Before you went to sleep that fateful night, things had been going so well. The so-called "Grieve Miracle", an economic resurgence centered on the city of Grieve, was showing no signs of slowing down. Ships from Uluiru, Icehome, Chanos, and even further afield would arrive and depart daily, students and sages alike making the journey to Grieve's newly burgeoning universities, and the major powers of the region were kept safely at arm's length, each unable to move for fear of the others pouncing on
them. Queen Shield Glory knew how much of this was the result of your efforts, and she had rewarded you amply.
Most of this was visible from the balcony of your mansion. You watched as the sun went down, enjoying the cold winter air and a hot spiced wine equally, content to see the purposeful chaos of the port and the evening activities of the populace at large. For a few minutes, one of the tame lynxes that are Grieve's sacred animals came by, and you gave the large cat a few friendly head-scratches before it went about its business. As the wine ran dry, the sun's light faded, and a crescent moon began to emerge, you finally hit a point where you were beginning to be uncomfortably cold, so you abandoned your cup on the table for one of your servants to handle later and went back inside your bedroom.
In stark contrast to the cold outside, it was warm and cozy in here, with one of your alchemic eternal lamps casting a dim red glow, enough to navigate by without disturbing sleep. You padded silently through deep, rich carpets from Whitewall, set your glasses on the nightstand, gently peeled back silk covers provided by Aum-Ashatra himself, and slipped into a bed still wonderfully warm. A slight grumbling accompanied the last, as you let in a little cool air, but only a bit--not enough for the grumbler to be
awake. You smiled as you settled in. You'd exhausted your companion early in the afternoon, but that just meant you would wake tomorrow to someone already composed and ready for the day.
Except, of course, you didn't.
i̷̡̨̞͖̬͍̹͉̤̠̼̠̇̂̾͊̃ͅͅn̸͎̺̜̙̈́̋c̷̡̨̡͍͈͙̹̭̫͖͕̳͍̤͎̊̈͆͌́̓͌̂́̑̍͘à̶̬̦̬̩́̎͐͐̊̉̆̋̌̈̔͘͠͝͠ȑ̷̨̨͚̹n̴̩̼̞̂̋̓͛͜ą̸̨̡̪̩̯̣̲̼̠̠̍̈͊̃̀͂̆̾̔́̋̅̒͠͠ͅṭ̴̨̥͈͙̫̺̳̗̱̉̓͑͋͑̏̀͘͜͝͝e̵̛̻̫̙̣̲͈̬̳̜̔̓͂̾̈̈́̈́͒̄͐̐̅̚̕͠͝,̴̢̛̥̼̪̣̣̽̃̎̅̔̈́̕̚̚͠͠ͅ ̵̻̹͎̱͖͇̾͛̏̀͊̍ḩ̸̬̦͕͇̭̲͙͍̙̖̮̝̘̠̑̎͛̌̍͗̕͜e̷̛̟͊̄͋̆͐̽̌͠ȑ̶̛̥͈̰͈̺͚͇͙̔ȏ̴̡̧̡͎̗̠͕̼̬̹̥̫͙̜̐̈́̆̈͒̇͜͝
When you woke, you knew instantly that something was wrong. Rather than a warm bed and a loving embrace, you woke up shivering. Rather than your bedroom, you woke in an alley stuffed with garbage. Rather than fumbling for your glasses on a table, your eyes and ears and even your nose took in more than they ever had before in your life. Unfortunately, given the smell. Even your clothes were off: you were in one of your daily-wear outfits, not the sleeping robes you'd gone to sleep in.
When you scrambled to your feet, your body responded with impossibly smooth grace. When you rushed to the alley's mouth to figure out where you were, a mind clearer than ever before recognized half a dozen of Grieve's old landmarks in the distance, and absolutely none of the new construction was right. Most of it wasn't there at all.
That was when you knew
everything was wrong.
You don't remember much of the next three days, as you desperately worked to wake up, fight off some sort of mental attack, or dispel an illusion. At that point, you gradually forced yourself to accept, at least provisionally, that you were in a world that was at least somewhat real. If nothing else, you were unbelievably hungry and thirsty.
Buying some tea, bread, and grilled veggies from a street vendor with some of the silver coins you still had on you felt like giving up, but it also felt like a warm and filling meal.
Thus fortified, you begin to quietly observe the city around you, and are appalled.
The Grieve that you, your companions, and the Queen had built is gone (
or perhaps, a treacherous voice in your head whispers,
it truly never was) and in its place is... something else. Grieve is smaller, less grand, less welcoming. The expanded docks, the foreign quarters, the universities, they don't exist. Your mansion is a different building, smaller and more heavily fenced in, with several armed guards standing around. You don't try to go in, at least not yet, when walking in the street past them did not spark any recognition.
Even the sacred lynxes are less friendly and more standoffish. You see a few, in the distance, but none of them let you approach.
Perhaps the worst thing is the whispers you hear. There's talk of a White Elixir, which you first hear of when you see a man with the mien of a soldier stalking down the street, a two-handed sword stored across his back and, for some reason, a parasol hefted to keep him shaded from the wan sunlight. He has the mark of one of Fortitude's gangs sewn onto his ruana, and a truly pale complexion to his face.
"Look at it, love. Bloody bandit afforded it," you hear a tailor say to another woman in her shop, likely her wife. You're across the street, pretending to consult a book you don't need to read just now, but you can still hear it. "Can't believe we're sellin' bloody
immortality to just any foreigner with some coin, before it goes to all the decent folk of Grieve." You aren't able to hear the other woman's response.
You keep your ears open after that, picking up a few other discussions of this miraculous, if ruinously expensive, draught that is supposed to bestow true immortality on those who drink it.
This, more than anything, is the most wrong thing that you have heard since waking up in this nightmare. To dispense with any false humility, you are the greatest alchemist Grieve has ever produced, and you
know this promise is impossible.
Which means that it's a lie covering for something worse.
This is
exactly the sort of thing that you never let get a toehold in your city.
You've spent enough time exploring this world that's somehow managed to lose all the grandeur it once had. You're ready to rip the mask off and uncover the truth. There's one obvious place to start: your teacher.
You were a bright kid growing up, but the truth of the matter was that you were still a relatively mortal human. However, there are stranger and stronger things than mortals in the world, and you'd found one that had seen a spark of potential in you, which you had used to be in the right place at the right time with the right
skills.
So, unexpectedly, you're going to have to go back to the place where things first began. When you see your teacher,
She will know what's going on, and doubtless help you fix it.
You repeat that to yourself, trying to believe it.
[] You look for your martial arts sifu's dojo
Under the tutelage of the old Wood Aspect named Tantalizing Fruit Untouched, you mastered supernatural martial arts that put you head and shoulders above almost any mortal and even a few god-blooded. Tanta's training regimen has always been odd, but effective. The few graduates she acknowledges have all gone on to do great things in the surrounding lands, but not always moral ones. Tanta never seemed to judge based on that, only ability.
You are a Spring Getimian, favoring Force in your approach. Your Close Combat is set to 5.
[] You return to the temple of your old conversation partner
You have always relied on a quick tongue and easy smile to accomplish your goals. While you know your way around a blade for when that's not enough, this was very often all that was needed. Steeped Leaves, goddess of public deep talks over tea and coffee, taught you much of what you know, and much of the rest you bargained from her in the form of various blessings, which gave you the edge you needed against some more-than-human verbal sparring partners.
You are an Autumn Getimian, favoring Finesse in your approach. Your Presence is set to 5.
[] You seek out the not-so-tame raksha that taught you sorcery
In the North, faeries and the dead are often hard to distinguish. Not so for Ice-Rimed Orchid, a terrifying prince of the fae, who is partially bound by some long-dead champion's geas. Orchid is mercurial but vivacious, and her Freehold is mostly safe for those who obey the laws she imposes on her land. Under her otherworldly instruction, you became one of the few mortals able to use sorcery, which stood you in good stead over the years.
You are a Winter Getimian, favoring Finesse in your approach. Your Sagacity is set to 5.
We will be learning more about our protagonist's original world as the quest goes on. Depending on the vote, some votes for how things were may be "which of these things were true" and some may be "all of these were true, but which one is relevant/uppermost in your mind". This vote is the former: it defines a major element in a way where the others aren't true.
