No one can know that you are not actually Prince Jinaya, merely a handy body double, or that the actual prince is learning her family's secret arts in hopes of standing against the sorcerer-princes of imperial Ysyr. Yet, this is the very least of your worries. Forced to cooperate with fractious foreign Exalts, Chosen by a now-dead god of knowledge and redaction, jailer to a strange devil that demands its freedom, and cast upon the vastness of the Dreaming Sea as national tensions boil, you have an impossible list of tasks ahead of you. You were Exalted only by necessity, but just perhaps you can become the hero this land needs.
Chosen of Necessity, Chosen of Dust [Exalted]
- Thread starter VagueZ
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I. Moments Before
- Pronouns
- They/Them
It is dark and damp in the holds of the Ysyri vessel, but to all appearances Peerless Pearl finds this comforting, just as much as he finds apparent comfort in the ceaseless pounding of the drums. All of that is just evidence that the Impossible Perfection is operating exactly as he desires.
He remains fixated on what is before him, his arm reaching through a heavily armored shutter on a reinforced box, unmoving. Little can be seen of the interior, save only a warm yellow glow that leaks from within.
This glow is the only thing illuminating the other two beings in this hold. One of them is chained to the sailing craft's keel with heavy irons, her chakras pierced in meaningful places by impossibly black needles of soulsteel. Watching the prisoner with the fixed stare of a patient hunter is a giant spider armored in wood instead of chitin: an elemental, called into existence by Pearl. It is not alone. Elementals make up much of the ship's crew, crafted and bound by Peerless Pearl.
Even over the rhythm of the drums, other noises manage to reach this place. The sound of human misery, from the other main hold: Impossible Perfection carries both treasures and hostages from Ysyr's current conquests. The sounds of the ship and the sea, too: The Dreaming Sea is a capricious place, even at the best of times.
Finally, though, something changes. Pearl's head snaps up the instant that the drums miss a single beat... and they don't resume. With an air of methodical focus, he removes his arm from the armored box, closes the shutter, and listens for the locking mechanisms to kick in. The lock clunks into place at the same time a voice on deck—human, not one of the varied voices of elementals—calls "Corsairs!" in a panicked tone. With one last look at the armored box, Pearl heads for the deck.
In the darkness, the wooden spider continues to watch the prisoner, unmoved by the sound of chaos beginning to spread on deck. Three breaths after Pearl moves out of sight, the prisoner's head lifts, just enough to survey the scene. It is time to act.
Tide swims up under the Ysyri vessel's keel. He is a tuna, at the moment, which means that, acting in concert with its wake, it isn't too hard to keep up.
He keeps his fishy eyes open, however. Not just above, but all around... and below. This is the best chance he'll likely get to loot the treasure aboard, but that doesn't mean that it's safe. He's no friend to either the Ysyri crew or the corsairs, and neither one is the greatest threat in these waters. The King of the Dark Fathoms slumbers far more often than it is awake, and its hunting range is vast, but Tide will still abandon the area before risking tangling with the ancient beast.
A few moments more, and with no sign of the gargantuan undersea creature to be seen or heard, Tide commits. The attack will only give him a few moments of cover, after all. The tuna brushes up against the hull, and then in a flash of silver it is gone. In its place, a small snake clings to the vessel, and it begins slithering its way up the hull, looking for an entrance as near the waterline as possible.
You are not aware of any of this, not at first, merely of loud noises and commotion on deck. You and the others are all chained to the walls of the hold. It's as much to make a point as to keep you secured. Elementals scuttle through three times a day, the strange spirits checking on your status, giving food and water, cleaning up, and otherwise seeing to your basic needs.
When you were taken, the Ys sorcerer-captain had barely put up a pretense to the Spear-Queen of your homeland of Johhadim that this was anything beyond a taking of hostages. Johhadim had been laid low years previously by Ysyr's sorcerers, though they had promised that they merely were interested in flows of tribute and the purchase of children with sorcerous potential. It was indeed a coincidence, then, that of the Spear-Queen's seven children, the oldest three and now youngest three were all deemed to be nascent sorcerers—a fact with no corroboration.
The Spear-Queen sitting quietly on her throne, unspeaking, radiating her anger, her helpless frustration, is an image seared into your mind, and one that you doubt you will ever forget. She sat there, frozen, even as the ethereally beautiful Peerless Pearl offered mixed apologies and blandishments, along with a pile of silver, to be allowed to take you away. Refusal was, of course, not an option. You would have been taken by force if she had tried.
You are nebulously aware that Johhadim is only one among many stops that the Impossible Perfection has made. The other people in the hold you don't know, and no one seems ready to try conversation.
You are equally unaware of the fact that, today, you will Exalt.
Because you lack that knowledge, you have only one tiny shred of consolation to cling to: the Spear-Queen was no fool. She knew what Pearl was there for. You are not the true Prince Jinaya. Now that Prince Jinaya is of age, she has been secreted away, where she will train in certain secret arts. You are, instead, a young companion of the Prince, a companion who happened to be similar enough in age and appearance to fool even the sorcerer, offered up with deep regret, as if the Queen truly was giving up her youngest child.
Who, exactly, are you, really?
[] The Prince's bodyguard
A prodigy with a javelin, you had gotten your start in the family fishing business, spearing targets to be hauled into the boats. When your hurled javelin even slew a hob-shark, a creature of the Wyld, stories of your prowess reached the Spear-Queen and you were given a royal task and training by the best warriors Johhadim has.
[] The Prince's tutor
Growing up, your near-perfect recall and advanced understanding of everything from medicine to the meaning of classic texts had been a source of pride, and so you had been hired as an intermediary, absorbing all that the Prince should learn, to teach her as a peer. She was a willful child, but your lessons proved a fruitful way to convince her to learn.
[] The Prince's handmaiden
Johhadim was never a powerful queendom, but it was a proud one, before Ysyr broke it. The prince was expected to be a master of manners great and small, to speak a variety of languages, to always look the part. You were her shadow, the one who always stood ready to prompt her or see to her appearance. No surprise, then, that you can act the part directly.
He remains fixated on what is before him, his arm reaching through a heavily armored shutter on a reinforced box, unmoving. Little can be seen of the interior, save only a warm yellow glow that leaks from within.
This glow is the only thing illuminating the other two beings in this hold. One of them is chained to the sailing craft's keel with heavy irons, her chakras pierced in meaningful places by impossibly black needles of soulsteel. Watching the prisoner with the fixed stare of a patient hunter is a giant spider armored in wood instead of chitin: an elemental, called into existence by Pearl. It is not alone. Elementals make up much of the ship's crew, crafted and bound by Peerless Pearl.
Even over the rhythm of the drums, other noises manage to reach this place. The sound of human misery, from the other main hold: Impossible Perfection carries both treasures and hostages from Ysyr's current conquests. The sounds of the ship and the sea, too: The Dreaming Sea is a capricious place, even at the best of times.
Finally, though, something changes. Pearl's head snaps up the instant that the drums miss a single beat... and they don't resume. With an air of methodical focus, he removes his arm from the armored box, closes the shutter, and listens for the locking mechanisms to kick in. The lock clunks into place at the same time a voice on deck—human, not one of the varied voices of elementals—calls "Corsairs!" in a panicked tone. With one last look at the armored box, Pearl heads for the deck.
In the darkness, the wooden spider continues to watch the prisoner, unmoved by the sound of chaos beginning to spread on deck. Three breaths after Pearl moves out of sight, the prisoner's head lifts, just enough to survey the scene. It is time to act.
Tide swims up under the Ysyri vessel's keel. He is a tuna, at the moment, which means that, acting in concert with its wake, it isn't too hard to keep up.
He keeps his fishy eyes open, however. Not just above, but all around... and below. This is the best chance he'll likely get to loot the treasure aboard, but that doesn't mean that it's safe. He's no friend to either the Ysyri crew or the corsairs, and neither one is the greatest threat in these waters. The King of the Dark Fathoms slumbers far more often than it is awake, and its hunting range is vast, but Tide will still abandon the area before risking tangling with the ancient beast.
A few moments more, and with no sign of the gargantuan undersea creature to be seen or heard, Tide commits. The attack will only give him a few moments of cover, after all. The tuna brushes up against the hull, and then in a flash of silver it is gone. In its place, a small snake clings to the vessel, and it begins slithering its way up the hull, looking for an entrance as near the waterline as possible.
You are not aware of any of this, not at first, merely of loud noises and commotion on deck. You and the others are all chained to the walls of the hold. It's as much to make a point as to keep you secured. Elementals scuttle through three times a day, the strange spirits checking on your status, giving food and water, cleaning up, and otherwise seeing to your basic needs.
When you were taken, the Ys sorcerer-captain had barely put up a pretense to the Spear-Queen of your homeland of Johhadim that this was anything beyond a taking of hostages. Johhadim had been laid low years previously by Ysyr's sorcerers, though they had promised that they merely were interested in flows of tribute and the purchase of children with sorcerous potential. It was indeed a coincidence, then, that of the Spear-Queen's seven children, the oldest three and now youngest three were all deemed to be nascent sorcerers—a fact with no corroboration.
The Spear-Queen sitting quietly on her throne, unspeaking, radiating her anger, her helpless frustration, is an image seared into your mind, and one that you doubt you will ever forget. She sat there, frozen, even as the ethereally beautiful Peerless Pearl offered mixed apologies and blandishments, along with a pile of silver, to be allowed to take you away. Refusal was, of course, not an option. You would have been taken by force if she had tried.
You are nebulously aware that Johhadim is only one among many stops that the Impossible Perfection has made. The other people in the hold you don't know, and no one seems ready to try conversation.
You are equally unaware of the fact that, today, you will Exalt.
Because you lack that knowledge, you have only one tiny shred of consolation to cling to: the Spear-Queen was no fool. She knew what Pearl was there for. You are not the true Prince Jinaya. Now that Prince Jinaya is of age, she has been secreted away, where she will train in certain secret arts. You are, instead, a young companion of the Prince, a companion who happened to be similar enough in age and appearance to fool even the sorcerer, offered up with deep regret, as if the Queen truly was giving up her youngest child.
Who, exactly, are you, really?
[] The Prince's bodyguard
A prodigy with a javelin, you had gotten your start in the family fishing business, spearing targets to be hauled into the boats. When your hurled javelin even slew a hob-shark, a creature of the Wyld, stories of your prowess reached the Spear-Queen and you were given a royal task and training by the best warriors Johhadim has.
[] The Prince's tutor
Growing up, your near-perfect recall and advanced understanding of everything from medicine to the meaning of classic texts had been a source of pride, and so you had been hired as an intermediary, absorbing all that the Prince should learn, to teach her as a peer. She was a willful child, but your lessons proved a fruitful way to convince her to learn.
[] The Prince's handmaiden
Johhadim was never a powerful queendom, but it was a proud one, before Ysyr broke it. The prince was expected to be a master of manners great and small, to speak a variety of languages, to always look the part. You were her shadow, the one who always stood ready to prompt her or see to her appearance. No surprise, then, that you can act the part directly.
Informational
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Chosen of Necessity, Chosen of Dust is run using the Exalted Essence system as well as my own homebrew (except the alternate rules).
No familiarity with the system is expected or required. While I will be playing out the mechanics, the story should still be a story, something that I hope you can enjoy. There will be spoilered sections with rolls and mechanical explanations; you are free to skip them if desired, but I will also try to ensure that they can be used to help readers get a grasp of the system. This is one of the role-playing systems I've had the most fun with, and I want to share that.
This quest is centered around a type of Exalt known as an Exigent, the strange, usually-unique Chosen of the small gods of Creation. Specifically, our protagonist will be inheriting the Exigency of the Tomebinder, an Exigent first created by @HamSandLich, with the original document available here, with the Essence conversion and a few changes specific for this quest made by me.
This post will be updated with changes to our protagonist's sheet, a section on the cast of the story, and any other informational elements I decide to put here. The first few threadmarks will pick a few of the key elements for our protagonist, and I will extrapolate the rest of the details to avoid bogging down too much in character creation.
This is the only reserved post.
No familiarity with the system is expected or required. While I will be playing out the mechanics, the story should still be a story, something that I hope you can enjoy. There will be spoilered sections with rolls and mechanical explanations; you are free to skip them if desired, but I will also try to ensure that they can be used to help readers get a grasp of the system. This is one of the role-playing systems I've had the most fun with, and I want to share that.
This quest is centered around a type of Exalt known as an Exigent, the strange, usually-unique Chosen of the small gods of Creation. Specifically, our protagonist will be inheriting the Exigency of the Tomebinder, an Exigent first created by @HamSandLich, with the original document available here, with the Essence conversion and a few changes specific for this quest made by me.
Placeholder
This post will be updated with changes to our protagonist's sheet, a section on the cast of the story, and any other informational elements I decide to put here. The first few threadmarks will pick a few of the key elements for our protagonist, and I will extrapolate the rest of the details to avoid bogging down too much in character creation.
This is the only reserved post.
II. The Moment Of
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Winning vote:
- The Prince's tutor
It's hard, alone in the dark. You and the other four hostages can't see what's going on. All you can do is listen. There's screams, shouts, and heavy thunk noises, which could be weapons hitting wood. Or bodies.
You've been trying to construct a mental map of what's going on, which has been complicated immensely by having nothing to go on except the one cry of corsairs. It's hard to imagine who would have the audacity to attack a Ysyri vessel with a sorcerer-captain aboard. Your current theory is that, perhaps, it's some of the fae associated with the Orchid Court, but given the immensely varied and fractious nature of the Fair Folk, that doesn't narrow it down much.
Then, one of your fellows screams. You look over at him, and in the tiny amount of light that works its way into the hold, you see a snake fall into his lap, the blue and black stripes down its body speaking to its venom. The prisoner tries to brush it off his lap, but his manacles don't allow the freedom of movement that he needs.
Then the snake transforms into a human.
Now everyone, you included, shout and scramble away as best you can with your hands shackled. Your visitor is casting light himself. It would be only a bare glimmer anywhere else, but this hold is dark, so the silver gleam of the full moon on his forehead stands out. "Anathema!" calls someone, in strangely-accented Flametongue.
The interloper doesn't react to this cry. As best you can see, he's a tall, lithe man with the build of a runner or dancer, and bright eyes scan over the corners of the room, as if he's looking for something that may be hidden there.
You've never seen one before, but you know what he is with absolute certainty: this is one of the Frenzied, shape-shifting Exalts who can steal someone's appearance and voice by tearing their victim's heart out to eat. Mighty Prasad is the power that objects to them most, but they have few true allies.
You are startled, then, when he bursts into a few seconds of sustained violent motion... that frees you and the others. A strangely flowing series of kicks brings him to each hostage's manacles, and breaks the chains preventing you from moving, metal shrieking as it twists and gives way. You still have a heavy manacle on each wrist, but there's only a few inches of dangling chain below that, no longer connected to anything. Two of the hostages huddle together in a corner, and you and the other two watch him warily. "No one should die in chains," he says. "Spend your lives however you see fit." Then he vanishes nearly as quickly as he'd appeared, dashing into the cramped corridor that accesses the other below-decks areas of the ship.
You're the next one to stick your head into that space, glancing both ways, but neither human nor magically-compelled elemental is visible. The Anathema is gone, but the crew quarters and tiny galley are that way, along with the tight staircase to the deck. You'd seen them briefly as you were brought in.
As you're still trying to figure out what to do, the bulkhead opposite you explodes outwards, peppering you with wooden shrapnel.
A wooden spider the size of a good-sized dog hits the doorframe, just barely missing squashing your fingers. The elemental is dead: its abdomen has been caved in by an armored box or safe of some sort, and the tips of its thorny legs are already starting to dissolve into essence.
Belatedly, you look at the source of the spider, and see a short woman attired in a Prasadi style. She's shaking out her hands as though they're sore, which rather neatly explains what just happened.
There's too much to take in with just a glance, and it's too dark and too chaotic to be sure, but you think she's got vines at her temples, and some sort of horribly black needles piercing her here and there. She tenses, and so do you. It's not quite aggressive, just not sure where each other stand.
Before anything comes of that, the Frenzied Anathema appears in the corridor again, slipping out of the crew quarters. He and the Prasadi woman lock eyes, seemingly forgetting you, both instantly on guard against each other. The violent tension in the air is fundamentally different than it was when she looked at you.
On impulse, now that no one is looking, you crouch down next to the armored box. The impact has warped the metal, rending a hole in one side. You can see the contents: a yellow crystal the size of your thumb and a small book. You aren't sure what they are, but someone thinks they're valuable, to have locked them up. You might as well grab them, just in case—
—and then things change.
On the deck of the Impossible Perfection, Peerless Pearl stomps from one position to the other. One of his elementals, a spirit of wings and bound winds, shrouds him from the occasional javelin or arrow that comes his way.
The corsairs are some sort of fae, humanoid Fair Folk skating with their heels on the surface of the water, drawn chariot-like by reins connected to a Wyld-dolphin apiece. Six or seven of them are circling, each darting close to launch a weapon or hurl insults, then backing further away, keeping the pressure up. They haven't demanded anything, yet: they're still testing just how dangerous Pearl and his crew are, which is why all hands are on deck.
Finally, one of the corsairs seems distracted by something in the water for long enough for Pearl to target her. With a gesture of his hands, the spell he's been weaving manifests, and a storm of butterflies, crafted of sharp-edged obsidian, launches forward and catches the corsair. There's not much left after the butterflies slash through flesh.
Hopefully, that will be enough. Pearl draws himself up and looks as imperious and disinterested as possible. He only has so much sorcery that he can conjure. It's half a bluff, then, hoping that they will give up now. If they won't... he judges he should still be able to win even if they push it all the way, but he doesn't want to risk that. Not when the seeds of his advancement are in his ship's hold.
Then he sees what distracted the fae he slew. Two tentacles, both lined with suckers on one side, breach the surface, one on each side of the fae's remains, seizing it and dragging it under. Just below the surface, it's visible that they both branch from a single larger tentacle, and that one also is connected to a similar branch from a yet larger one. Beyond that, he cannot see.
The King of Dark Fathoms is here.
He's never seen it before, but it has preyed on everything from warships to whales since before the founding of Ysyr. Survivors through the centuries have described it, sharing tales of harrowing escape via luck or skill. Deliberately, knowing that the human members of his crew are watching, Pearl tilts head slightly and strokes his chin with forefinger and thumb, as if he is merely considering what feat of sorcery will drive it away. Internally, he is far less sanguine. Anger and fear fight for dominance in him. He had been so close. He was so close to fulfilling his dreams, with either of two different paths that could have paid off. Surely there must still be some way to escape with what he needs. Nothing immediately comes to mind, however. The sea surface seethes and ripples with the motion of mighty limbs beneath it. The King is larger than the Impossible Perfection in its entirety, and it is considering if this prey is worth attacking.
And only then does Peerless Pearl find the worst news of the day.
Light shines from the portholes and hatch of the ship, illuminating the sea around and showing more clearly an armored shape of something down there. The light is the dusty, pale-brown color of old paper, shot through with self-luminous blackness. It reminds him of an Exalt's anima banner, but no anima banner he's ever heard of. And that means—
"No!" Decorum and presentation forgotten, Pearl darts for the hatch even as one bifurcating tentacle heaves itself over the side of the ship, blocking his way even as it quests across the deck for living beings. Pearl's features, until now the smooth perfection of Ysyri sorcery, revert as he reclaims the magical power he had bound within his shape. Lips peel back too far from too many teeth, and fingers with too many joints ripple in complex fashion as he marshals all his power to pierce through the King's tentacle and rush belowdecks.
Below, to where someone has already been Chosen by Sophoebus.
You are unaware of the light you are generating. For you, you feel a visitor in your... mind? Dream? You're not sure. It's not where you were, at least.
"You," says a voice, "are not Peerless Pearl."
You turn, though this liminal space is just a featureless void. 'Behind' you, you see a weathered old man, wearing robes that are, somehow, also a book case, as if you could reach into them and draw forth the books that decorate the sleeves. "Who are you?" you ask, guarded. "Where are we?"
The god, for that is what he is, barks a single laugh. "I am Sophoebus, guardian of knowledge and secrets. And you—you are not Ys. That will have to do. I wish I could tell you everything you need to know, but unfortunately we lack the time. I can bend your perception a little—this discussion will be less than a second of time, but that is all I can manage. What is your name?"
"I am Prince Jinaya of Johhadim, honored god," you say, still guarded. Gods can be fickle and strange.
Sophoebus frowns. "Jinaya," he repeats, and even gets the pronunciation right, sounding a little closer to zhih-NAY-ya than most foreigners manage. "Tastes of a lie. No time for that." He shakes out his robes, and a book falls from their hem. "And no choice. O Prince, you will be my Exalt."
You rock back on your heels. To be Exalted is a grand thing: It is to be the champion of a god, a peer or even a superior in power to other gods, to act where they could not. But it is not without cost to the god. All are lessened, and many are destroyed by choosing an Exalt. All the stories you've ever heard are clear that this is the case. Which means: "Why?"
"Because someone must. Now listen: Ysyr's sorcerer-princes covet the power of the Dustspeaker's Journal, but even when I am confined to a yasal crystal, like now, it cannot be separated from me. However, I will not survive long, and the Journal holds danger Ysyr's sorcerer-princes do not understand or respect. Keep it, and yourself, away from them. There is a devil within its pages. It will not be able to speak anything it knows is untrue, but you can trust it no further than that. Beware the Immanent Lords and their servants." Every word is memorized the moment he speaks it. It is your talent, after all. However, even as you commit it to memory, you notice something: he's fading. He's both smaller than he was before, and you can see through him, when you couldn't before. Not that there's anything to see behind him in this mental space. "For whatever it is worth, I do hope that you live a long and fruitful life. I did not want to leave my duties to another, but I can no longer fulfill them myself. Fare well, Prince Jinaya of Johhadim." His voice fades, sounding as if it is from further and further away... and then nothing.
You come back to yourself. It's only been a second since you crouched to grab the gem and book, but
Light, light like the sun at midday, pours out of you, though it is the color of old paper. Fire and ink race through your limbs with every beat of your heart. Surging strength fills your body, demanding to be used. And... and more. But this has been the most confusing two minutes of your life. The swell of power Sophoebus has given you fades from an overwhelming surge to merely something like tame lightning, and the light you are radiating dies down.
But far from a discreet move to grab something valuable, the magical display has caught the attention of the Frenzied and the Prasadi woman. The Frenzied chuckles. "Well, that probably changes things," he says, rubbing his nose as if he's trying to deal with something stressful.
Then the already-abused hull of the ship shudders. Part of it groans and gives way, allowing a muscular tentacle to force its way in. It is, thankfully, at least above the waterline, so it's not accompanied by a torrent of water. A second forces its way in next to it, widening the hole... and then the bulk behind it proves to be that the two are at the end of a single larger tentacle. "The King of Dark Fathoms!" The Frenzied seems almost eager more than scared, bouncing on the ball of his feet. "I thought it wasn't anywhere close. Truce until we get away?" He glances at both the Prasadi and you. She inclines her head without speaking.
There's another scream behind you, this one cut short. This one proves to be one of your fellow captives. Another tentacle, this one smaller, has forced its way into another crack in the ship, probably the same one the Frenzied came through. The unfortunate captive is dead, smashed against the hull when the tentacle found him and tried to yank him out.
You grimly try not to panic. Wasn't there something you read about survivors who had escaped the...? Right! "There's a nerve cluster, two hands' breadths below the split in the tentacle," you call out. "It's a weak spot."
"Handy!" He replies, cheerful. "Maybe find a weapon, though," he adds, limbering up as if he's about to try to kick the tentacle to death. With a bit of shock, you realize that he might very well be intending just that. For some Exalts, their body really can deal more damage than a sword or mace.
But you're an Exalt, too, now. Are you like that? You... don't know. Maybe you should grab a weapon to defend yourself.
There's a wordless shout and one of your fellow hostages tosses a short harpoon to you. It seems like she grabbed it from the crew quarters, feeling that her chances are better if the person who just put on a magical light show, that being you, is armed.
You catch it one-handed and try to give her a firm nod.
[] It's been a bit, but you remember how to handle this
One of our protagonist's moderate skills is Close Combat, having been incidentally trained in the basics along with the real Prince. She isn't a spectacular warrior by the standards of Exalts, but she's much more effective than almost any normal mortal could hope to be.
[] You remember how close you'd get to the bullseye with these
One of our protagonist's moderate skills is Ranged Combat, having been incidentally trained in the basics along with the real Prince. She's no deadly sniper by the standards of Exalts, but she can be effective with bow or hurled javelin, more than almost any mortal could.
[] Truth be told, you have no idea how to make good use of this
Our protagonist has no skill with weapons. Her talents lie in other directions. She tutored the real Prince in the affairs of state, but when the Prince was tutored in combat, she returned to her books to ready the next lesson. That's kind of easy to regret, now.
- The Prince's tutor
It's hard, alone in the dark. You and the other four hostages can't see what's going on. All you can do is listen. There's screams, shouts, and heavy thunk noises, which could be weapons hitting wood. Or bodies.
You've been trying to construct a mental map of what's going on, which has been complicated immensely by having nothing to go on except the one cry of corsairs. It's hard to imagine who would have the audacity to attack a Ysyri vessel with a sorcerer-captain aboard. Your current theory is that, perhaps, it's some of the fae associated with the Orchid Court, but given the immensely varied and fractious nature of the Fair Folk, that doesn't narrow it down much.
Then, one of your fellows screams. You look over at him, and in the tiny amount of light that works its way into the hold, you see a snake fall into his lap, the blue and black stripes down its body speaking to its venom. The prisoner tries to brush it off his lap, but his manacles don't allow the freedom of movement that he needs.
Then the snake transforms into a human.
Now everyone, you included, shout and scramble away as best you can with your hands shackled. Your visitor is casting light himself. It would be only a bare glimmer anywhere else, but this hold is dark, so the silver gleam of the full moon on his forehead stands out. "Anathema!" calls someone, in strangely-accented Flametongue.
The interloper doesn't react to this cry. As best you can see, he's a tall, lithe man with the build of a runner or dancer, and bright eyes scan over the corners of the room, as if he's looking for something that may be hidden there.
You've never seen one before, but you know what he is with absolute certainty: this is one of the Frenzied, shape-shifting Exalts who can steal someone's appearance and voice by tearing their victim's heart out to eat. Mighty Prasad is the power that objects to them most, but they have few true allies.
You are startled, then, when he bursts into a few seconds of sustained violent motion... that frees you and the others. A strangely flowing series of kicks brings him to each hostage's manacles, and breaks the chains preventing you from moving, metal shrieking as it twists and gives way. You still have a heavy manacle on each wrist, but there's only a few inches of dangling chain below that, no longer connected to anything. Two of the hostages huddle together in a corner, and you and the other two watch him warily. "No one should die in chains," he says. "Spend your lives however you see fit." Then he vanishes nearly as quickly as he'd appeared, dashing into the cramped corridor that accesses the other below-decks areas of the ship.
You're the next one to stick your head into that space, glancing both ways, but neither human nor magically-compelled elemental is visible. The Anathema is gone, but the crew quarters and tiny galley are that way, along with the tight staircase to the deck. You'd seen them briefly as you were brought in.
As you're still trying to figure out what to do, the bulkhead opposite you explodes outwards, peppering you with wooden shrapnel.
A wooden spider the size of a good-sized dog hits the doorframe, just barely missing squashing your fingers. The elemental is dead: its abdomen has been caved in by an armored box or safe of some sort, and the tips of its thorny legs are already starting to dissolve into essence.
Belatedly, you look at the source of the spider, and see a short woman attired in a Prasadi style. She's shaking out her hands as though they're sore, which rather neatly explains what just happened.
There's too much to take in with just a glance, and it's too dark and too chaotic to be sure, but you think she's got vines at her temples, and some sort of horribly black needles piercing her here and there. She tenses, and so do you. It's not quite aggressive, just not sure where each other stand.
Before anything comes of that, the Frenzied Anathema appears in the corridor again, slipping out of the crew quarters. He and the Prasadi woman lock eyes, seemingly forgetting you, both instantly on guard against each other. The violent tension in the air is fundamentally different than it was when she looked at you.
On impulse, now that no one is looking, you crouch down next to the armored box. The impact has warped the metal, rending a hole in one side. You can see the contents: a yellow crystal the size of your thumb and a small book. You aren't sure what they are, but someone thinks they're valuable, to have locked them up. You might as well grab them, just in case—
—and then things change.
On the deck of the Impossible Perfection, Peerless Pearl stomps from one position to the other. One of his elementals, a spirit of wings and bound winds, shrouds him from the occasional javelin or arrow that comes his way.
The corsairs are some sort of fae, humanoid Fair Folk skating with their heels on the surface of the water, drawn chariot-like by reins connected to a Wyld-dolphin apiece. Six or seven of them are circling, each darting close to launch a weapon or hurl insults, then backing further away, keeping the pressure up. They haven't demanded anything, yet: they're still testing just how dangerous Pearl and his crew are, which is why all hands are on deck.
Finally, one of the corsairs seems distracted by something in the water for long enough for Pearl to target her. With a gesture of his hands, the spell he's been weaving manifests, and a storm of butterflies, crafted of sharp-edged obsidian, launches forward and catches the corsair. There's not much left after the butterflies slash through flesh.
Hopefully, that will be enough. Pearl draws himself up and looks as imperious and disinterested as possible. He only has so much sorcery that he can conjure. It's half a bluff, then, hoping that they will give up now. If they won't... he judges he should still be able to win even if they push it all the way, but he doesn't want to risk that. Not when the seeds of his advancement are in his ship's hold.
Then he sees what distracted the fae he slew. Two tentacles, both lined with suckers on one side, breach the surface, one on each side of the fae's remains, seizing it and dragging it under. Just below the surface, it's visible that they both branch from a single larger tentacle, and that one also is connected to a similar branch from a yet larger one. Beyond that, he cannot see.
The King of Dark Fathoms is here.
He's never seen it before, but it has preyed on everything from warships to whales since before the founding of Ysyr. Survivors through the centuries have described it, sharing tales of harrowing escape via luck or skill. Deliberately, knowing that the human members of his crew are watching, Pearl tilts head slightly and strokes his chin with forefinger and thumb, as if he is merely considering what feat of sorcery will drive it away. Internally, he is far less sanguine. Anger and fear fight for dominance in him. He had been so close. He was so close to fulfilling his dreams, with either of two different paths that could have paid off. Surely there must still be some way to escape with what he needs. Nothing immediately comes to mind, however. The sea surface seethes and ripples with the motion of mighty limbs beneath it. The King is larger than the Impossible Perfection in its entirety, and it is considering if this prey is worth attacking.
And only then does Peerless Pearl find the worst news of the day.
Light shines from the portholes and hatch of the ship, illuminating the sea around and showing more clearly an armored shape of something down there. The light is the dusty, pale-brown color of old paper, shot through with self-luminous blackness. It reminds him of an Exalt's anima banner, but no anima banner he's ever heard of. And that means—
"No!" Decorum and presentation forgotten, Pearl darts for the hatch even as one bifurcating tentacle heaves itself over the side of the ship, blocking his way even as it quests across the deck for living beings. Pearl's features, until now the smooth perfection of Ysyri sorcery, revert as he reclaims the magical power he had bound within his shape. Lips peel back too far from too many teeth, and fingers with too many joints ripple in complex fashion as he marshals all his power to pierce through the King's tentacle and rush belowdecks.
Below, to where someone has already been Chosen by Sophoebus.
You are unaware of the light you are generating. For you, you feel a visitor in your... mind? Dream? You're not sure. It's not where you were, at least.
"You," says a voice, "are not Peerless Pearl."
You turn, though this liminal space is just a featureless void. 'Behind' you, you see a weathered old man, wearing robes that are, somehow, also a book case, as if you could reach into them and draw forth the books that decorate the sleeves. "Who are you?" you ask, guarded. "Where are we?"
The god, for that is what he is, barks a single laugh. "I am Sophoebus, guardian of knowledge and secrets. And you—you are not Ys. That will have to do. I wish I could tell you everything you need to know, but unfortunately we lack the time. I can bend your perception a little—this discussion will be less than a second of time, but that is all I can manage. What is your name?"
"I am Prince Jinaya of Johhadim, honored god," you say, still guarded. Gods can be fickle and strange.
Sophoebus frowns. "Jinaya," he repeats, and even gets the pronunciation right, sounding a little closer to zhih-NAY-ya than most foreigners manage. "Tastes of a lie. No time for that." He shakes out his robes, and a book falls from their hem. "And no choice. O Prince, you will be my Exalt."
You rock back on your heels. To be Exalted is a grand thing: It is to be the champion of a god, a peer or even a superior in power to other gods, to act where they could not. But it is not without cost to the god. All are lessened, and many are destroyed by choosing an Exalt. All the stories you've ever heard are clear that this is the case. Which means: "Why?"
"Because someone must. Now listen: Ysyr's sorcerer-princes covet the power of the Dustspeaker's Journal, but even when I am confined to a yasal crystal, like now, it cannot be separated from me. However, I will not survive long, and the Journal holds danger Ysyr's sorcerer-princes do not understand or respect. Keep it, and yourself, away from them. There is a devil within its pages. It will not be able to speak anything it knows is untrue, but you can trust it no further than that. Beware the Immanent Lords and their servants." Every word is memorized the moment he speaks it. It is your talent, after all. However, even as you commit it to memory, you notice something: he's fading. He's both smaller than he was before, and you can see through him, when you couldn't before. Not that there's anything to see behind him in this mental space. "For whatever it is worth, I do hope that you live a long and fruitful life. I did not want to leave my duties to another, but I can no longer fulfill them myself. Fare well, Prince Jinaya of Johhadim." His voice fades, sounding as if it is from further and further away... and then nothing.
You come back to yourself. It's only been a second since you crouched to grab the gem and book, but
you are being reborn
Light, light like the sun at midday, pours out of you, though it is the color of old paper. Fire and ink race through your limbs with every beat of your heart. Surging strength fills your body, demanding to be used. And... and more. But this has been the most confusing two minutes of your life. The swell of power Sophoebus has given you fades from an overwhelming surge to merely something like tame lightning, and the light you are radiating dies down.
But far from a discreet move to grab something valuable, the magical display has caught the attention of the Frenzied and the Prasadi woman. The Frenzied chuckles. "Well, that probably changes things," he says, rubbing his nose as if he's trying to deal with something stressful.
Then the already-abused hull of the ship shudders. Part of it groans and gives way, allowing a muscular tentacle to force its way in. It is, thankfully, at least above the waterline, so it's not accompanied by a torrent of water. A second forces its way in next to it, widening the hole... and then the bulk behind it proves to be that the two are at the end of a single larger tentacle. "The King of Dark Fathoms!" The Frenzied seems almost eager more than scared, bouncing on the ball of his feet. "I thought it wasn't anywhere close. Truce until we get away?" He glances at both the Prasadi and you. She inclines her head without speaking.
There's another scream behind you, this one cut short. This one proves to be one of your fellow captives. Another tentacle, this one smaller, has forced its way into another crack in the ship, probably the same one the Frenzied came through. The unfortunate captive is dead, smashed against the hull when the tentacle found him and tried to yank him out.
You grimly try not to panic. Wasn't there something you read about survivors who had escaped the...? Right! "There's a nerve cluster, two hands' breadths below the split in the tentacle," you call out. "It's a weak spot."
"Handy!" He replies, cheerful. "Maybe find a weapon, though," he adds, limbering up as if he's about to try to kick the tentacle to death. With a bit of shock, you realize that he might very well be intending just that. For some Exalts, their body really can deal more damage than a sword or mace.
But you're an Exalt, too, now. Are you like that? You... don't know. Maybe you should grab a weapon to defend yourself.
There's a wordless shout and one of your fellow hostages tosses a short harpoon to you. It seems like she grabbed it from the crew quarters, feeling that her chances are better if the person who just put on a magical light show, that being you, is armed.
You catch it one-handed and try to give her a firm nod.
Exalted Essence has a fairly small skill list and a philosophy that every player, regardless of character, should be at least a little useful in every situation. It has two broad combat skills: ranged combat (covering everything from throwing daggers to archery to firedust-based weaponry) and close combat (covering martial arts, bare-knuckle brawling, and talent with weapons from a shortsword to a halberd).
However, it also has a way for non-combat characters to contribute: everyone can Build Power. Essence combat is built around characters (on both sides) trying to gather enough of a resource called Power to launch a decisive attack and take down the opposition. One way that a character can build power for another is to use Sagacity to give someone a plan, like we just saw her do. Of course, combat specialists will still be better at combat; this is just what we have to ensure that no player is ever left feeling like they can't contribute.
I'll talk about the details of combat more with the next post, but the short version, and the part that is relevant to this vote, is that it's okay to pick any vote. Our protagonist can be useful, any which way, so pick what you want to pick.
However, it also has a way for non-combat characters to contribute: everyone can Build Power. Essence combat is built around characters (on both sides) trying to gather enough of a resource called Power to launch a decisive attack and take down the opposition. One way that a character can build power for another is to use Sagacity to give someone a plan, like we just saw her do. Of course, combat specialists will still be better at combat; this is just what we have to ensure that no player is ever left feeling like they can't contribute.
I'll talk about the details of combat more with the next post, but the short version, and the part that is relevant to this vote, is that it's okay to pick any vote. Our protagonist can be useful, any which way, so pick what you want to pick.
[] It's been a bit, but you remember how to handle this
One of our protagonist's moderate skills is Close Combat, having been incidentally trained in the basics along with the real Prince. She isn't a spectacular warrior by the standards of Exalts, but she's much more effective than almost any normal mortal could hope to be.
[] You remember how close you'd get to the bullseye with these
One of our protagonist's moderate skills is Ranged Combat, having been incidentally trained in the basics along with the real Prince. She's no deadly sniper by the standards of Exalts, but she can be effective with bow or hurled javelin, more than almost any mortal could.
[] Truth be told, you have no idea how to make good use of this
Our protagonist has no skill with weapons. Her talents lie in other directions. She tutored the real Prince in the affairs of state, but when the Prince was tutored in combat, she returned to her books to ready the next lesson. That's kind of easy to regret, now.
III. Hurry, While There's Time
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Winning vote:
- Truth be told, you have no idea how to make good use of this
You do your best to hold the harpoon in a ready position. You've only held a real weapon like this a few times before, and definitely this is the first time you've held a weapon while in any sort of crisis. The fact that this specific emergency is that you're surrounded by terrifying Exalted strangers, in the depths of a Ysyri treasure ship, which is itself being attacked by a monster out of antiquity doesn't make it any better.
On the plus side, you do recall having seen some illuminated manuscripts about how to hold yourself ready with a weapon, so you should at least project some competence.
That lasts until the Prasadi woman glances at you, in between trying to find a good angle on the tentacle and picking the black needles out of her flesh. "She's not a warrior, Lunar," she says. It's the first words you've heard from her, and they're a melodious soprano with an accent you've only heard a few times before, with travelers from Prasad. "I hope you've earned your caste." There's a challenge in her tone, but it's not one you're equipped to understand.
The Lunar, the one you've been thinking of as the Frenzied, smirks. "Well, then let's see just how much more than my weight I can pull, shall I?" The two of them are both turning to keep each other in view, even as more of their attention is on the tentacle that's still trying to pull apart the Ysyri ship.
This changes for just a moment, as the Lunar spins on one heel, takes a pose like a dancer about to grab a partner for a tango, and beats his other toe against the wooden deck, a hard staccato rhythm. It attracts the tentacle, which tries to smack him with a sudden savage uncoiling, like a giant boneless slap.
Without breaking his rhythm, the Frenzied man leans backwards, letting it swing directly above his body, then tries to hook his foot into the spot you'd identified as a weak point. You have to think he underestimated how swift it can move, but even then he's still faster. As his kick lands, he's using the force of it to propel him a few steps away. He touches down lightly and straightens up with no more impact you can feel.
It's clear, then, that he's recognized that the beast is operating on sound and vibration: he's making a racket and quieting down, alternately, to lure it.
But it is, of course, a bifurcated tentacle. The other part of it is questing separately as the Prasadi Dragon-Blood strides forward. When it realizes it's found her, it tries to curl into a heavy flail and crush her with a mammoth impact.
She grunts as it hits, and the wood beneath her feet cracks ominously for several feet in every direction, but, somehow, she absorbs most of the impact, cushioning herself with her limbs. The very fact that it curled up to try to squash her means that she's closer to that vulnerable nerve cluster, so even as it lifts itself up to try to flatten her again, she laces her fingers together and hits it with what you can only describe as a clobber.
If the Frenzied man is fighting with speed, grace, and skill, she's keeping up with him without any of that. The only tool she's using is simple brawn. Her tiny, svelte frame couldn't possibly hit that hard, but somehow her fists still sink inches deep into the tentacle and the force of her blow discombobulates both of the ends, sending it reeling.
For a moment, you feel hopeful, but the wooden hull creaks ominously, reminding you that this isn't the King of Dark Fathoms. This is only one of countless questing limbs, and the greater part of its bulk has not yet been brought to bear against the Impossible Perfection.
You glance here and there, observing the beams and planks that bend slightly under the force. "It's trying to force another tentacle in!" you call to the other two. Even fighting the beast, they're both eyeing each other, but your shout gets them focused on the monster for the moment again. "It's trying, but that support rib is holding it back! Smash this one before more of them show up!"
The Lunar tilts his head, considering what you're pointing at, and then it's one more flowing dance move from him. The heel of his foot carves furrows in the dense, muscular flesh, taking advantage of the moment you'd recognized. It's off-balance as it tries to bring more of its mass to bear but is stymied by the ship's solid construction, and that means that he can use this moment of distraction to rip it apart with the supernatural martial art he's using while it tries to snap the timber that will let its next larger branching in.
Even this, somehow, isn't enough, and the tentacle keeps questing and squeezing, trying to find the spot where it will have the leverage to rip a chunk out of this vessel and pluck out the tasty morsels inside.
It's not enough for a moment more, when the Prasadi woman finds a spot to seize the base of both parts of the bifurcating tentacle, right at the base where there's only an inch or two of flesh. Then, with a horrible, wet, ripping sound, she pulls her arms apart.
A deep cry of pain and rage bubbles up from the deeps below the ship, an almost subsonic rumbling. The tentacle, at last, withdraws, this injury being more than it's willing to tolerate.
You hope that it's more than just the equivalent to a papercut.
The Lunar and the Dragon-Blood continue to side-eye each other. She's the one who speaks. "What's your next plan, then, Lunar?"
He shrugs, stretching in a fashion that is both pointedly casual and definitely shows off his flexibility. "I was planning to take it one step at a time. I don't want to try to escape as a fish; the King might catch me. If we get on deck, I could turn into a bird. That should let me escape."
"It was your proposal that we have a truce until we get away."
"I'm just saying this would be easier if you were Lunars! Don't take it so seriously." He gives her a cheeky grin, as if expecting her to roll her eyes.
You interject, trying to remain focused, as opposed to... whatever they've got. "What about trying to regroup with Peerless Pearl? He's a powerful sorcerer. Maybe we'd have better chances working with him. And what about the corsairs?"
The Frenzied waves a dismissive hand at your question. "The 'corsairs' are just some fae raiders out for sport or easy pickings. I doubt they're hanging around."
"Pearl will hate you, in particular, to a degree he might be willing to die if you do, too," the Prasadi woman adds. "I spent days chained to the keel while he tried, day and night, to talk whatever god that was into granting him the Exigency that they granted to you, instead." Bright green eyes look you up and down. "I didn't know what it was. I just saw him work on it and figured the safe would make a good weapon. Ultimately: You took his greatest prize from him."
You shiver. Unfortunately... they'd know the parts they're talking about. The Frenzied probably was using the fae as cover, and the Dragon-Blood from Prasad has no reason to lie to you on this topic. You round on the man. "How far are we from the nearest land?"
"About two miles, almost precisely south-by-southeast. Not sure of the island's name, before you ask."
It would be a dangerous, difficult swim even under ideal conditions, then. Or would it? Maybe this is what would be easy for you. It's hard to keep hold of the fact that your situation has changed so dramatically in just the last few minutes. It almost doesn't matter, though: if the King of Dark Fathoms is hunting, you shouldn't try to swim to safety through its hunting ground.
"You seem well-studied," the Prasadi puts in. "How likely are we to see this creature give up the attack?"
You mentally flip through pages of several different books, frowning. "It... doesn't like shallow waters," you come up with. "It usually gives up if its prey is too well-equipped, prey is too scarce, or if the sea floor is too close. That's the Dark Fathoms in its name. It also seems to have a single mind: it can't focus on too many things at once."
The other hostages are beginning to crowd closer—all to the Prasadi Dragon-Blood, of course. Tales of Dragon-Blooded heroism and power are commonplace. Everyone has heard some of them growing up, and even if an adult has the sophistication to not be entranced by bedtime stories, the general reputation still makes her a lot more appealing as a guardian than the Lunar. The presence of a storied hero is at least as much comfort as they're getting from the cleavers that they've liberated from the galley.
The Lunar doesn't seem to mind that he is only getting suspicious looks as he processes what you recalled. "That... might be useful, then," he says. "We're close to an undersea cliff, so we don't need to outrun the King of Dark Fathoms for miles, if it really will give up rather than chase us into shallows. We'll have to hope that it's shallow enough."
"If we can get into a small launch or the like, could you carry us to the shallows? Our friend here can help me cover you if the King tries to intercept us."
"What, like a lifeboat?" For the first time, the Frenzied looks a little baffled by this. "Of course, but it would be easier to just drag the two of you along."
"We'd be more effective if we had somewhere to stand. I'm not trained to fight in the water. And it's not just the three of us." She sweeps her arm to include the other hostages, who look relieved to be included.
After a moment, he sighs. "Fine. So we need to get to the deck, distract the King of Dark Fathoms, avoid the sight of the Ys captain, get one of the small vessels, and make a break for shore, hoping that the fae aren't there to harry us. Should work fine."
For all that they're making a plan together, their body language is still that these two do not trust each other a hair. Still, it's been a chaotic... what, two minutes?... since the King of Dark Fathoms' tentacle was defeated, and events keep flowing on. There's no time for a perfect plan: if you slow down, the odds only increase that either the creature below or the sorcerer above will end your escape attempt. There's only one thing that you can do, which is try to make this crazy plan work as best you can. Luckily, you can think of something you can do to help.
You clear your throat, and both of the Exalts—the other Exalts—look at you.
What elaboration do you propose that you are confident you can pull off? This is one of our PC's moderate skills. There's no penalty for not picking the others: it doesn't say that you don't have that skill, just that the winning vote is one you have and choose to use here. This isn't a trick; all of these will contribute materially.
[] "I'll keep an eye on Peerless Pearl to be sure that he's distracted while we work."
You are skilled with Awareness, meaning that your senses are sharp and you can survey scenes and spot ambushes and hints well. Your keen watching for the right opening is your contribution here.
[] "I'm going to sabotage the rigging and railing, which will distract them both."
You are skilled with Craft, meaning that you can create things, even from limited resources or under tight time pressure. A simple sabotage of the Ysyri vessel is a very visible contribution.
[] "We're not going to get far if you two keep glaring at each other instead of our foes."
You are skilled with Presence, the skill of influencing others with charisma or persuasion. It may not be the most glamorous, but convincing these two to trust their agreement is a vital contribution.
[] "I can get the launch in the water without anyone on deck seeing me do it."
You are skilled with Stealth, allowing you to move quietly and without attracting attention. Your contribution is getting the central piece of the plan executed with little chance of detection.
[] "You'll want more than just the Dragon-Blood ready to help fend off foes."
You are skilled with War, the skill for commanding others, especially in combat. You are not a personal fighter, but you know how to direct an army and plan strategy, and your contribution is making the other hostages more effective.
- Truth be told, you have no idea how to make good use of this
You do your best to hold the harpoon in a ready position. You've only held a real weapon like this a few times before, and definitely this is the first time you've held a weapon while in any sort of crisis. The fact that this specific emergency is that you're surrounded by terrifying Exalted strangers, in the depths of a Ysyri treasure ship, which is itself being attacked by a monster out of antiquity doesn't make it any better.
On the plus side, you do recall having seen some illuminated manuscripts about how to hold yourself ready with a weapon, so you should at least project some competence.
That lasts until the Prasadi woman glances at you, in between trying to find a good angle on the tentacle and picking the black needles out of her flesh. "She's not a warrior, Lunar," she says. It's the first words you've heard from her, and they're a melodious soprano with an accent you've only heard a few times before, with travelers from Prasad. "I hope you've earned your caste." There's a challenge in her tone, but it's not one you're equipped to understand.
Characters in Exalted Essence have three Attributes, which are kin to approaches in Fate Accelerated Edition, if you know that system. For most characters for most situations, they use their best Attribute. Different types of characters care about them more than others: a Lunar, for instance, like our "Frenzied" friend here, can feel very different based on what Attribute they favor, but a Dragon-Blood mostly won't.
Your basic roll is Attribute + Ability (basically the specific skill) + 2 more dice if you stunt (describe what's going on in a fun or interesting way). You can safely assume all our protagonists are stunting, because I like writing that way. Attribute and Ability vary, but don't rise above 5. Some conditional modifiers and many Charms adjust things, but, typically, the player will roll this many ten-sided dice, and count one success for each 7, 8, or 9, and two successes for each 10. The total number of successes is compared to the difficulty of what you're trying to do: if you meet the difficulty, you achieve your basic goal. Extra successes sometimes can be used to enhance your benefit further.
I'll be summarizing the rolls, for my own sanity. I'm rolling dice on my own, and marking them down with a format like "11 dice (double 8s) + 2 AS = 8 successes vs difficulty 7". To break that down: I tell you the total dice pool. Double [a number] means that every roll that's at least that number counts for two successes (so instead of just 10s counting for two, so do 9s and 8s). AS is "auto-success", flat successes added for some reason. Then I say the number of successes and what the difficulty was. Some rolls will not be listed, too, just based on if I think listing it will interrupt the flow.
Your basic roll is Attribute + Ability (basically the specific skill) + 2 more dice if you stunt (describe what's going on in a fun or interesting way). You can safely assume all our protagonists are stunting, because I like writing that way. Attribute and Ability vary, but don't rise above 5. Some conditional modifiers and many Charms adjust things, but, typically, the player will roll this many ten-sided dice, and count one success for each 7, 8, or 9, and two successes for each 10. The total number of successes is compared to the difficulty of what you're trying to do: if you meet the difficulty, you achieve your basic goal. Extra successes sometimes can be used to enhance your benefit further.
I'll be summarizing the rolls, for my own sanity. I'm rolling dice on my own, and marking them down with a format like "11 dice (double 8s) + 2 AS = 8 successes vs difficulty 7". To break that down: I tell you the total dice pool. Double [a number] means that every roll that's at least that number counts for two successes (so instead of just 10s counting for two, so do 9s and 8s). AS is "auto-success", flat successes added for some reason. Then I say the number of successes and what the difficulty was. Some rolls will not be listed, too, just based on if I think listing it will interrupt the flow.
The Lunar, the one you've been thinking of as the Frenzied, smirks. "Well, then let's see just how much more than my weight I can pull, shall I?" The two of them are both turning to keep each other in view, even as more of their attention is on the tentacle that's still trying to pull apart the Ysyri ship.
This changes for just a moment, as the Lunar spins on one heel, takes a pose like a dancer about to grab a partner for a tango, and beats his other toe against the wooden deck, a hard staccato rhythm. It attracts the tentacle, which tries to smack him with a sudden savage uncoiling, like a giant boneless slap.
Without breaking his rhythm, the Frenzied man leans backwards, letting it swing directly above his body, then tries to hook his foot into the spot you'd identified as a weak point. You have to think he underestimated how swift it can move, but even then he's still faster. As his kick lands, he's using the force of it to propel him a few steps away. He touches down lightly and straightens up with no more impact you can feel.
It's clear, then, that he's recognized that the beast is operating on sound and vibration: he's making a racket and quieting down, alternately, to lure it.
But it is, of course, a bifurcated tentacle. The other part of it is questing separately as the Prasadi Dragon-Blood strides forward. When it realizes it's found her, it tries to curl into a heavy flail and crush her with a mammoth impact.
She grunts as it hits, and the wood beneath her feet cracks ominously for several feet in every direction, but, somehow, she absorbs most of the impact, cushioning herself with her limbs. The very fact that it curled up to try to squash her means that she's closer to that vulnerable nerve cluster, so even as it lifts itself up to try to flatten her again, she laces her fingers together and hits it with what you can only describe as a clobber.
If the Frenzied man is fighting with speed, grace, and skill, she's keeping up with him without any of that. The only tool she's using is simple brawn. Her tiny, svelte frame couldn't possibly hit that hard, but somehow her fists still sink inches deep into the tentacle and the force of her blow discombobulates both of the ends, sending it reeling.
For a moment, you feel hopeful, but the wooden hull creaks ominously, reminding you that this isn't the King of Dark Fathoms. This is only one of countless questing limbs, and the greater part of its bulk has not yet been brought to bear against the Impossible Perfection.
You glance here and there, observing the beams and planks that bend slightly under the force. "It's trying to force another tentacle in!" you call to the other two. Even fighting the beast, they're both eyeing each other, but your shout gets them focused on the monster for the moment again. "It's trying, but that support rib is holding it back! Smash this one before more of them show up!"
The Lunar tilts his head, considering what you're pointing at, and then it's one more flowing dance move from him. The heel of his foot carves furrows in the dense, muscular flesh, taking advantage of the moment you'd recognized. It's off-balance as it tries to bring more of its mass to bear but is stymied by the ship's solid construction, and that means that he can use this moment of distraction to rip it apart with the supernatural martial art he's using while it tries to snap the timber that will let its next larger branching in.
Even this, somehow, isn't enough, and the tentacle keeps questing and squeezing, trying to find the spot where it will have the leverage to rip a chunk out of this vessel and pluck out the tasty morsels inside.
It's not enough for a moment more, when the Prasadi woman finds a spot to seize the base of both parts of the bifurcating tentacle, right at the base where there's only an inch or two of flesh. Then, with a horrible, wet, ripping sound, she pulls her arms apart.
A deep cry of pain and rage bubbles up from the deeps below the ship, an almost subsonic rumbling. The tentacle, at last, withdraws, this injury being more than it's willing to tolerate.
You hope that it's more than just the equivalent to a papercut.
Party wins Join Battle. Exalted Essence has what I've seen called "Popcorn" initiative: the side that wins can nominate any member of their side to go first, then as each character moves their player gets to pick who goes after, picking among both allies and enemies who haven't gone yet this turn. If you're the last one in that round, you're free to pick anyone to start the next round—including yourself. A few specific rules let characters bend or cheat these guidelines.
The basic flow of combat is to build Power through withering attacks and various 'build power' actions. If you have enough Power, you can launch a decisive attack, which spends Power to damage a target's health levels. Think of your favorite action scenes in a movie or show: build power and withering are where characters are pressing each other or maneuvering for advantage, while decisive attacks are the ones where the camera tells us that this is about to change the flow of the battle. There's a lot of details about this, more than I can summarize without just repeating what's in the book, but it should give context to the log below.
Round 1:
Jinaya makes a Prepare Build Power action:
11 dice = 11 successes. This allows Jinaya to distribute 9 Power. 4 to Lunar, 5 to DB.
- Also, holy crap. This is four 10s, a dramatically better-than-average roll.
Lunar makes a withering attack, using Jubilant Battle Proposition:
Performance roll: 11 dice = 6 successes
Withering attack: 10 dice + 3 AS = 8 successes vs 4 Defense. Lunar gains 5 Power.
Least tentacle makes a withering attack against DB:
10 dice + 1 AS = 6 successes vs 4 Defense. Least tentacle gains 3 Power.
DB wagers five Power on a decisive attack, using Fists of Iron Technique to use unarmed as a medium weapon with Two-Handed tag.
9 dice + 1 AS = 6 successes vs 5 Defense.
6 dice + 1 AS = 5 successes, reduced by 3 Soak, deals 2 damage.
At end of round, Least Tentacle tries to rip more of the ship open.
9 dice = 4 successes vs difficulty 5
Round 2:
Lunar wagers nine Power on a decisive attack.
10 dice + 2 AS = 6 successes vs 5 Defense.
10 dice = 7 successes, reduced by 3 Soak, deals 4 damage.
Jinaya makes a Prepare Build Power action:
11 dice = 11 successes. Jinaya distributes 9 Power to DB.
- 10, 10, 10, 9, 9, 7, 7, 7, 4, 2, 2: You're, uh, rolling about twice as many successes as normal. I'm not going to cheat this either way, so just be ready to normally see fewer of these going forward.
DB wagers nine Power on a decisive attack.
8 dice + 1 AS = 5 successes vs 5 Defense.
9 dice + 1 AS = 5 successes, reduced by 3 Soak, deals 2 damage and takes out least tentacle.
The basic flow of combat is to build Power through withering attacks and various 'build power' actions. If you have enough Power, you can launch a decisive attack, which spends Power to damage a target's health levels. Think of your favorite action scenes in a movie or show: build power and withering are where characters are pressing each other or maneuvering for advantage, while decisive attacks are the ones where the camera tells us that this is about to change the flow of the battle. There's a lot of details about this, more than I can summarize without just repeating what's in the book, but it should give context to the log below.
Round 1:
Jinaya makes a Prepare Build Power action:
11 dice = 11 successes. This allows Jinaya to distribute 9 Power. 4 to Lunar, 5 to DB.
- Also, holy crap. This is four 10s, a dramatically better-than-average roll.
Lunar makes a withering attack, using Jubilant Battle Proposition:
Performance roll: 11 dice = 6 successes
Withering attack: 10 dice + 3 AS = 8 successes vs 4 Defense. Lunar gains 5 Power.
Least tentacle makes a withering attack against DB:
10 dice + 1 AS = 6 successes vs 4 Defense. Least tentacle gains 3 Power.
DB wagers five Power on a decisive attack, using Fists of Iron Technique to use unarmed as a medium weapon with Two-Handed tag.
9 dice + 1 AS = 6 successes vs 5 Defense.
6 dice + 1 AS = 5 successes, reduced by 3 Soak, deals 2 damage.
At end of round, Least Tentacle tries to rip more of the ship open.
9 dice = 4 successes vs difficulty 5
Round 2:
Lunar wagers nine Power on a decisive attack.
10 dice + 2 AS = 6 successes vs 5 Defense.
10 dice = 7 successes, reduced by 3 Soak, deals 4 damage.
Jinaya makes a Prepare Build Power action:
11 dice = 11 successes. Jinaya distributes 9 Power to DB.
- 10, 10, 10, 9, 9, 7, 7, 7, 4, 2, 2: You're, uh, rolling about twice as many successes as normal. I'm not going to cheat this either way, so just be ready to normally see fewer of these going forward.
DB wagers nine Power on a decisive attack.
8 dice + 1 AS = 5 successes vs 5 Defense.
9 dice + 1 AS = 5 successes, reduced by 3 Soak, deals 2 damage and takes out least tentacle.
The Lunar and the Dragon-Blood continue to side-eye each other. She's the one who speaks. "What's your next plan, then, Lunar?"
He shrugs, stretching in a fashion that is both pointedly casual and definitely shows off his flexibility. "I was planning to take it one step at a time. I don't want to try to escape as a fish; the King might catch me. If we get on deck, I could turn into a bird. That should let me escape."
"It was your proposal that we have a truce until we get away."
"I'm just saying this would be easier if you were Lunars! Don't take it so seriously." He gives her a cheeky grin, as if expecting her to roll her eyes.
You interject, trying to remain focused, as opposed to... whatever they've got. "What about trying to regroup with Peerless Pearl? He's a powerful sorcerer. Maybe we'd have better chances working with him. And what about the corsairs?"
The Frenzied waves a dismissive hand at your question. "The 'corsairs' are just some fae raiders out for sport or easy pickings. I doubt they're hanging around."
"Pearl will hate you, in particular, to a degree he might be willing to die if you do, too," the Prasadi woman adds. "I spent days chained to the keel while he tried, day and night, to talk whatever god that was into granting him the Exigency that they granted to you, instead." Bright green eyes look you up and down. "I didn't know what it was. I just saw him work on it and figured the safe would make a good weapon. Ultimately: You took his greatest prize from him."
You shiver. Unfortunately... they'd know the parts they're talking about. The Frenzied probably was using the fae as cover, and the Dragon-Blood from Prasad has no reason to lie to you on this topic. You round on the man. "How far are we from the nearest land?"
"About two miles, almost precisely south-by-southeast. Not sure of the island's name, before you ask."
It would be a dangerous, difficult swim even under ideal conditions, then. Or would it? Maybe this is what would be easy for you. It's hard to keep hold of the fact that your situation has changed so dramatically in just the last few minutes. It almost doesn't matter, though: if the King of Dark Fathoms is hunting, you shouldn't try to swim to safety through its hunting ground.
"You seem well-studied," the Prasadi puts in. "How likely are we to see this creature give up the attack?"
You mentally flip through pages of several different books, frowning. "It... doesn't like shallow waters," you come up with. "It usually gives up if its prey is too well-equipped, prey is too scarce, or if the sea floor is too close. That's the Dark Fathoms in its name. It also seems to have a single mind: it can't focus on too many things at once."
The other hostages are beginning to crowd closer—all to the Prasadi Dragon-Blood, of course. Tales of Dragon-Blooded heroism and power are commonplace. Everyone has heard some of them growing up, and even if an adult has the sophistication to not be entranced by bedtime stories, the general reputation still makes her a lot more appealing as a guardian than the Lunar. The presence of a storied hero is at least as much comfort as they're getting from the cleavers that they've liberated from the galley.
The Lunar doesn't seem to mind that he is only getting suspicious looks as he processes what you recalled. "That... might be useful, then," he says. "We're close to an undersea cliff, so we don't need to outrun the King of Dark Fathoms for miles, if it really will give up rather than chase us into shallows. We'll have to hope that it's shallow enough."
"If we can get into a small launch or the like, could you carry us to the shallows? Our friend here can help me cover you if the King tries to intercept us."
"What, like a lifeboat?" For the first time, the Frenzied looks a little baffled by this. "Of course, but it would be easier to just drag the two of you along."
"We'd be more effective if we had somewhere to stand. I'm not trained to fight in the water. And it's not just the three of us." She sweeps her arm to include the other hostages, who look relieved to be included.
After a moment, he sighs. "Fine. So we need to get to the deck, distract the King of Dark Fathoms, avoid the sight of the Ys captain, get one of the small vessels, and make a break for shore, hoping that the fae aren't there to harry us. Should work fine."
For all that they're making a plan together, their body language is still that these two do not trust each other a hair. Still, it's been a chaotic... what, two minutes?... since the King of Dark Fathoms' tentacle was defeated, and events keep flowing on. There's no time for a perfect plan: if you slow down, the odds only increase that either the creature below or the sorcerer above will end your escape attempt. There's only one thing that you can do, which is try to make this crazy plan work as best you can. Luckily, you can think of something you can do to help.
You clear your throat, and both of the Exalts—the other Exalts—look at you.
What elaboration do you propose that you are confident you can pull off? This is one of our PC's moderate skills. There's no penalty for not picking the others: it doesn't say that you don't have that skill, just that the winning vote is one you have and choose to use here. This isn't a trick; all of these will contribute materially.
[] "I'll keep an eye on Peerless Pearl to be sure that he's distracted while we work."
You are skilled with Awareness, meaning that your senses are sharp and you can survey scenes and spot ambushes and hints well. Your keen watching for the right opening is your contribution here.
[] "I'm going to sabotage the rigging and railing, which will distract them both."
You are skilled with Craft, meaning that you can create things, even from limited resources or under tight time pressure. A simple sabotage of the Ysyri vessel is a very visible contribution.
[] "We're not going to get far if you two keep glaring at each other instead of our foes."
You are skilled with Presence, the skill of influencing others with charisma or persuasion. It may not be the most glamorous, but convincing these two to trust their agreement is a vital contribution.
[] "I can get the launch in the water without anyone on deck seeing me do it."
You are skilled with Stealth, allowing you to move quietly and without attracting attention. Your contribution is getting the central piece of the plan executed with little chance of detection.
[] "You'll want more than just the Dragon-Blood ready to help fend off foes."
You are skilled with War, the skill for commanding others, especially in combat. You are not a personal fighter, but you know how to direct an army and plan strategy, and your contribution is making the other hostages more effective.
IV. Escape To Shore
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Winning vote:
- "We're not going to get far if you two keep glaring at each other instead of our foes."
A sort of weird thrill runs through you as you say it. It's the sort of thing that a prince might get to say and get away with, and you never have had the chance before. Up until now, if you wanted to get something hot to eat outside of regular mealtimes, the best way to get the palace cooks to get over their grumblings and actually produce it was to invoke the real Prince Jinaya's name.
Now, two superhuman Exalts listen when you speak with your own voice. The short woman gives you an inscrutable look from behind bright green eyes. The tall man barks a laugh. "I'm not the untrustworthy one, here!" He gives a grand gesture to the Dragon-Blood. "She's the one with a religious imperative to kill me off."
The Dragon-Blood's eyes set, and you see her working on a response, but you cut her off by drawing yourself up to your full height, still well short of his, and slash a finger through the air in front of his face. "Not today!" He doesn't flinch back, but does give you a rather startled smile as you continue. "Maybe tomorrow, but today all of us are getting off this ship together, and that means that you're trusting her to watch your back. And we're going to trust you to do your part, because you brought this alliance up!"
The smile grows, which is rapidly getting on your nerves. "Very well." He sweeps into a low bow, both hands swept to his left. "Upon my honor and in the sight of the goddess who Chose me, I will give none of you any cause to doubt or regret my faithful support, save only if I am betrayed first."
You look at the Dragon-Blood, who gives an enigmatic smile and a dip of her head in return. "On the name of my divine mother, for today we stand united."
The rest of you, you and the other now-free hostages, make your own similar statements, but they're an afterthought.
What's important is that the Lunar turns his back to you all, facing outward and not fearing someone will put a dagger into it. "I'll slip out first, attack the fore stays. That should distract Peerless Pearl, and if I'm lucky it will distract the King, too."
"I can help there," the Prasadi interjects. "Just before we come on deck, I'll punch a hole in the hull down here. The King should feel that, and it knows how to sink ships with holes in them."
The Lunar laughs once and cracks his knuckles. "Excellent! While they're both distracted by the damage to the bow and below the waterline, you head aft and get a launch in the water. I'll slip away and join you, pulling the launch, and you lot keep me safe while I do. Agreed?"
There's a murmur of assent.
Peerless Pearl can't stop his body from shaking, or slow the frantic panting of his breath. He, and much of the deck, is stained with the silver-white blood of the King of Dark Fathoms. One of its lesser tentacles with the two least tentacles that fork from its end still squirms on the deck, even though it's been severed from the main body. It's a hazard that has cost him his last elemental and most of the human part of the Impossible Perfection's crew. He's wrung out every drop of power in his body to get this far, and the cutlass he used to supplement his magic slips, almost unconcerned, from hands that can barely close their fingers. The vast coils of the King of Dark Fathoms still writhe and twist below the surface of the water, but the behemoth-thing is clearly wary, now. It has to know that it's crushed a lot of the resistance aboard ship, but wood is not its food. It's still thinking if there's enough meat left to justify attacking further. It has time, after all.
All of that would be enough to make this the worst day of Peerless Pearl's life already. The sorcerer-prince he apprentices under will consider the damage to the treasure ship to be his fault, and thus his own ascension from sorcerer-captain to sorcerer-prince is in jeopardy. Not to mention his life. He doesn't think he will survive the day any longer, but that is almost secondary to a life's ambition suddenly cut short.
With every bit of fire left in his soul, Pearl spits curses. Curses upon Cynerean, the sorcerer-prince master who refused to accept Pearl as a sorcerer-prince peer. Curses upon the King of Dark Fathoms. Curses upon the lands he's traveled in this journey: any of them could have acquiesced sooner, or feted him longer, and prevented this interception today.
Most of all, he curses Sophoebus. The god had been such a prize, the overseer of a library of sorcerous knowledge, and possessor of a spark of Exaltation. Somehow, through what means Pearl knew not, he had been granted the Exigency, which would let him choose a human as his Exalted champion. Day after day, Pearl had communed with the yasal crystal that confined Sophoebus. He had bargained, begged, threatened, promised to accept any terms at all, if only Sophoebus would Exalt him. Surely, if Pearl merely had the strength of an Exalt, he could have dealt with the King of Dark Fathoms. Surely, all Ysyr would agree that an Exalt qualified as a sorcerer-prince. And yet, the only thing he had received in return was a flat refusal, as Sophoebus told him he did not understand the danger and was not worthy.
And now someone, presumably one of the hostages, has been Exalted instead of Pearl, if the anima display he saw before is any indication. The only thing that stopped him from rushing below decks and trying to save the Exaltation that should have been his was that he had been physically blocked by the King's vile tentacles.
On sheer determination, Pearl forces his exhausted body back on its feet. His limbs feel as if they have been shackled with heavy weights and he feels weaker than a newborn kitten, but that doesn't matter right now. Even if his heart gives out this instant, he will still die a few feet closer to the hope that had been stolen from him.
There is a long, shuddering crash behind him, and Pearl almost doesn't turn, but the only surviving crewman shouts, points, and tries to get Pearl to see. Groaning, he turns just slightly, enough to see what has happened. A massive chunk of the Impossible Perfection's rigging is in the process of a long, convoluted collapse, ripping down a damaged mast and taking a chunk of railing overboard into the sea with it.
For just an instant, Pearl imagines he can see a snake amidst the tangle, but, no, surely it was just a coil of rope. Stopped from his plodding forward, he has to take a moment to... think. It's hard. So hard. But, finally, he decides nothing can be done there. He turns back to the hatch.
The Dragon-Blood puts a new hole in the ship through the simple expedient of feeling around for a moment, then driving her heel in with an incredibly powerful kick. The wood gives way, and water immediately gushes up. The ship is on a timer, now: it isn't impossible to patch, if a crew works effectively, but that would require the crew to rush down here and patch it, and for the King of Dark Fathoms not to attack it.
As the group of you hurry up the ladder to deck, you hear a groaning and then snapping behind you. A new muscular tentacle has already found the new opening, and is working on widening it and working its way in.
You time it well. The King's questing limb explores the hold without catching wind of you. On deck, Pearl is looking the wrong direction for the critical instants you all need to get out of sight. You even see a coil of rope and snatch it up as you run.
The Dragon-Blood's surprising strength comes in handy one more time as you reach the launches stowed near the ship's stern. She doesn't lower it into the water. She finds the right place to grip it, and single-handedly lifts it over the railing and drops it into the water, then jumps after it.
One at a time, you and the other hostages drop into the ship, the Dragon-Blood catching each of you as you fall to cushion the impact. For all the delicacy of her build, she doesn't seem to have any difficulty catching grown men and women.
"Now," she says once you're all crammed into the tiny little boat, "We just need our Lunar friend." You squirm past everyone else to drop a loop of the rope into the water at the prow. "What's that for?" she asks.
"I think it will be easier for the Lunar to pull us like a chariot than try to push," you explain. "No matter what shape he's in, it will just fit better with an aquatic creature's biomechanics, and—"
Suddenly, there's a forceful tug. You exclaim and plant your feet, and others grab hold of you to keep you in the boat.
A tuna has seized your rope in its mouth, and is swimming south-by-southeast with a frantic energy. "He's here!" You call, twisting to shout it over your shoulder.
You think that only you are thus able to see the Dragon-Blood collapse in relief for just a moment. Whatever she'd said, she really hadn't trusted he'd come back for you all.
Behind you, wood continues snapping. When you look back to it, more and larger tentacles are creeping up and over the Impossible Perfection. The fae corsairs, for the moment, you can't see sign of.
True to the Lunar's word, the sea beneath you begins to lighten. You should be over the cliff, then, and hopefully the King won't follow.
Then, the sound of snapping wood reaches a crescendo, and the Impossible Perfection crumples. It ceases to be a single ship and becomes multiple disparate chunks of wood, pieces of the wreckage falling into the ocean separately.
The sea beneath you stirs. The King of Dark Fathoms seems finished with its last prize. Now, you just have to hope that you're in shallow enough depths to be safe, or that it's overlooked your escape and doesn't now notice you at all, or that, failing that, you can outfight its many limbs again.
Everyone is silent, for a few tense minutes, but no sign comes that it's after you.
Instead, the beach ahead gradually becomes more clear. You hadn't paid it any attention during your escape from the shipwreck, but now it's clear that you're actually going to make it. It's a broad, sandy expanse, with no sign of habitation, with a treeline beyond it. The island is large, so that doesn't tell you anything for sure. A good-sized city could be hidden from view just by this not being the best harbor, or perhaps no one has ever lived here, or anything in-between.
Your shoulders are aching, but eventually your faithful tuna swims its way up into the shallows, beaching itself and your little boat. Five of you tumble out onto the sand, and the tuna turns human again. Both you and the Lunar are breathing hard from the exertion, and he has a coruscating sheath of cold-silver fire playing over his body, but he manages a grin. "Guess that was a good distraction that you managed, there, Dragon-Blood."
"You held up your own end of our bargain admirably, Lunar." She gives him a polite bow. She's also surrounded by a faint green haze. That's anima, in both cases: the power of Exalts when they exert themselves creates a towering lightshow. These displays, so far, are still fairly tame, unless the tales you've heard are exaggerated. You glance at your own arms, in case there's a matching sign on you, but if you have one at the moment, you can't see it.
"Naturally," he says, brushing imaginary dirt off of his simple outfit in studied unconcern. "But I'm going to wait a little while before I circle the island and see who else lives here. Not everyone will be reasonable about my anima."
That gets a polite titter from her, before both of them look at you. "And that leaves us with a little time for another mystery, doesn't it?" she says. "Where are you from?"
"Johhadim," you say. "My name is Prince Jinaya, the youngest daughter of the Spear-Queen." You don't hesitate at all in giving the lie. You might not be on Ysyr's hostage ship any longer, but that doesn't mean that you're free to give up on the cover story yet. Ysyr's reach is long.
The Dragon-Blood looks to the Lunar. "Island nation," he offers as an explanation. "Tiny little thing a couple hundred miles east of here. Ysyr's armies conquered it about fifteen years ago."
It's somehow enormously deflating that your homeland is entirely unfamiliar to everyone else here except the man who, according to what you've heard, will devour human hearts to steal their appearance. He also isn't very impressed, either. You certainly knew this already, just from having read so much foreign writing that didn't even consider it, but that's not the same as the emotional reality of it.
"It is good to make your acquaintance, Prince," the Dragon-Blood says, giving you the same sort of polite bow she did the Lunar. "I am Akatha Nei Ylana, Wood Aspect from Prasad. I confess I had not expected to meet any fellow divinities today, and also I was as much a prisoner aboard that ship as you were, so I apologize for my unseemly appearance."
She hardly looks worse than you or the other hostages, but you give her a gracious nod, regardless, appreciating the effort towards normalcy that she is trying to achieve here, although you have at least half a dozen distinct questions from her short introduction.
The other hostages also introduce themselves, and you file their names away. Their stories are much like yours: important-enough hostages from various little conquests, who were being taken back to Ysyr to ensure their home's compliance.
That leaves just the Lunar, who is still lounging bonelessly on the beach, just trying to relax after his efforts earlier. It takes a few awkward seconds for him to realize that the reason you're all looking at him is because it's his turn to introduce himself. "Rhythm of Tide and Surf," he says. "You can just call me Tide, for short. Full Moon Lunar. Don't call me 'Frenzied'; I absolutely am not. Aren't we going our separate ways now?"
"We could, but we don't know what's on this island: if there's any one who lives here and who they are, if a ship could be chartered..." Ylana spreads her hands. "For the moment, doesn't it make more sense to work together a little longer?"
Tide gives her a calculating look. Your pep talk earlier is wearing off, or else he feels like you're already past what he had proposed, which was just about getting away. "Sure," he says, finally dusting himself off again and getting up off the sand.
Ylana gives him a gracious nod, then starts walking around the island. She's picked clockwise, as the beaches that way look a little more inviting than the other direction. Still, it's going to be some time, probably hours, to make your way around, so... there's no telling when you'll find something, or if you will.
You realize after a few minutes that the other freed hostages are on the far side of Ylana from you... and from Tide. They're all keeping their distance from him, and you alone were distracted enough that you didn't really think about it for a moment.
He gives you an impudent grin when he sees that you've noticed that it's you and him, slightly separate from the others. He's a good-looking man, but you think he might be relying on that too much, especially given that he's also... well, he's asked you not to call him a 'Frenzied', but this type of dogma is most of what you've heard about people like him. "So," he says, exactly as if that isn't a concern at all. "You Exalted. It's amazing, isn't it?" He doesn't wait for you to respond. "I remember when I did. It probably wasn't exactly the same. We are different types, but... that moment of power, of connection, of opportunity and of vistas opening. There's nothing like it! Isn't it grand? There's lots to learn about what you can do, I know, but never mind that. What's the first thing you want to do now that you can basically do anything you want?"
On one level, he's half bragging. On another, it does seem to be a friendly gesture, of a sort: he's giving you a chance to share how you feel. Coming down from a deadly fight and a terrifying flight from danger to relative safety makes it... easy to answer truthfully.
What is your priority? This can be thought of as a personality vote. Mechanically, it will represent our protagonist's Virtues. Essence has a social system based around Virtues and Intimacies; we'll look into this in more detail soon, because we already know that this is a strength for Jinaya, but to summarize: Virtues are defining things, central axioms about how one interacts with the world, what sort of things to prioritize. Intimacies are guiding principles and ties, more specific elements of what is important to a character.
[] "I think I have a score to settle with Ysyr."
Your primary Virtue is Justice. You strive to do what you see as good, and seek to set right the injustices and wrongdoing you see around you. Ysyr's crimes will not be far from your mind.
[] "Our friends here need to be brought to safety."
Your primary Virtue is Compassion. You value empathy and selflessness. Today, that means that your fellow hostages need to be seen to, but even once they're safe, you'll find others who need care.
[] "I need to make sure that Johhadim is safe."
Your primary Virtue is Discipline. You are goal-focused and precise, methodical in how you approach everything. Your generally unflappable nature offers many advantages in achieving your ends.
[] "I need... a drink. And a really good meal."
Your primary Virtue is Wonder. Curiosity and a sense of adventure drive you, which explains why you've learned as much as you have already. You know how to appreciate the finer things when chance arises.
- "We're not going to get far if you two keep glaring at each other instead of our foes."
A sort of weird thrill runs through you as you say it. It's the sort of thing that a prince might get to say and get away with, and you never have had the chance before. Up until now, if you wanted to get something hot to eat outside of regular mealtimes, the best way to get the palace cooks to get over their grumblings and actually produce it was to invoke the real Prince Jinaya's name.
Now, two superhuman Exalts listen when you speak with your own voice. The short woman gives you an inscrutable look from behind bright green eyes. The tall man barks a laugh. "I'm not the untrustworthy one, here!" He gives a grand gesture to the Dragon-Blood. "She's the one with a religious imperative to kill me off."
The Dragon-Blood's eyes set, and you see her working on a response, but you cut her off by drawing yourself up to your full height, still well short of his, and slash a finger through the air in front of his face. "Not today!" He doesn't flinch back, but does give you a rather startled smile as you continue. "Maybe tomorrow, but today all of us are getting off this ship together, and that means that you're trusting her to watch your back. And we're going to trust you to do your part, because you brought this alliance up!"
The smile grows, which is rapidly getting on your nerves. "Very well." He sweeps into a low bow, both hands swept to his left. "Upon my honor and in the sight of the goddess who Chose me, I will give none of you any cause to doubt or regret my faithful support, save only if I am betrayed first."
You look at the Dragon-Blood, who gives an enigmatic smile and a dip of her head in return. "On the name of my divine mother, for today we stand united."
The rest of you, you and the other now-free hostages, make your own similar statements, but they're an afterthought.
What's important is that the Lunar turns his back to you all, facing outward and not fearing someone will put a dagger into it. "I'll slip out first, attack the fore stays. That should distract Peerless Pearl, and if I'm lucky it will distract the King, too."
"I can help there," the Prasadi interjects. "Just before we come on deck, I'll punch a hole in the hull down here. The King should feel that, and it knows how to sink ships with holes in them."
The Lunar laughs once and cracks his knuckles. "Excellent! While they're both distracted by the damage to the bow and below the waterline, you head aft and get a launch in the water. I'll slip away and join you, pulling the launch, and you lot keep me safe while I do. Agreed?"
There's a murmur of assent.
Peerless Pearl can't stop his body from shaking, or slow the frantic panting of his breath. He, and much of the deck, is stained with the silver-white blood of the King of Dark Fathoms. One of its lesser tentacles with the two least tentacles that fork from its end still squirms on the deck, even though it's been severed from the main body. It's a hazard that has cost him his last elemental and most of the human part of the Impossible Perfection's crew. He's wrung out every drop of power in his body to get this far, and the cutlass he used to supplement his magic slips, almost unconcerned, from hands that can barely close their fingers. The vast coils of the King of Dark Fathoms still writhe and twist below the surface of the water, but the behemoth-thing is clearly wary, now. It has to know that it's crushed a lot of the resistance aboard ship, but wood is not its food. It's still thinking if there's enough meat left to justify attacking further. It has time, after all.
All of that would be enough to make this the worst day of Peerless Pearl's life already. The sorcerer-prince he apprentices under will consider the damage to the treasure ship to be his fault, and thus his own ascension from sorcerer-captain to sorcerer-prince is in jeopardy. Not to mention his life. He doesn't think he will survive the day any longer, but that is almost secondary to a life's ambition suddenly cut short.
With every bit of fire left in his soul, Pearl spits curses. Curses upon Cynerean, the sorcerer-prince master who refused to accept Pearl as a sorcerer-prince peer. Curses upon the King of Dark Fathoms. Curses upon the lands he's traveled in this journey: any of them could have acquiesced sooner, or feted him longer, and prevented this interception today.
Most of all, he curses Sophoebus. The god had been such a prize, the overseer of a library of sorcerous knowledge, and possessor of a spark of Exaltation. Somehow, through what means Pearl knew not, he had been granted the Exigency, which would let him choose a human as his Exalted champion. Day after day, Pearl had communed with the yasal crystal that confined Sophoebus. He had bargained, begged, threatened, promised to accept any terms at all, if only Sophoebus would Exalt him. Surely, if Pearl merely had the strength of an Exalt, he could have dealt with the King of Dark Fathoms. Surely, all Ysyr would agree that an Exalt qualified as a sorcerer-prince. And yet, the only thing he had received in return was a flat refusal, as Sophoebus told him he did not understand the danger and was not worthy.
And now someone, presumably one of the hostages, has been Exalted instead of Pearl, if the anima display he saw before is any indication. The only thing that stopped him from rushing below decks and trying to save the Exaltation that should have been his was that he had been physically blocked by the King's vile tentacles.
On sheer determination, Pearl forces his exhausted body back on its feet. His limbs feel as if they have been shackled with heavy weights and he feels weaker than a newborn kitten, but that doesn't matter right now. Even if his heart gives out this instant, he will still die a few feet closer to the hope that had been stolen from him.
There is a long, shuddering crash behind him, and Pearl almost doesn't turn, but the only surviving crewman shouts, points, and tries to get Pearl to see. Groaning, he turns just slightly, enough to see what has happened. A massive chunk of the Impossible Perfection's rigging is in the process of a long, convoluted collapse, ripping down a damaged mast and taking a chunk of railing overboard into the sea with it.
For just an instant, Pearl imagines he can see a snake amidst the tangle, but, no, surely it was just a coil of rope. Stopped from his plodding forward, he has to take a moment to... think. It's hard. So hard. But, finally, he decides nothing can be done there. He turns back to the hatch.
For certain actions, Essence allows opposed rolls. Two characters can each roll a relevant pool of dice, and whoever gets more successes wins, with a hierarchy for breaking ties.
In this case, I figure that the most appropriate pool to roll here is the Lunar's sabotage attempt against Pearl's ability to pierce the deception and catch the Lunar.
Lunar:
9 dice = 3 successes
Pearl:
6 dice = 3 successes
Lunar wins on tiebreaks!
In this case, I figure that the most appropriate pool to roll here is the Lunar's sabotage attempt against Pearl's ability to pierce the deception and catch the Lunar.
Lunar:
9 dice = 3 successes
Pearl:
6 dice = 3 successes
Lunar wins on tiebreaks!
The Dragon-Blood puts a new hole in the ship through the simple expedient of feeling around for a moment, then driving her heel in with an incredibly powerful kick. The wood gives way, and water immediately gushes up. The ship is on a timer, now: it isn't impossible to patch, if a crew works effectively, but that would require the crew to rush down here and patch it, and for the King of Dark Fathoms not to attack it.
As the group of you hurry up the ladder to deck, you hear a groaning and then snapping behind you. A new muscular tentacle has already found the new opening, and is working on widening it and working its way in.
Like above, I modeled this as an opposed roll: can the sabotage attempt work like intended, or... does something go wrong?
Dragon-Blood uses Physique Excellency:
16 dice: 6 successes
King of Dark Fathoms:
11 dice (double 9s): 5 successes
Dragon-Blood uses Physique Excellency:
16 dice: 6 successes
King of Dark Fathoms:
11 dice (double 9s): 5 successes
You time it well. The King's questing limb explores the hold without catching wind of you. On deck, Pearl is looking the wrong direction for the critical instants you all need to get out of sight. You even see a coil of rope and snatch it up as you run.
The Dragon-Blood's surprising strength comes in handy one more time as you reach the launches stowed near the ship's stern. She doesn't lower it into the water. She finds the right place to grip it, and single-handedly lifts it over the railing and drops it into the water, then jumps after it.
One at a time, you and the other hostages drop into the ship, the Dragon-Blood catching each of you as you fall to cushion the impact. For all the delicacy of her build, she doesn't seem to have any difficulty catching grown men and women.
"Now," she says once you're all crammed into the tiny little boat, "We just need our Lunar friend." You squirm past everyone else to drop a loop of the rope into the water at the prow. "What's that for?" she asks.
"I think it will be easier for the Lunar to pull us like a chariot than try to push," you explain. "No matter what shape he's in, it will just fit better with an aquatic creature's biomechanics, and—"
Suddenly, there's a forceful tug. You exclaim and plant your feet, and others grab hold of you to keep you in the boat.
A tuna has seized your rope in its mouth, and is swimming south-by-southeast with a frantic energy. "He's here!" You call, twisting to shout it over your shoulder.
You think that only you are thus able to see the Dragon-Blood collapse in relief for just a moment. Whatever she'd said, she really hadn't trusted he'd come back for you all.
Behind you, wood continues snapping. When you look back to it, more and larger tentacles are creeping up and over the Impossible Perfection. The fae corsairs, for the moment, you can't see sign of.
True to the Lunar's word, the sea beneath you begins to lighten. You should be over the cliff, then, and hopefully the King won't follow.
Then, the sound of snapping wood reaches a crescendo, and the Impossible Perfection crumples. It ceases to be a single ship and becomes multiple disparate chunks of wood, pieces of the wreckage falling into the ocean separately.
The sea beneath you stirs. The King of Dark Fathoms seems finished with its last prize. Now, you just have to hope that you're in shallow enough depths to be safe, or that it's overlooked your escape and doesn't now notice you at all, or that, failing that, you can outfight its many limbs again.
Everyone is silent, for a few tense minutes, but no sign comes that it's after you.
Instead, the beach ahead gradually becomes more clear. You hadn't paid it any attention during your escape from the shipwreck, but now it's clear that you're actually going to make it. It's a broad, sandy expanse, with no sign of habitation, with a treeline beyond it. The island is large, so that doesn't tell you anything for sure. A good-sized city could be hidden from view just by this not being the best harbor, or perhaps no one has ever lived here, or anything in-between.
Your shoulders are aching, but eventually your faithful tuna swims its way up into the shallows, beaching itself and your little boat. Five of you tumble out onto the sand, and the tuna turns human again. Both you and the Lunar are breathing hard from the exertion, and he has a coruscating sheath of cold-silver fire playing over his body, but he manages a grin. "Guess that was a good distraction that you managed, there, Dragon-Blood."
"You held up your own end of our bargain admirably, Lunar." She gives him a polite bow. She's also surrounded by a faint green haze. That's anima, in both cases: the power of Exalts when they exert themselves creates a towering lightshow. These displays, so far, are still fairly tame, unless the tales you've heard are exaggerated. You glance at your own arms, in case there's a matching sign on you, but if you have one at the moment, you can't see it.
"Naturally," he says, brushing imaginary dirt off of his simple outfit in studied unconcern. "But I'm going to wait a little while before I circle the island and see who else lives here. Not everyone will be reasonable about my anima."
That gets a polite titter from her, before both of them look at you. "And that leaves us with a little time for another mystery, doesn't it?" she says. "Where are you from?"
"Johhadim," you say. "My name is Prince Jinaya, the youngest daughter of the Spear-Queen." You don't hesitate at all in giving the lie. You might not be on Ysyr's hostage ship any longer, but that doesn't mean that you're free to give up on the cover story yet. Ysyr's reach is long.
The Dragon-Blood looks to the Lunar. "Island nation," he offers as an explanation. "Tiny little thing a couple hundred miles east of here. Ysyr's armies conquered it about fifteen years ago."
It's somehow enormously deflating that your homeland is entirely unfamiliar to everyone else here except the man who, according to what you've heard, will devour human hearts to steal their appearance. He also isn't very impressed, either. You certainly knew this already, just from having read so much foreign writing that didn't even consider it, but that's not the same as the emotional reality of it.
"It is good to make your acquaintance, Prince," the Dragon-Blood says, giving you the same sort of polite bow she did the Lunar. "I am Akatha Nei Ylana, Wood Aspect from Prasad. I confess I had not expected to meet any fellow divinities today, and also I was as much a prisoner aboard that ship as you were, so I apologize for my unseemly appearance."
She hardly looks worse than you or the other hostages, but you give her a gracious nod, regardless, appreciating the effort towards normalcy that she is trying to achieve here, although you have at least half a dozen distinct questions from her short introduction.
The other hostages also introduce themselves, and you file their names away. Their stories are much like yours: important-enough hostages from various little conquests, who were being taken back to Ysyr to ensure their home's compliance.
That leaves just the Lunar, who is still lounging bonelessly on the beach, just trying to relax after his efforts earlier. It takes a few awkward seconds for him to realize that the reason you're all looking at him is because it's his turn to introduce himself. "Rhythm of Tide and Surf," he says. "You can just call me Tide, for short. Full Moon Lunar. Don't call me 'Frenzied'; I absolutely am not. Aren't we going our separate ways now?"
"We could, but we don't know what's on this island: if there's any one who lives here and who they are, if a ship could be chartered..." Ylana spreads her hands. "For the moment, doesn't it make more sense to work together a little longer?"
Tide gives her a calculating look. Your pep talk earlier is wearing off, or else he feels like you're already past what he had proposed, which was just about getting away. "Sure," he says, finally dusting himself off again and getting up off the sand.
Ylana gives him a gracious nod, then starts walking around the island. She's picked clockwise, as the beaches that way look a little more inviting than the other direction. Still, it's going to be some time, probably hours, to make your way around, so... there's no telling when you'll find something, or if you will.
You realize after a few minutes that the other freed hostages are on the far side of Ylana from you... and from Tide. They're all keeping their distance from him, and you alone were distracted enough that you didn't really think about it for a moment.
He gives you an impudent grin when he sees that you've noticed that it's you and him, slightly separate from the others. He's a good-looking man, but you think he might be relying on that too much, especially given that he's also... well, he's asked you not to call him a 'Frenzied', but this type of dogma is most of what you've heard about people like him. "So," he says, exactly as if that isn't a concern at all. "You Exalted. It's amazing, isn't it?" He doesn't wait for you to respond. "I remember when I did. It probably wasn't exactly the same. We are different types, but... that moment of power, of connection, of opportunity and of vistas opening. There's nothing like it! Isn't it grand? There's lots to learn about what you can do, I know, but never mind that. What's the first thing you want to do now that you can basically do anything you want?"
On one level, he's half bragging. On another, it does seem to be a friendly gesture, of a sort: he's giving you a chance to share how you feel. Coming down from a deadly fight and a terrifying flight from danger to relative safety makes it... easy to answer truthfully.
What is your priority? This can be thought of as a personality vote. Mechanically, it will represent our protagonist's Virtues. Essence has a social system based around Virtues and Intimacies; we'll look into this in more detail soon, because we already know that this is a strength for Jinaya, but to summarize: Virtues are defining things, central axioms about how one interacts with the world, what sort of things to prioritize. Intimacies are guiding principles and ties, more specific elements of what is important to a character.
[] "I think I have a score to settle with Ysyr."
Your primary Virtue is Justice. You strive to do what you see as good, and seek to set right the injustices and wrongdoing you see around you. Ysyr's crimes will not be far from your mind.
[] "Our friends here need to be brought to safety."
Your primary Virtue is Compassion. You value empathy and selflessness. Today, that means that your fellow hostages need to be seen to, but even once they're safe, you'll find others who need care.
[] "I need to make sure that Johhadim is safe."
Your primary Virtue is Discipline. You are goal-focused and precise, methodical in how you approach everything. Your generally unflappable nature offers many advantages in achieving your ends.
[] "I need... a drink. And a really good meal."
Your primary Virtue is Wonder. Curiosity and a sense of adventure drive you, which explains why you've learned as much as you have already. You know how to appreciate the finer things when chance arises.