You blink in surprise at the corpse of the angel in front of you. You glance back and forth at...
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A dead angel means your life
- Pronouns
- They/Them
You blink in surprise at the corpse of the angel in front of you. You glance back and forth at the faces of your squadmates, and see... the same mingled relief, horror, and disbelief that you feel. This is ridiculous. It was inconceivable literally a minute ago.
Little do you know exactly how much has changed in that one minute.
--
Elsewhere...
--
The sweeper looks up, across the temple, shocked by the sudden silence. The practitioners of the Screaming Fiery Monkey style are rarely quiet in their practice, even discounting the impact of their fists or the crackle of flames. Now... none of them are moving. Bodies are strewn across the ground, with no evidence of violence beyond the usual damage to the scenery. The sweeper clutches his broom tighter, gradually trying to work up the nerve to call for someone. He's almost as afraid of hearing someone respond as not hearing anyone.
--
"Now remember," the archmage says, with a sharp rap across the youth's knuckles with his cane, even as he circles behind the youth's stool to yell over his shoulder. The youth isn't actually doing badly, but the archmage isn't about to let that stop him. "This is the most critical part of potion brewing! One slip-up here and you'll ruin the potion, or poison and injure yourself. What you need to do is..." The long pregnant pause goes on for at least two minutes before the youthful apprentice convinces himself this isn't just a dramatic pause and turns. Here he finds his mentor crumpled into a pile. If not for the archmage's eyes being locked wide open and his lack of breathing, he might just be sleeping. The youth stares. Behind him, the complex alchemical set-up bubbles ever harder.
--
The under-priests of Bel-Kirandu, god of forests and hearths, survey the scene from within hoods that conceal almost all of their faces. Moments ago, their god slowly keeled over and died with what sounded like a soft sigh of contentment. Everyone who had had a powerful Contract with Bel-Kirandu, which meant the upper priesthood, died, too. So did the bound demon they'd been keeping prisoner. The floor of Bel-Kirandu's palace, attached to his main temple, is an abattoir. One of their number finally speaks, breaking the numb horror that has been holding them. "There's... a service tonight. The people are expecting to see Bel-Kirandu!" None of the others have an answer for him.
--
The farmer rubs his hands in glee. A dead dragon! Out in that stupid rocky field that keeps damaging his plows! He doesn't know how it got there, nor does he particularly care. Whatever has killed it, he is the one who could turn this into a money-maker. Dreams of selling access to rubberneckers, and maybe turn a profit selling bits of the body, dance across his imagination. "What great luck!" He turns back to yell at his daughter. "Viviendra! Run into town and find that boyfriend of yours who knows how to write!"
--
It strikes silently, instantly, without warning, unstoppably. All across the Shallow Ocean, from the rare depths to the most distant isles, from rarefied mountain peaks to bustling city squares, they die. Every being of significant personal power falls dead simultaneously, from no discernible cause and without any sign of distress beforehand. Mature magical beasts leave behind mewling young. Archmages and heroes leave weak, traumatized apprentices. Great spirits and tame demons leave kings and princesses without their ultimate fallback power. All the gods and angels who had walked with the men and women of the world, guiding and protecting their worshipers, are all torn away simultaneously.
It will take time for anyone to recognize the universality of it, and at least a little longer for anyone to begin to act on it.
For you, though, the immediate situation is more than enough to deal with.
--
You weren't supposed to survive today. No normal mortal, like you, could possibly fight with a greater angel and win. You knew it was coming, though. You have spent more than half your life raised by the priests of Tal-Roshath. You were young when your father gave you to the priests. Your last memory of home was him standing stony-faced next to your crying mother, listening to her call your name plaintively as you left.
What name was that?
Why did your father give you up, anyway? It definitely came out of your home situation.
Your mother was definitely right to fear for you, however. Tal-Roshath rightfully has had a bloody reputation since ancient times, all across the Shallow Ocean. He was a war god, with a specific focus on glorious death in battle and the spilling of blood. Even without that, Tal-Roshath, like all gods, gains power from sacrifices to him. His priests have a tradition of searching for unwanted or orphaned children. You were one of their prizes, and placed in a small group of children of similar ages to be raised. The priests were not unkind, nor did they allow the children to torment each other beyond a very basic level. You were always fed, clothed, given a dry place to sleep during the regular rainstorms, and otherwise cared for. Your education was top-notch, better than it would have been at home.
It had to be. The true hope was that through such education, they could find people able to walk one of the five paths of magic, or take to one of the enlightened martial traditions. For, of course, a hero or mage makes a much better sacrifice.
Succeed or fail, your ultimate fate is the same, and no one in the church has ever lied to you about it: you will be groomed to be as great a warrior as possible, then you will be sacrificed in ritual combat against an angel that no normal human could possibly harm.
The first to disappear from your shared class to their own, private instructions were those with some heritage related to a god or other spirit. The next were those who showed a real flair for elemental or conceptual magic. After them you lost those who learned the intricacies of tome magic or achieved enlightenment through martial training. Finally, you lost those with no initial spark for any of the above, but who managed to force success after enough training.
That left four of you. Failures, more or less. No less destined to sacrifice, but with no spark of more-than-mortal power behind it. Making the best of a bad situation, the four of you were given training to fight as a squad and counted as just one sacrifice.
You found one of the Shallow Ocean's traditional weapons to be more intuitive to handle than the others.
Today was to be the day of your sacrifice. You and your squadmates, all turned out in the rich burgundy of Tal-Roshath, clothes emblazoned with his sigil, were taken to a pre-arranged field where one of Tal-Roshath's angels was waiting for you.
The angel stayed perfectly, stoically still while the priests made respectful bows and left, then continued to stay still while you took stock of the scenery and set up to fight. The angel was a glorious figure, a humanoid figure over two and a half meters tall and carrying a sword with a length over half his own height in one hand, still with every indication that his impressively muscular figure considered this a light burden. Knowing what you have been trained, this clearly enchanted blade was still the least of your worries. His softly glowing bronze skin could deflect anything short of a battering ram, and his other hand was free specifically to allow him to use it for magical casting. He can run faster than a horse at gallop and lift a wagon over his head. A merely magical sword, on the other hand, is still just a sword. Its use or not makes no real difference.
Once the four of you were deployed, the angel took a moment to check in that you are all prepared. It's not an unkind sentiment. When his voice echoed in your head with all the impossible to misunderstand clarity of angelic speech, you clearly heard his concern... and the fact that kindness will not mean mercy this day. He heard back confirmation of your readiness.
He attacked. Even before an arrow could reach him, he was charging at you with an impossible swiftness. You were his first target. He didn't even hit you hard. It was just an off-handed gesture that summoned magical winds that picked you up, spun you through the air, shredded the burgundy tunic you wore, and dropped you back on the ground with stunning force. He was just taking you out of commission for a moment to break your formation and focus on the others.
By the time you recovered enough to sit up woozily, he was just dead.
For no reason.
Meaning you've survived what was definitely an impossible challenge.
That catches you up to now. You and your three squadmates are suddenly given a reprieve from your inevitable death.
--
"Boss... I think we're going to live." Samir cracks a smile, as much in relief as humor. With deliberate ceremony, he slowly lets his bow relax and takes the arrow off the nock with a flourish. "We're going to live!" He's giddy, bouncing from foot to foot.
Dawn, on the other hand, seems rigid with shock and horror. Her lips move in what is probably a silent prayer, judging by the pose she's making, ignoring the mace in her clasped hands. She was always the most pious of your quartet, so that's not surprising to see.
Somewhat between the two extremes is the phlegmatic Kalju. The tall, muscular spearman rests the butt of his weapon on the ground and idly scratches the side of his ribcage through one of the ventilation/showing off holes he's slashed in his burgundy tunic. You all were issued the same uniform, but only he felt like making adjustments to his. He still seems to be processing the angel's unexpected death. He glances around at the three of you, checking up.
"Did we do this? Did some sin on our part cause this?" Dawn comes out of her stunned state with a theological question.
"I don't think so. That would be a pretty dumb cause, wouldn't it?" Samir mimes cutting his own throat. "'Oh, woe is me, the sacrifices I'm here to kill aren't worthy, I should probably die instead of smiting the sinner.' Doesn't really fly."
Dawn whips to face Samir, anger flashing in her eyes. "Don't make light! This is supposed to be a holy ceremony! If something has gone wrong with it, surely we have to look to ourselves. An angel--" she stabs an accusing finger at its corpse "--isn't going to be the cause."
"Hey, chill, I'm just glad to be alive! Aren't you glad? We just got saved by a straight-up miracle! Surely that's a good thing?"
Dawn tries to suppress her anger, but is clearly a moment away from another eruption. Kalju is watching them with alarm, but hasn't come up with how to interject. He looks to you. This, of course, is why you're "boss" to them. None of them are leader types, and they tend to butt heads. You slotted nicely in as a leader and team mediator, thanks to your personality. Which is best described as...
--
Author notes
So there you have it: the central conceit of this quest is that all the existing heroes/mages/etc of this setting all died suddenly without explanation. Luckily, you were kind of a rubbish hero, so it didn't happen to you. Maybe you'll be less rubbish now that the world really, desperately needs replacements. Or maybe you'll just get in over your head! The world is just about to turn over into chaos given the sudden removal of the protectors of the current status quo, after all.
This is intended to be a fantasy action story. There won't be any visible systems; it's a narrative first and foremost. Voting will be done by simple plurality: the option with the most votes wins. If there's multiple votes in one update (like this one), I'll let you know if they're linked or independent.
This one, where we're creating our protagonist and have four different things to vote on (name, background, weapon, personality), is linked.
Anything that I missed or if you have any questions, let me know and I'll see what I can do.
Little do you know exactly how much has changed in that one minute.
--
Elsewhere...
--
The sweeper looks up, across the temple, shocked by the sudden silence. The practitioners of the Screaming Fiery Monkey style are rarely quiet in their practice, even discounting the impact of their fists or the crackle of flames. Now... none of them are moving. Bodies are strewn across the ground, with no evidence of violence beyond the usual damage to the scenery. The sweeper clutches his broom tighter, gradually trying to work up the nerve to call for someone. He's almost as afraid of hearing someone respond as not hearing anyone.
--
"Now remember," the archmage says, with a sharp rap across the youth's knuckles with his cane, even as he circles behind the youth's stool to yell over his shoulder. The youth isn't actually doing badly, but the archmage isn't about to let that stop him. "This is the most critical part of potion brewing! One slip-up here and you'll ruin the potion, or poison and injure yourself. What you need to do is..." The long pregnant pause goes on for at least two minutes before the youthful apprentice convinces himself this isn't just a dramatic pause and turns. Here he finds his mentor crumpled into a pile. If not for the archmage's eyes being locked wide open and his lack of breathing, he might just be sleeping. The youth stares. Behind him, the complex alchemical set-up bubbles ever harder.
--
The under-priests of Bel-Kirandu, god of forests and hearths, survey the scene from within hoods that conceal almost all of their faces. Moments ago, their god slowly keeled over and died with what sounded like a soft sigh of contentment. Everyone who had had a powerful Contract with Bel-Kirandu, which meant the upper priesthood, died, too. So did the bound demon they'd been keeping prisoner. The floor of Bel-Kirandu's palace, attached to his main temple, is an abattoir. One of their number finally speaks, breaking the numb horror that has been holding them. "There's... a service tonight. The people are expecting to see Bel-Kirandu!" None of the others have an answer for him.
--
The farmer rubs his hands in glee. A dead dragon! Out in that stupid rocky field that keeps damaging his plows! He doesn't know how it got there, nor does he particularly care. Whatever has killed it, he is the one who could turn this into a money-maker. Dreams of selling access to rubberneckers, and maybe turn a profit selling bits of the body, dance across his imagination. "What great luck!" He turns back to yell at his daughter. "Viviendra! Run into town and find that boyfriend of yours who knows how to write!"
--
It strikes silently, instantly, without warning, unstoppably. All across the Shallow Ocean, from the rare depths to the most distant isles, from rarefied mountain peaks to bustling city squares, they die. Every being of significant personal power falls dead simultaneously, from no discernible cause and without any sign of distress beforehand. Mature magical beasts leave behind mewling young. Archmages and heroes leave weak, traumatized apprentices. Great spirits and tame demons leave kings and princesses without their ultimate fallback power. All the gods and angels who had walked with the men and women of the world, guiding and protecting their worshipers, are all torn away simultaneously.
It will take time for anyone to recognize the universality of it, and at least a little longer for anyone to begin to act on it.
For you, though, the immediate situation is more than enough to deal with.
--
You weren't supposed to survive today. No normal mortal, like you, could possibly fight with a greater angel and win. You knew it was coming, though. You have spent more than half your life raised by the priests of Tal-Roshath. You were young when your father gave you to the priests. Your last memory of home was him standing stony-faced next to your crying mother, listening to her call your name plaintively as you left.
What name was that?
[] Write-in (include gender if not obvious)
Why did your father give you up, anyway? It definitely came out of your home situation.
[] Minor noble. Eldest child of a boyar far from the centers of power. You're not sure why your father took umbrage to you, but he was anxious to have you sent off to Tal-Roshath's priests. You have a minor claim to a noble title, familiarity with many of the peers (by name if not by fleeting introduction) and the etiquette to not seem out of place.
[] Artisan class. Eldest child of a smith who embraced the recent innovation of a water-powered drop hammer, which proved a deeply profitable investment. Your family's piety meant that your father chose to show his thankfulness to the gods in a very sacrificial way: sending his beloved child to serve a god. You have a talent for handling money efficiently or following money trails.
[] Subsistence. Eldest child of an impoverished fisherman, and that was before raids took away the village's food stores and wrecked the boats. You were given to the priests because there was no way to feed you otherwise. Your upbringing does mean you are good at survival, hunting, and serving on small boats.
[] Artisan class. Eldest child of a smith who embraced the recent innovation of a water-powered drop hammer, which proved a deeply profitable investment. Your family's piety meant that your father chose to show his thankfulness to the gods in a very sacrificial way: sending his beloved child to serve a god. You have a talent for handling money efficiently or following money trails.
[] Subsistence. Eldest child of an impoverished fisherman, and that was before raids took away the village's food stores and wrecked the boats. You were given to the priests because there was no way to feed you otherwise. Your upbringing does mean you are good at survival, hunting, and serving on small boats.
Your mother was definitely right to fear for you, however. Tal-Roshath rightfully has had a bloody reputation since ancient times, all across the Shallow Ocean. He was a war god, with a specific focus on glorious death in battle and the spilling of blood. Even without that, Tal-Roshath, like all gods, gains power from sacrifices to him. His priests have a tradition of searching for unwanted or orphaned children. You were one of their prizes, and placed in a small group of children of similar ages to be raised. The priests were not unkind, nor did they allow the children to torment each other beyond a very basic level. You were always fed, clothed, given a dry place to sleep during the regular rainstorms, and otherwise cared for. Your education was top-notch, better than it would have been at home.
It had to be. The true hope was that through such education, they could find people able to walk one of the five paths of magic, or take to one of the enlightened martial traditions. For, of course, a hero or mage makes a much better sacrifice.
Succeed or fail, your ultimate fate is the same, and no one in the church has ever lied to you about it: you will be groomed to be as great a warrior as possible, then you will be sacrificed in ritual combat against an angel that no normal human could possibly harm.
The first to disappear from your shared class to their own, private instructions were those with some heritage related to a god or other spirit. The next were those who showed a real flair for elemental or conceptual magic. After them you lost those who learned the intricacies of tome magic or achieved enlightenment through martial training. Finally, you lost those with no initial spark for any of the above, but who managed to force success after enough training.
That left four of you. Failures, more or less. No less destined to sacrifice, but with no spark of more-than-mortal power behind it. Making the best of a bad situation, the four of you were given training to fight as a squad and counted as just one sacrifice.
You found one of the Shallow Ocean's traditional weapons to be more intuitive to handle than the others.
[] Spear. A sharp metal tip on a wooden haft, cut to be a good length for a fight on ship as well as on land. Traditional Shallow Ocean styles emphasize using it as not simply a thrusting weapon, but also a quarterstaff when in very close quarters. Spearmen also often carry a brace of shorter javelins.
[] Bow. The king of ranged combat is the composite shortbow, made from a combination of wood and horn. A selection of arrows are used to deal with specific targets, from hunting animals to dealing with shields to cutting rigging. Archers rely on quick movement and a little dagger training in close combat.
[] Sword and shield. A single-edged short blade a little longer than a forearm and hand is paired with a small shield. Considered a mainstay everywhere, this is a flexible, classic choice. Countless schools of swordsmanship and fencing teach various styles and emphasize slight differences in blade and shield.
[] Mace and shield. A style favored by monster hunters and ceremonial guards. A heavy mace and large shield are simple, reliable weapons, if heavy. The weight of the mace and the shield's blocking ability are useful in cracking the hard shells or similar defense of many monsters, as well as holding any line.
[] Cestus and sling. Simple weapons that can be disguised as clothing and offer only a modest improvement over bare-handed combat, which often indicates someone with an extra trick up their sleeve: magic, enlightened martial arts, a stealthy approach, poison, a ferocious grappling style, or the like. Sling bullets are not as hard-hitting as arrows, and offer far less range.
[] Bow. The king of ranged combat is the composite shortbow, made from a combination of wood and horn. A selection of arrows are used to deal with specific targets, from hunting animals to dealing with shields to cutting rigging. Archers rely on quick movement and a little dagger training in close combat.
[] Sword and shield. A single-edged short blade a little longer than a forearm and hand is paired with a small shield. Considered a mainstay everywhere, this is a flexible, classic choice. Countless schools of swordsmanship and fencing teach various styles and emphasize slight differences in blade and shield.
[] Mace and shield. A style favored by monster hunters and ceremonial guards. A heavy mace and large shield are simple, reliable weapons, if heavy. The weight of the mace and the shield's blocking ability are useful in cracking the hard shells or similar defense of many monsters, as well as holding any line.
[] Cestus and sling. Simple weapons that can be disguised as clothing and offer only a modest improvement over bare-handed combat, which often indicates someone with an extra trick up their sleeve: magic, enlightened martial arts, a stealthy approach, poison, a ferocious grappling style, or the like. Sling bullets are not as hard-hitting as arrows, and offer far less range.
Today was to be the day of your sacrifice. You and your squadmates, all turned out in the rich burgundy of Tal-Roshath, clothes emblazoned with his sigil, were taken to a pre-arranged field where one of Tal-Roshath's angels was waiting for you.
The angel stayed perfectly, stoically still while the priests made respectful bows and left, then continued to stay still while you took stock of the scenery and set up to fight. The angel was a glorious figure, a humanoid figure over two and a half meters tall and carrying a sword with a length over half his own height in one hand, still with every indication that his impressively muscular figure considered this a light burden. Knowing what you have been trained, this clearly enchanted blade was still the least of your worries. His softly glowing bronze skin could deflect anything short of a battering ram, and his other hand was free specifically to allow him to use it for magical casting. He can run faster than a horse at gallop and lift a wagon over his head. A merely magical sword, on the other hand, is still just a sword. Its use or not makes no real difference.
Once the four of you were deployed, the angel took a moment to check in that you are all prepared. It's not an unkind sentiment. When his voice echoed in your head with all the impossible to misunderstand clarity of angelic speech, you clearly heard his concern... and the fact that kindness will not mean mercy this day. He heard back confirmation of your readiness.
He attacked. Even before an arrow could reach him, he was charging at you with an impossible swiftness. You were his first target. He didn't even hit you hard. It was just an off-handed gesture that summoned magical winds that picked you up, spun you through the air, shredded the burgundy tunic you wore, and dropped you back on the ground with stunning force. He was just taking you out of commission for a moment to break your formation and focus on the others.
By the time you recovered enough to sit up woozily, he was just dead.
For no reason.
Meaning you've survived what was definitely an impossible challenge.
That catches you up to now. You and your three squadmates are suddenly given a reprieve from your inevitable death.
--
"Boss... I think we're going to live." Samir cracks a smile, as much in relief as humor. With deliberate ceremony, he slowly lets his bow relax and takes the arrow off the nock with a flourish. "We're going to live!" He's giddy, bouncing from foot to foot.
Dawn, on the other hand, seems rigid with shock and horror. Her lips move in what is probably a silent prayer, judging by the pose she's making, ignoring the mace in her clasped hands. She was always the most pious of your quartet, so that's not surprising to see.
Somewhat between the two extremes is the phlegmatic Kalju. The tall, muscular spearman rests the butt of his weapon on the ground and idly scratches the side of his ribcage through one of the ventilation/showing off holes he's slashed in his burgundy tunic. You all were issued the same uniform, but only he felt like making adjustments to his. He still seems to be processing the angel's unexpected death. He glances around at the three of you, checking up.
"Did we do this? Did some sin on our part cause this?" Dawn comes out of her stunned state with a theological question.
"I don't think so. That would be a pretty dumb cause, wouldn't it?" Samir mimes cutting his own throat. "'Oh, woe is me, the sacrifices I'm here to kill aren't worthy, I should probably die instead of smiting the sinner.' Doesn't really fly."
Dawn whips to face Samir, anger flashing in her eyes. "Don't make light! This is supposed to be a holy ceremony! If something has gone wrong with it, surely we have to look to ourselves. An angel--" she stabs an accusing finger at its corpse "--isn't going to be the cause."
"Hey, chill, I'm just glad to be alive! Aren't you glad? We just got saved by a straight-up miracle! Surely that's a good thing?"
Dawn tries to suppress her anger, but is clearly a moment away from another eruption. Kalju is watching them with alarm, but hasn't come up with how to interject. He looks to you. This, of course, is why you're "boss" to them. None of them are leader types, and they tend to butt heads. You slotted nicely in as a leader and team mediator, thanks to your personality. Which is best described as...
[] Cocky. Despite the setbacks of life, you're always self-assured (or smug, if the person describing you doesn't like you), and this self-assurance makes people want to go along with you. People follow because you don't get them a chance to think about not following you.
[] Educated. You truly excelled in your scholastics and other studies, and just knowing enough is good enough a lot of the time. People trust that you know what you're talking about because you really do know what you're talking about.
[] Good listener. You have exactly the sort of active listening skills that make people know you've listened to their concerns, even if you disagree afterwards. You rarely speak without good reason, and people know to listen when you do.
[] Write in. Why are you the leader?
[] Educated. You truly excelled in your scholastics and other studies, and just knowing enough is good enough a lot of the time. People trust that you know what you're talking about because you really do know what you're talking about.
[] Good listener. You have exactly the sort of active listening skills that make people know you've listened to their concerns, even if you disagree afterwards. You rarely speak without good reason, and people know to listen when you do.
[] Write in. Why are you the leader?
--
Author notes
So there you have it: the central conceit of this quest is that all the existing heroes/mages/etc of this setting all died suddenly without explanation. Luckily, you were kind of a rubbish hero, so it didn't happen to you. Maybe you'll be less rubbish now that the world really, desperately needs replacements. Or maybe you'll just get in over your head! The world is just about to turn over into chaos given the sudden removal of the protectors of the current status quo, after all.
This is intended to be a fantasy action story. There won't be any visible systems; it's a narrative first and foremost. Voting will be done by simple plurality: the option with the most votes wins. If there's multiple votes in one update (like this one), I'll let you know if they're linked or independent.
This one, where we're creating our protagonist and have four different things to vote on (name, background, weapon, personality), is linked.
Anything that I missed or if you have any questions, let me know and I'll see what I can do.
A cairn for your executioner
- Pronouns
- They/Them
You sigh, realizing you're going to have to break in before these two hurt each other. "Hold on," you start. Both Dawn and Samir give you a look and a moment to speak. "It's important that we figure out what happened." You gesture at the angel again. "But that's not going to change where we are now. Let's figure out what to do next, and then we can figure out why. If we're not going to die today, then we should figure out dinner by this evening. I didn't bring any food. Did you?"
It's a silly question. None of you brought food, for the extremely simple reason that you weren't going to be alive to eat it. "All right," Dawn agrees, looking somewhat abashed. "But... I do want to bury him properly." You know this is about where Dawn will draw a line. The angel is going to be buried before you can get her away from here.
You take your first look around your immediate surroundings as anything more than a combat arena. The field of battle is a relatively narrow gulley, perhaps twenty meters across, with sloping side filled with rocky debris. You consider the challenge of digging deep into a tough, rocky ground with no real shovels and doing enough of it to bury someone half again a human size. "How about a cairn?" you suggest. The other three look at you. "We can knock down some of the rocks above. A cairn is probably the best we're going to be able to manage here."
Dawn visibly relaxes. This may be hard work, but at least she has a plan she can follow, now.
Samir, by far the most energetic of your crew, dances up to you while you're figuring out the details of the rockfall you'll use to make the cairn. "Y'know, boss, that angel has some magic items he's not using," he says, quietly. "It'd be a real waste to leave 'em here, don't you think?" He gives you an impish grin, hoping you'll be willing to do this. If you're going to make the effort, surely it only makes sense to profit from it? Dawn wouldn't agree, of course, but how much do you agree with her? On the other hand, how worth it is it for you to take powerful items if you don't know what they'll do? Or what about the danger of leaving them?
[] Take something (pick all that apply)
-[] Gleaming sword. Huge and lengthy, this impossibly massive weapon is not something you could imagine using as a weapon, but you could cart it around as a trophy.
-[] Cracked crown. Enscribed with magical signs of protection and resilience, this would be a powerful defense if it weren't broken. You don't know why it's broken, but you have an optimistic thought it might be fixable.
-[] Irregular pendant. This stone on a thread around the angel's neck is definitely magic, but you have no idea what it's for. It's not even particularly shiny. At least it's easily portable.
[] Leave it all
(Voting for majority take something vs take nothing; if 'take something' wins, what you take is the most popular plan for items.)
Even as you apply yourself to burying the angel, you find yourself thinking ahead a bit. It's not just dinner. You've been given a lease on life that you've literally never had before. Ever since your father sent you off to the temple, you've never had a real future. Your father stressed just how great an honor this was before you were sent away, the priests never gave you any other options, and... now your life's ahead of you again. Unless, of course, when you return to civilization you find that Tal-Roshath's priests put you up against another angel and pretend this fight never happened.
That said, there's only one place to go, really. This island, Millow, isn't much of a place to be. There's a few small, mostly subsistence farms and fishing enclaves, the sort of light habitation that's everywhere across the Shallow Ocean. The only location of note, with the only deep-water harbor, and thus the only place to do anything more than just barely eke out a living, is the town unimaginatively named Millowburg. Its big claim to fame is that it has some good ropewalks, where the local agriculture is turned into lines and rigging for larger ships. On your last trip through, when you were being taken to the angel's battlefield, it seemed at least as boring as that all sounds.
Nonetheless, you're going to have to go back through Millowburg if you're not going to spend the rest of your life here, meaning that you need to figure out what approach is right for the four of you to use when you re-enter town, where you can expect to run into the same priests who brought you here. You have roughly three general options you can think of for how to re-enter town.
[] You could stride back in, declaring victory in battle, and attract as much attention as possible to your glorious feat. This would be the most dramatic possible entry, attracting attention in the hopes that more positive than negative comes from the spotlight.
[] You could just walk back in and pretend everything is normal and you just have legitimate business here. You'd hope to find information and opportunities without drawing attention to yourself
[] You could wait. You might have a hungry day or so, but most likely someone, like the priests, will come by and check on you. You can decide what to do then. If no one comes, you can find your own way out after the priests should have all gone back to the capital city.
(independent from the other vote)
It's a silly question. None of you brought food, for the extremely simple reason that you weren't going to be alive to eat it. "All right," Dawn agrees, looking somewhat abashed. "But... I do want to bury him properly." You know this is about where Dawn will draw a line. The angel is going to be buried before you can get her away from here.
You take your first look around your immediate surroundings as anything more than a combat arena. The field of battle is a relatively narrow gulley, perhaps twenty meters across, with sloping side filled with rocky debris. You consider the challenge of digging deep into a tough, rocky ground with no real shovels and doing enough of it to bury someone half again a human size. "How about a cairn?" you suggest. The other three look at you. "We can knock down some of the rocks above. A cairn is probably the best we're going to be able to manage here."
Dawn visibly relaxes. This may be hard work, but at least she has a plan she can follow, now.
Samir, by far the most energetic of your crew, dances up to you while you're figuring out the details of the rockfall you'll use to make the cairn. "Y'know, boss, that angel has some magic items he's not using," he says, quietly. "It'd be a real waste to leave 'em here, don't you think?" He gives you an impish grin, hoping you'll be willing to do this. If you're going to make the effort, surely it only makes sense to profit from it? Dawn wouldn't agree, of course, but how much do you agree with her? On the other hand, how worth it is it for you to take powerful items if you don't know what they'll do? Or what about the danger of leaving them?
[] Take something (pick all that apply)
-[] Gleaming sword. Huge and lengthy, this impossibly massive weapon is not something you could imagine using as a weapon, but you could cart it around as a trophy.
-[] Cracked crown. Enscribed with magical signs of protection and resilience, this would be a powerful defense if it weren't broken. You don't know why it's broken, but you have an optimistic thought it might be fixable.
-[] Irregular pendant. This stone on a thread around the angel's neck is definitely magic, but you have no idea what it's for. It's not even particularly shiny. At least it's easily portable.
[] Leave it all
(Voting for majority take something vs take nothing; if 'take something' wins, what you take is the most popular plan for items.)
Even as you apply yourself to burying the angel, you find yourself thinking ahead a bit. It's not just dinner. You've been given a lease on life that you've literally never had before. Ever since your father sent you off to the temple, you've never had a real future. Your father stressed just how great an honor this was before you were sent away, the priests never gave you any other options, and... now your life's ahead of you again. Unless, of course, when you return to civilization you find that Tal-Roshath's priests put you up against another angel and pretend this fight never happened.
That said, there's only one place to go, really. This island, Millow, isn't much of a place to be. There's a few small, mostly subsistence farms and fishing enclaves, the sort of light habitation that's everywhere across the Shallow Ocean. The only location of note, with the only deep-water harbor, and thus the only place to do anything more than just barely eke out a living, is the town unimaginatively named Millowburg. Its big claim to fame is that it has some good ropewalks, where the local agriculture is turned into lines and rigging for larger ships. On your last trip through, when you were being taken to the angel's battlefield, it seemed at least as boring as that all sounds.
Nonetheless, you're going to have to go back through Millowburg if you're not going to spend the rest of your life here, meaning that you need to figure out what approach is right for the four of you to use when you re-enter town, where you can expect to run into the same priests who brought you here. You have roughly three general options you can think of for how to re-enter town.
[] You could stride back in, declaring victory in battle, and attract as much attention as possible to your glorious feat. This would be the most dramatic possible entry, attracting attention in the hopes that more positive than negative comes from the spotlight.
[] You could just walk back in and pretend everything is normal and you just have legitimate business here. You'd hope to find information and opportunities without drawing attention to yourself
[] You could wait. You might have a hungry day or so, but most likely someone, like the priests, will come by and check on you. You can decide what to do then. If no one comes, you can find your own way out after the priests should have all gone back to the capital city.
(independent from the other vote)
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A long walk in a little rain
- Pronouns
- They/Them
You leave the angel with his sword clasped in his hands. It seems appropriate, and Dawn seems relatively satisfied that the angel's dignity was maintained. The rest of its goods, you strip. It might come in handy later, after all. The inexplicable stone pendant is something you can slip into a pocket. The cracked crown is a little harder of a challenge, since it is also built to the angel's more-than-mortal scale. Trying to wear it would have it fall straight past your head and rest on both shoulders. In the end, you end up wrapping it in the shreds of your ruined burgundy tunic, to at least hide it from sight, and have Kalju add it to his pack.
This does mean you're shirtless, but this part of the Shallow Ocean is downright tropical. By itself, it won't turn any heads to have another shirtless man on the street. When combined with Kalju's modifications to his own tunic, it doesn't look like the four of you are in a uniform, just that you have a color scheme you all like.
It's that element that convinces you that you should just walk back to town. You don't know where you're going to go yet, but it does have to go through the harbor there. You don't have much money on you, but you do have enough for at least a couple days' food and shelter, if the four of you are okay sleeping in a common area. Mentally, you begin tallying what everyone's things are worth, in case it comes to selling it off. Hopefully, it won't come to that. Even a trip as common hands aboard a merchant ship would be preferable.
The battlefield, now the angel's grave, was up in the higher, central part of the island. The little-used footpath shows your footprints and the footprints of the priests as the only recent additions. It's a walk of several miles to get back to the sparse agriculture, and longer yet to get to town. A thin, warm rain drizzles all over you starting early afternoon, and it's closer to evening by the time you get to Millowburg.
No one really pays you much mind. If they're out in the rain, it's because they have business. IF they have business to attend to, bothering armed strangers in the rain is not something they want to do instead. Gradually thickening clusters of buildings tell you when you're in town, and the mingled foul smell of harbors and the salt scene of the open ocean tell you that you've arrived, but the actual waterfront and the thicket of masts in the harbor are hidden by poor visibility.
You find an inn to spend the night in before it gets too dark. As expected, the only place with any artificial light is the common room. People, some local and some sailors, find friends to laugh and game with or find a quieter corner to take their cheap food and alcohol. It's not until you find all four of you squeezed along a little bench with some bland soup that you realize who else is in the room, part of the largest knot of people.
"You ass. Demanding a magic trick? Why the hell would I do that? I'm not a performing monkey." The speaker is a short, loud woman dressed as a priestess of Tal-Roshath, complete with his holy symbol around her neck. The frowning man she's shouting at looks to be one of the locals, who's probably a little worse for his alcohol.
You glance up at Kalju. He nods affirmatively, knowing that for all your head for numbers and goods, you don't have his memory for faces, especially pretty faces. "She was with us on the trip out," he says, quietly, without the theatrical whisper that could attract attention. "Said she was a new priestess. She seemed proud of her contract with Tal-Roshath. I didn't catch her name."
The frowning man considers her response. "But... aren't you supposed to use your magic to recruit more people for your god? Isn't showing that going to help? I just wanna see some magic."
"And then what, you ass? I snap my fingers, I blow something in here up, you owe me for the spellcasting and owe the owner for destroying his property! Should I?" She waves a threateningly poised-to-snap finger under his nose. "I serve a war god! You'd be lucky if it didn't kill someone!"
You begin to consider if you should duck out before she potentially recognizes you, assuming she knows your faces. Before you can finish weighing up if you should, the door slams open. By itself, that isn't enough to disrupt the room, but a bleeding, staggering man screaming as he half-falls in is. "Zombie!"
The room falls quiet over the course of a couple seconds as he continues. "There's a zombie out there!" The newcomer is cradling one arm with the other, and the injured arm looks badly broken. "I thought it was just a drunk guy, but it's a zombie in the street!"
From where you sit, you have a coincidentally decent view through the one window in the inn. The street is too dark with the full fall of night to see much. There could be a hundred zombies hidden in the dark. The rest of the inn patrons don't sit around. A few kind souls move to help the injured man. The others cluster around the priestess and push her towards the door, with encouragement. "There's your target, miss!" "C'mon, go beat it." "A zombie? You gotta protect us."
They push her out the door and slam it behind her. They crowd the window, so you can't see as well, but they do quiet down, waiting for the show.
You make her out straightening herself up, and taking a bold stance as she looks into the deep dark. A new figure lurches up to her, one you cannot see much of at all. She holds out her hand to it. "Stop! In the name of Tal-Roshath, flee, you foul thing!" It continues to come at her. "Tal-Roshath!" There's an undeniable edge of panic in her tone. "Heed me!" For a long breath, nothing happens. "Well, crap," she continues in a more normal tone, before she suddenly bolts.
She just... runs off. The zombie shambles after her with a surprising turn of speed, following her down the street.
You had been planning not to draw attention to yourself. Should that change? You know Samir, Dawn, and Kalju will follow your lead, and one zombie shouldn't be a problem against four or five fighters.
[] No. This is not my problem. Someone else can fight a zombie tonight.
[] Yes. If someone is in trouble, you want to help them.
[] The zombie needs to be dealt with, but the priestess isn't your concern.
This does mean you're shirtless, but this part of the Shallow Ocean is downright tropical. By itself, it won't turn any heads to have another shirtless man on the street. When combined with Kalju's modifications to his own tunic, it doesn't look like the four of you are in a uniform, just that you have a color scheme you all like.
It's that element that convinces you that you should just walk back to town. You don't know where you're going to go yet, but it does have to go through the harbor there. You don't have much money on you, but you do have enough for at least a couple days' food and shelter, if the four of you are okay sleeping in a common area. Mentally, you begin tallying what everyone's things are worth, in case it comes to selling it off. Hopefully, it won't come to that. Even a trip as common hands aboard a merchant ship would be preferable.
The battlefield, now the angel's grave, was up in the higher, central part of the island. The little-used footpath shows your footprints and the footprints of the priests as the only recent additions. It's a walk of several miles to get back to the sparse agriculture, and longer yet to get to town. A thin, warm rain drizzles all over you starting early afternoon, and it's closer to evening by the time you get to Millowburg.
No one really pays you much mind. If they're out in the rain, it's because they have business. IF they have business to attend to, bothering armed strangers in the rain is not something they want to do instead. Gradually thickening clusters of buildings tell you when you're in town, and the mingled foul smell of harbors and the salt scene of the open ocean tell you that you've arrived, but the actual waterfront and the thicket of masts in the harbor are hidden by poor visibility.
You find an inn to spend the night in before it gets too dark. As expected, the only place with any artificial light is the common room. People, some local and some sailors, find friends to laugh and game with or find a quieter corner to take their cheap food and alcohol. It's not until you find all four of you squeezed along a little bench with some bland soup that you realize who else is in the room, part of the largest knot of people.
"You ass. Demanding a magic trick? Why the hell would I do that? I'm not a performing monkey." The speaker is a short, loud woman dressed as a priestess of Tal-Roshath, complete with his holy symbol around her neck. The frowning man she's shouting at looks to be one of the locals, who's probably a little worse for his alcohol.
You glance up at Kalju. He nods affirmatively, knowing that for all your head for numbers and goods, you don't have his memory for faces, especially pretty faces. "She was with us on the trip out," he says, quietly, without the theatrical whisper that could attract attention. "Said she was a new priestess. She seemed proud of her contract with Tal-Roshath. I didn't catch her name."
The frowning man considers her response. "But... aren't you supposed to use your magic to recruit more people for your god? Isn't showing that going to help? I just wanna see some magic."
"And then what, you ass? I snap my fingers, I blow something in here up, you owe me for the spellcasting and owe the owner for destroying his property! Should I?" She waves a threateningly poised-to-snap finger under his nose. "I serve a war god! You'd be lucky if it didn't kill someone!"
You begin to consider if you should duck out before she potentially recognizes you, assuming she knows your faces. Before you can finish weighing up if you should, the door slams open. By itself, that isn't enough to disrupt the room, but a bleeding, staggering man screaming as he half-falls in is. "Zombie!"
The room falls quiet over the course of a couple seconds as he continues. "There's a zombie out there!" The newcomer is cradling one arm with the other, and the injured arm looks badly broken. "I thought it was just a drunk guy, but it's a zombie in the street!"
From where you sit, you have a coincidentally decent view through the one window in the inn. The street is too dark with the full fall of night to see much. There could be a hundred zombies hidden in the dark. The rest of the inn patrons don't sit around. A few kind souls move to help the injured man. The others cluster around the priestess and push her towards the door, with encouragement. "There's your target, miss!" "C'mon, go beat it." "A zombie? You gotta protect us."
They push her out the door and slam it behind her. They crowd the window, so you can't see as well, but they do quiet down, waiting for the show.
You make her out straightening herself up, and taking a bold stance as she looks into the deep dark. A new figure lurches up to her, one you cannot see much of at all. She holds out her hand to it. "Stop! In the name of Tal-Roshath, flee, you foul thing!" It continues to come at her. "Tal-Roshath!" There's an undeniable edge of panic in her tone. "Heed me!" For a long breath, nothing happens. "Well, crap," she continues in a more normal tone, before she suddenly bolts.
She just... runs off. The zombie shambles after her with a surprising turn of speed, following her down the street.
You had been planning not to draw attention to yourself. Should that change? You know Samir, Dawn, and Kalju will follow your lead, and one zombie shouldn't be a problem against four or five fighters.
[] No. This is not my problem. Someone else can fight a zombie tonight.
[] Yes. If someone is in trouble, you want to help them.
[] The zombie needs to be dealt with, but the priestess isn't your concern.
A nighttime tussle
- Pronouns
- They/Them
You come to a snap decision: if someone needs help, you need to help. Your squad has training and weapons, which is probably more than anyone else here has. "Dawn, with me." She nods. The two of you get your shields out and use them as a kind of polite battering ram, forcing your way through the crowd to the door. Given this new opportunity for a spectacle, people don't fight, and you get the same sort of shouted encouragement that the priestess got.
What you know about zombies flits through your mind. They're the weakest, lowest type of undead, a corpse animated again by magic. There are a few varieties within that simple description, though. Some are natural, when ambient magic takes on just the wrong characteristic, and others are the result of a magic user. At least three of the five paths of magic can allow the creation and control of zombies, so that doesn't tell you much. Zombies also occasionally have a bit of an extra edge to them: the animating magic is a blood substitute, literally running through their veins and serving to move and enhance their muscles. Some of the more powerful zombies have enough resistance with this magic that they are barely hurt by blades. Despite comforting stories, removing the head or destroying the brain isn't a sure-fire kill on a zombie: they collapse when they suffer enough damage that the animating magic can't keep them together and active.
You remember a training session, back at the temple. Your squad was placed against a middling zombie, to help demonstrate how to fight against a foe with more raw strength than you have. Of course, that was a training session, with no actual risk to it, but it still gives you at least some baseline. "Which way did it go?" you ask, as you get out the door. The crowd behind you obligingly points exactly which direction the priestess and zombie disappeared. Without discussing it, the four of you fall into a formation. You and Dawn, shields out and sword and mace in the other hand, take point side-by-side. Samir, the archer, takes the central position. Kalju watches the rear.
Your ears alert you before your still-adjusting eyes do. The priestess is ahead of you, as you can hear her voice shouting some invective. There's a cracking sound, as she hurls some debris at the zombie, which shrugs off the impact completely. The zombie's uneven pace is deceptive, you realize. It looks awkward, but it's got such a long stride that it can keep up something like a jogging pace... and it doesn't get tired. It's not too surprising that she's failed to get away, and in the darkness she managed to turn down what looked like a street and ended in the blank back wall of some other building. She threw something at it as her attempt to distract it before trying to run past.
She wouldn't have made it, except the zombie's mindless attention was momentarily distracted as it noticed you, too. In your haste to save her, you got close quickly, and she barrels into your line, almost knocking Dawn over and disrupting the formation you had with Dawn. Both of you are thus off-balance as the priestess scampers behind Kalju and the zombie comes at you with an overhead blow. You get your shield up, blocking the blow, but you stumble from it.
Then the zombie is between you and Dawn. Its attention is on you. It attacks you with a flat-palm slap. You counter with your sword, catching it at the wrist, but your blade bites barely a centimeter in. You grimace. It's a fairly powerful zombie, then. And it's wildly aggressive, too. It has no sense of self-preservation or tactics, just attacking anyone it can find. It has no compunction about coming straight at you, and you are forced to take a step back as it tries to climb over your shield, grab at your weapon hand, stamp on your foot...
Dawn comes to the rescue. She swings her mace at it and strikes it square in the back, making a horrible cracking noise. The zombie may be insensate to pain, but that doesn't mean it's immune to damage. Kalju follows up with a two-handed thrust from his spear. It barely penetrates into the zombie's side further than your sword slash did, but with enough force it knocks the zombie back. Samir has his bow half-drawn, but he's standing back, and no wonder. He isn't going to be able to hurt the zombie unless he can put an arrow somewhere where it would actually lock up the zombie's joints, and that sort of pin-point accuracy is impossible for a normal warrior in the dark under the active conditions of a real battle.
Luckily, it isn't going to be needed. Kalju's attack gives you and Dawn a moment to settle in, shoulder-to-shoulder. From here, the fight is all but settled. It's a long, brutal, bloody fight, as the two of you block its attacks with your shields, and the two of you and Kalju chip away at it, battering at it with weapons that barely injure it but gradually turn it into the sort of mess that even magic won't keep animated. "Long" in a real fight to the death translates to perhaps three minutes. Finally, though, the zombie collapses. Kalju pokes it with his spear, just to be safe, but it wasn't cunning enough to try anything.
That leaves the priestess. She has been hiding behind Samir, despite both of them being almost equally short. You pause and clean off your sword. She comes out from behind him.
"Sorry about almost getting you killed when I ran past you," she says to Dawn, without seeming particularly apologetic. "I was just trying to get away from the zombie that was trying to tear my face off. Won't happen again. Hey... you're those sacrifices we were taking to the angel! You're..." She snaps her fingers a few times, as she tries to think of your names.
"Azer," you supply, and quickly introduce the other three, as everyone tries to catch their breath.
"Yeah, sorry. It's just when someone with a burgundy tunic leaves the ship, I just expect them to die, so I didn't bother to learn your names. Oh, I'm Zahira."
"Where are the other priests?" Dawn asks.
"Look," Zahira says, "Can we... not? I just almost got killed. Let's find an inn that's not the one where people shoved me into the street to fight a monster." She senses your hesitation. "I'll pay. We can talk in the morning."
- -
In the end, you accept her offer. You and Zahira end up being the first to rise, giving you time to chat with her over a minimal breakfast. Once the required small talk is settled, you repeat Dawn's question. "Well, they're dead. Stupid, isn't it? The priests all die and I can't use magic and the sacrifices are okay."
"Dead?" You probe.
"Yeah, it was the strangest thing. After we left you with the angel, we went away to pray at a cliffside. Then, suddenly, everyone else died. Just flopped over and stopped breathing. It was really creepy. I tried to call on Tal-Roshath's power, just as a reflexive defense, and it didn't work. I don't understand it. Anyway, after I calmed down, I grabbed all their valuables and threw their bodies off the cliff."
You choke. "You did what?"
"I went through their pockets," Zahira says slowly, as if explaining to someone very dumb, "then pushed them off the cliff into the ocean. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same."
The rock in your pocket suddenly feels three times as heavy as it did a moment ago. "Well... maybe they should have gotten a real burial?"
"They did. I said the proper words for a water burial, and they went into the ocean. My turn. How are you all still alive, and what happened to your shirt?"
You sketch out the previous day's events for her, briefly. By the time you're done, the others have filtered in. Samir spends a little time bouncing around the room and chatting to anyone else he can, which is pretty usual behavior on the archer's part.
He comes up to you while Zahira is up and checking on something. "Boss," he says, with a serious look, "Weird story going around. Turns out that this morning some people found a destroyed zombie in an alley. They recognized the face. He was the town's chief mage."
You shake your head. "What's with all these weird deaths?"
"I dunno, boss."
Zahira comes back to your table. "I was checking on ships," she says without preamble. "Seems like every ship that employed a ship mage had them all die yesterday. The ones still with a planned departure didn't have one. One's headed back to the capital. Did you want to come along? I'll pay passage and put in a good word for you when we get this all straightened out at the capital. Just being a sacrifice is a waste of you lot, I think."
You consider. The truth of the matter is that you've never really had a chance to see the world. After you left home, you went straight to Tal-Roshath's temple and rarely had a chance to step outside it after that. You could take her up on this offer, or... see if you can find better options.
[] Take Zahira up on her offer, and go back to the capital. Things should make sense there.
[] Take Zahira up on the offer, but abandon her immediately when you get there. You can make your own way in the big city and don't owe her anything.
[] Just say no to this. You'll find better opportunities if you wait.
- -
The last option can be paired with a write-in, if you would like, but it is not mandatory. So far you haven't had that much exposure to the setting, so I do have something lined up for story, regardless.
What you know about zombies flits through your mind. They're the weakest, lowest type of undead, a corpse animated again by magic. There are a few varieties within that simple description, though. Some are natural, when ambient magic takes on just the wrong characteristic, and others are the result of a magic user. At least three of the five paths of magic can allow the creation and control of zombies, so that doesn't tell you much. Zombies also occasionally have a bit of an extra edge to them: the animating magic is a blood substitute, literally running through their veins and serving to move and enhance their muscles. Some of the more powerful zombies have enough resistance with this magic that they are barely hurt by blades. Despite comforting stories, removing the head or destroying the brain isn't a sure-fire kill on a zombie: they collapse when they suffer enough damage that the animating magic can't keep them together and active.
You remember a training session, back at the temple. Your squad was placed against a middling zombie, to help demonstrate how to fight against a foe with more raw strength than you have. Of course, that was a training session, with no actual risk to it, but it still gives you at least some baseline. "Which way did it go?" you ask, as you get out the door. The crowd behind you obligingly points exactly which direction the priestess and zombie disappeared. Without discussing it, the four of you fall into a formation. You and Dawn, shields out and sword and mace in the other hand, take point side-by-side. Samir, the archer, takes the central position. Kalju watches the rear.
Your ears alert you before your still-adjusting eyes do. The priestess is ahead of you, as you can hear her voice shouting some invective. There's a cracking sound, as she hurls some debris at the zombie, which shrugs off the impact completely. The zombie's uneven pace is deceptive, you realize. It looks awkward, but it's got such a long stride that it can keep up something like a jogging pace... and it doesn't get tired. It's not too surprising that she's failed to get away, and in the darkness she managed to turn down what looked like a street and ended in the blank back wall of some other building. She threw something at it as her attempt to distract it before trying to run past.
She wouldn't have made it, except the zombie's mindless attention was momentarily distracted as it noticed you, too. In your haste to save her, you got close quickly, and she barrels into your line, almost knocking Dawn over and disrupting the formation you had with Dawn. Both of you are thus off-balance as the priestess scampers behind Kalju and the zombie comes at you with an overhead blow. You get your shield up, blocking the blow, but you stumble from it.
Then the zombie is between you and Dawn. Its attention is on you. It attacks you with a flat-palm slap. You counter with your sword, catching it at the wrist, but your blade bites barely a centimeter in. You grimace. It's a fairly powerful zombie, then. And it's wildly aggressive, too. It has no sense of self-preservation or tactics, just attacking anyone it can find. It has no compunction about coming straight at you, and you are forced to take a step back as it tries to climb over your shield, grab at your weapon hand, stamp on your foot...
Dawn comes to the rescue. She swings her mace at it and strikes it square in the back, making a horrible cracking noise. The zombie may be insensate to pain, but that doesn't mean it's immune to damage. Kalju follows up with a two-handed thrust from his spear. It barely penetrates into the zombie's side further than your sword slash did, but with enough force it knocks the zombie back. Samir has his bow half-drawn, but he's standing back, and no wonder. He isn't going to be able to hurt the zombie unless he can put an arrow somewhere where it would actually lock up the zombie's joints, and that sort of pin-point accuracy is impossible for a normal warrior in the dark under the active conditions of a real battle.
Luckily, it isn't going to be needed. Kalju's attack gives you and Dawn a moment to settle in, shoulder-to-shoulder. From here, the fight is all but settled. It's a long, brutal, bloody fight, as the two of you block its attacks with your shields, and the two of you and Kalju chip away at it, battering at it with weapons that barely injure it but gradually turn it into the sort of mess that even magic won't keep animated. "Long" in a real fight to the death translates to perhaps three minutes. Finally, though, the zombie collapses. Kalju pokes it with his spear, just to be safe, but it wasn't cunning enough to try anything.
That leaves the priestess. She has been hiding behind Samir, despite both of them being almost equally short. You pause and clean off your sword. She comes out from behind him.
"Sorry about almost getting you killed when I ran past you," she says to Dawn, without seeming particularly apologetic. "I was just trying to get away from the zombie that was trying to tear my face off. Won't happen again. Hey... you're those sacrifices we were taking to the angel! You're..." She snaps her fingers a few times, as she tries to think of your names.
"Azer," you supply, and quickly introduce the other three, as everyone tries to catch their breath.
"Yeah, sorry. It's just when someone with a burgundy tunic leaves the ship, I just expect them to die, so I didn't bother to learn your names. Oh, I'm Zahira."
"Where are the other priests?" Dawn asks.
"Look," Zahira says, "Can we... not? I just almost got killed. Let's find an inn that's not the one where people shoved me into the street to fight a monster." She senses your hesitation. "I'll pay. We can talk in the morning."
- -
In the end, you accept her offer. You and Zahira end up being the first to rise, giving you time to chat with her over a minimal breakfast. Once the required small talk is settled, you repeat Dawn's question. "Well, they're dead. Stupid, isn't it? The priests all die and I can't use magic and the sacrifices are okay."
"Dead?" You probe.
"Yeah, it was the strangest thing. After we left you with the angel, we went away to pray at a cliffside. Then, suddenly, everyone else died. Just flopped over and stopped breathing. It was really creepy. I tried to call on Tal-Roshath's power, just as a reflexive defense, and it didn't work. I don't understand it. Anyway, after I calmed down, I grabbed all their valuables and threw their bodies off the cliff."
You choke. "You did what?"
"I went through their pockets," Zahira says slowly, as if explaining to someone very dumb, "then pushed them off the cliff into the ocean. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same."
The rock in your pocket suddenly feels three times as heavy as it did a moment ago. "Well... maybe they should have gotten a real burial?"
"They did. I said the proper words for a water burial, and they went into the ocean. My turn. How are you all still alive, and what happened to your shirt?"
You sketch out the previous day's events for her, briefly. By the time you're done, the others have filtered in. Samir spends a little time bouncing around the room and chatting to anyone else he can, which is pretty usual behavior on the archer's part.
He comes up to you while Zahira is up and checking on something. "Boss," he says, with a serious look, "Weird story going around. Turns out that this morning some people found a destroyed zombie in an alley. They recognized the face. He was the town's chief mage."
You shake your head. "What's with all these weird deaths?"
"I dunno, boss."
Zahira comes back to your table. "I was checking on ships," she says without preamble. "Seems like every ship that employed a ship mage had them all die yesterday. The ones still with a planned departure didn't have one. One's headed back to the capital. Did you want to come along? I'll pay passage and put in a good word for you when we get this all straightened out at the capital. Just being a sacrifice is a waste of you lot, I think."
You consider. The truth of the matter is that you've never really had a chance to see the world. After you left home, you went straight to Tal-Roshath's temple and rarely had a chance to step outside it after that. You could take her up on this offer, or... see if you can find better options.
[] Take Zahira up on her offer, and go back to the capital. Things should make sense there.
[] Take Zahira up on the offer, but abandon her immediately when you get there. You can make your own way in the big city and don't owe her anything.
[] Just say no to this. You'll find better opportunities if you wait.
- -
The last option can be paired with a write-in, if you would like, but it is not mandatory. So far you haven't had that much exposure to the setting, so I do have something lined up for story, regardless.
A little jaunt by boat
- Pronouns
- They/Them
In the end, you accept Zahira's offer. You don't have any better alternatives in front of you at the moment, and there's something about her that makes her, if not quite likable, someone that you're fairly sure is dealing straight with you. The rest of the day is mostly killing time; Zahira takes care of the arrangements, as she has the purse at the moment, courtesy of rifling through dead men's personal belongings. The Emprise turns out to be sailing with the afternoon tide, and after you're introduced to it and its captain, a woman named Banu who's definitely had her gray hair for a while, you don't have much to do until embarking.
It's not like you have a lot of goods to carry with you, after all.
Luckily, it's also not going to be too long of a trip; three days should get you there, with the expected winds. As a paying passenger, all that's really expected of you is to mostly stay out of the way during the operation of the vessel. This leaves you at loose ends. Zahira embarks early and spends a lot of time watching the crew, though she doesn't share why. Samir immediately finds some locals playing a game of chance and very enthusiastically spends a lot of time and effort gaining and losing a grand total of almost nothing. He eventually ropes you into this, with no change in actual fortunes. Dawn and Kalju withdraw. They spend a lot of time talking quietly to each other. Dawn seems to still not quite be over the fact that she's not getting sacrificed to the gods, and quiet Kalju is just the sort of listener she needs.
- -
The Emprise is a schooner-rigged two-masted vessel, exactly the sort best designed to ply the waves without having either magical assistance to bend wind and wave or else the sheer, back-breaking effort of a galley. Of course, the endurance needed to row a galley from island to island had a lot to do with why those vessels were usually just limited to navies. For a general-purpose merchant who might be moving anything from textiles to passengers to perishable fruit, something like this is a good design. You mentally add up generally expected expenses and possible profit margins. Emprise could, indeed, do well for itself.
The trip itself is, mostly, uneventful. Samir turns out to know more about handling such ships than you realize, and he spends quite some time explaining rigging and different types of sails and jibs and how it all helps sail relatively close to the wind and a thousand things more until you lose track of what he told you about first.
The break in that is when a lookout, sweeping the horizon from as high as possible, allowing himself the best possible visibility as far as distance goes, suddenly announces he's seen a tentacle on the horizon. That produces a murmur and general stir. The great krakens are the apex predators of the Shallow Ocean, and for all that they rarely bother ships, they certainly can bring down all but the very largest vessels, which the Emprise emphatically is not. Most krakens have learned one or both of the facts that attacking ships isn't generally that profitable (they're mostly wood and other indigestibles) and that doing so attracts the attention of some brilliant hero who can slay them for attacking human vessels.
Captain Banu calls back up to the lookout. The two of them have a technical conversation about what they're seeing. Samir translates it into "not-seaman" for you and, basically, they try to track the kraken's course and movements and find that it's not moving, not even waving the tentacle curling up into the air, leading to a suspicion it might be dead. This is a relief. The crew loosens up now that a potential threat is transformed into a known non-threat.
Personally, you're not much happier knowing that there's an unknown something out there that can strike down such a leviathan of a sea creature, but you keep this to yourself. Worse, it seems to inspire a dark dream that night: during the night, you feel like, somehow, you're being watched.
Turning away from the usual nonsense murmur of an ongoing dream, you see a vaguely human figure in the corner of your dreamworld, covered completely in a ragged gray cloak that completely shrouds their appearance. "Who are you?" appears in your head without requiring you to hear its voice. "You're not that angel. Oh, blast--" It wavers and fades away, and the 'normal' part of your dream, which features your boots trying to eat your toes, reasserts itself.
When you awake, carnivorous boots fade like a normal dream, but the figure doesn't.
- -
The capital is one of the three largest islands in the Shallow Ocean, and is still almost entirely covered in city. From the palace where the emperor rules in the name of his mother, the Goddess of Rulership and Authority, through the temples dedicated to the other gods who walk with mortal humanity, down to the busy docks that see a constant influx of food and an outpouring of centralized planning, it's all dedicated to being the central location of civilization, and it's so universally recognized that there's very few who call it anything save "the capital".
Of course, as you eventually come into port on the morning of the third day, it seems oddly quiet. When you were being raised by the temple of Tal-Roshath, you didn't get a lot of time to watch the docks, but surely it was busier than this! In no time at all, a small launch rows out, and a harbor pilot guides the Emprise to one of the piers that extends out far enough to allow for her draft. The pilot outright refuses to talk about anything but his job, which doesn't make anyone, crew or passenger, any happier.
You discover why when you get down the plank. One of the imperial bureaucrats is here, taking notes by tying precise knots in a string, backed up by a couple of silent guards bearing maces and the city's symbol on their shields. Captain Banu is the first off, of course, but Zahira and the four of you, as paying passengers, are right behind her. "Captain of the Emprise," he greets Banu. "Name and point of origin? Seen any unusual deaths in the last few days?"
That catches Banu off-guard. "Captain Banu, sailing from the island of Millow. Deaths? Millow saw a few deaths before we left. I didn't catch who. We also may have seen a dead kraken. Why do you ask?"
The bureaucrat gives her a small smile completely devoid of any possibility of warmth. "Why, we're considering just how widespread it is. I guess you missed the news, what with sailing when you did. The gods are dead, so is the imperial family, so are the heroes who mastered enlightened martial traditions... hell, even most of the spirits and mages we've found, everyone who works more magic than your typical village elder casting some pain management skills." He says it in an incredibly matter-of-fact manner that tells you he's had this conversation several times and no longer cares much for the shock and worry it might engender, especially . "Everyone who comes in and we check in with seems to have had the same story, so it seems to have happened everywhere. The seer network is too patchy for us to see all over, so we're verifying this way. No, we don't know how this happened or why. So now you're up to speed, and my job is still the same as long as someone supplies my salary. Sign here." The note-string is put away in favor of a scroll for Banu to sign.
The next hour or so is a blur. The five of you, including Zahira, rush to the temple of Tal-Roshath as soon as you can get past the necessary rigmarole. The temple is boarded up completely, with even the little hole in the back wall that Samir used to wiggle through to get out and go gambling blocked off. There's a sign on the door that says "Closed temporarily by the order of Lady Adara until the current unpleasantness is resolved." Next to it, in a completely different style and by a different hand, is a sign that says "Sealed by the Regency Council. Trespassing not allowed."
You look over your companions, as you try to decide what to do next. Samir is the one who looks the most sanguine about this, probably because day-to-day life still seems to be operating fine most of a week after... whatever it was. Dawn is looking uncertain, but Kalju's at her shoulder, comfortingly. Zahira, on the other hand, looks more angry and frustrated than down.
It's clear you're going to need some direction. You need information, and you need it as soon as possible. Given that, your first place to turn is...
[] Investigate who this "Lady Adara" is. You feel like you've heard the name, but don't know anything about her.
[] Investigate this "Regency Council". You know you've never heard of a Regency Council, but if they're trying to give orders, you should know who's giving orders.
[] Break into the Temple. Some of your things may still be in there, and it's still home if anywhere else.
[] Find some of the capital's magical item experts. You need to know what you have with your pendant and cracked crown.
- -
Sorry that this took so long to get out. The last two weeks in May and first two weeks in June are the busiest of the year for me, and I couldn't carve out the time.
It's not like you have a lot of goods to carry with you, after all.
Luckily, it's also not going to be too long of a trip; three days should get you there, with the expected winds. As a paying passenger, all that's really expected of you is to mostly stay out of the way during the operation of the vessel. This leaves you at loose ends. Zahira embarks early and spends a lot of time watching the crew, though she doesn't share why. Samir immediately finds some locals playing a game of chance and very enthusiastically spends a lot of time and effort gaining and losing a grand total of almost nothing. He eventually ropes you into this, with no change in actual fortunes. Dawn and Kalju withdraw. They spend a lot of time talking quietly to each other. Dawn seems to still not quite be over the fact that she's not getting sacrificed to the gods, and quiet Kalju is just the sort of listener she needs.
- -
The Emprise is a schooner-rigged two-masted vessel, exactly the sort best designed to ply the waves without having either magical assistance to bend wind and wave or else the sheer, back-breaking effort of a galley. Of course, the endurance needed to row a galley from island to island had a lot to do with why those vessels were usually just limited to navies. For a general-purpose merchant who might be moving anything from textiles to passengers to perishable fruit, something like this is a good design. You mentally add up generally expected expenses and possible profit margins. Emprise could, indeed, do well for itself.
The trip itself is, mostly, uneventful. Samir turns out to know more about handling such ships than you realize, and he spends quite some time explaining rigging and different types of sails and jibs and how it all helps sail relatively close to the wind and a thousand things more until you lose track of what he told you about first.
The break in that is when a lookout, sweeping the horizon from as high as possible, allowing himself the best possible visibility as far as distance goes, suddenly announces he's seen a tentacle on the horizon. That produces a murmur and general stir. The great krakens are the apex predators of the Shallow Ocean, and for all that they rarely bother ships, they certainly can bring down all but the very largest vessels, which the Emprise emphatically is not. Most krakens have learned one or both of the facts that attacking ships isn't generally that profitable (they're mostly wood and other indigestibles) and that doing so attracts the attention of some brilliant hero who can slay them for attacking human vessels.
Captain Banu calls back up to the lookout. The two of them have a technical conversation about what they're seeing. Samir translates it into "not-seaman" for you and, basically, they try to track the kraken's course and movements and find that it's not moving, not even waving the tentacle curling up into the air, leading to a suspicion it might be dead. This is a relief. The crew loosens up now that a potential threat is transformed into a known non-threat.
Personally, you're not much happier knowing that there's an unknown something out there that can strike down such a leviathan of a sea creature, but you keep this to yourself. Worse, it seems to inspire a dark dream that night: during the night, you feel like, somehow, you're being watched.
Turning away from the usual nonsense murmur of an ongoing dream, you see a vaguely human figure in the corner of your dreamworld, covered completely in a ragged gray cloak that completely shrouds their appearance. "Who are you?" appears in your head without requiring you to hear its voice. "You're not that angel. Oh, blast--" It wavers and fades away, and the 'normal' part of your dream, which features your boots trying to eat your toes, reasserts itself.
When you awake, carnivorous boots fade like a normal dream, but the figure doesn't.
- -
The capital is one of the three largest islands in the Shallow Ocean, and is still almost entirely covered in city. From the palace where the emperor rules in the name of his mother, the Goddess of Rulership and Authority, through the temples dedicated to the other gods who walk with mortal humanity, down to the busy docks that see a constant influx of food and an outpouring of centralized planning, it's all dedicated to being the central location of civilization, and it's so universally recognized that there's very few who call it anything save "the capital".
Of course, as you eventually come into port on the morning of the third day, it seems oddly quiet. When you were being raised by the temple of Tal-Roshath, you didn't get a lot of time to watch the docks, but surely it was busier than this! In no time at all, a small launch rows out, and a harbor pilot guides the Emprise to one of the piers that extends out far enough to allow for her draft. The pilot outright refuses to talk about anything but his job, which doesn't make anyone, crew or passenger, any happier.
You discover why when you get down the plank. One of the imperial bureaucrats is here, taking notes by tying precise knots in a string, backed up by a couple of silent guards bearing maces and the city's symbol on their shields. Captain Banu is the first off, of course, but Zahira and the four of you, as paying passengers, are right behind her. "Captain of the Emprise," he greets Banu. "Name and point of origin? Seen any unusual deaths in the last few days?"
That catches Banu off-guard. "Captain Banu, sailing from the island of Millow. Deaths? Millow saw a few deaths before we left. I didn't catch who. We also may have seen a dead kraken. Why do you ask?"
The bureaucrat gives her a small smile completely devoid of any possibility of warmth. "Why, we're considering just how widespread it is. I guess you missed the news, what with sailing when you did. The gods are dead, so is the imperial family, so are the heroes who mastered enlightened martial traditions... hell, even most of the spirits and mages we've found, everyone who works more magic than your typical village elder casting some pain management skills." He says it in an incredibly matter-of-fact manner that tells you he's had this conversation several times and no longer cares much for the shock and worry it might engender, especially . "Everyone who comes in and we check in with seems to have had the same story, so it seems to have happened everywhere. The seer network is too patchy for us to see all over, so we're verifying this way. No, we don't know how this happened or why. So now you're up to speed, and my job is still the same as long as someone supplies my salary. Sign here." The note-string is put away in favor of a scroll for Banu to sign.
The next hour or so is a blur. The five of you, including Zahira, rush to the temple of Tal-Roshath as soon as you can get past the necessary rigmarole. The temple is boarded up completely, with even the little hole in the back wall that Samir used to wiggle through to get out and go gambling blocked off. There's a sign on the door that says "Closed temporarily by the order of Lady Adara until the current unpleasantness is resolved." Next to it, in a completely different style and by a different hand, is a sign that says "Sealed by the Regency Council. Trespassing not allowed."
You look over your companions, as you try to decide what to do next. Samir is the one who looks the most sanguine about this, probably because day-to-day life still seems to be operating fine most of a week after... whatever it was. Dawn is looking uncertain, but Kalju's at her shoulder, comfortingly. Zahira, on the other hand, looks more angry and frustrated than down.
It's clear you're going to need some direction. You need information, and you need it as soon as possible. Given that, your first place to turn is...
[] Investigate who this "Lady Adara" is. You feel like you've heard the name, but don't know anything about her.
[] Investigate this "Regency Council". You know you've never heard of a Regency Council, but if they're trying to give orders, you should know who's giving orders.
[] Break into the Temple. Some of your things may still be in there, and it's still home if anywhere else.
[] Find some of the capital's magical item experts. You need to know what you have with your pendant and cracked crown.
- -
Sorry that this took so long to get out. The last two weeks in May and first two weeks in June are the busiest of the year for me, and I couldn't carve out the time.
A peaceful homecoming
- Pronouns
- They/Them
For a long moment, you consider setting out for more information, but... no. You're tired. "Kalju, help me get this door open. No one cheers, but everyone brightens at the notion. In a world where all sorts of certainties have been overthrown, 'home' is still here.
The door gives way. The interior is silent, but that doesn't seem too out of place. Tal-Roshath was not exactly a hymns-and-hosannas type of god. There's no smell of incense or burnt sacrifices, which is a little strange, but if you push yourself hard enough you might be able to detect it. Or, possibly, the memory makes you think you do. The high, vaulted ceilings, the desk and guard post in angel size (that are basically never staffed), the worn but intricate mosaic under your feet, the echo of footfalls that carry in such a way as to feel as if they enhance instead of break the silence... its's familiar.
Things make a little more sense as long as you have someplace to be a touchstone like this. You doubt anyone has rummaged through your things, since tradition has always been to confirm that the "burgundy tunics" are dead before cleaning out their room. You had to do it a few times, for older, earlier sacrifices. That means you'll even have your familiar room and belongings, little though you ever expected to see them again. The four of you, with your little shared barracks room...
"I call the high priest's room," Zahira shouts at the top of her lungs. She cups her mouth to make it carry. The sound echoes a few times as it reaches all the way down the main corridor, passing hallways to the temple's other branches and ending in the grand audience chamber at the far end, where your god used to hold court and service.
Everyone else turns to look at Zahira. "What? He's not using it any more. He's dead."
Kalju clears his throat, as it's been a while since he last spoke. "Could he have turned into a zombie, like that mage in Millowburg?"
"No, dumbass," Zahira says, with probably unwarranted confidence for someone who hasn't been right about much lately. "No chance. Without a magic-user to do it intentionally, you have to just be unlucky with the ambient magic. I know the temple's magic background really well. And, well, we'd have had a lot of zombies if I was wrong on that. What with how many people die here. Used to die here." Her voice cracks and she looks lost for a moment.
"Good point. I get that big room by the steam baths!" Samir dances from foot to foot, not recognizing or caring about Zahira.
"Are there any other priests here?" Dawn has been scanning every crevice she can see, just in case there's some familiar faces lurking around or something. "Or... anyone else who lived here?"
"Nah, when that council and the Lady Whatever locked the place off, they clearly cleaned it out beforehand. No bodies, see?" Samir is very unbothered by the thought of piles of dead bodies with faces you all might recognize. Both Kalju and Dawn look a little put out by the mental image he's given you. Samir continues, blithely, "Also I see a lot less gold. Or even goldish. So we get whatever rooms we want, all to ourselves!"
The group breaks up without needing to agree to it beforehand. People drift away, to look things over, to claim new rooms, to explore what you have left and peek into previously forbidden corners. There doesn't seem to be any doubt in anyone's mind that you have every right to claim anything you can find here, and no zombies appear to turn Zahira into a liar.
Personally, you end up in the armory. It's a familiar place for you. Your head for numbers and organization was constantly in demand, keeping the various ledgers of the temple in order. Money, food, checking in an out everything from short wooden training weapons for the young to live steel for monster hunters, it's all the same, in the end. It needs to be tracked. The armory was, too, at least somewhat raided, probably at the same time that the bodies were taken away. Any slightly magical weapons or shields were taken, along with anything ornate enough to look valuable (which you know quite well is not quite the same as being valuable). The remaining weapons, everything from a simple slip of leather that barely qualifies as a sling to war axes to a halberd to an oversized longbow to a pair of punching daggers to a dizzying variety of very slightly different one-handed swords, are still here, most of them where they should be, though a few were misfiled, probably by people who decided to swap one prize for another. It offends your sense of neatness, but you're not quite feeling up to fixing it, yet.
There's still the locked display cases for the handful of really magical weapons that the temple was holding onto, waiting to bestow them on some sufficiently worthy hero or angel. The cases look fine, but all three of the weapons are thoroughly broken. It reminds you of what happened to the angel's crown: highly magical goods cracked clean through and the magical effects lost, at the same time that heroes and enlightened martial artists all died.
"Hey," a voice says, appearing in your head without going through your ears, one you have previously only heard in dreams. "Can you hear me? Hey! Azer!" You shake your head to dislodge a tiny buzzing noise, with a feeling something kin to almost hearing your name over a noisy crowd. "Pay attention to me!" Frowning, you pull the magical pendant out of your pocket, staring at it intently once it's revealed. Why are you staring at a rock? Your frown deepens as you try to puzzle it out, and a voice you can't quite comprehend whispers something...
"Heeeey, boss," Samir says with a slur as he staggers into the armory room, clutching the neck of a bottle in one hand. You can smell alcohol easily enough. "Y'should try this stuff. 'sgood." He almost holds it out to you, then thinks the better of it and pulls it back to take another slug himself. "Whatcha got here?"
You put the pendant away, feeling as if you're forgetting something. "Just taking inventory. What did you get?" You arch an eyebrow at him and his bottle.
"Dunno. 'sgood. Kalju told me where it was when I asked. Was in a priest's room, under the bed." Samir stumbles slightly.
You take him by the elbow and gently guide him towards the exit, well away from the rocks of meticulously maintained sharp objects he probably shouldn't be near right now. "Why did Kalju know where that was?"
"You know," Samir stands up a lot straighter and more steadily once he realizes what you're doing. Probably, he's not near as drunk as he's acting. "Handsome b-bas-guy like him, he doesn't spend most nights in his own bed. He knows where all the good stuff is kept. 'sgood," he adds, in a tone of deep contemplation.
"Don't overdo it. Find someplace good to rest. And you're really going to regret it tomorrow if you keep drinking more."
"Yeah, yeah." Samir heads off to a quiet corner of the temple, acting a lot more together than when he came to check on you.
You make a quick circuit through the temple, finding everyone without issue. Kalju is in the kitchen, where he seems to be working some dough with an expression of intense concentration on his face and a lot more force in his hands than the dough really warrants. Dawn is in the audience chamber, sitting lotus style on the ground before Tal-Roshath's empty throne. It's a thoughtful position, but not a prayerful one. Zahira is in the library, with a stack of books on magical theory and a couple pages of notes already. The margins of her notes are filled with doodles of mages (who you suspect are intended to look like her) shooting fire and lightning at cowering masses. By the crumbs near them, both of the girls look like they already had dinner, courtesy of Kalju's cooking.
You feel a bit obligated to check in with people, but it's hard to know who's looking for company and who isn't.
Who do you talk to? Pick up to two. Choices will be considered independently, not as a set.
[] Samir. Maybe a bit of drink isn't that bad an idea. He's in the best mood of anyone right now, and hopefully his cheer will rub off.
[] Zahira. You learned some magical theory during your training, and she's no more a magic-user than you right now. You could help.
[] Dawn. Anyone who's that deep into thought for that long needs to turn it into words. She might have a real epiphany by now.
[] Kalju. Doubtless he's got something for you to eat, and baking may not have swept away all his troubles.
[] Yourself. Sometimes you just need time to think, without anyone bothering you. It will be just you, completely by yourself. Wasn't there something about your pendant?
The door gives way. The interior is silent, but that doesn't seem too out of place. Tal-Roshath was not exactly a hymns-and-hosannas type of god. There's no smell of incense or burnt sacrifices, which is a little strange, but if you push yourself hard enough you might be able to detect it. Or, possibly, the memory makes you think you do. The high, vaulted ceilings, the desk and guard post in angel size (that are basically never staffed), the worn but intricate mosaic under your feet, the echo of footfalls that carry in such a way as to feel as if they enhance instead of break the silence... its's familiar.
Things make a little more sense as long as you have someplace to be a touchstone like this. You doubt anyone has rummaged through your things, since tradition has always been to confirm that the "burgundy tunics" are dead before cleaning out their room. You had to do it a few times, for older, earlier sacrifices. That means you'll even have your familiar room and belongings, little though you ever expected to see them again. The four of you, with your little shared barracks room...
"I call the high priest's room," Zahira shouts at the top of her lungs. She cups her mouth to make it carry. The sound echoes a few times as it reaches all the way down the main corridor, passing hallways to the temple's other branches and ending in the grand audience chamber at the far end, where your god used to hold court and service.
Everyone else turns to look at Zahira. "What? He's not using it any more. He's dead."
Kalju clears his throat, as it's been a while since he last spoke. "Could he have turned into a zombie, like that mage in Millowburg?"
"No, dumbass," Zahira says, with probably unwarranted confidence for someone who hasn't been right about much lately. "No chance. Without a magic-user to do it intentionally, you have to just be unlucky with the ambient magic. I know the temple's magic background really well. And, well, we'd have had a lot of zombies if I was wrong on that. What with how many people die here. Used to die here." Her voice cracks and she looks lost for a moment.
"Good point. I get that big room by the steam baths!" Samir dances from foot to foot, not recognizing or caring about Zahira.
"Are there any other priests here?" Dawn has been scanning every crevice she can see, just in case there's some familiar faces lurking around or something. "Or... anyone else who lived here?"
"Nah, when that council and the Lady Whatever locked the place off, they clearly cleaned it out beforehand. No bodies, see?" Samir is very unbothered by the thought of piles of dead bodies with faces you all might recognize. Both Kalju and Dawn look a little put out by the mental image he's given you. Samir continues, blithely, "Also I see a lot less gold. Or even goldish. So we get whatever rooms we want, all to ourselves!"
The group breaks up without needing to agree to it beforehand. People drift away, to look things over, to claim new rooms, to explore what you have left and peek into previously forbidden corners. There doesn't seem to be any doubt in anyone's mind that you have every right to claim anything you can find here, and no zombies appear to turn Zahira into a liar.
Personally, you end up in the armory. It's a familiar place for you. Your head for numbers and organization was constantly in demand, keeping the various ledgers of the temple in order. Money, food, checking in an out everything from short wooden training weapons for the young to live steel for monster hunters, it's all the same, in the end. It needs to be tracked. The armory was, too, at least somewhat raided, probably at the same time that the bodies were taken away. Any slightly magical weapons or shields were taken, along with anything ornate enough to look valuable (which you know quite well is not quite the same as being valuable). The remaining weapons, everything from a simple slip of leather that barely qualifies as a sling to war axes to a halberd to an oversized longbow to a pair of punching daggers to a dizzying variety of very slightly different one-handed swords, are still here, most of them where they should be, though a few were misfiled, probably by people who decided to swap one prize for another. It offends your sense of neatness, but you're not quite feeling up to fixing it, yet.
There's still the locked display cases for the handful of really magical weapons that the temple was holding onto, waiting to bestow them on some sufficiently worthy hero or angel. The cases look fine, but all three of the weapons are thoroughly broken. It reminds you of what happened to the angel's crown: highly magical goods cracked clean through and the magical effects lost, at the same time that heroes and enlightened martial artists all died.
"Hey," a voice says, appearing in your head without going through your ears, one you have previously only heard in dreams. "Can you hear me? Hey! Azer!" You shake your head to dislodge a tiny buzzing noise, with a feeling something kin to almost hearing your name over a noisy crowd. "Pay attention to me!" Frowning, you pull the magical pendant out of your pocket, staring at it intently once it's revealed. Why are you staring at a rock? Your frown deepens as you try to puzzle it out, and a voice you can't quite comprehend whispers something...
"Heeeey, boss," Samir says with a slur as he staggers into the armory room, clutching the neck of a bottle in one hand. You can smell alcohol easily enough. "Y'should try this stuff. 'sgood." He almost holds it out to you, then thinks the better of it and pulls it back to take another slug himself. "Whatcha got here?"
You put the pendant away, feeling as if you're forgetting something. "Just taking inventory. What did you get?" You arch an eyebrow at him and his bottle.
"Dunno. 'sgood. Kalju told me where it was when I asked. Was in a priest's room, under the bed." Samir stumbles slightly.
You take him by the elbow and gently guide him towards the exit, well away from the rocks of meticulously maintained sharp objects he probably shouldn't be near right now. "Why did Kalju know where that was?"
"You know," Samir stands up a lot straighter and more steadily once he realizes what you're doing. Probably, he's not near as drunk as he's acting. "Handsome b-bas-guy like him, he doesn't spend most nights in his own bed. He knows where all the good stuff is kept. 'sgood," he adds, in a tone of deep contemplation.
"Don't overdo it. Find someplace good to rest. And you're really going to regret it tomorrow if you keep drinking more."
"Yeah, yeah." Samir heads off to a quiet corner of the temple, acting a lot more together than when he came to check on you.
You make a quick circuit through the temple, finding everyone without issue. Kalju is in the kitchen, where he seems to be working some dough with an expression of intense concentration on his face and a lot more force in his hands than the dough really warrants. Dawn is in the audience chamber, sitting lotus style on the ground before Tal-Roshath's empty throne. It's a thoughtful position, but not a prayerful one. Zahira is in the library, with a stack of books on magical theory and a couple pages of notes already. The margins of her notes are filled with doodles of mages (who you suspect are intended to look like her) shooting fire and lightning at cowering masses. By the crumbs near them, both of the girls look like they already had dinner, courtesy of Kalju's cooking.
You feel a bit obligated to check in with people, but it's hard to know who's looking for company and who isn't.
Who do you talk to? Pick up to two. Choices will be considered independently, not as a set.
[] Samir. Maybe a bit of drink isn't that bad an idea. He's in the best mood of anyone right now, and hopefully his cheer will rub off.
[] Zahira. You learned some magical theory during your training, and she's no more a magic-user than you right now. You could help.
[] Dawn. Anyone who's that deep into thought for that long needs to turn it into words. She might have a real epiphany by now.
[] Kalju. Doubtless he's got something for you to eat, and baking may not have swept away all his troubles.
[] Yourself. Sometimes you just need time to think, without anyone bothering you. It will be just you, completely by yourself. Wasn't there something about your pendant?
A quick discussion of practical theology
- Pronouns
- They/Them
In the end, Dawn is the person who you think most needs a friendly face. While she was no more looking forward to death than any other sane person, you know she had taken consolation from the fact that her death would be for the glory and empowerment of a great deity like Tal-Roshath. You make your way into the great audience hall reasonably quietly. The hall is built to a much more-than-human scale. It wasn't just meant for the half-again size of an angel, either. It was meant for the huge stature of a full god, or even the visitation of other enormous creatures, such as a great dragon. Once provision was made for that, then there still needed to be space for worshipers and penitents to fill the room, often wheeling and dealing with each other.
Now, the vast chamber is empty. The only features remaining are the dais bearing Tal-Roshath's plain, huge throne and the much more elaborate carpet with tales of the god's history and deeds worked into its fibers that extends from under the throne all the way down the steps to define how close one might approach in audience.
Dawn sits on this carpet, but it's a cross-legged, thoughtful posture, or a meditative one, not a prayerful one. Dawn doesn't say anything, but she does shift slightly, to give you space. It's a silent acknowledgment of your presence. You take the hint, and take a seat next to her. She's silent for a good minute or two longer, still thinking.
It's almost a surprise, then, when she opens her big brown eyes and locks them on yours. "Azer," she says, by way of greeting. If it wasn't obvious before, that tells you just how serious she's feeling. You're not "boss". "We have a problem, you know," she says, almost conversationally.
You tilt your head in silent question, encouraging her to go on. You can think of several problems, many of them quite major. You're not sure which one she has in mind. "It's the gods," she explains. "We don't have any, not any more."
While that is an issue, it's not the first one that came to mind for you. She gives you a wan smile, clearly sensing your doubt. "We won't be without gods forever, or even for long, unless whatever killed them last week happens again. I hope we figure out what happened with that, but since it did happen only once in all of recorded history, I'm not sure it's going to strike twice. And if it doesn't..."
"I'm not sure I follow," you say.
"Well, I'm going to lead you through it. Up until this event, who ruled the Shallow Ocean?"
"Shin-Quela, Goddess of Rulership and Authority," you say, almost by reflex. "Her half-mortal children are the emperor and imperial family, whom all mortals owe their devotion."
"Right. They didn't always have dictatorial command, especially over more distant lands, which is why you'd have rebel princedoms and various governors or insurgents or whatever else fighting their wars with each other. But, whoever would win, they all knew they owed at least nominal fealty to the emperor and the queen of the gods. Same with any new deities; they had to respect the existing pantheon. Now, Shin-Quela and her bloodline are supposed to all be among the dead, right?"
"That's what they say, yes."
"So how do we get more gods?"
You shake your head. This is all basic questions, and you're still not sure where she's leading you. "Spirits generate spontaneously from areas of high ambient magic, where they grow an intelligence and body, then the spirit grows in power from having its area of authority expanded and empowered. Sacrifices, rituals, prayer. Or else some rare amazing mortal gets the right spark and achieves a divine apotheosis. This isn't new. Where are you going with this?"
Dawn purses her lips and looks disappointed. "You just described an enormous calamity, and you didn't notice. The reason we've had gods who shepherd and guide mortals is because, with the existing system, it's the best way to grow strong. When we have a wanna-be dark god show up, oppressing people and demanding large-scale blood sacrifice, instead of a small and accepted blood sacrifice like we were earmarked for, some group of heroes would step up and stop them, and the other gods, happy with their place in the current system, would support that. A nascent god ambushed by a large group of mighty heroes wielding magical weapons and enlightened martial traditions would be defeated... or, if they still weren't enough, other gods would do the deed. Now we have no gods and no great heroes. I'm not even sure we have any legendary magical weapons left. If an ambitious spirit forms and demands ruinous sacrifices, or extends its protection from such a spirit at a cost only just less than that... what choice will people have but to take it? And then we get a new pantheon of vile gods who will use us as power sources and little more."
You don't even try to prevent your look of horror. Dawn's right, you realize. It's not a sure thing that it will play out that way, but it's not unreasonable to imagine. "So, we need a good new pantheon."
Dawn nods as she stands up, crossing to the very slightly dusty throne. "More specifically, I think we need an heir, someone to take the place of Shin-Quela, the emperor, Tal-Roshath, and all the rest. They weren't always good, but with their authority we saw... stability. Opportunity, at least for most. We need a new order to enforce good behavior on... well, everyone. Otherwise, whoever ends up with a bit of power gets to define what they do. Some two-bit hero could launch the sort of war of conquest, complete with atrocities, that we haven't seen in the modern age." Dawn hefts herself up into the seat. It almost requires a pull-up, and she looks humorously child-like sitting on the seat cushion, stretching her arms out to just barely rest her palms on the armrests that flank her. "I don't care if it's a good god, not really. I don't care if it's me or you or anyone, as long as it's someone who will enforce proper behavior. Otherwise, we're going to see a new age of bloodshed and horror."
She smiles at you. This smile is actually a bit more warm and human. "Oh, don't go thinking I'm going to declare myself the new queen of heaven tomorrow or anything. But I won't be happy just going along and trusting the world will sort itself out. I think I need to take another look at one of the five paths of magic or some enlightened martial traditions. Maybe something will work with me this time. We really do need a new banner to hold civilization together, and that banner will need enforcers." Dawn stares out across the empty chamber, clearly picturing what could be in here some day. "Thanks for listening, boss. I needed it. I hope we get the chance to do something. This world might be bigger than us, but now there's a lot less big things in it."
"You should get some sleep, Dawn. You're tired enough you're getting maudlin on me." Dawn barks a quick laugh and jumps down from the throne.
"You're right, boss. Don't worry, I'll be good." She pats you on the shoulder and heads off to whatever room she's claimed for herself.
- -
After a heavy discussion like that, you find that you're not really up for any more discussions, either. You retire to your bedroom, which is still overcrowded by two banks of bunks, but simultaneously is now too large since your companions are elsewhere.
You throw yourself down on your bed. Moonlight streams in through the barred window. Sleep doesn't come immediately. You pull out the pendant and look at it again. "Oh, there we go. I finally got through." The words appear in your head without passing through your ears, but they seem a little more... vivacious than the last times you've heard it. This time, you know you're not about to forget what's going on or have it fall below your threshold of consciousness.
You sit up again. The figure in tattered gray sits on the opposite bunk. The bed is not disturbed or indented by its presence, giving away its illusory or incorporeal nature. You glance down at the pendant in your hand, then back at the figure, suspiciously. "Yes, that's me, my imprisoned form. You picked me up when the angel died and the outer bonds of my prison broke. I've been trying to communicate with you since then, but I had to recover enough to interact with other beings."
"Who are you?"
"You can call me... Ant. It's as good a name as any, and I don't have anything else to go by. I'm a spirit of contention and struggle that's been trapped by a multi-layered spell for... oh, I'm actually not sure. Somewhere between sixty and five hundred years. Tal-Roshath beat me down when I challenged him, then imprisoned me and gave me to one of his angels to watch over."
"You're awfully forthcoming," you say. Suspicion fills you.
The figure laughs. Now, under the gray cloak, you can see a little bit of a human-ish chin and mouth. It's sill an incredibly anonymous shape. "Why not?" Ant says, amusement evident in its tone. "I told you. I'm a spirit of struggle. I like to fight. All I exist to do is fight. Not play word games. In fact... as far as I've been able to see, you've been around gods and priests for a while, right? You know your Contract magic?"
You glare, but don't respond verbally. "Oh, never mind," Ant says, and a delicate hand slips out from under the gray tatters, presenting itself to you. Ant takes on a new, more serious tone. "I, Ant, make the following a standing element of all Contract work with Azer Howe until I explicitly and clearly state otherwise: I will always be honest and above board in all discussions, Contract related or not. No stupid 'technically true' clauses."
A new, foreign thread appears in your head. You shiver. It's not something you've experienced before, but it's something your theoretical training is clear enough on: it's a piece of Contract magic. Normally, Contract magic is used to the mutual betterment of both the spirit and the mortal. By forging a specific kind of magical structure, both parties gain. The mortal gains some powers related to the spirit they're contracting with (a war deity like Tal-Roshath often granted strength or skill at arms, or various destructive powers) and the spirit can extract whatever conditions it chooses for doing so. The downside is that the spirit can then no longer avoid hearing a sort of background whisper of the mortal's thoughts, so most with a number of Contracts are choosy about finding people whose thoughts they don't mind overhearing. The Contract magic structure is also incredibly delicate. If either party knowingly lies or fails the terms of the Contract, it instantly breaks. This is the type of magic that Zahira just lost, in fact, with Tal-Roshath's death.
What Ant has done here is to force a sort of Contract-in-waiting onto you, one that's not complete because there's no complete, finished ritual to seal it. However, if Ant doesn't live up to its side of the bargain, in any fashion, you'll have an instant confirmation of that fact as the Contract breaks.
"I thought that you'd recognize that trick. Trust me a little more after that?" The mouth grins a bit. It has pointed teeth.
"So... what do you want from me?"
"Nothing, at the moment. But you seem like the kind of man who's going to get into more fights. That's all I want. I'll fight your enemies until I die or drop, given the opportunity. I'll empower you to do the same, if you prefer. But that's all I want, for now. When sealed away like that," Ant gestures at the rock in your hands, "I slowly lose my identity. I have to rebuild it once I get some connection to the world. I don't even have a gender at the moment, for instance. I usually seem to end up the right gender for my 'master's' usual romantic preference. I'd ask which way you lean, but I really don't care." Even that would be enough. If Ant had a slight preference, the Contract would have broken and you'd know. Contract magic is absolute over the parties involved.
"However," Ant says, raising the same hand you've already seen. You still haven't seen any bit of its figure apart from the chin, mouth, and one hand; everything else is shrouded by the tattered cloak. "I think I just did come up with an offer I want to give you. A first of possibly many Contracts we can make."
The figure disappears from the bed where it had appeared. Instinctively, you look to your right. It's sitting on the bed next to you. The fact that you know it's not really there, and doesn't actually interfere with your real vision isn't much consolation as it grins. Those really are some sharp teeth. "I don't know who, I don't know why. But I think I know the 'how'. Shall I tell you how the gods and heroes died? All I want is your right arm."
A delicate finger traces from your shoulder to the tip of your middle finger, as Ant speaks in a casual, conversational tone. "Here's the deal, the actual Contract: I tell you everything I know about how, and as long as it's a substantial improvement towards your knowledge, I get your right arm. That means if we discover I'm largely wrong I lose my benefits entirely. I get ten minutes a day, here to here, time has to be consecutive. I can choose to use less. It's 'use it or lose it'; I can't build up a time bank or anything like that. I can't use your arm for self-harm or putting you in danger, but otherwise the time is mine." The gray cowl leans in unpleasantly close to your face. Those teeth. You force yourself to stand your ground. "I don't have any plans for what to do with this. It just seems fun. And if you need the knowledge more later, I can use this as a starting place and extract more concessions, because you'll know this was the basic price before you felt it was urgent."
You can think of other questions, but in the end...
[] Yes
[] No
- -
Feel free to write in questions. I'm sure you'll have some, and I'll give you as quick of answers as possible in the thread. I'll include any notable questions in the next actual update, as part of the narrative. Obviously you should feel free to change an early vote if the Q&A changes your mind.
...You all picked a pretty interesting pairing of who to talk to. I had all five scenes sketched out before last update, so if the two scenes fit together well, that wasn't my choice, that's yours.
Now, the vast chamber is empty. The only features remaining are the dais bearing Tal-Roshath's plain, huge throne and the much more elaborate carpet with tales of the god's history and deeds worked into its fibers that extends from under the throne all the way down the steps to define how close one might approach in audience.
Dawn sits on this carpet, but it's a cross-legged, thoughtful posture, or a meditative one, not a prayerful one. Dawn doesn't say anything, but she does shift slightly, to give you space. It's a silent acknowledgment of your presence. You take the hint, and take a seat next to her. She's silent for a good minute or two longer, still thinking.
It's almost a surprise, then, when she opens her big brown eyes and locks them on yours. "Azer," she says, by way of greeting. If it wasn't obvious before, that tells you just how serious she's feeling. You're not "boss". "We have a problem, you know," she says, almost conversationally.
You tilt your head in silent question, encouraging her to go on. You can think of several problems, many of them quite major. You're not sure which one she has in mind. "It's the gods," she explains. "We don't have any, not any more."
While that is an issue, it's not the first one that came to mind for you. She gives you a wan smile, clearly sensing your doubt. "We won't be without gods forever, or even for long, unless whatever killed them last week happens again. I hope we figure out what happened with that, but since it did happen only once in all of recorded history, I'm not sure it's going to strike twice. And if it doesn't..."
"I'm not sure I follow," you say.
"Well, I'm going to lead you through it. Up until this event, who ruled the Shallow Ocean?"
"Shin-Quela, Goddess of Rulership and Authority," you say, almost by reflex. "Her half-mortal children are the emperor and imperial family, whom all mortals owe their devotion."
"Right. They didn't always have dictatorial command, especially over more distant lands, which is why you'd have rebel princedoms and various governors or insurgents or whatever else fighting their wars with each other. But, whoever would win, they all knew they owed at least nominal fealty to the emperor and the queen of the gods. Same with any new deities; they had to respect the existing pantheon. Now, Shin-Quela and her bloodline are supposed to all be among the dead, right?"
"That's what they say, yes."
"So how do we get more gods?"
You shake your head. This is all basic questions, and you're still not sure where she's leading you. "Spirits generate spontaneously from areas of high ambient magic, where they grow an intelligence and body, then the spirit grows in power from having its area of authority expanded and empowered. Sacrifices, rituals, prayer. Or else some rare amazing mortal gets the right spark and achieves a divine apotheosis. This isn't new. Where are you going with this?"
Dawn purses her lips and looks disappointed. "You just described an enormous calamity, and you didn't notice. The reason we've had gods who shepherd and guide mortals is because, with the existing system, it's the best way to grow strong. When we have a wanna-be dark god show up, oppressing people and demanding large-scale blood sacrifice, instead of a small and accepted blood sacrifice like we were earmarked for, some group of heroes would step up and stop them, and the other gods, happy with their place in the current system, would support that. A nascent god ambushed by a large group of mighty heroes wielding magical weapons and enlightened martial traditions would be defeated... or, if they still weren't enough, other gods would do the deed. Now we have no gods and no great heroes. I'm not even sure we have any legendary magical weapons left. If an ambitious spirit forms and demands ruinous sacrifices, or extends its protection from such a spirit at a cost only just less than that... what choice will people have but to take it? And then we get a new pantheon of vile gods who will use us as power sources and little more."
You don't even try to prevent your look of horror. Dawn's right, you realize. It's not a sure thing that it will play out that way, but it's not unreasonable to imagine. "So, we need a good new pantheon."
Dawn nods as she stands up, crossing to the very slightly dusty throne. "More specifically, I think we need an heir, someone to take the place of Shin-Quela, the emperor, Tal-Roshath, and all the rest. They weren't always good, but with their authority we saw... stability. Opportunity, at least for most. We need a new order to enforce good behavior on... well, everyone. Otherwise, whoever ends up with a bit of power gets to define what they do. Some two-bit hero could launch the sort of war of conquest, complete with atrocities, that we haven't seen in the modern age." Dawn hefts herself up into the seat. It almost requires a pull-up, and she looks humorously child-like sitting on the seat cushion, stretching her arms out to just barely rest her palms on the armrests that flank her. "I don't care if it's a good god, not really. I don't care if it's me or you or anyone, as long as it's someone who will enforce proper behavior. Otherwise, we're going to see a new age of bloodshed and horror."
She smiles at you. This smile is actually a bit more warm and human. "Oh, don't go thinking I'm going to declare myself the new queen of heaven tomorrow or anything. But I won't be happy just going along and trusting the world will sort itself out. I think I need to take another look at one of the five paths of magic or some enlightened martial traditions. Maybe something will work with me this time. We really do need a new banner to hold civilization together, and that banner will need enforcers." Dawn stares out across the empty chamber, clearly picturing what could be in here some day. "Thanks for listening, boss. I needed it. I hope we get the chance to do something. This world might be bigger than us, but now there's a lot less big things in it."
"You should get some sleep, Dawn. You're tired enough you're getting maudlin on me." Dawn barks a quick laugh and jumps down from the throne.
"You're right, boss. Don't worry, I'll be good." She pats you on the shoulder and heads off to whatever room she's claimed for herself.
- -
After a heavy discussion like that, you find that you're not really up for any more discussions, either. You retire to your bedroom, which is still overcrowded by two banks of bunks, but simultaneously is now too large since your companions are elsewhere.
You throw yourself down on your bed. Moonlight streams in through the barred window. Sleep doesn't come immediately. You pull out the pendant and look at it again. "Oh, there we go. I finally got through." The words appear in your head without passing through your ears, but they seem a little more... vivacious than the last times you've heard it. This time, you know you're not about to forget what's going on or have it fall below your threshold of consciousness.
You sit up again. The figure in tattered gray sits on the opposite bunk. The bed is not disturbed or indented by its presence, giving away its illusory or incorporeal nature. You glance down at the pendant in your hand, then back at the figure, suspiciously. "Yes, that's me, my imprisoned form. You picked me up when the angel died and the outer bonds of my prison broke. I've been trying to communicate with you since then, but I had to recover enough to interact with other beings."
"Who are you?"
"You can call me... Ant. It's as good a name as any, and I don't have anything else to go by. I'm a spirit of contention and struggle that's been trapped by a multi-layered spell for... oh, I'm actually not sure. Somewhere between sixty and five hundred years. Tal-Roshath beat me down when I challenged him, then imprisoned me and gave me to one of his angels to watch over."
"You're awfully forthcoming," you say. Suspicion fills you.
The figure laughs. Now, under the gray cloak, you can see a little bit of a human-ish chin and mouth. It's sill an incredibly anonymous shape. "Why not?" Ant says, amusement evident in its tone. "I told you. I'm a spirit of struggle. I like to fight. All I exist to do is fight. Not play word games. In fact... as far as I've been able to see, you've been around gods and priests for a while, right? You know your Contract magic?"
You glare, but don't respond verbally. "Oh, never mind," Ant says, and a delicate hand slips out from under the gray tatters, presenting itself to you. Ant takes on a new, more serious tone. "I, Ant, make the following a standing element of all Contract work with Azer Howe until I explicitly and clearly state otherwise: I will always be honest and above board in all discussions, Contract related or not. No stupid 'technically true' clauses."
A new, foreign thread appears in your head. You shiver. It's not something you've experienced before, but it's something your theoretical training is clear enough on: it's a piece of Contract magic. Normally, Contract magic is used to the mutual betterment of both the spirit and the mortal. By forging a specific kind of magical structure, both parties gain. The mortal gains some powers related to the spirit they're contracting with (a war deity like Tal-Roshath often granted strength or skill at arms, or various destructive powers) and the spirit can extract whatever conditions it chooses for doing so. The downside is that the spirit can then no longer avoid hearing a sort of background whisper of the mortal's thoughts, so most with a number of Contracts are choosy about finding people whose thoughts they don't mind overhearing. The Contract magic structure is also incredibly delicate. If either party knowingly lies or fails the terms of the Contract, it instantly breaks. This is the type of magic that Zahira just lost, in fact, with Tal-Roshath's death.
What Ant has done here is to force a sort of Contract-in-waiting onto you, one that's not complete because there's no complete, finished ritual to seal it. However, if Ant doesn't live up to its side of the bargain, in any fashion, you'll have an instant confirmation of that fact as the Contract breaks.
"I thought that you'd recognize that trick. Trust me a little more after that?" The mouth grins a bit. It has pointed teeth.
"So... what do you want from me?"
"Nothing, at the moment. But you seem like the kind of man who's going to get into more fights. That's all I want. I'll fight your enemies until I die or drop, given the opportunity. I'll empower you to do the same, if you prefer. But that's all I want, for now. When sealed away like that," Ant gestures at the rock in your hands, "I slowly lose my identity. I have to rebuild it once I get some connection to the world. I don't even have a gender at the moment, for instance. I usually seem to end up the right gender for my 'master's' usual romantic preference. I'd ask which way you lean, but I really don't care." Even that would be enough. If Ant had a slight preference, the Contract would have broken and you'd know. Contract magic is absolute over the parties involved.
"However," Ant says, raising the same hand you've already seen. You still haven't seen any bit of its figure apart from the chin, mouth, and one hand; everything else is shrouded by the tattered cloak. "I think I just did come up with an offer I want to give you. A first of possibly many Contracts we can make."
The figure disappears from the bed where it had appeared. Instinctively, you look to your right. It's sitting on the bed next to you. The fact that you know it's not really there, and doesn't actually interfere with your real vision isn't much consolation as it grins. Those really are some sharp teeth. "I don't know who, I don't know why. But I think I know the 'how'. Shall I tell you how the gods and heroes died? All I want is your right arm."
A delicate finger traces from your shoulder to the tip of your middle finger, as Ant speaks in a casual, conversational tone. "Here's the deal, the actual Contract: I tell you everything I know about how, and as long as it's a substantial improvement towards your knowledge, I get your right arm. That means if we discover I'm largely wrong I lose my benefits entirely. I get ten minutes a day, here to here, time has to be consecutive. I can choose to use less. It's 'use it or lose it'; I can't build up a time bank or anything like that. I can't use your arm for self-harm or putting you in danger, but otherwise the time is mine." The gray cowl leans in unpleasantly close to your face. Those teeth. You force yourself to stand your ground. "I don't have any plans for what to do with this. It just seems fun. And if you need the knowledge more later, I can use this as a starting place and extract more concessions, because you'll know this was the basic price before you felt it was urgent."
You can think of other questions, but in the end...
[] Yes
[] No
- -
Feel free to write in questions. I'm sure you'll have some, and I'll give you as quick of answers as possible in the thread. I'll include any notable questions in the next actual update, as part of the narrative. Obviously you should feel free to change an early vote if the Q&A changes your mind.
...You all picked a pretty interesting pairing of who to talk to. I had all five scenes sketched out before last update, so if the two scenes fit together well, that wasn't my choice, that's yours.
A bargain turned down
- Pronouns
- They/Them
You shake your head. "Hold on. You're moving way too fast." You try to swat at Ant's image, and the cloaked figure fades away for a second when you do. It wasn't blocking your vision, anyway, but it's nice to have the confirmation you have that much power here. "Why would I agree to that?"
"Good point," Ant admits, its voice gradually growing firmer on the bunk where it first appeared. The figure reassembles itself there. "To be honest, I don't have a perfect answer for you. I wanted to see if pure knowledge would do it. I wanted to see how impulsive you are. I don't have much else to offer you unless you're gearing up for a fight, or at least some competition. That's why I offered it. Why you'd accept it? Well, perhaps it seems like a fair deal. Maybe you'd give up a lot to know, because unique knowledge is leverage in the right hands. Maybe you just are so devout you want to know the manner of your god's death." Ant shrugs.
"Hm." You stroke your chin. "I have a few more questions, though. Will you answer them?" Ant nods. "Would you make the same deal with someone else?"
"Yes," Ant replies, without hesitation, "But realize that if you did that, you're giving someone else the ability to deal with me. You really wouldn't have any control over them if you did, since with my backing they'd have a lot more power to access. Be sure you give me to someone you trust. Someone you really trust."
"How much of your... rebuilt identity do you get from me? Can I build you up the way I want with prayers and Contracts?"
"Somewhat," Ant acknowledges. "You can't change my basic nature, and I really don't think you're going to make me a generous soul. You're welcome to try, and might succeed, I suppose. I would rather enjoy the spar." You sense amusement.
"How... stuck are you?" You fiddle with the pendant.
"Very. Without very thorough physical trauma or some magic that I don't know exists at the moment, I'm not getting out any time soon. Not unless we actually manage it through Contracts. We could absolutely make one where I can manifest to destroy some foe of yours. Annoyingly for me, Tal-Roshath was quite thorough when creating my current state. Any such attempt reverts me back to this if I'm not very careful to behave as expected, not just literally adhering. It's frustrating."
You wince. "You really are forthcoming, aren't you?"
"Word games aren't exactly my purview. I prefer a more physical sort of struggle. Blades are good, but I wouldn't say no to a nice sporting event."
"How powerful are you? You've talked a couple times about 'destroying my enemies', not that I have any."
Ant rolls up a sleeve a little further, exposing more of its arm. It studies its newly revealed skin a little more. "I don't know, really. Not sure if that's something intentional to my sealing or if I lost it just by being sealed. I'm no god, I can tell you, and I'm much more than human, but I can't be precise beyond that. I would really love a chance to find out. Let me know when you get into a fight."
"Why were you sealed up like this instead of being destroyed?"
"Not sure. I suspect it was a case of it being not that much extra work and being a potential tool to use. I'm easy enough to direct, after all."
You take a deep breath. "Why 'Ant'?"
The figure looks at you and quirks what looks like a genuine smile. "Ants are known for being very powerful in proportion to their size, and fearlessly throw themselves on opponents much larger than they are." The smile fades, but the expression is still a little fond. "I'll leave you be, for now. I don't think you're up for much else tonight. If you find I get annoying in the future, I also can't disobey if you tell me to leave you be for a while." Ant fades from view, leaving you holding the still figure that you now know is its body.
Now sleep comes for you quickly, crowded into your tiny, too-empty room.
- -
You turn out to be the second one up in the morning. Kalju is first. He doesn't look happy, but that's always a bit of a challenge with him. His default resting state is looking sort of stoic and concerned. He nods as you enter the common area that seems to be a consensus meeting ground, shifting his spear to the crook of his elbow to free up both hands. "Boss." Like you, the instinct is always to have your weapon close at hand, whether you're expecting a fight or not. It's probably not that surprising a choice to demonstrate devotion to a god of war and shedding blood.
"Morning, Kalju."
'Boss' started as a joke, but after so much time so close together, it's just been turned into a nickname. It doesn't feel weird to have you use names and so rarely hear your own. Kalju sets out some dried jerky and cheese for breakfast. You look at it. "You were baking last night."
The tall spearman nods at your unspoken question. "Yeah. It was the last of the perishables that I thought anyone might want." He glances around, verifying the other three aren't around, and lowers his voice. "I was hoping you'd come talk to me about it then. We're low on food, you know. When they sealed up the temple, they also took goods. It wasn't just the expensive stuff. They took most of the food stores that were obvious."
"So we'll have to go shopping. Zahira is our purser still, I think. Ask her for some coin."
"Yeah." Kalju seems like he has something else on his mind, but he doesn't want to talk about it now. It seems he really wanted to discuss it last night.
You have breakfast in silence after that. Samir joins before long. He comes in clutching his temples and looking somewhat miserable. It's probably for the best that neither you nor Kalju are much given to chatter or other loud noises.
Before either of the girls join, you hear the big front door open, creaking on its huge hinges. All three of you turn towards it, you and Kalju with a wary attention, Samir with a pained groan. Light and the sound of footsteps come with it. Someone's coming in, and they don't seem to be particularly concerned about stealth. That means that they don't expect danger. By reflex, you check the sword at your side, ensuring that it's able to be pulled easily. Kalju steps up next to you. Samir is a moment longer, but he ensures he has his dagger on hand. You strain your ears until you make out their chatter. "Just another damn break-in," you hear, in a grumbling voice. "Someone scrounging for food or gold, who's long gone, and we have to sweep the whole thing before we can officially re-seal it, and then we're late, and then we get yelled at, and then we're even later getting off..."
You step out to meet the intruders, with the two companions backing you up. You find another trio facing you. Two startled men are in the front, both armed with short spears much like Kalju's. Behind them is an absurdly young woman with a sword slung across her back that's enormously oversized. It's almost as big as the weapon that the angel was swinging, but on someone... much smaller. Her eyes are as big as saucers when she sees you. "Who are you?" You bark at them, taking the initiative. "What are you doing here?"
One of the men rallies first. "What are you doing here? The Regency Council ordered the temples sealed up!" That sounds like the grumbler's voice.
"We live here." You fix him with a stare.
He shakes his head. "Everyone in the temples who survived the Great Dying went with Lady Adara. I don't know who you really are, but you need to throw down your weapons and surrender." He and his companion fall back behind the young woman. She glances once apiece at each of them, then draws a deep breath and her huge weapon at the same time. It swings with an eerie ease, as if she's carrying nothing at all. She takes an aggressive pose, but... her footwork is all wrong. She's clearly an amateur, no matter the fact that she's slinging around a ludicrous slab that could probably fell an oak with one good blow.
"I am Ariel," she squeaks, "grandmaster of the Bear's Mantle style! In the name of the Regency Council, drop your weapons and stand down!" That explains something, at least. Bear's Mantle is one of the enlightened martial traditions, one that focuses on massive strength training beyond what normal effort can accomplish, and is famous for allowing the user to move all the perceived weight of the weapon through a special grip. She feels almost none of the weight at the hilt, but right now the tip of the sword is much more massive on whatever it hits than even its sheer size suggests.
"Grand master," Samir giggles behind you. "This one?" He's clearly not too scared. Kalju elbows the bowman, who at least tries to sober up.
Ariel hesitates, but her look is growing more determined every second. She's not going to take defiance long.
You have to make a snap decision.
[] Surrender. This is a misunderstanding, after all, so why not throw down your weapons and get it straightened out?
[] Try to de-escalate. If you can just get them to understand, maybe you can get them to leave without any further fuss.
[] Fight. They came into your home and threatened you. You need to punish that.
[] Ant? Come out. I've got a fight for you.
- -
Wherein we first begin to see what comes of not picking other options.
"Good point," Ant admits, its voice gradually growing firmer on the bunk where it first appeared. The figure reassembles itself there. "To be honest, I don't have a perfect answer for you. I wanted to see if pure knowledge would do it. I wanted to see how impulsive you are. I don't have much else to offer you unless you're gearing up for a fight, or at least some competition. That's why I offered it. Why you'd accept it? Well, perhaps it seems like a fair deal. Maybe you'd give up a lot to know, because unique knowledge is leverage in the right hands. Maybe you just are so devout you want to know the manner of your god's death." Ant shrugs.
"Hm." You stroke your chin. "I have a few more questions, though. Will you answer them?" Ant nods. "Would you make the same deal with someone else?"
"Yes," Ant replies, without hesitation, "But realize that if you did that, you're giving someone else the ability to deal with me. You really wouldn't have any control over them if you did, since with my backing they'd have a lot more power to access. Be sure you give me to someone you trust. Someone you really trust."
"How much of your... rebuilt identity do you get from me? Can I build you up the way I want with prayers and Contracts?"
"Somewhat," Ant acknowledges. "You can't change my basic nature, and I really don't think you're going to make me a generous soul. You're welcome to try, and might succeed, I suppose. I would rather enjoy the spar." You sense amusement.
"How... stuck are you?" You fiddle with the pendant.
"Very. Without very thorough physical trauma or some magic that I don't know exists at the moment, I'm not getting out any time soon. Not unless we actually manage it through Contracts. We could absolutely make one where I can manifest to destroy some foe of yours. Annoyingly for me, Tal-Roshath was quite thorough when creating my current state. Any such attempt reverts me back to this if I'm not very careful to behave as expected, not just literally adhering. It's frustrating."
You wince. "You really are forthcoming, aren't you?"
"Word games aren't exactly my purview. I prefer a more physical sort of struggle. Blades are good, but I wouldn't say no to a nice sporting event."
"How powerful are you? You've talked a couple times about 'destroying my enemies', not that I have any."
Ant rolls up a sleeve a little further, exposing more of its arm. It studies its newly revealed skin a little more. "I don't know, really. Not sure if that's something intentional to my sealing or if I lost it just by being sealed. I'm no god, I can tell you, and I'm much more than human, but I can't be precise beyond that. I would really love a chance to find out. Let me know when you get into a fight."
"Why were you sealed up like this instead of being destroyed?"
"Not sure. I suspect it was a case of it being not that much extra work and being a potential tool to use. I'm easy enough to direct, after all."
You take a deep breath. "Why 'Ant'?"
The figure looks at you and quirks what looks like a genuine smile. "Ants are known for being very powerful in proportion to their size, and fearlessly throw themselves on opponents much larger than they are." The smile fades, but the expression is still a little fond. "I'll leave you be, for now. I don't think you're up for much else tonight. If you find I get annoying in the future, I also can't disobey if you tell me to leave you be for a while." Ant fades from view, leaving you holding the still figure that you now know is its body.
Now sleep comes for you quickly, crowded into your tiny, too-empty room.
- -
You turn out to be the second one up in the morning. Kalju is first. He doesn't look happy, but that's always a bit of a challenge with him. His default resting state is looking sort of stoic and concerned. He nods as you enter the common area that seems to be a consensus meeting ground, shifting his spear to the crook of his elbow to free up both hands. "Boss." Like you, the instinct is always to have your weapon close at hand, whether you're expecting a fight or not. It's probably not that surprising a choice to demonstrate devotion to a god of war and shedding blood.
"Morning, Kalju."
'Boss' started as a joke, but after so much time so close together, it's just been turned into a nickname. It doesn't feel weird to have you use names and so rarely hear your own. Kalju sets out some dried jerky and cheese for breakfast. You look at it. "You were baking last night."
The tall spearman nods at your unspoken question. "Yeah. It was the last of the perishables that I thought anyone might want." He glances around, verifying the other three aren't around, and lowers his voice. "I was hoping you'd come talk to me about it then. We're low on food, you know. When they sealed up the temple, they also took goods. It wasn't just the expensive stuff. They took most of the food stores that were obvious."
"So we'll have to go shopping. Zahira is our purser still, I think. Ask her for some coin."
"Yeah." Kalju seems like he has something else on his mind, but he doesn't want to talk about it now. It seems he really wanted to discuss it last night.
You have breakfast in silence after that. Samir joins before long. He comes in clutching his temples and looking somewhat miserable. It's probably for the best that neither you nor Kalju are much given to chatter or other loud noises.
Before either of the girls join, you hear the big front door open, creaking on its huge hinges. All three of you turn towards it, you and Kalju with a wary attention, Samir with a pained groan. Light and the sound of footsteps come with it. Someone's coming in, and they don't seem to be particularly concerned about stealth. That means that they don't expect danger. By reflex, you check the sword at your side, ensuring that it's able to be pulled easily. Kalju steps up next to you. Samir is a moment longer, but he ensures he has his dagger on hand. You strain your ears until you make out their chatter. "Just another damn break-in," you hear, in a grumbling voice. "Someone scrounging for food or gold, who's long gone, and we have to sweep the whole thing before we can officially re-seal it, and then we're late, and then we get yelled at, and then we're even later getting off..."
You step out to meet the intruders, with the two companions backing you up. You find another trio facing you. Two startled men are in the front, both armed with short spears much like Kalju's. Behind them is an absurdly young woman with a sword slung across her back that's enormously oversized. It's almost as big as the weapon that the angel was swinging, but on someone... much smaller. Her eyes are as big as saucers when she sees you. "Who are you?" You bark at them, taking the initiative. "What are you doing here?"
One of the men rallies first. "What are you doing here? The Regency Council ordered the temples sealed up!" That sounds like the grumbler's voice.
"We live here." You fix him with a stare.
He shakes his head. "Everyone in the temples who survived the Great Dying went with Lady Adara. I don't know who you really are, but you need to throw down your weapons and surrender." He and his companion fall back behind the young woman. She glances once apiece at each of them, then draws a deep breath and her huge weapon at the same time. It swings with an eerie ease, as if she's carrying nothing at all. She takes an aggressive pose, but... her footwork is all wrong. She's clearly an amateur, no matter the fact that she's slinging around a ludicrous slab that could probably fell an oak with one good blow.
"I am Ariel," she squeaks, "grandmaster of the Bear's Mantle style! In the name of the Regency Council, drop your weapons and stand down!" That explains something, at least. Bear's Mantle is one of the enlightened martial traditions, one that focuses on massive strength training beyond what normal effort can accomplish, and is famous for allowing the user to move all the perceived weight of the weapon through a special grip. She feels almost none of the weight at the hilt, but right now the tip of the sword is much more massive on whatever it hits than even its sheer size suggests.
"Grand master," Samir giggles behind you. "This one?" He's clearly not too scared. Kalju elbows the bowman, who at least tries to sober up.
Ariel hesitates, but her look is growing more determined every second. She's not going to take defiance long.
You have to make a snap decision.
[] Surrender. This is a misunderstanding, after all, so why not throw down your weapons and get it straightened out?
[] Try to de-escalate. If you can just get them to understand, maybe you can get them to leave without any further fuss.
[] Fight. They came into your home and threatened you. You need to punish that.
[] Ant? Come out. I've got a fight for you.
- -
Wherein we first begin to see what comes of not picking other options.
An impromptu meeting begins
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Well, I did want to give you he chance to pick something less than obvious, but I guess near-unanimity is pretty telling.
- -
You spread your hands in a non-threatening gesture, but don't drop your weapon nor show weakness by taking a step back. "We're not looking for trouble. This really is where we live. We just got back in from the docks yesterday, so we may have missed a few developments. We didn't have anywhere else to go. Are you really going to attack us for that?"
Ariel glances back at the guardsmen for support, possibly since you now sound very reasonable, as opposed to a mustache-twirling evildoer who had broken in here to pick a fight with authorities. Unhelpfully, Samir snickers and stage whispers "who died and made her grandmaster? Oh, that's right, eve--oof." Kalju elbows Samir with a bit more force this time.
"Anyway," you say, with a bit of extra emphasis, trying to keep things rolling now that you seem to have a positive momentum, "We certainly didn't mean to make any more work for you or break any... rules." You aren't sure if you should say 'laws' or not. "Since that's the case, maybe we should just pretend we didn't meet each other? We'll go look into Lady Adara's situation and then tomorrow or so you can reseal the door. No one has to be any the wiser, no paperwork needs to be filled."
The glares you get back from the guardsmen tell you this isn't a popular suggestion. It offers a way out without violence, but even with the paper-thin pretense you offered, you undermined their authority. Mentally, you upgrade the guardsmen to 'thugs'. It's clear that they have been getting used to getting things their way over the last few days, whenever they try to throw their weight around. They probably won't make an official report, but you have to expect you've made a mild enemy of the Regency Council, or at least their enforcement arm.
However, two things tilt this towards them accepting your offer. First, Ariel seems inclined to accept it, and however much of an amateur she looks like as far as actual fencing goes, she's clearly the heavy hitter for them. The second thing is that Dawn comes out. You hear her familiar, recognizable footsteps, and can track her even without tacking your eyes off the three in front of you. Dawn's footsteps get much quicker and more purposeful once she sees you, and she's always been on the shieldline with you. She hurries to join you as that front-line support.
You spare her a glance and a "thank you" nod as she steps up next to you. Now you outnumber them. Between both things, the thugs seem to decide that this is more trouble than it's worth today. "Fine," the spokesmen for them finally agrees. "Less paperwork is good for everyone."
The two thugs sidle away, Ariel following more normally, if still hesitantly. It takes her three tries to get her sword slung into position across her back. Once your group is safely alone again, Dawn arches an eyebrow at you. "What was that, boss?"
"Regency Council, I think," you say. "They were trying to throw their weight around."
"They weren't very good at it," Samir adds, then goes back to wincing at his headache.
"Not good at it yet," Kalju says.
You nod at Kalju's correction. "I wish we knew a bit more about... whoever's actually running things."
A fifth figure stumbles into the hall, mumbling some complaint about how uselessly long the hallways are. Zahira looks at the four of you standing together tensely, and tries to smooth her bedhead into something more presentable. She fails, and it springs back entirely unchanged. "What is this, a strategy meeting or something?"
"That's not a bad idea, now that you mention it," you say. "Let's find a table to all squeeze around."
Zahira, clearly not a morning person, snaps at you. "I was kidding, you ass!" You give Zahira a look. She can join the strategy meeting or not. She joins.
While you aren't officially directing the meeting, it's likely to come down to you to steer it, in the end. What do you think should be your priorities?
First vote, whether to share:
[] Share what you know about Ant.
[] Ant can be your secret for now.
Second vote, what to do now:
[] Find out more about Lady Adara, the Regency Council, and what else is going on with the capital's politics.
[] You've found out about one magical item. You should take your cracked crown to some experts to analyze.
[] Make some inquiries regarding the current state of spellcasting and enlightened martial arts. Apparently something has survived.
[] Lay low. Nothing is going on here that you want to get involved in.
Voting will be considered as a set, since sharing Ant or not is a big decision that might shape the other part, as well.
- -
You spread your hands in a non-threatening gesture, but don't drop your weapon nor show weakness by taking a step back. "We're not looking for trouble. This really is where we live. We just got back in from the docks yesterday, so we may have missed a few developments. We didn't have anywhere else to go. Are you really going to attack us for that?"
Ariel glances back at the guardsmen for support, possibly since you now sound very reasonable, as opposed to a mustache-twirling evildoer who had broken in here to pick a fight with authorities. Unhelpfully, Samir snickers and stage whispers "who died and made her grandmaster? Oh, that's right, eve--oof." Kalju elbows Samir with a bit more force this time.
"Anyway," you say, with a bit of extra emphasis, trying to keep things rolling now that you seem to have a positive momentum, "We certainly didn't mean to make any more work for you or break any... rules." You aren't sure if you should say 'laws' or not. "Since that's the case, maybe we should just pretend we didn't meet each other? We'll go look into Lady Adara's situation and then tomorrow or so you can reseal the door. No one has to be any the wiser, no paperwork needs to be filled."
The glares you get back from the guardsmen tell you this isn't a popular suggestion. It offers a way out without violence, but even with the paper-thin pretense you offered, you undermined their authority. Mentally, you upgrade the guardsmen to 'thugs'. It's clear that they have been getting used to getting things their way over the last few days, whenever they try to throw their weight around. They probably won't make an official report, but you have to expect you've made a mild enemy of the Regency Council, or at least their enforcement arm.
However, two things tilt this towards them accepting your offer. First, Ariel seems inclined to accept it, and however much of an amateur she looks like as far as actual fencing goes, she's clearly the heavy hitter for them. The second thing is that Dawn comes out. You hear her familiar, recognizable footsteps, and can track her even without tacking your eyes off the three in front of you. Dawn's footsteps get much quicker and more purposeful once she sees you, and she's always been on the shieldline with you. She hurries to join you as that front-line support.
You spare her a glance and a "thank you" nod as she steps up next to you. Now you outnumber them. Between both things, the thugs seem to decide that this is more trouble than it's worth today. "Fine," the spokesmen for them finally agrees. "Less paperwork is good for everyone."
The two thugs sidle away, Ariel following more normally, if still hesitantly. It takes her three tries to get her sword slung into position across her back. Once your group is safely alone again, Dawn arches an eyebrow at you. "What was that, boss?"
"Regency Council, I think," you say. "They were trying to throw their weight around."
"They weren't very good at it," Samir adds, then goes back to wincing at his headache.
"Not good at it yet," Kalju says.
You nod at Kalju's correction. "I wish we knew a bit more about... whoever's actually running things."
A fifth figure stumbles into the hall, mumbling some complaint about how uselessly long the hallways are. Zahira looks at the four of you standing together tensely, and tries to smooth her bedhead into something more presentable. She fails, and it springs back entirely unchanged. "What is this, a strategy meeting or something?"
"That's not a bad idea, now that you mention it," you say. "Let's find a table to all squeeze around."
Zahira, clearly not a morning person, snaps at you. "I was kidding, you ass!" You give Zahira a look. She can join the strategy meeting or not. She joins.
While you aren't officially directing the meeting, it's likely to come down to you to steer it, in the end. What do you think should be your priorities?
First vote, whether to share:
[] Share what you know about Ant.
[] Ant can be your secret for now.
Second vote, what to do now:
[] Find out more about Lady Adara, the Regency Council, and what else is going on with the capital's politics.
[] You've found out about one magical item. You should take your cracked crown to some experts to analyze.
[] Make some inquiries regarding the current state of spellcasting and enlightened martial arts. Apparently something has survived.
[] Lay low. Nothing is going on here that you want to get involved in.
Voting will be considered as a set, since sharing Ant or not is a big decision that might shape the other part, as well.
An introduction of sorts
- Pronouns
- They/Them
"Before we get into too much else," you say, "I have something important to share. I found something out last night." You lay Ant's pendant on the table in front of everyone. No turning back, now; you've decided to be open. "Touch the pendant. Ant, show yourself."
Murmurs arise as the shared vision of Ant, seemingly unchanged from your last meeting, appears at the table in its own seat. Today, Ant acts surprisingly restrained and polite, keeping to its chair, not trying to intimidate with its mouth full of razor teeth. You and Ant go through a quick summary of what you've already discussed and what conditions apply. The others ask a few extra questions, establishing just how much Ant can perceive and what it would mean to have a Contract with one person while Ant's actual form is with another. Essentially, Ant's perceptions are your immediate surroundings, as well as someone else who has a Contract should Ant so choose, but it's not a clear or complete or constant picture. Ant describes it as something like listening in on a party while looking in a window from across the street: with strain, Ant can perceive more, but there's not necessarily clarity in what is gained.
No one immediately clamors to make a Contract, and you don't explicitly offer. Zahira tries a few times to trick Ant into sharing more than the spirit is offering for free, doing things like asking circuitously if Ant thinks that this "Great Dying" might happen again. Ant doesn't rise to the bait, saying nothing but rather pointedly gesturing to its arm. The meaning is impossible to miss: if you want to know, pay the cost. Zahira eventually subsides with ill grace, and everyone else satisfies their curiosities.
This does, of course, still leave you with the question of what to do next. You have your own thoughts, but Ant brings something up first. "By the way," the spirit says smoothly, sliding it into a break in the conversation, "That woman, Ariel, I think she called herself? She's improved rapidly over the last week." That inspires further murmurs, including from you, wondering how he can tell. "One can't exist to fight without some idea of how opponents learn. She put a little too much effort into drawing it at first, then her eyes slipped to it as she slung it around. She was still uncertain in her own abilities. Even a couple of weeks of familiarity would take that uncertainty away." That's a distinct difference from the simple untrained nature you had already noticed.
Kalju nods. "She did call herself 'grandmaster'," he says. "I suppose if she's re-developing something, and managed a quick advancement, that would mean that she qualifies for the title, doesn't it? No one's really able to quibble with it."
Ant seems satisfied. "Exactly. I doubt she's alone, either. As I'm sure you've all been taught, extreme situations can help master enlightened martial traditions or elemental magic. One thing that I don't think has been fully appreciated before is that this applies equally well to an emotional strain of 'it's all up to me' or realizing that there are no rivals who present an unconquerable wall of superiority to you. Not to mention that it's hardly unheard of for some new 'alpha' to arise almost overnight even in an animal pack if the current leader is taken out of the picture. I anticipate we'll see radical new skills and new-minted archmages faster than anyone dreams of right now. It will be different than the old order, because there is no continuity of tradition to teach it... but it will come."
You glare at Ant, who seems unperturbed by it. You had already been leaning towards suggesting that the group find out what's been going on with such developments, and now Ant has scooped that... while simultaneously dangling the development of personal skills in front of everyone. Neither you nor Ant have any ability to read the other's mind, but there's no doubt that Ant anticipated something of the sort coming, and saw this as a chance to plant the thought for your group that maybe now you could become something more than merely human. No wonder Ant was well-behaved to now. Samir and Zahira both look especially thoughtful. Dawn's look is harder to read. Kalju is the only one who looks a bit troubled.
Well, that particular topic can't be unheard. You clear your throat to attract attention and re-exert some level of control. "We should probably see what else we can find. Not just about the Bear's Mantle school, but whatever else exists as far as enlightened martial traditions and magic right now."
All of these have been deeply embedded in how the world works. Heroes wielding magical weapons and enlightened techniques have been the masters of the battlefield for centuries, fighting each other, spirits, armies, and monsters alike. Conceptual mages have been involved in everything from counter-intelligence to crop-raising, from healing to entertainment. Elementals have driven ships, shaped the land, preserved food, lit cities at night. Seers have provided early warning of natural disasters, allowed communication across vast stretches of the Shallow Ocean, brought intelligence, warned of monsters swarming, and more. The world is deeply shaped by how the mightiest mortals have brought extraordinary talents to everyday affairs, and that's without touching on the efforts of great spirits such as gods, angels, and demons, along with those who Contract with them.
Your connections here are not at such rarefied levels. You and your companions knew at least somewhat plenty of people who have connections at a more basic level. A potion of hell's heart might be worth more than a lifetime's savings for some poor fisherman, but cheaper ingredients may change hands a dozen times. Every great martial academy buys its protective sparring padding somewhere. Tal-Roshath's temple sourced its ritual wine from a mundane vintner to begin with. There's a whole network of people you can talk to who have a street-level view of the underpinnings of the glorious world of the great.
"We'll need to split up, of course. Too many people all together can't gather as much information." Not only can you visit less locations, but it's easier to have a casual conversation with one merchant or worker than have three or four people hound one target all at once. Once the conversation is well underway regarding who will go where, what they'll plan to meet up with, and what else to do, you casually snag Ant's pendant and discreetly put it away. Ant's phantom figure disappears from the group.
What follows is a lot of walking. The capital has changed, for sure. You see a lot more armed men than you ever have before. A large minority of them have a purple cloth that you realize you saw on the Regency Council thugs who you saw today. Others have a gold cloth, and the purple and gold groups don't seem to mix. Most have neither one. You see fewer food stalls than you had before, along with less entertainment options. There's a slight air of anticipation, but you're not sure exactly what.
You visit your share of the people you're talking to, as well a meeting and splitting up again with your companions, sharing what you have learned and re-directing efforts. You learn that there are three schools of martial traditions left in the capital, though all operating at a much smaller scope than before, both in terms of what they promise and in terms of how many (and what quality) of applicants they may accept. Ariel's school of the Bear's Mantle is one of them. The next one you find is called the Viper's Kiss, a tradition based on controlling one's body chemistry, creating everything from super adrenaline-analogues to synthesizing poison they can inject with a touch. Right now, the best practitioner seems to be able to manage alcohol: there's a story going around about him getting into a fight with a street gang and getting himself very drunk with his own powers. Luckily, he was saved by being good with so-called 'drunk-fu' and being able to sicken the toughs he was fighting against with a touch as they absorb just as much alcohol as he has. There are a lot of variations of the story, but that outline seems to be decently consistent. The last one is a school called the Untouchable Blade Style, which you're not too familiar with. People seem to describe it as "creepy to watch" and it apparently is specialized in striking down human opponents one-on-one, and its users have had a great win rate in formal duels. What its specific techniques and methods are seem to be hard to come by.
As far as magic goes, libraries have opened (under watchful eyes, of course) to give what had been minor tome mages access to spell listings that no one can currently cast but which some are already trying. Recruitment parties, some calling for Lady Adara and some calling for the Regency Council, are recruiting anyone with any trace of extra-sensory perception to join the seer network. There's a public lecture in one of the larger parks where a charismatic young speaker explains to an audience how to bind a concept and gain conceptual magic, with a couple of older men as examples. The older men are no great mages; they simply picked up a tiny sliver of magical ability to aid them as they aged. That's quite common; most village elders or wise women have at least a touch of conceptual or tome magic, just because of the sheer utility of having that supernatural aid to help keep pain managed, fields fertile, or whatever else their specific focus is. There's a very seedy establishment near the docks that is growing infamous for promising to give customers elemental magic. Doubtless someone is going to crack down on it soon, as it is apparently killing about one customer in twenty... that they admit to. However, half of the survivors are genuinely gaining some control over a pair of elements as they exit. A few of the less savory ship crews have delegations outside it, ready to try to conscript any success stories before they recover from whatever abuse they're undergoing.
It's clearly not a sustainable state of affairs. Something will change. Ant clearly thinks it's going to lead to at least a kind of renaissance, and while you're not entirely sure that Ant's right, it's not impossible to imagine.
You meet up with Dawn again towards the end of your planned intelligence gathering, and again exchange what you've found. She doesn't immediately separate from you again, though. She sticks close and hesitates. You stop, giving her a chance to come out with whatever it is. She looks up and down the street, ensuring that the other three are nowhere to be seen... before taking a deep breath and sighing. "Yes?" You prompt her.
Dawn squares up, psyching herself for something that she's clearly nervous about. "Boss... can I make that Contract with Ant?"
"What?" You blink at her.
"I have to know!" Now words tumble out of her, as if a dam broke. "I won't do anything else. I'll give it right back. I just... I have to know what happened, what wrecked the world and killed the gods." It seems a little premature to you to describe the world as 'wrecked' when you're standing in a crowded street and life seems generally okay, but Dawn keeps going. "I'll tell you everything. I won't ask for something more after this..." She looks deep into your eyes, trying to impress you with her sincerity. "This just means so much to me. If there's anything in our history that means anything to you... please."
She holds out one hand, slowly.
You swallow, and your mind races.
[] Yes
- [] ...Conditionally (write-in)
[] No
- [] Give an excuse (write-in)
You don't have to include a write-in here. That's only to make the basic yes or no more precise.
Murmurs arise as the shared vision of Ant, seemingly unchanged from your last meeting, appears at the table in its own seat. Today, Ant acts surprisingly restrained and polite, keeping to its chair, not trying to intimidate with its mouth full of razor teeth. You and Ant go through a quick summary of what you've already discussed and what conditions apply. The others ask a few extra questions, establishing just how much Ant can perceive and what it would mean to have a Contract with one person while Ant's actual form is with another. Essentially, Ant's perceptions are your immediate surroundings, as well as someone else who has a Contract should Ant so choose, but it's not a clear or complete or constant picture. Ant describes it as something like listening in on a party while looking in a window from across the street: with strain, Ant can perceive more, but there's not necessarily clarity in what is gained.
No one immediately clamors to make a Contract, and you don't explicitly offer. Zahira tries a few times to trick Ant into sharing more than the spirit is offering for free, doing things like asking circuitously if Ant thinks that this "Great Dying" might happen again. Ant doesn't rise to the bait, saying nothing but rather pointedly gesturing to its arm. The meaning is impossible to miss: if you want to know, pay the cost. Zahira eventually subsides with ill grace, and everyone else satisfies their curiosities.
This does, of course, still leave you with the question of what to do next. You have your own thoughts, but Ant brings something up first. "By the way," the spirit says smoothly, sliding it into a break in the conversation, "That woman, Ariel, I think she called herself? She's improved rapidly over the last week." That inspires further murmurs, including from you, wondering how he can tell. "One can't exist to fight without some idea of how opponents learn. She put a little too much effort into drawing it at first, then her eyes slipped to it as she slung it around. She was still uncertain in her own abilities. Even a couple of weeks of familiarity would take that uncertainty away." That's a distinct difference from the simple untrained nature you had already noticed.
Kalju nods. "She did call herself 'grandmaster'," he says. "I suppose if she's re-developing something, and managed a quick advancement, that would mean that she qualifies for the title, doesn't it? No one's really able to quibble with it."
Ant seems satisfied. "Exactly. I doubt she's alone, either. As I'm sure you've all been taught, extreme situations can help master enlightened martial traditions or elemental magic. One thing that I don't think has been fully appreciated before is that this applies equally well to an emotional strain of 'it's all up to me' or realizing that there are no rivals who present an unconquerable wall of superiority to you. Not to mention that it's hardly unheard of for some new 'alpha' to arise almost overnight even in an animal pack if the current leader is taken out of the picture. I anticipate we'll see radical new skills and new-minted archmages faster than anyone dreams of right now. It will be different than the old order, because there is no continuity of tradition to teach it... but it will come."
You glare at Ant, who seems unperturbed by it. You had already been leaning towards suggesting that the group find out what's been going on with such developments, and now Ant has scooped that... while simultaneously dangling the development of personal skills in front of everyone. Neither you nor Ant have any ability to read the other's mind, but there's no doubt that Ant anticipated something of the sort coming, and saw this as a chance to plant the thought for your group that maybe now you could become something more than merely human. No wonder Ant was well-behaved to now. Samir and Zahira both look especially thoughtful. Dawn's look is harder to read. Kalju is the only one who looks a bit troubled.
Well, that particular topic can't be unheard. You clear your throat to attract attention and re-exert some level of control. "We should probably see what else we can find. Not just about the Bear's Mantle school, but whatever else exists as far as enlightened martial traditions and magic right now."
All of these have been deeply embedded in how the world works. Heroes wielding magical weapons and enlightened techniques have been the masters of the battlefield for centuries, fighting each other, spirits, armies, and monsters alike. Conceptual mages have been involved in everything from counter-intelligence to crop-raising, from healing to entertainment. Elementals have driven ships, shaped the land, preserved food, lit cities at night. Seers have provided early warning of natural disasters, allowed communication across vast stretches of the Shallow Ocean, brought intelligence, warned of monsters swarming, and more. The world is deeply shaped by how the mightiest mortals have brought extraordinary talents to everyday affairs, and that's without touching on the efforts of great spirits such as gods, angels, and demons, along with those who Contract with them.
Your connections here are not at such rarefied levels. You and your companions knew at least somewhat plenty of people who have connections at a more basic level. A potion of hell's heart might be worth more than a lifetime's savings for some poor fisherman, but cheaper ingredients may change hands a dozen times. Every great martial academy buys its protective sparring padding somewhere. Tal-Roshath's temple sourced its ritual wine from a mundane vintner to begin with. There's a whole network of people you can talk to who have a street-level view of the underpinnings of the glorious world of the great.
"We'll need to split up, of course. Too many people all together can't gather as much information." Not only can you visit less locations, but it's easier to have a casual conversation with one merchant or worker than have three or four people hound one target all at once. Once the conversation is well underway regarding who will go where, what they'll plan to meet up with, and what else to do, you casually snag Ant's pendant and discreetly put it away. Ant's phantom figure disappears from the group.
What follows is a lot of walking. The capital has changed, for sure. You see a lot more armed men than you ever have before. A large minority of them have a purple cloth that you realize you saw on the Regency Council thugs who you saw today. Others have a gold cloth, and the purple and gold groups don't seem to mix. Most have neither one. You see fewer food stalls than you had before, along with less entertainment options. There's a slight air of anticipation, but you're not sure exactly what.
You visit your share of the people you're talking to, as well a meeting and splitting up again with your companions, sharing what you have learned and re-directing efforts. You learn that there are three schools of martial traditions left in the capital, though all operating at a much smaller scope than before, both in terms of what they promise and in terms of how many (and what quality) of applicants they may accept. Ariel's school of the Bear's Mantle is one of them. The next one you find is called the Viper's Kiss, a tradition based on controlling one's body chemistry, creating everything from super adrenaline-analogues to synthesizing poison they can inject with a touch. Right now, the best practitioner seems to be able to manage alcohol: there's a story going around about him getting into a fight with a street gang and getting himself very drunk with his own powers. Luckily, he was saved by being good with so-called 'drunk-fu' and being able to sicken the toughs he was fighting against with a touch as they absorb just as much alcohol as he has. There are a lot of variations of the story, but that outline seems to be decently consistent. The last one is a school called the Untouchable Blade Style, which you're not too familiar with. People seem to describe it as "creepy to watch" and it apparently is specialized in striking down human opponents one-on-one, and its users have had a great win rate in formal duels. What its specific techniques and methods are seem to be hard to come by.
As far as magic goes, libraries have opened (under watchful eyes, of course) to give what had been minor tome mages access to spell listings that no one can currently cast but which some are already trying. Recruitment parties, some calling for Lady Adara and some calling for the Regency Council, are recruiting anyone with any trace of extra-sensory perception to join the seer network. There's a public lecture in one of the larger parks where a charismatic young speaker explains to an audience how to bind a concept and gain conceptual magic, with a couple of older men as examples. The older men are no great mages; they simply picked up a tiny sliver of magical ability to aid them as they aged. That's quite common; most village elders or wise women have at least a touch of conceptual or tome magic, just because of the sheer utility of having that supernatural aid to help keep pain managed, fields fertile, or whatever else their specific focus is. There's a very seedy establishment near the docks that is growing infamous for promising to give customers elemental magic. Doubtless someone is going to crack down on it soon, as it is apparently killing about one customer in twenty... that they admit to. However, half of the survivors are genuinely gaining some control over a pair of elements as they exit. A few of the less savory ship crews have delegations outside it, ready to try to conscript any success stories before they recover from whatever abuse they're undergoing.
It's clearly not a sustainable state of affairs. Something will change. Ant clearly thinks it's going to lead to at least a kind of renaissance, and while you're not entirely sure that Ant's right, it's not impossible to imagine.
You meet up with Dawn again towards the end of your planned intelligence gathering, and again exchange what you've found. She doesn't immediately separate from you again, though. She sticks close and hesitates. You stop, giving her a chance to come out with whatever it is. She looks up and down the street, ensuring that the other three are nowhere to be seen... before taking a deep breath and sighing. "Yes?" You prompt her.
Dawn squares up, psyching herself for something that she's clearly nervous about. "Boss... can I make that Contract with Ant?"
"What?" You blink at her.
"I have to know!" Now words tumble out of her, as if a dam broke. "I won't do anything else. I'll give it right back. I just... I have to know what happened, what wrecked the world and killed the gods." It seems a little premature to you to describe the world as 'wrecked' when you're standing in a crowded street and life seems generally okay, but Dawn keeps going. "I'll tell you everything. I won't ask for something more after this..." She looks deep into your eyes, trying to impress you with her sincerity. "This just means so much to me. If there's anything in our history that means anything to you... please."
She holds out one hand, slowly.
You swallow, and your mind races.
[] Yes
- [] ...Conditionally (write-in)
[] No
- [] Give an excuse (write-in)
You don't have to include a write-in here. That's only to make the basic yes or no more precise.