until much, much later: The window of your dormitory is on the far side of the central tower from the spot you sought out for your meditation. For Maia to see even the faintest glimpse of what happened, she would have had to stay where she was, after telling you that she'd intended to go back upstairs.

Or, more likely, she would have had to already have been following you.

Article:

The first spell a sorcerer learns is known as her "control spell" — it very often deeply intertwined with her sorcery itself, allowing her to do more with it than other sorcerers, but sometimes affecting her in strange and visible ways. In particular, spells intended primarily for violence tend to have less subtle effects as control spells.

Due to the nature of Ambraea's sorcerous initiation, her control spell will be aligned with the element of Earth. You may vote for as many of these three options as you like. The one with the most votes wins.

[ ] Death of Obsidian Butterflies

Creates a massive cascade of razor-winged butterflies formed of glass or pure obsidian, aimed at the target of the sorcerer's choosing. While a skilled supernatural opponent can defend themself against this, mortal troops or other massed enemies are generally cut to ribbons. Can be used to devastating effect in naval combat, as it destroys sails and rigging and damages wooden structures. The butterflies themselves linger broken underfoot once their job is done. A well known and reliable spell for sorcerers trained for the battlefield.

As a control spell, Ambraea's control and power over the stream of butterflies is exceptional. When she's angry or overexcited, her nails turn to solid, razor-edged obsidian, and the silhouettes of butterflies seem to flit up out of her shadow.


[ ] Plague of Bronze Snakes

Pulls a horde of metallic serpents up out of the ground under the sorcerer's command, to vex her enemies or their lands, hunt down dangerous animals, or guard an important location. Under normal circumstances, these are simple, vicious creatures who will only last a single night for a novice sorcerer, or a handful of nights for those more experienced. The snakes' venom is both deadly and supernatural in nature.

As a control spell, Ambraea's snakes last longer and are slightly more intelligent than average, capable of very basic reasoning that minimises the chance of unwanted collateral damage. A single bronze snake lingers after her first experimental casting — it appears at least as intelligent as a mundane snake, and can obey complex commands as a familiar. It is unwilling or incapable of straying far from Ambraea, however, and will respond with lethal force to defend her from danger. If destroyed, the snake reforms from Ambraea's Essence within the next night.


[ ] Stalwart Earth Guardian

Creates a protective ward dug into the earth or drawn into stone, protecting the sorcerer and those closest to her while they remain within the bounds of the magically-enlarged figure, with space enough for multiple adults to lay down or sleep. Anyone approaching the figure from the outside is beset by the earth itself, the ground churning like a very localised earthquake, alerting the sorcerer to the danger and making it extremely treacherous for those with ill-intent to reach her.

As a control spell, Ambraea gains the uncanny ability to cut into solid stone with only her fingernails. In addition to being periodically useful and very impressive at parties, this allows Ambraea to create this ward on any exposed piece of stone, even without chalk or other writing utensils.