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Dead Sky: An Exalted Quest

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[X] Use sorcery to track down your errant colleague.
It would probably be good for our self esteem to do something useful on our own.

It's a terrible idea, but everything is.
 
[X] Convince Ciara to track down your errant colleague.

More Ciara content plz and thanks.
 
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EVIDENCE OF HER PASSAGE 39
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    • thelordofmango said:
    [X] Convince Ciara to track down your errant colleague
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    You return to the cabin shivering from the cold, and profoundly unhappy. But this is the safer choice.

    THE SORCERER: Safety. A word for the small-willed, petty-spirited, and otherwise malcontent to hide behind. You hold stars in your heart, and you reach for the services of beasts?

    You also hold a soulsteel mirror; you found it somewhere in the snow, and refused to look at it again. Fine, fine, fine. The last few days may have been a good demonstration in how you should probably slow down a bit. Just a tiny bit. Maybe screw up less. And Ciara - Ciara clearly has it all figured out. You don't have to worry about her messing up. There'll be no fuckups from her. She's just too good for that.

    She's waiting by the fire, just where you've left her. She shrugs at your entrance and does not turn as you stand above her, a gaunt, spindly critter skittering around a tired wolf.

    CIARA: "So, remind me, how old are you again?"

    "I don't remember."

    CIARA: "I'd peg you at twelve. Or a particularly slow fifteen."

    You swallow. Her voice has hardened; there is something exhausted in it, and nasty. You imagine it as a rusted edge, her tone that of a pitied blade grinding against a rock.

    THE SORCERER: If this is your choice, don't let her rule you. Remember! She is your minion. Your servant. Yours to use! Command her, decisively and with confidence! This is how you win her over. This is how you take hold of her!

    "I'm sorry," you mumble, completely insincerely.

    CIARA: "Are you? And for what exactly."

    The question gives you pause. You try introspection and find a deep well of 'sorry' inside of your soul, but the exact origin of it remains unclear. What are you even sorry for.

    THE LOVERS: For yourself.

    "For myself."

    CIARA: "Ain't that news."

    She sounds unimpressed, or unamused.

    "Also, I need you to track the woman who tried to kill me. For the sake of the Work," you blurt out.

    CIARA: "I need to?"

    You can't see her face, but something in the way those words roll off her tongue gives you an impression of fangs bared. Do you know you're tired? And you've been tired for so long that it has set into your bones and become a part of you? That even if you still had your memories, you wouldn't be able to recall the last time the body you wear felt comfortable, and the things you feel did not like crushed glass, being dragged across the inside of your heart? This is what those fangs you can't even see remind you of. This is what you hear in her voice. Your own words cave in. Sullenly, you circle the fire until you can sit across Ciara, but you can't bring yourself to look directly at her.

    CIARA: "What I need is for you to listen."

    She spits into the bonfire; it hisses sharply. You expect your spirit to warn you that this will hurt, but your stars are suddenly quiet. Your eyes drill holes in the cracked, ruined skin of your soles; there are some rags wrapped around your feet which had once been some sort of footwear, but like most of you, all that is left of it is shreds.

    CIARA: "I'm tired of your shit."

    You've heard those words before, you are sure. They are inscribed into you; and yet, they sting no less. You pull up your knees and bury your head in them, to appear smaller and less threatening. Ciara doesn't get played.

    CIARA: "You, your fucking schemes, that idiotic Work, whatever that is. The trail of grief and destruction you leave. And your constant-"

    Tears start welling up in your eyes.

    CIARA: "-self-pity."

    INTEGRITY (EASY):
    4 3
    CHECK SUCCESS

    You hold them back, for now. But you really do feel sorry for yourself.

    CIARA: "It's always the same fucking thing. You have an idea, you bang your head against it until something gives, and then I'm left cleaning the mess because I used to think I can't let you die. And then, you do the same bitch thing. You make big eyes eyes, cry a bit, and make yourself look as the most pitiful creature in Creation that just needs someone to take care of it. Sun and Moon, it even got me fooled the first few times. But I'm done with this crap."

    The implication of the cool, though hardly dispassionate lashing she is giving you is slow to sink, but sink it does.

    INTEGRITY (NORMAL):
    3 3
    CHECK FAILED

    You start sobbing. Ciara ignores this pointedly.

    CIARA: "Just like this. What do you expect now? A hug and a pat on the back? Fuck you, Bird Bones. I don't know if your plans are worse than your temper tantrums, but I'm done with both. I'm done with reminding you that you should eat, avoid your ass off, I'm done with dragging you to a bath. I'm done with playing your mommy, you callous, self-obsessed hysteric."

    EMBASSY (DIFFICULT):
    6 1
    CHECK SUCCESS

    You are weeping now, or more like: barking out sobs like a kicked dog. You are extremely proficient at appearing completely pitiful and playing the wounded animal, and you realize it even through the curtain of your tears. It is a slight, if poisonous comfort to also realize that your current breakdown is actually genuine. You were trying to manipulate Ciara at some point, but right now, you can't even bring yourself to form a full sentence without it being interrupted by tears streaming down your filthy face.

    THE LOVERS: She is only saying this to hurt you.

    You know this. Why would you even-

    THE LOVERS: You dumb, lovesick bitch, I'm telling you this so that you know she doesn't mean all of it.

    What? But-

    CIARA: "And of course I will have to follow your commands, and of course this will keep repeating week after week, because you are not getting better. You're getting worse. And some day, some day soon, all your fucking around will catch up to you, and you know what's the worst part is? You are not going to be only person it gets killed."

    And you take such wild comfort in this statement. In knowing that Ciara is not leaving you. That no matter how much you've messed up, you made sure she can't. Because otherwise, you don't know what you would do. And you know that this is pathetic, and that this is wrong. But she is there for you. Almost. Just a little bit more.

    You continue to cry. You are small, and make yourself feel even smaller - and it does not help. This cycle feels so very familiar.

    THE LOVERS: She's said everything she's had to say. She's going to ignore you for the rest of the night, and then act as if this conversation didn't happen in the morning. But you can extend it. Learn a thing or two about yourself. She's not going to hide anything from you, now that she can hurt you with the truth.

    THE GAUNTLET: Or you can keep quiet. Weep some more. Sleep. And move on. The Work does not depend on her loving you back.

    THE SORCERER: You can also do as you should have always done, and-

    THE CROW: No. You can't.

    [ ] Continue the conversation and learn something about yourself.
    [ ] Cut it, and spare yourself the pain.
     
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    • I empathize completely with breaking down sobbing every time someone so much as looks at you harshly.

    This is going to hurt, and we probably won't even get a hug at the end of it.
     
    EVIDENCE OF HER PASSAGE 40
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    • NemoMarx said:
    [X] Continue the conversation and learn something about yourself.
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    "Why don't you leave me, then?" you mutter from the crumpled heap of yourself. You don't know where the question is coming from. You know the answer already, don't you?

    You hear - you are afraid to look - Ciara grunt.

    CIARA: "Are you dumb? I can't. You made sure of that."

    You feel like a moron for you even daring to say that out loud. What were you-

    THE LOVERS: Stop your dumb whining and don't let her get away with a lie.

    What?

    THE LOVERS: Press her. You used to be good at this.

    EMBASSY (DIFFICULT):
    5 5
    CHECK SUCCESS

    How could she be lying, though? You have her collared. If she tries leaving you, you can just-

    What you realize next makes you stop mid-sob. A cold shiver runs through you, and with it, a prickly breed of clarity. If she tries leaving you, you will launch yourself at her feet, and you will threaten to kill her with the collar, but you won't. You can't. You don't have what it takes.

    THE GAUNTLET: I warned you she is your weakness.

    And... and she is long of years. Seasoned. Powerful. Wise. She...

    THE LOVERS: She knows this, too.

    "You know," you begin.

    THE SORCERER: Stop. Think about what you are doing. You are about to admit weakness to a minion. You are about to betray everything you were supposed to be. Seize the reins of your destiny instead and-

    But you can't. At your fingertips, there is the power to move the skies from their foundations. You can open your mouth and sing the Cantata of Empty Voices that lays ruin to cities. You steal secrets from stars and trap dead demiurges in cages of starmetal. And you know, as sure as you know you are all-powerful, that none of this extends to this Lunar.

    "You know," you say again, "I could never hurt you. No matter what you did."

    THE SORCERER: Pathetic.

    THE LOVERS: And also true.

    CIARA: "Sure," she barks. "Unless one of your many mistakes finally possesses you. And what then?"

    A false note in her voice. You catch it, in spite of everything.

    THE LOVERS: Sharp nose you have there. And what is the lie? Come on, my little star-born slut. You know this.

    OCCULT (DIFFICULT):
    3 1
    CHECK SUCCESS

    You know this. You swallow, hard, but the words come surprisingly easily. This is the area of your expertise.

    "Nothing," you say with confidence, however wavering. "The collar is bound to my soul, not my Essence. Only I can rule it. I wouldn't have it otherwise."

    The small sense of pride you feel at the mention - at knowing that you are better than any of the myriad horrors trying to claim your body as their own - is life-saving. So, you breathe in, and add the other truth you have realized.

    "And you know that too."

    Ciara sighs.

    CIARA: "I keep forgetting how sharp you can get," she spits out, an annoyed note ringing through her.

    This, too, makes you swell with pride.

    CIARA: "So, what's next? You expecting me to say that it is your irresistible charm? That you are, after all, likeable? Maybe a confession of hidden love? Wouldn't you enjoy that?"

    THE LOVERS: You would. And it would be hilarious. But it is not coming.

    "I just want to know why," you plead instead. "Why do you stick with me, if I am-"

    CIARA: "Go the fuck to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

    "I need to know!"

    CIARA: "You are in no position to demand anything, Bird Bones. Not after all the stuns you've pulled out today. Sleep. Before you faint."

    THE LOVERS: She will never admit a weakness to you. And she will resent it if you find one.

    [ ] Go to sleep.
    [ ] Press on.
     
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    • That was surprisingly pleasant. We didn't even burst into tears once.

    We still need a hug, though.
     
    Bird Bones is staring up at Ciara from the bottom of the deep hole they've dug with their actions. What a wretched thing her ambitions have created where once there was a great Sidereal sorceress. I feel bad for her, and would like to give her a hug. T_T
     
    EVIDENCE OF HER PASSAGE 41
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    • Omicron said:
    [X] Go to sleep.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    You don't want her to resent you, do you? You shut your mouth and crawl under the pile of furs. Your body aches in dozen little unique ways: the small draining pangs of hunger, the dull throbbing of an ongoing heartbreak, not to mention the wound right through your hand, inexplicably survivable. When you close your eyes, an image of your spindly frame appears in the aperture of your mind - it is yet another little image that has etched itself into the material of your perception. It's not heartening. The picture of your self that you have is a doll, a bundle of sticks bound by twine and dressed in rags. A discarded toy? A mocking effigy? The hair you imagine yourself to have is bundles of broken hay, sticking out like a series of spikes. Of course, this does not fit in with what you have seen of yourself in the mirror: your mind is playing tricks on you. You are wrong about yourself.

    THE CAPTAIN: Slow down, ma'am.

    And of course, you don't like this image. It's you, the raw and bare essence of you. The awful truth of you and-

    THE CAPTAIN: Ma'am! This is not a memory!

    This comment strikes you as very weird, so you take heed. It is not your memory. But you remember it, don't you? You remember how you imagined yourself to be, which means that you remember yourself and-

    THE CAPTAIN: It's all lost to the depths, ma'am. It's all gone. The memories. It's something else. It's-

    What is he talking about?

    THE CAPTAIN: A ship is broken on jagged rocks, and a stranded sailor battered by the waves. Washed ashore, she does not remember herself, but she finds a sword at her hand, and an enemy before her, and she slays them as easily as she breaths. But that does not mean she remembers. It's only what has been impressed into her muscle, and her bone, and her. Permission to speak freely?

    Tell me more, you think to yourself.

    THE CAPTAIN: Very well. We have reached the safe harbor of the night, but the rescue operation has not been fully successful. Most of you is gone. Sank to the bottom. Beyond recovery. What you are experiencing is only the grooves left by who you were.

    That still-

    THE CAPTAIN: The principle of a drill is that an officer makes his subordinates go through a task over and over and over again, so that it becomes a part of them. So even if they loose their senses, even if they panic, their bodies will snap back at attention when commanded to. This is not who you are right now, ma'am. This is what you did, every night, without fail.

    Wallowed in self-pity?

    THE LOVERS: Are you really asking this question?

    THE CAPTAIN: It's the flotsam. Pieces of the cargo. You should scavenge it, for what it is worth.

    Right so- you are a profoundly sad woman who is fatally in lust with someone you have harmed, and who has made every wrong move available to her, and yet persevered in spite of it all, because the Work cannot be abandoned. And you have been like that for so long that- Oh, you don't like this thought. You really don't those tracks your consciousness slides into.

    THE CAPTAIN: It doesn't matter. It won't stop you. You will carry on, no matter what.

    His words should ring empty, the kind of bald-faced lie sold to children to convince them that they are stronger than the world, which is a way to get them killed quickly. But no, you accept them with neither hope, nor despair, but quiet acknowledgment that they are, in fact, absolutely true. You will carry on, no matter what. Because - and this is where he was leading you into - it's also track for your soul to follow, ground as deep into the surface of you as self-pity, lust, or love for power.

    You open your eyes and stare at the ceiling. You turn your head and see the great shape of Ciara hunched by the flame. The register of the days' failures and humiliations unfolds before you, and you relive every little shape and failure you have endured. And yet, none of it chips away at the despairing, heartbroken certainty that when you wake up tomorrow, you will continue on your voyage. In fact, you are absolutely certain that if the heavens were to collapse and the sky to die, it would not stop you. Under the covers, you touch the ragged edges of your wound - could death put an end to this quest, or would you persevere in spite of it? You suspect you know the answer.

    OCCULT (DIFFICULT):
    4 1
    CHECK SUCCESS

    It's almost inappropriate, you realize, for what you ostensibly are. Your kind - the star-eyed viziers, stewards of fate, and subtle agents of necessity - is not given to such foolhardiness. No, the Bureau of Destiny prizes itself on prudence, on counting risks against benefits, and cutting the losses when they have gotten too high. Have you not put an end to a golden age, just because you counted the fall of the world against the evil of it, and chose the safer option? It's unbecoming of a Sidereal. It's lunacy. It belongs to the children of a different divinity.

    EMBASSSY (DIFFICULT):
    5 1
    CHECK SUCCESS

    So this is what Ciara sees in you.

    THE SORCERER: You are not like her!

    THE LOVERS: She is not like you.

    But- but you have something of Luna in yourself, don't you? Not literally, but- you are mad, and broken, and foolish. And yet, you push on.

    THE CROW: Even though you know it's impossible.

    So is surviving a sword driven straight through your heart. Or, for that matter, getting out of the bed in the morning.

    THE CROW: You just keep telling yourself that, because you have no alternative.

    Because there is no alternative. And this is what Ciara sees in you. What Ciara appreciates in you. What Ciara defends from the world. The moon smiles upon the mad, and those who refuse to take the hint. You got it!

    [ ] Enthusiastically announce to Ciara that you have figured out what her deal is.
    [ ] Actually go to sleep.
     
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