The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

"Allow me to introduce my friend and classmate, V'neef L'nessa," you say. "L'nessa, this is Ophris Maharan Teran and Ophris Maharan Yavis — cousins, on my father's side." Rather more distantly in Yavis's case, you suspect, but there wasn't a great deal of cause to split hairs.

L'nessa smiles, the picture of a gracious lady. "Delighted to meet you both," she says, giving the two young Prasadi men a nod — deeper in Teran's case, shallower in Yavis's. Then she drops her voice conspiratorially, leaning forward to stage whisper: "I am also Ambraea's niece, if that helps you picture the relations a little more clearly."

"It's not exactly an exclusive club," you say, with perfect honesty. The full list of your living blood nieces and nephews is vast, including as it does Dragon-Blooded as far apart in age as L'nessa, multiple Great House matriarchs, and Ragara Bhagwei, dominie of the Heptagram. Addressing him in those terms would be ridiculous as well as ill-advised.

"The pleasure is mine," Teran says, bowing to her in the Prasadi style, his smile growing even more than usual.

"Likewise, my lady," Yavis says. The boy seems a little startled to have been addressed by you so quickly — he is trying hard not to keep stealing glances toward the third Dragon-Blood in the room. In Prasad, Dragon Caste is Dragon Caste. Here, mortal though he might be, Yavis is still a Dynast.

"And this is Erona Maia, another classmate from the Heptagram," you say, indicating Maia where she's stood small and quiet through this exchange.

Maia bows, but does not immediately speak, assessing both of them with a curious look. Once again she's dressed in a more masculine patrician style, dark greys and blues, the fit of the clothing making her look particularly slender in a graceful, androgynous way. It's a very good look for her. It's a stark contrast to L'nessa's lavender coloured gown, a subtle grape motif woven into the silk.

"You are... all sorcerers?" Teran asks. There is some unease there, as is perhaps natural.

"We're fifth year Heptagram students," you say, "I should hope so. I have heard that you have an equivalent in Kamthahar."

Teran shrugs. "The Mandir of Sixfold Insight teaches many strange things, beyond sorcery," he says, "but, I have little direct experience of such matters; your father's clan has adopted your practices of schooling, but mine prefers to tutor our own scions. Regardless, I will certainly not turn down help from women capable enough to meet with your approval, Lady Ambraea."

"I admit, I know little of Prasad myself. I look forward to you curing me of my ignorance," L'nessa says. She's the first to take a seat — the five of you are in the Imperial residence's small walled garden, a stone table near at hand, arranged to give a commanding view of the garden's fountain. Five dragons twine around a central pillar, water pouring from their mouths into a pool upon the surface of which live flames dance. It's pretty enough here in the day, but quite spectacular at night.

Teran follows suit, sitting across from you. "I would be pleased to tell you whatever you like about my homeland," he says. His smile turns self-effacing, then: "But, first, perhaps you could cure me of my ignorance? Prasad is far away, and perhaps I am unfamiliar with the names of every one of your great clans." He glances between L'nessa and Maia as he says this.

Fortunately, L'nessa doesn't take offense. "I won't hold that against you — Matriarch V'neef, my honoured mother, only ascended to founding our house eight years ago. We don't yet have the history that most of the others do."

"I'm not surprised that you don't know House Erona, my lord. We are not a major family," Maia says, finally speaking up.

Seeing Yavis's mild confusion, you clarify: "Maia is from a patrician family. Not unlike your Sage Caste clans." The Dragon-Clans each have Sage Caste members, like Yavis, a status enjoyed by all their scions who fail to Exalt. Others, though, particularly in jatis associated with scholarship or administration, represent their own independent families.

Yavis seems even more confused by this comparison. "She is Exalted, though?" he asks. The boy has remained standing where the rest of you have sat down.

"I am," Maia agrees.

"Exaltation does not automatically grant elevation to one of the Great Houses," you say.

L'nessa seems mildly baffled by this characterisation. "Does it in Prasad?"

"All those who bear the Dragons' divine Blood, regardless of birth Caste, are elevated to the Dragon Caste, and so must join a Dragon Clan, or take the vows of monkhood," Teran says. Nearby, the elaborately patterned iron teapot hung over one of the fountain's flames is beginning to steam noticeably. Yavis steps forward, carefully removing it from its hook with a cloth, and adding it to a wooden tray, which he presents before Teran. Teran adds tea leaves to every untouched cup, pouring water over top of each in turn, noticing the hot metal of the pot as little as any Fire Aspect might. You try not to let it remind you too much of your mother.

"A strange thought," L'nessa says.

"I'm sure it seems so," Teran says, tone diplomatic.

"Well," L'nessa says, "at any rate, Ambraea did her best to describe the situation to me, and of course I've agreed to help, but I feel that some of the... finer details may have escaped my understanding."

You certainly had done your best. It had been roughly as confusing for L'nessa as you'd expected — Maia had followed things a little better. Or maybe she'd just been less overt about her confusion.

Smiling with good humour, Teran launches into his explanation again; about his extended quest to join a famous Hearth. About what that even means, about the complex, centuries old grudge of a Prasadi goddess, and about the criminal god who Teran has come to the Blessed Isle seeking out.

"He's a god of... losing fights?" Maia asks, trying to puzzle this out.

Teran laughs. "Taste of Blood and Ashes is, or was, a god of defeat and the defeated," he says. "Now, he is a thief and a vagabond, hanging on to that which is no longer his."

Maia nods, thinking this over. "Why not go to the Immaculate Order with this, if he's a criminal god as you say?"

Teran shrugs uncomfortably. "While I will not question the skill of your monks, I do not have connections with the Order, and my clan is not... popular with them." This is certainly true — the Pure Way is a heresy, in the eyes of the Immaculate Order.

"And you're here acting on behalf of a foreign goddess that few in the Isle would recognise," L'nessa says. "I imagine this artifact is valuable? It's hard for you to know whether any given authority in the Realm would have a different opinion as to where it should end up."

Teran grimaces. "Just so," he says. "Burano Maharan Nazat is at least a countryman of my jati, and he told me I could trust Lady Ambraea."

"She's quite trustworthy, if she's made you a commitment," L'nessa says. Which is halfway flattering, at least. You suppose there's a reason why she might feel the need to qualify that, however.

Maia catches your eye, flicking her gaze at something over your shoulder. You turn to look — Peony is standing at the entrance to the garden, paused as if distracted in the middle of approaching the table.

"Yes, Peony?" You ask.

She gives a slight start, then takes a few steps forward, bowing. "The arrangements have been made as per your request, my lady. You will be able to depart tomorrow, at your leisure."

"Well done as always," you say. "We'll be departing relatively early — please try to get some rest."

The last is said with the slightest amount of emphasis, causing a flicker of embarrassment to cross Peony's face. "I will, my lady. Thank you for your concern."

You give her a nod, allowing her to consider herself dismissed. As you turn back to the group, you briefly catch a glimpse of Teran glancing after Peony with a small frown on his lips. It's short-lived, however. He looks back to you, smiling again. "Very well! I look forward to all your companionship in this journey."

---

You wake up early the next morning in a tangle of limbs, yours and Maia's, reluctantly extricating yourself in order to rise, wash, and get dressed for a long day ahead.

"I'll like getting a chance to see a bit more of the Northern Isle," Maia says, carefully braiding your hair for you. Ordinarily Peony's job, but Maia had volunteered, and you enjoy it — the feeling of her perched on the bench behind you, her slight weight leaning against your back while her clever hands carefully twine dark strands together. "It feels like I'm always only ever seeing the same parts, every year. The same families."

"How was the gala?" you ask.

"Pleasant," Maia says, meeting your eyes in the mirror. "House Pazal was hosting — I like the matriarch's youngest daughter well enough. She's still friendly, as long as we very deliberately don't talk about sorcery. So I have someone to talk to, at least."

"How did you fare as a suitor?" you ask.

Maia makes an ambivalent face. "Fine enough, I suppose? House Cirrus, so it would be an odd match at the moment — they're pulling away from Peleps at the same time as we're outright negotiating client status there. There are more than a few Cirruses in the Merchant Fleet, so ties to V'neef just make more sense from their perspective. I could get along with the man, I think, but he's a little full of himself."

You raise your eyebrows. "Full of himself how?"

"Oh, fancies himself a poet with an acid tongue. He recited a piece that was a veiled joke about one of the other guests present making horrible financial decisions. Her brother had to drag her away before she started a fight."

You give a brief laugh. "Well, it wouldn't make for a dull marriage, at least."

"Not quite the kind of excitement I'm looking for in my domestic life, sadly," Maia says. She puts the finishing touches on your hair, and then rises to drape herself over you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. "I'd at least want someone reliable, and capable of discretion. Hand is going to try something like this with the wrong person, some day, and I'd rather not be in the general vicinity. I told mother as much, and she agrees it's a reasonable objection, at least, even if she likes his mother being the head of the Imperial Purse."

Hearing her talk about her more mundane responsibilities to her family, it's almost possible to forget what you know about House Erona now, and just think of them as an ordinary patrician family. Almost. You find one of her wrists, closing a hand over it. "For my part, father wrote that he was going to have an evening with my mother to discuss preliminary options for marriage candidates in a month's time. She probably won't directly involve herself at this stage. Unless she does."

You might have quite a bit more say on who you end up with than many Dynasts; the primary concern will be your father's opinion and your own political interests. Of course, should your mother decide that a certain match suits her interests, it will be a very different matter.

"Higher stakes than patricians jockeying for sway in the Thousand Scales," she says.

"A little," you admit. Or much lower, if you really make a mess of things. "Father's letter said that he would tell me once there was anything meriting my concern. It's still very early now."

Maia plants a kiss against your neck. "Good luck," she says, quietly.

You entertain and regretfully discard thoughts about shoving her back into bed — it would mess your hair up all over again. You hold out your hand to the nearby pillow, and Verdigris slithers up your arm. "You as well," you say. "We shouldn't keep the others waiting too long."

---

Southern Chanos Prefecture,

Days later

You make for a modest enough traveling group, by Dynast standards. Four Dragon-Blooded, their body servants, a handful of house troops wearing V'neef colours for the sake of security and appearances — barely more than a dozen people and their mounts.

You've been heading south along the main road — it winds its way gently through a great pass in the mountains, eventually forking southwest toward the Imperial Mountain and East to the vast Dragon's Blanket plains that Perfection had carried you over the summer before. It's a vital artery that connects much of the interior of the eastern Blessed Isle's interior to the Shadowed Coast; as such, it's impressively well-maintained, and accommodations are found along it at regular intervals.

Now, though, you find yourself veering off into the foothills, surrounded on all sides by rocky slopes and scrubby brush. It's much rougher going, particularly for the mortals, and you're forced to slow your pace.

"Are you ordinarily left at your leisure to this degree, during the summers?" Teran asks L'nessa.

She laughs, channeling more than a little of her mother. "And what makes you think I'm not exactly where my house wants me to be?"

You're not trying to eavesdrop — in point of fact, you've been trying to keep your horse clear enough of Teran's simhata to ease some of its nervousness. Teran's beast is fairly well behaved, you think, but it's difficult to explain that to a horse. But you're in the lead at the moment, for good reason, and you can't get too far ahead.

"What, riding with me?" Teran asks.

L'nessa laughs again. "Oh, no, riding with you was my idea — but it isn't difficult to make my mother agree that an association with Ambraea could be useful." It isn't new or surprising information for you, but it's still strange to hear it explained to someone else as if you weren't present. You are continuing to demonstrate yourself as both a potential useful asset and a potential future rival, for a woman in V'neef's position. Acquiring you as the first means you're significantly less likely to become the latter.

It had only taken a few well placed comments about the simhata's grace and beauty, and how L'nessa had never ridden one before, for Teran to offer her the opportunity as if it had all been his idea. Glancing back to where he rides with L'nessa perched behind him, not doing anything untoward but certainly seemingly very cozy, you're quite certain that Teran knows what L'nessa is after, and that he's prepared to let her have it.

Do they have to be so blatant about it all, though?

Up ahead, revealed between one hill and the next, rises a rocky crag, a spur of stone split down the middle in a dark, yawning expanse. Nearby, you see a trail head, a tiny path snaking its way up the hills, marked by a tiny roadside Immaculate shrine. You hold up a hand for the others to see as you pull your horse to a stop, dismounting near the shrine. "That's it," you say.

Behind you, Teran dismounts and holds a hand out to help L'nessa down off the simhata. You notice he very carefully keeps a hand on the beast's reins the entire time, clearly not confident in how well behaved his familiar will continue to be for a rider other than himself.

"You're quite certain?" L'nessa asks, looking up at the hill.

"Yes," you say, glancing down at the trail. Just beyond the shrine, there are several stones laid across the start of the path. Characters of warning and of warding are etched there in High Realm, with a simpler message below it in Low Realm forbidding mortals to proceed past that point. "Perfection showed me an image of it, when I asked."

As the others catch up and climb down off their mounts, you look to the other Dragon-Blooded. "We'll want to go ahead on foot, I think — just the four of us. Give the mortals a chance to rest here." Where you're going isn't for them to begin with.

L'nessa nods. "There should be some manner of town nearby," she says, "we'll have somewhere to rest, after this."

You nod, glancing at Peony, who has appeared near at hand at some point in this conversation. While this much riding and travel is hardly restful for her, you can tell that she prefers it to either of the more supernatural means of transportation you've dragged her into over the past few years. "See to Lord Yavis," you instruct her, quietly.

Peony nods — the mortal Ophris's precise status continues to be awkward, and you've given her particular instructions to this effect more than once already. "Of course, my lady."

"We don't need to set up a full camp, thankfully, but try to get some rest as well."

"Understood, my lady."

"Where would I be without your singular grace and dedication?" you ask her, very nearly smiling.

Peony keeps her eyes humbly downcast. What she says, though, is: "somewhere in the mountains still, I'm sure."

You give a brief, quiet laugh, and turn back to the path.

"We had two lower caste servants, setting out from Kamthahar," Teran says, clearly in reference to your fist instruction for Peony, "it has been more difficult for poor Yavis since losing them."

"They both died?" Maia asks.

"Ahrmed did," Teran admits, something faintly like shame flashing over his face, "brigands, while crossing the Summer Mountains. An arrow struck him in the throat. The other, however, merely found love."

L'nessa's raises an eyebrow. "Found love?"

Teran smiles, clearly preferring this story to the first. "Yes — we had fallen in with a Guildswoman, for a time. Very eventful, I should tell you about the behemoth, later. Aadila fell for one of the caravan guards, and begged to be released from our service. I didn't have the heart to refuse."

L'nessa laughs, even as she's stringing her bow. L'nessa dressed for travel and riding, with the outside chance of combat, still manages to strike an elegant image. Even if you can see an autumnal leaf working its way free from her hair, bound up behind her head. "What a delightful attitude," she says. You're even sure that she means it.

Maia catches your eye, and you can tell that she's amused by the flirting. Which makes sense, you can't very well find it too annoying, considering what L'nessa has had to put up with having the two of you as roommates. It would be hypocritical of you.

"You are all very light-hearted about intruding on the court of strange spirits," Teran comments, as you begin the climb up the path. You've all dismounted, although Talent, the simhata, is padding along at Teran's side, briefly eying Verdigris with a yellow eye.

"Well, we are all sorcerers, as you remarked upon," L'nessa says. "The Isle of Voices is not exactly bereft of dangerous spirits. We get used to it, I suppose."

"And my particular sorcerous initiation gives me greater sway among earth elementals," you say. "There may be some posturing, but I'm certain we'll be able to find some information on your rogue god, if it's here to be found." Earth elementals are famously stubborn, but even spirits in such a remote part of the Blessed Isle as this are unlikely to seriously entertain picking a fight with four Exalted Dynasts, you assume.

The climb is slow and tedious, but not altogether difficult for you, however hot the sun is overhead. You walk ahead, Maia at your side, headed toward the crag in the distance. Along the path, weathered stones repeat the warning from its beginning in simplified form, as if to browbeat you all into obeying when you hadn't heeded the earlier ones. It's not until you reach the very crest of the hill, finally, that anything overtly supernatural happens. It certainly happens dramatically, however:

You feel a faint twinge in your third eye, enough warning to draw your sword, to give the others a chance to do the same, when a vast and shaggy form erupts out of the ground, giving a bugling call that sets the earth beneath your feet trembling. You brace yourself as it charges at you, eyes wild with anger, antlers lowered, vast and powerful — you don't have to intercept it in the end, however.

An arrow snaps off from over your shoulder, trailing fiery sparks and green Wood Essence, striking the beast's shoulder and erupting into vines that twine around it, tripping it up, and sending it sprawling to land at your feet. It struggles against the vines holding it, trying to push itself back up onto powerful legs, when it freezes:

Maia stands atop its flank, one hand braced against the centremost of its three antlers, the other pressing the tip of a spiral-bladed dagger into its throat. She'd moved past you so fast that you'd barely registered the motion. "Stay still," she says, voice very cold. It had been charging you, after all.

"I'd do as she says," you tell the elemental, looking down at it with a distinctly unimpressed expression. "Did you even look at who you were attacking before you leapt out?" Your attacker is a kri, the bulk of its stag body rendered awkward and ungainly by its current circumstances, the massive peasant robes it wears draped over itself knocked askew by the fall.

It looks up at you sullenly, muttering something about it being hard to tell who you were from underground, about the sun being in its eyes, about how it had never actually seen a Dragon-Blood before, and did you even look that different from ordinary humans? That it had only meant to scare you off, not actually to break too many bones. Kri are not known for their intelligence, caution, or friendly good nature.

You interrupt this string of excuses with a stern glare, pulling on the threads of your oath with Perfection. The scale hanging around your neck goes cold against your soul, and something of it enters your voice: "I am Ambraea, daughter of the Empress. My companions and I came here for information, treating with your court under our natural authority as divinely appointed intercessors — I am willing to overlook your transgression if your master will comply in good faith."

The words strike the kri like the weight of obligation, and it — he? There's something gruffly masculine about its intonation — tries hard not to cringe under it, salvaging what's left of his wounded pride. "I will need time to convey these words to my lord, and for it to contemplate your request."

L'nessa and Teran move more fully into view, arrows still nocked, but not yet drawn back. The simhata prowls behind Teran, not as large or as powerful as the spirit you're conversing with, but still tensed to leap into action. You're quite certain it was Teran's arrow that entangled the kri in vines.

You raise an eyebrow, looking down at the object hung around the kri's neck on a rough cord. An iridescent gem, its translucent colour changing with every minute movement the kri makes. It's shaped like a cut jewel, rather than the scale Perfection gave you — an eye from a true gemlord, not a dragon who was once one. "You're wearing one of its eyes, are you not?"

"... I am," the kri says with obvious reluctance.

"Then, perhaps, you could avoid wasting all of our time, and simply contact it?" Between you, being surrounded by so many Exalts, and Maia's knife in his throat, the elemental gives in.

"Very well, my lady. I will contact it."

"Good," you say, "that didn't need to be as hard for both of us as it was."

---

Echo Prefecture,

The Northern Blessed Isle

Echo Prefecture is not large, or prosperous, or particularly well known. Its soil is too rocky for good farmland, its forests too sparse and elevated for good lumber. Its main contribution to the Realm comes in the form of stone quarries universally agreed to be inferior in quality to those in neighbouring Dejis Prefecture. It's the kind of place that a human fugitive might go to ground; it's appropriate, you suppose, that a spiritual one might do the same.

The meeting with the kri's gemlord had been both tedious and brief, by Earth elemental standards. A combination of your sorcerous pact and the vast, mineral intelligence's lack of any desire to antagonise Exalted Dynasts had led to a terrible meal involving salt and mushrooms and cold cavern water, along with a conversation that makes Perfection look accommodating and easy to deal with. Cold, calculating, alien — in the end, it hadn't been too difficult to induce the gemlord to tell you of what it knows of a god named Taste of Blood and Ashes.

The god does not hold official rank in the eyes of the Immaculate Order. He'd been struck from the prayer calendars years ago after he'd been discovered fomenting a cult to his own glory, preying upon the poor and the helpless. The monks had broken the god himself, destroyed all symbols of his worship they could find, punished his followers, and left him to crawl away once he reformed, well aware of what might happen if he returned to his old ways of manipulating desperate mortals into worshiping him.

It's not quite how the gemlord explains it, but you can read between the lines.

Regardless, you are directed toward Echo Prefecture, where the disgraced criminal god has been hiding for the better part of a century, given the information in the interests of it being the best way to get you to simply leave and not come back.

Having left the major roads behind, it takes some careful navigation to get you there as quickly as possible, several times necessitating that you extract directions from local peasants. L'nessa does much of the talking herself, to your surprise. You could probably hold a conversation in the predominant Low Realm dialect spoken in Scarlet Prefecture -- if you needed to, for some reason -- and you can mostly understand the one spoken along the Shadowed Coast at this point, but you have genuine difficulty making out what these mountain peasants are saying. L'nessa, though, holds court amongst them with a gentle sort of grace, and they respond to her with an overawed wonder.

It's good she was free for this trip -- between Teran and Yavis being Prasadi and Maia coming from the southern Isle, you probably would have had to rely on one of the servants for translation, and the directions L'nessa comes away with are invariably more reliable than the maps Peony bought in Chanos, once you leave the major roads behind. You don't blame Peony for this; it's hard for a cartographer to match the intimacy with which the common people here know their lands, and impossible to know how accurate the minutiae of such maps are going to be beforehand.

Weeks later, it leads you to the prefecture's capital, Nightflower. The small city's modest stone structures struggle to live up to its poetic name, adorned by a scattering of temples as well as crumbling monuments hinting at past glories you're only dubiously certain you believe in. As such, it's not a surprise when your arrival is quickly noted. In a grander city, the invitation to be hosted by the local prefect herself would be an honour. Here, you'd almost be insulted if your presence weren't acknowledged somehow.

"Maia, do you know anything in particular about our host? You seemed to recognise the name." L'nessa stands in front of the mirror, already dressed in a gown of striking blue, one of her servants working on taming her thick, red hair with some difficulty. For expediency as well as for ease of gossip, you, Maia, and L'nessa are sharing a changing room in preparation for a meal. The walls are adorned by faded hangings depicting aniconic artwork centuries out of style — it's a running theme with the prefectorial estate, so far.

"The family, not Rose Laughter herself," Maia says. She is being assisted by one of the other House V'neef servants, but due to her short-cropped hair, she requires less attention from the woman. "House Rose has a great deal of sway in the Stewards of Imperial Assets, and are clients of House Mnemon. My cousin married one of their daughters five or six years ago"

"Is she out here as a reward, or a punishment?" you ask, noting your surroundings.

"Oh, a reward," Maia says, without hesitation. "Any prefectural office is very high for a mortal patrician to reach, and no one can reasonably expect to be granted one for a wealthier prefecture over a Dynast. A comfortable retirement, although I'm sure her house is profiting from it."

You nod — that much only seems reasonable. You'd met your host briefly the day before, a woman at least in her 50s, although canny despite it, and very obviously curious about what it is that brings you all out here to Echo Prefecture. You glance down at Peony's handiwork, as she finishes fastening the outer layer of your dress; not at all bad, for something that's been packed away on the road. "Hopefully, she'll be of some help," you say.

"We can presumably work something out," L'nessa says, "I'd hate to leave our Prasadi friends disappointed."

You would also not like that terribly much — Teran came to your father for help, obviously, and sending him home empty-handed would reflect poorly on both you and on Nazat. Admittedly, though, his affable, pleasant nature even under the circumstances has made him good enough company that it would feel bad on a personal level as well. You rather suspect that L'nessa's motives are increasingly less pure than your own, however. "Why are you making me feel as though I need to step in to defend my guest's virtue?" you ask, not entirely serious.

"Please," L'nessa says, tilting her head to allow her hair to be finished, "I have been a perfect lady. So far. And I know interested when I see it in a young man."

You raise your eyebrows. "Really? It was my understanding that you go through boys like candy, over the summers."

L'nessa quirks a smile, glancing up from where she admires herself in the mirror. "Well, I can make one last, when I put my mind to it."

Maia gives a sort of choking gasp, face going slowly bright red.

You subtly roll your eyes. "Honestly, L'nessa, must you be appalling on purpose?"

Fully armoured in finery and prepared for the evening, L'nessa raises a hand to gesture the servant attending her back a few steps, allowing her to turn in place. Satisfied, she glances from you to Maia. "I think that might have more to do with my audience than anything I'm doing," she says. Then she reaches into a crystal dish of candied almonds on a nearby table, carefully selects one, and deliberately puts it into her mouth with an audible pop before drifting out of the room.

You can't help but feel like you're being made fun of, somehow.

Maia lets out a nervous sort of giggle as L'nessa leaves, as much at your expression as anything. "Well," she says, trying to regain her composure, "you look beautiful — Peony does always have you looking your best, doesn't she?"

"She does," you agree, glancing at your servant. Then you frown. She's in the middle of stowing the travel box that she produced your jewelry from, staring into the mirror with a strange sort of expression. "Peony?" you ask.

Peony starts with surprise, slamming the lid of the box hastily down. "Yes, thank you, my lady, Mistress Maia. You are both very kind."

"Are you quite sure you're alright?" you ask.

"Yes, my lady," Peony says, "I must be tired from the road."

"And that's all it is?" You take a step closer to her, looking her over for any sense of a deeper malady than fatigue.

She looks down at the ancient carpet underfoot. "Yes, my lady. I thought...well, I suppose the road has seen me sleeping poorly."

Frowning, Maia steps over to the mirror, gently tapping its surface, eyes flicking over the room's reflection. You know what she's doing — even for a mortal, mirrors can sometimes reveal unseen things, and a quick sweep of the room for hidden spirits can't hurt anything. She gives a slight shake of the head, communicating that the room seems safe.

"Please get some rest while I'm at dinner, then," you say. You're starting to worry — you would hope she'd say something to you if something were really wrong, but this all just hasn't been like her.

"Yes, my lady. Thank you," Peony says, bowing a little lower than usual, before taking this as the dismissal that it is and busying herself with tidying up the rest of your things and hurrying out the chamber's side door. The other servants have already left.

You hold out a hand for Verdigris to slide up your arm from her nearby pillow. With the other, you follow L'nessa's example by taking a candied almond from the dish — unlike L'nessa, instead of eating it, you hold it out to Maia. After only a second or two of hesitation, she leans forward and takes it in her mouth. "Well, we shouldn't keep them all waiting," you say, already turning to leave.

"No, we shouldn't" Maia agrees. She follows you out, and crunches the almond.

Article:

You have arrived in Echo Prefecture, a remote part of the Northern Blessed Isle, where the criminal god that Ophris Maharan Teran is hunting has been hiding. You are currently a guest of the local prefect, the patrician Rose Laughter. While her position grants her respect and authority here, you outrank her socially by dint of your Exaltation and your birth, to say nothing of you being a sorcerer, along with two of your companions.

L'nessa will take point on assuring the prefect that you aren't here to cause her any trouble, as well as to obtain useful information on the precise whereabouts of Taste of Ash and Blood. In addition to this information, you'll come away with several potential leads. What approach do you take, going forward? You may vote for as many options as you like, but only the one with the most votes will be selected.

[ ] Aiding a holy cause

The prefect has another guest at the moment — an itinerant monk looking into suspected cult activity in the area. While Teran had avoided petitioning the Immaculate Order for help directly, this particular monk is more concerned with the spiritual health of Echo Prefecture's peasantry than any artifacts you might be searching for, and you suspect your criminal god and her cult activity are linked — once you pool your information, she will make it much easier to find and pin down the spirit you're looking for. The monk in question will remember your cooperation, and so will the Order. There will be some slight awkwardness with the Prasadis.


[ ] An instrument of vengeance

A prominent local deity is a guardian of the broken and the infirm — she will not be particularly pleased with a fugitive god with such a strongly overlapping purview to her own lurking around the region, particularly one with a track record of instigating direct worship in mortals. Teran's suggestion is to seek her out, and ask for her assistance in dealing with Taste of Ash and Blood. She will help greatly, but you cannot fully account for her own motivations.

[ ] Swallowing a spider

If you wish to avoid as much outside entanglement as possible, Maia's quiet suggestion is that she can summon a useful demon to hunt the god down — a spirit can go places a human can't, and there is no refuge in the immaterial against a demon. Such creatures always cause their own complications, however.