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Rising in the East

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[x] Flee through the trees overhead, relying on agility to get you away from danger

If we can't just fight (since nobody is voting with me), let's just run away.
 
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Nest of Spiders
  • Sidestory
    • ​



    The Unrepentant Sinner Palace,
    Forbidden lair of the Grass Spiders,
    A decade ago

    For the first time in the several weeks since Parting Sigh was Chosen by the Dragons, she feels truly nervous. A sense of gut-deep uncertainty overtaking her. The blindfold itches, and it's a struggle not to just tear the thing off — she has no idea where she is or where they're going, but the sound of rushing water in her ears and the occasional bit of spray have been setting her on edge.

    "Do I really have to keep this on?" she asks.

    "You do!" comes a good-natured voice from over her shoulder. Sly Magpie's hand on her shoulder is the only thing that's guiding Sigh along. "It's required until you're properly sworn in. Don't worry, worst that can happen is you slip and go for a swim, right?"

    "Easy for you to say," Sigh mutters. Magpie is the only other Dragon-Blood Sigh has met in her life, but it wasn't hard to tell that they have very different Aspects from one another — Magpie had dashed across a small river as casually as anything, the surface of the water not daring to be so rude as to let her fall in.

    "It is!" Magpie agrees. "No, calm down. You'll be one of us soon enough. Riches, prestige, and the respect of some very terrifying people. The knowledge that you're leaving your mark on history like an artist painting a canvas! All this and more can be yours."

    "You sure know how to make a pitch," Sigh mutters, sullenly sarcastic.

    "Hey, it's worked on you so far," she chirps. It had, of course. It had been the poem most of all, though.

    Sigh is a young Dragon-Blood with, it feels like, all the world unfurled before her. She can go anywhere now, do anything — what could possibly stop her? But the poem that Magpie had recited to her had been stirringly, heartbreakingly compelling. It had made death seem beautiful and impactful in a way that Sigh couldn't help but be drawn to.

    Somehow, the fact that the poem was describing a murder that Sly Magpie had carried out for money didn't seem to matter. It probably should have, but... Exalted or not, Parting Sigh is a thirteen year-old girl, and the Grass Spiders have been drawing in young outcastes since before her grandparents had been born. There would be months and years to work on her before they finally put blood on her hands. By that point, she would already be too entwined with the dark and insular world of the clan to truly balk. It's said that Dragon-Blooded Essence craves companionship — whatever else, Sigh would find that much here.

    It's clear that they're underground. They'd had to go down quite a ways at some point, and now, water aside, the air is cool on her skin, and charged in a way she's never felt before. Pregnant with a power that tastes of moss and shade and the things that live and die on the edge of light and dark.

    Once again, Magpie guesses where her thoughts are going. "Your first time in a manse," Magpie says. It's not even a guess — she's completely certain. "Here, though—" and mercifully, she reaches out and pulls Sigh's blindfold free.

    Sigh blinks around at her surroundings. She's in a small room, windowless, carved from dark, living wood, lit by strange mushrooms sprouting upside-down from the ceiling, casting a soft, greenish light. There's a table and chair here, and a few crates.

    "Hold tight," Magpie says, patting Sigh's shoulder. "That's not a suggestion, by the way — I'll tell them you're here."

    "'Them'?" Sigh asks, but Magpie's tall figure is already closing the door behind her. Sigh stares after it for a long moment, before sinking down into the chair with a slow exhalation.

    Minutes drag past, and the stir-crazy feeling in Sigh's stomach won't subside. She's tilted the chair back, balancing it on its back two legs, bracing a foot on the table to keep from tipping over as she studies the wave-like pattern the strange lighting casts on the walls. When the door opens again, she's forced to surge to her feet, catching the chair at the last minute to prevent it from crashing to the floor.

    The person standing there is decidedly not Sly Magpie. Instead, it's a girl her own age, pale, dark-haired, and smiling infectiously. "Hello!" she says. "They're ready for you."

    Sigh slides to her feet a little awkwardly. "Who's 'they'?" she asks.

    "Oh, the Fiends," the girl says, already leading the way out the door, seeming to assume Sigh will follow.

    "... right," Sigh says, but the sarcasm seems to be lost on her guide.

    "I'm Violet Sunset," the girl says, over her shoulder. "Call me Sunny, though. Violet is my mother."

    'Sunny' seems like a bizarre nickname for someone associated with this kind of place to go by. Violet at least has the ominous distinction of being a colour associated with death. "I'm Parting Sigh," Sigh tells her.

    "Oh, you already have a great Spider name!" Sunny tells her. "Was that the one you were born with?"

    "Well, no," Sigh admits, "it was Parting Stream, but... then I Exalted." 'Stream' just hadn't seemed right for a Fire Aspect — her new name is at least suitably dramatic, she thinks.

    "How did you Exalt?" Sunny asks, a sudden keen interest coming into her voice. Unlike Magpie, who had taken her on many probably unnecessary twists and turns, Sunny is leading Sigh on a very direct path. The water from before is nowhere to be seen — it would be a nightmare for Sigh to try and find her way out of these dark, narrow hallways. There's no one here, which might have been deliberate.

    "Oh, uh... I fell into a cooking fire," Sigh says, caught off guard. "And then I... didn't burn?" It had felt pleasantly warm, and the smoke had tasted as fresh as a spring morning. She'd been gripped with a sense of euphoric understanding, for a brief moment becoming utterly one with the element of Fire. "... I almost burned the house down, though," she adds.

    Sunny giggles a bit at this last, before admitting: "I'm still waiting to see if I will. Exalt, not burn a house down! Mother's a Wood Aspect, so it could happen for me any day now — or, you know... never." Despite the flippancy of the comment, Sunny isn't entirely able to hide an envious note in her voice, although Sigh isn't sure if she would have noticed it if she were still mortal. Sunny doesn't let the moment last too long, at least. "Anyway, I'm just happy to have someone close to my age here. Assuming they don't just decide to kill you instead."

    Sigh tenses, coming up short. "What?"

    Sunny laughs again, and Sigh feels her face grow hot. "Joking, joking," she says, airily. "They won't do anything like that. Taking in new outcastes is part of how the clan grows."

    "That... wasn't funny!" Sigh says, falling back in with Sunny to prevent being left behind.

    "You're cute when you're flustered," Sunny says. And before Sigh can properly react to that, she's pointing to a set of large, ominous doors that abruptly loom ahead at the end of the hall. They're engraved with three elaborate masks, as well as disturbingly realistic renderings of death in various forms. "We're here. Good luck. Don't speak unless spoken to and be respectful, you'll do fine."

    Sigh stares at the door for a lingering moment, anxiety fluttering in her chest. "So do I just go in?" she asks. Then she turns to discover that Sunny is already gone, having seemingly vanished on the spot. Great. If Sunny comes and goes so silently now, Sigh doesn't want to think about what she'll be like if she really does Exalt.

    Now she's just stalling. Taking a deep breath, Sigh pushes the doors open, and steps through, and into the darkened chamber beyond.

    As soon as she's fully inside, the doors swing closed, seemingly of their own accord, causing Sigh to jump. "Be seated," a voice tells her, from somewhere out of the perfect darkness.

    Slowly, Sigh sinks to the floor, going into a kneeling position that she'll be able to rise from again in a hurry, if she needs to. She almost demands what's going on, until she remembers Sunny's advice, and manages to keep her mouth shut.

    "What's your name, girl?" a second voice asks. And as it speaks, a red light flares to life, illuminating a figure seated on a dais in front of her. They're leanly dangerous in an androgynous way that's hard to pin down. The mask they wear is of a snarling beast, and they're armed as if they plan to fight their way through half a legion — swords and knives hang from their waist and back, and the ominous, sheathed bulk of a reaper daiklave lays on the dais beside them.

    Sigh finds her voice to speak. "Parting Sigh," she says.

    "An odd choice, for a Chosen of Hesiesh," the figure says. Concentrating on the speaker, Sigh can tell that the air around them is shimmering, as if a great heat is rising off of their body. They seem to be taking it for granted, as Sunny had, that 'Parting Sigh' wasn't what she had been born with — an impromptu name change is seemingly not uncommon for the recently Exalted. "I approve, though. It's poetic."

    "Never mind that." Another light, this one a pale, washed out blue, comes on from the far side of the dais. A man lounges there in disdainful repose, tall and well-muscled, face covered by a white mask carved in an expression of sorrow. One hand strokes through the fur of a large hunting cat that sits obediently at his side. A snow leopard, Sigh will later learn. His voice carries the chill of winter with it as he continues: "You wish to become one of us. Do you truly know what that means?"

    "I... think so," Sigh says, trying to keep her voice steady in light of this display. Her earlier anxiety has curdled into a small knot of fear. Even if Sunny had been joking about these people killing her, she was uncomfortably aware that they probably could if she gives them a reason to.

    "Thinking you do isn't good enough." This time, a sickly green light flicks on in the center of the dais. A thin woman kneels there, hands concealed within large sleeves. Her presence is like the bitter-sweet scent of decaying leaves, the darkness moving unnaturally around her like shadows cast by skeletal trees. Somehow, the smiling mask she wears is the most intimidating of all.

    These are the Three Elite Fiends, as Sigh would learn shortly — Crimson Weaver, Pallid Wolf, and Emerald Widow. Elder Dragon-Blooded of rare power and dread reputation, who had presided over the Grass Spiders since its inception.

    Widow continues: "There are promises you cannot take back. Oaths that are not to be entered into lightly. We would become your family, but this carries with it certain expectations — you will have to kill for us. This is the art we practice. Do you believe you are prepared for this?" She sounds incredibly skeptical.

    Sigh swallows, squaring her shoulders to try and look more confident. "I want to be!" she says. Then hastily amends: "I mean... I can learn. That's what training is for, isn't it?"

    Crimson Weaver gives a short laugh. "The most honest answer! Few truly are ready, when they come to us, as much as they won't admit it." They sound approving, or maybe even intrigued.

    "We'll see in time," Pallid Wolf says. "For now, tell us of what skills you already possess."

    ==========​

    The Grass Spiders' Code:

    1. A Grass Spider obeys her Elite Fiends in all things

    2. A Grass Spider does not reveal the secrets of her clan to any outsider

    3. A Grass Spider never interferes with one of her fellows' pursuit of a contract

    4. A Grass Spider never kills or maims another Grass Spider, whatever their quarrels

    Each rule is superseded by all those that come before it.    ​

    ==========​

    City of Mishaka,
    Three years later

    One of the lessons that only experience can teach is exactly how fast everything can go wrong.

    "It'll be just you and him in the room. Get close, open his throat ear to ear -- slice his windpipe while you're at it. No screams, no noise. You think you know how quickly a mortal bleeds out, but you don't really until you see the real thing."

    The memory of Sly Magpie's words are calm and reasonable in Sigh's mind as she approaches the man from behind. In the eternity of those few seconds, she studies him -- his broad, muscled back, his shaven head, the sword casually left on the floor beside him. "Hurry with that refill," he says, voice gruff, cup held high.

    "Right away, sir," Sigh says, scurrying up with the wine jug in hand. She plays what she's about to do in her head over and over again, drawing on months and years of relentless training. As she makes to pour from the jug, a knife slips down from her sleeve, into her palm. The jug drops to the floor with a splash -- the man is still scowling at it when she grabs him by the chin with one hand, and drags the blade across his neck, just like she's been taught.

    Unlike what was supposed to happen, an elbow slams into her jaw when she's halfway through, knocking her back. The man lurches up to his feet, letting out a strangled scream before Sigh can tackle him from behind, driving the knife into his back again and again and again until he crumples to the floor. He goes down heavy and boneless with a crash, bright arterial blood mingling with dark wine on the floorboards, Sigh toppling after him. She awkwardly climbs up to her feet a second later, staring down at the bloody knife clutched in her white-knuckled grip, at the scarlet ruin of her serving dress. She barely has a few seconds, no time at all, really, to process her first kill.

    "Since you're not going to give him time to scream, you shouldn't need to worry about the Lookshyan. Seventh Legion washout -- they tossed him out on his ear after he murdered another officer in a brawl. A drunken wreck, generally, mainly kept on as a legbreaker by the target's crime family. Still not a fight we want to pick tonight."

    The door smashes inward, admitting a man who could easily have made two of Sigh, his eyes bleary from wine, but his nails and knuckles and teeth the mottled grey of cut granite. He takes one look at the room, at his dead employer on the floor, and at the pale serving girl standing over him with a knife, and he charges Sigh like a bull yeddim.

    At this point, fortunately, her training doesn't fail her. As the Lookshyan barrels down on her, she flickers out of the way, sending him staggering past her hip with a knife wound in his flank. He looks up at her, confusion mingling with his anger — he hasn't realised that she's Dragon-Blooded as well, yet. She can't afford to give him the time to adjust that assumption.

    She hurls the knife at the same time as she lunges past the corpse on the floor, snatching up the target's sword as she hears a satisfying bellow of pain from behind her. The Lookshyan is just pulling the knife from his eye when Sigh lunges in to ram the sword into his chest.

    "If you do end up fighting him... well, shit. Try not to let him get a grip on you — the thing most people are saying about him is that he crushed someone's skull with his bare hands a few months back. And you just know he'd be a pain to take down. Earth Aspects just don't know when to die."

    Faster than she'd expected him to be able to respond in his state, a calloused hand shoots out, grabbing onto the blade of the sword with skin strengthened by Earth Essence. The pain of the injury, it seems, has rendered him stone-sober. "Oh, Dragons, you're Exalted," he growls, disgusted with the discovery. Then he seizes her and hurls her into the nearest solid wall with bone-jarring force.

    Sigh feels all the air go out of her as she makes meteoric impact, the sword slipping from her grasp and stars dancing in front of her eyes. Still makes out his fist, coming for her face so fast that she only barely ducks, and he punches clear through the solid wooden wall to the next room. From her place on the floor, Sigh aims a kick at the inside of his knee. It's like striking at a boulder, but she feels the satisfactory give of a joint popping out of place before she rolls free.

    She makes a grab for the sword, just in time to see him raise a fist as if to pound it down into the floor, white anima flaring around him along with flecks of whirling stone. Acting on pure instinct, Sigh launches herself upward with a burst of hot air. His fist strikes hard enough to make the entire building groan, floorboards shattering out in a ring around him from the impact, the entire room shaking so violently that the furniture is tossed around like a collection of toys. Sigh knows she would have been thrown flat to the floor if she'd still been standing on it.

    The ceiling rushes up toward her, and she takes it as an opportunity. Pushing off of it with both feet, she dives back toward the Lookshyan, flame-wreathed blade punching down into his back, searing its way through stone-hard flesh to pin him to the ruined floor beneath him. He gives a furious cry, thrashes where he is, and then lets out one final, startled scream as the floor beneath him gives way entirely, Sigh just barely leaping clear. He lands in the room beneath with a thunderous crash of shattering porcelain. When she looks down at him, he's not moving, the sword still impaling him cleanly. With the roaring in her ears beginning to fade, she becomes aware of the sound of numerous pounding feet heading for her location.

    "When you take your exit, make it quiet and careful. Don't draw attention to yourself, don't just charge into a situation you can't control if you can help it."

    Sigh aims for the nearest window, flings it open, and leaps out onto a four-story drop, the nighttime city unfolding beneath her. Half-formed plans to catch a railing on her way down are stopped short as a hand reaches out and seizes her before she can fall more than a few feet, hurling her upward again as if she weighs nothing. She lets out a deeply undignified squawk as she lands on the roof tiles, struggling to ready herself for this new attacker.

    "Calm down," says Sly Magpie, easily making the climb to crest the rooftop. She gives Sigh a grin. "Didn't go quite to plan, huh?"

    Sigh's shoulders hunch in mortification. "Well..." she says, "... the Lookshyan's dead."

    Magpie laughs. "Tell me about it when we're not on this roof. And when you're not glowing like a beacon and covered in blood."

    Sigh looks down at herself, realising that she's still glowing a noticeable smoky red-orange. She looks up to see Magpie already on the move, and hurries to catch up, trying to match the easy confidence the Water Aspect uses to make the leap between rooftops.

    Mishaka is a small city by Scavenger Lands standards, but it still seems incomprehensibly large, compared to the sleepy countryside where she grew up. In the moonless night, Sigh can see the shape of its shattered walls, but not the blasted wasteland beyond them, or the many buildings that burned years ago and have yet to be rebuilt. As it turns out, being the unlikely site of one of the greatest battles of the Second Age means that you can still lose even in victory.

    "Here," Magpie says, calling her up short with a raised hand. They've been fleeing for long minutes now, and they're currently on top of what looks like a bakery. Magpie leans down to scoop up a waiting bundle, and tosses it at Sigh. "Clothes are in there. Get rid of what you're wearing." She turns politely away to let Sigh get that over with.

    Without worrying about modesty, Sigh strips off the dress, and begins pulling on the simple, dark clothes from the bundle. "Are they going to be disappointed?"

    "Who, and about what?" Magpie asks.

    "Weaver. For me doing a sloppy job." Sigh pulls the shirt over her head, scowling at her own performance. "Everything went a little wrong."

    "Of course it did. A poet doesn't compose a masterpiece the first time she puts ink to paper," Magpie says, dismissively. "The job was to kill him and get away without any witnesses. The negotiations between the families fall apart, fingers get pointed in every direction, and the client comes away happy. Killing the Lookshyan wasn' exactly what you were being paid for, but it sure sends a message. Weaver will love hearing about that, especially if you start composing a poem about it first. You killed an Exalt, even if it was a pretty shabby one! Of course, then they'll start working on fixing every one of the many problems with your approach until you wish that the Earth Aspect actually had killed you instead."

    "Yeah, sounds like them," Sigh admits, relief mixed with a new apprehension at the thought. Properly dressed now, she pulls a hood up over her head, and a mask up over her face. Then she holds the ruined dress in both hands, and focuses on burning it to ash.

    "You'll keep getting better," Magpie says, almost dismissively. "I've had a good feeling about you all along."

    Sigh grunts disbelievingly. The dress flares brightly for a moment as the fabric is eaten away. It's a risk, but it's better than leaving as clear a clue behind as the garment itself. The mystery of it all is the point. "How am I supposed to feel about it, though?" she asks.

    "About Weaver's training? Awful, while it's going on."

    "No, about... I just killed two people. How should I feel about that?"

    Magpie looks back at Sigh for the first time, shrugging her narrow shoulders. "There's no 'should', Sigh. Feel how you need to — what's important is you did your duty for the clan, justified our faith in you." Then she grins a little ruefully and adds: "I puked my guts out, my first time."

    Sigh blinks. "Really?"

    "Daana'd shun me if I lie," Magpie says, putting a hand over her heart. "But your girl, the way I hear it, she came away from her first kill practically skipping. Hasn't lost a wink of sleep. Violet Shadow's insufferably proud about it. It's different for everyone."

    Sigh shrugs uncomfortably. "Sunny's not... we're just friends." There had been some adolescent flirtations, even some kisses stolen in moments here and there, but the truth is, Sigh doesn't particularly like the person Sunny has become since she Exalted. It's probably a little ridiculous for a murderous assassin to have a preference for the virtuous type, but... well, Sigh can't do anything about that. Of course, it doesn't help that Violet Shadow is a particularly skilled and fearsome Grass Spider, and it's impossible to kiss her daughter without remembering that.

    "If you say so," Magpie says. "We should go, though. Still a ways off to the safe house."

    "Right," Sigh says. She'll sort out the confusing mix of feelings she's experiencing later, probably messily.

    Still, all she feels is a strange glow of camaraderie as Magpie adds: "I'll help you get started on that poem, if you like. It's good to start in on it while the kill's still fresh in your head. It's all up here from here, kid."

    "... thanks, Magpie," Sigh says. And with a start, realises that the Grass Spider — the other Grass Spider — is already off and running again. With a growl of frustration, Sigh chases after her into the darkness.

    END
     
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  • Sidestory
    • Gazetteer said:
    It's probably a little ridiculous for a murderous assassin to have a preference for the virtuous type, but... well, Sigh can't do anything about that.
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    So she's not just frustrated with Aster.

    She proudly identifies as a lesbian herosexual. She's attracted to heroes and heroes exclusively. A Nuri once said she needs to hit something that deserves it or she feels like she might explode, and now she dreams of kissing her under the moonlight.

    this same idiot: we have to get these mortals out of the Underworld

    Sigh, already blushing: Aster, you're so fucking stupid
     
    I'd say it's time to play another round of "guess which character appearing in this story is an Exalted PC Gaz has played", but it's even more obvious than the last one, so I'll just drop the pretense. (Although, to be honest, Sly Magpie would just be a fun character to do something with in the future, and I'll just kind of keep her in my back pocket).

    Violet Sunset is a character I made for an Exalted Essence game, and she is... substantially less normal and less well adjusted in terms of dealing with people in general than Sigh is, we'll say.

    The Fiends are straight out of canon content, although I cranked up the absurd melodrama for this appearance. My favourite out of the three is Emerald Widow, both for her being a Dragon-Blooded necromancer and for being generally kind of creepy and horrible, and for her brief writeup just casually slipping in "She hopes to learn secrets of the Underworld's utmost depths and bargain with ancient forces interred within.", because that's sure likely to go well for anyone involved.
     
    >Dragon-Blooded who wants to deal with the underworld.
    >Suddenly long-dead Dragon circles start attacking Creation.
    >Emerald Widow is very much one of those dead Dragon-Blooded.
    Yep.
     
    Well, awakening/stirring into action long dead forces out of plain desire for knowledge is a trope in our world and history in Exalted (waking up the Neverborn for the sake of learning necromancy was such a good idea when the lunars did it…not). It also fits the theme of Dragonblood overreach (though sometimes necessary) we have seen in canon.
     
    iledian said:
    Well, awakening/stirring into action long dead forces out of plain desire for knowledge is a trope in our world and history in Exalted (waking up the Neverborn for the sake of learning necromancy was such a good idea when the lunars did it…not). It also fits the theme of Dragonblood overreach (though sometimes necessary) we have seen in canon.
    Click to expand...
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    It's a great line, because it's the kind of thing that can mean nothing, or can be a hook for a minor side quest, or could even like... be the hook for an entire campaign, potentially, because what if she actually manages this, and it does work out well enough for her... but what is this amoral, professional killer/necromancer elder dragon-blood willing to offer to a font of undying evil, and whose expense is that going to come at? It's an incredible act of hubris, but sometimes those work out.

    ("You sacrificed how many souls for second circle necromancy???"

    "A question for you to ponder: A woman comes to the lair of a terrible beast. Within, there lays a mighty treasure, precious beyond ten lifetimes of striving. Beside her, a dying man, who will succumb to his mortal failings soon enough. Does she accept that such things are beyond her reach, content herself with lesser glories? Or does she hasten the dying man's passage to the void by a few short years to appease the beast's hunger, and claim it for her own? Is this not a worthier end for a man already standing on the edge of his grave?"

    "... there's really no talking to you, sometimes.")
     
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    Took me a while to get to it, but I really enjoyed this interlude, managed to be well paced and informative, both on Sigh and the Spiders.
    (Wouldn't mind seeing Magpie or Sunny show up at some point in the main plot tbh)

    Also, Exalted names are always the right amount of cheesy and cool, and those two are great for what we know of their bearers.
     
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    Athas said:
    Took me a while to get to it, but I really enjoyed this interlude, managed to be well paced and informative, both on Sigh and the Spiders.
    (Wouldn't mind seeing Magpie or Sunny show up at some point in the main plot tbh)

    Also, Exalted names are always the right amount of cheesy and cool, and those two are great for what we know of their bearers.
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    Sunny is currently very busy being kept on retainer by a very rich client who, weirdly, no one else seems to be able to remember anything about! But hey, the money keeps being good. (This is mostly a joke, since obviously this quest is not in the same continuity as any given game I'm involved in, but it's funny to imagine). I didn't expect to have as much fun writing Magpie's dialogue as I did.
     
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    XXV - Star-Cleaving Crater
  • Threadmarks
    • Flee through the trees overhead, relying on agility to get you away from danger: 5

    Creep away through the underbrush, stay moving until you know you've lost them: 4

    Find somewhere more defensible to hide, in case you need to make a stand: 2

    Among the less useful thoughts that go through your head are several favourite stories you've heard about the exploits of daring Wyld Hunts, always made up of true heroes willing to risk life and limb in order to protect the innocent and rid the world of a monstrous Anathema. You can safely say that you don't like being on this end of things.

    You decide on a course of action as the group gets closer, creeping through the trees toward you as quietly as they can. Your only real hope is to run — as invincible as you feel most of the time, you know that your kind can be killed. Every horrible memory you just saw was from a different dead Dawn Caste, after all, all older and more experienced than you are now. So when you're sure that the hunters are only moments away from being right on you, you spring into action.

    You scale the trees as swift as a squirrel, leaping between trunks until you're running through the canopy. You light from branch to branch as easily as if you'd still been standing on solid ground, the night air pleasantly cool on your face, your way lit only by the moon and the stars. In one hand, you still clutch Verdance tight — And a good thing, as it turns out:

    An arrow whistles through the air, and you deflect it with a flick of your staff. But it's followed by another and another, all coming from a very different angle than you'd expected. Focusing your supernaturally-keen senses into the dark, you see that you're not alone, even this high up. A figure runs after you, leaping from tree to tree, finding purchase on any wooden surface they touch, the living wood greeting each footfall like a trusted friend unwilling to let them fall. In their hands, they bear a short powerbow of polished wood and emerald green jadesteel. "She's here!" the Dragon-Blood shouts. "In the trees!"

    You leap over the next volley of arrows, turn away a few more in midair. They come so rapidly that it's almost like having to defend against Jasmine's Death of Bone Butterflies again, only this time in full motion.

    You can see figures running through the trees beneath you now, and you know that the archer is herding you toward them. You're snapping another arrow out of the air, just at the point of considering whether or not it would be better to just knock her down, when you're struck from below by a stinging mass of green light and thorns. The moment they impact your skin, they explode out into a mass of clinging vines, trapping your leg against the branch you're standing on. If your balance had been any less superhuman, you would have toppled forward to dangle helplessly from your ankle

    The shikari beneath you aren't done — the instant you're trapped, a robed figure dashes straight up the trunk of your tree, using the same trick that Parting Sigh used to try and escape you in your first meeting to rise straight upward like smoke from a flame. As the figure charges up the tree, blinding flame flares in both of his hands, forging itself into a pair of lethally-curved short swords. Even with your foot trapped, you still get Verdance up to save yourself from being hacked into three pieces, conjured-metal slamming down on jadesteel with a sound like a too-blunt axe bouncing off hardwood. The searing hot force of the blows continue past you, whipping branches off trees and setting leaves to spiral down to the forest floor, burning.

    The monk's expression is stoically calm as he looks at you from across your interlocked weapons, but his eyes are horribly compassionate. "Let us free you of this curse, child," he says. "You prolong the inevitable." With a sudden bolt of recognition, you realise that you've seen him before — the day you met Silent Pause. He'd been talking to her, congratulating her on her good works, while you tried very hard to keep out of sight of both of them. You're looking at none other than Brother Spark of Inspiration himself, archimandrite of the Greyfalls Immaculate mission.

    You open your mouth to give some kind of answer, when you feel a sharp pain in your left shoulder — an arrow sprouts there, drawing a hiss from you. You spin Verdance, disengaging from Spark of Inspiration, and severing the vines on your leg in one movement. Your leg comes away punctured and bleeding from many thorns, but you don't let that slow you down, leaping away to the best tree.

    The Dragon-Blooded keep apace. Spark of Inspiration doesn't have any benefit quite as versatile as your balance, or the Wood Aspect Archer's affinity for the trees themselves, but he has many years of skillful experience to draw on. He doesn't slip or falter in his pursuit, putting on unpredictable bursts of speed to come down on you like a surging flame.

    You duck under one of his swords, and it sears straight through the top of the tree you're standing on, wood giving way as easily as unguarded flesh. You parry the second blade, striking out at the monk's chest with all your strength. It only barely misses, and you feel an arrow whoosh past your ear for your trouble. You're forced to leap to the next tree to avoid another bolt of Wood Essence from the second Wood Aspect.

    You strongly suspect that the first one was poisoned. Fortunately, Verdance is thrumming in your hands, suffusing your form with a pale, yellow-green glow that purges away the worst of it, as well as the hot smoke and flame that already cling to Spark of Inspiration. Maybe you could beat him on his own, or the two Wood Aspects together if they were in reach. But all at once like this, so coordinated, each preventing you from truly coming to bear on any one of them? Even your thought of leaping down from the trees to take out the second Wood Aspect is stymied by the sight of a man clad in jadesteel armour, near at hand and ready to leap to her defence if you try anything of the sort.

    You've known the whole time that you're likely to die like this. You've known that, fretted over it, thought many times about just where you'd be cornered by a hunt like this. But now, actually faced by it? The realisation that you're in such acute physical danger, for the first time since you Exalted, is shocking on a deep level that you're not particularly proud of. "I've been trying to help!" you shout back at Spark, "I'm not the one doing something terrible in the Underworld!" This fails to move any of them, and you would have been shocked if it had. You're a Solar Anathema in the process of being cornered by a Wyld Hunt. Of course you'll say anything to save yourself.

    As you flee, dodging arrows and sword swings and elemental bolts, you hear what sounds like the call of an owl overhead. Just as you reach the upper branches of a particularly sturdy tree, a shape falls out of the sky, striking the Wood Aspect archer squarely between the shoulders with a savage kick. She gives a strangled sort of scream and topples off her branch. As she's falling, she manages to fire off an arrow into the trunk that trails a thick vine, arresting her fall. Still, she's momentarily out of the way.

    Suddenly caught between you and the newcomer, Spark of Inspiration reorientates himself so that he can see both of you, a sword pointed in each direction.

    Whatever he'd been expecting, it certainly wasn't the sight of an Immaculate monk with a Lunar caste mark on her forehead. She breaks the silence first. "Good evening, Most Enlightened Master," Pause says to Spark, inclining her head as graciously as she had on that day in the temple. "I regret that it comes to this, but I can't let you harm my young friend."

    As this sinks in, genuine shock and dismay comes into his features for the first time. "Was there ever a Sister Silent Pause?" he asks her.

    "Yes," Pause says. "There has been ever since I took my vows. I didn't consider them to be ended simply because Luna Chose me." It's at this point that the archer fires several arrows at her, and she's forced to jump clear, Spark of Inspiration following her with real anger flaring in his eyes. With the pressure taken off of you by Pause's arrival, you're able to knock the next elemental bolt out of the air as you pursue Spark.

    "Your duty should have been to lay down your life to maintain the Perfected Hierarchy!" Spark shouts. His explosive, dancer-like movements send slashes of blazing hot steel at Pause, which she turns away or evades again and again with her own effortlessly flowing movements.

    "I was given a gift," Pause says. "I see my duty being to use it in the service of others." She seizes one of his wrists, leaving him open for her to rake a claw-like strike across his chest. She draws blood with nothing but her bare hand.

    You meet Pause's gaze from behind Spark, signalling your intent to come at him from his blindspot. You don't quite get the chance: The archer fires another flurry of arrows at you. Her quiver is empty by this point, but she doesn't need it, her brilliantly green anima banking high around her as she simply plucks fully-shaped arrows free from the wood of the trees around her. She's stood still for a little too long, though, finally, and when she sees you looking directly at her, you have the very slight satisfaction of seeing her blanch.

    "A gift that drives those who bear it to bestial madness!" This time, Spark manages to draw blood on her, a long cut down Pause's forearm.

    "Our philosophy teaches us all to overcome base passion!" This time, Pause ducks under a sword swing and connects a graceful kick with his ribs. She doesn't stop there as he gasps with stoic pain, going on the offensive with punch after kick after claw-strike, overwhelming him like a tidal wave drowning out a forest fire. "Is it so weak that it can't do as much even for a Lunar? Can I not tame those bestial impulses by learning from Hesiesh's example?"

    You move like a blur through the air, faster than the archer can get out of the way. One orichalcum tip of your Wrackstaff drives straight into her chest, its magic protecting you from the worst of her stinging anima. The steel of her breastplate buckles under the impact, and she's thrown off her branch — you don't give her the chance to catch onto another, this time. Golden radiance lights the night as Verdance spins through the air, driving her downward with meteoric force. When she strikes the forest floor, the earth craters and shakes with the impact, dirt and forest debris lit by the light of five mingled animas as it arcs toward the sky.

    The second Wood Aspect is too busy rushing to her wounded friend to immediately fling another Elemental Bolt into your face. You're dimly aware that you have probably just laid out a Dragon-Blooded Dynast of House Cynis, and might feel something about that later — for the moment, you have a friend to help.

    "The animal passions of the Lunar Anathema are beyond reason!" Spark of Inspiration says, leaping clear of a punch that tears a chunk out of the tree he and Pause are currently fighting in. "Not even the Immaculate Texts can prepare an unenlightened mortal to contend with such power!" Flames dance around him now, beginning to catch on the wood around him.

    Pause doesn't seem to feel the heat as she punches through it, a claw strike raking across his jaw, drawing five lines of blood. "I'm not mortal, Most Enlightened Master."

    He's still reeling when you come in from the side, Verdance swinging in a skull-splitting downward strike. Flame-summoned metal cracks as his blades come up to block it, and for a moment, you think the entire tree is about to come down under the weight of your blow.

    That's when Pause roundhouse kicks him in the chest, and he falls out of the tree. Pause hurriedly beats out the embers burning in her robes, shooting you a relieved look. "I'm glad you were in the trees, or I might not have spotted you in time — there are more on the way." Before you can open your mouth to thank her, she's speaking again, voice very urgent. "I'm going to need you to trust me.."

    "Of course I trust you!" you say, without even thinking. She's never given you a single reason not to. Down below, Spark of Inspiration is picking himself back up — you don't count the archer out entirely either.

    Pause nods, looking grateful. "Good," she says. Then she leaps up into the air, body shining silver, and a large shape is hanging above you. Talons seize Verdance, and with a beating of vast wings, you're being carried up off your feet and into the night air, born aloft by a giant owl haloed by Pause's chaotic anima.

    Arrows fly up out of the darkness, more than one ending up in Pause's wings, but the others thankfully missing you. Between the two of you, you could hardly be presenting a more obvious glowing target, but they weren't prepared for the speed of Pause's retreat. And hopefully once your animas go down, you'll be more difficult to track.

    You grip Verdance with both hands. With your adrenaline coming down, your wounded leg throbs and the pain of the arrow in your shoulder is excruciating — fighting with it stuck in you like that has torn the muscle hideously. At least you don't bleed very much anymore. It's a long, unpleasant trip.

    ==========​

    The two of you sit cold and miserable, side by side. Pause had brought you to this small and barren islet, then collapsed until you'd pulled the arrows out of her limbs. She'd done the same for you. Now, there's little to do aside from at least try to get some sleep, with dawn already creeping ever closer. Having Verdance across your knees helps, but only so much.

    "Well, at least I got to see a real fighting debate between two Immaculate monks," you say. And you mean that, regardless of the circumstances — stories about theological arguments being settled with martial arts prowess always fascinated you.

    Pause laughs. "That's one way to keep a positive outlook," she says. "How did you end up outside the city?"

    You groan. "One of the mercenaries with that clerk turned out to be Jasmine. She threw us all into the Underworld, and a crowd of innocent mortals, so Sigh and I had to help them get out instead of chasing her. She went back to the city with the clerk and I was trying to lay low"

    Pause sighs, closing her eyes. "I shouldn't be surprised that Jasmine would do something like that, but I still am. At least she still isn't trying to kill you."

    You shift a little uncomfortably. "It sure felt like she was trying when she threw all those butterflies at us, the first time we met."

    "Aster," Pause says, voice gentle, but grave, "when Winter Jasmine wants you dead, you'll know it. The problem is, she's dangerous enough even when she's not trying to kill you on purpose."

    You nod slowly, mulling that over. Unfortunately, it rings true enough. "What happened at the waterfront?" you ask.

    "Argent," Pause says. "He waited until they were already a ways out into the river, then attacked one of the boats from beneath. He's always been stealthier than he looks, even in an oversized shape."

    "What did he want? Was it just a distraction so Jasmine didn't have to worry about guards when she got Fallen Leaf out?" you ask.

    "I don't think so," Pause says. "He... wanted something in particular. Something in one of the boats, he was trying to take it when he got interrupted. I didn't see what it was. He ran soon after that — he was there for a smash and grab, not to try and fight off every Dragon-Blood in Greyfalls singlehandedly." Pause hesitates, looking concerned. "Your Wood Aspect was there. I got her out of his jaws, but she ended up in the river."

    "Jewel is fine, I ran into her," you say. "Things aren't... as bad as they were, with us, I think?"

    "I'm glad," Pause says. "She seems like a good woman."

    You nod, pulling your legs in against your chest. "So... what you said to the archimandrite. You're really sure about all that?"

    "I've staked my life on it." As she speaks, she looks fixedly up at the moon overhead. "When I first Exalted, I was certain that I was a monster. Someone very wise disagreed — 'which one of us do you really want to prove wrong?' So... that's what I've been doing ever since. Proving myself wrong. Honouring my vows. Being a man or a woman, and not just a monster."

    "How can you be sure?" you ask, following her gaze. Whatever she's seeing in the moon though, you don't find it.

    "Do you know that Dragon-Blooded can be declared Anathema?" she asks, suddenly.

    You stare at her, mind reeling at the sudden change of subject. You've never heard of anything like that happening. "What?"

    "It's rare, but it can happen," Pause says. "If a specific Dragon-Blooded truly dedicates themself to undermining the Perfected Hierarchy. Exigents can be Anathema, but are not assumed as such until they prove themselves a problem." Something like guilt crosses her face as she adds: "... like Whisper."

    "What does it mean?" you ask, not quite following.

    "If a Dragon-Blooded, through their decisions and their individual shortcomings, can be an Anathema, why can a Lunar or a Solar not prove themself otherwise? Our natures do drive us to greater extremes than other Exalted. But, that can be overcome."

    You're quiet for a long moment, digesting this. You think about the visions you saw from your past lives, the long centuries of blood and violence stretching back and back to whenever it was that the first Solar of your lineage was Chosen. You don't want to believe that that's your destiny. For the first time, you allow yourself to imagine surviving this, that there might be a worthwhile life for you on the other side of it all. "I could live with that," you say, quietly.

    ========​

    The Lair of Winter Jasmine

    Jasmine kneels on the silken floor of her bedchamber, studying the motley assortment of bone, paper, parchment and clay in front of her. She's taken the skulls down from their high shelves, laid them out here along with the copies she's claimed over many years.

    Each skull is at least roughly humanoid, archaic Old Realm characters etched straight into the bone. Each one a legendary source of dark power in its own right, part of a set of only a thousand in all the world. She has gotten her hands on nearly thirty of the real things — one of the largest singular collections, as far as she knows. The others were painstakingly acquired copies in other mediums. Less useful than the skulls themselves, but there is knowledge there in the words alone.

    Jasmine's eyes sweep over the collection, mouth forming words that are actively painful to the tongue as well as to the ear, making sure that she has every detail committed to memory. Five lifetime's work have gone into all this. But it still doesn't work without one last piece.

    She glances back to the large mirror beside her, seeing, to her satisfaction, that she's gotten an answer to the message she'd sent off moments before. No image of herself looks back at her — Reflection is busy elsewhere, for the time being. But as she watches, blood seeps out of the glass, glistening red and wet in the dim lighting as it forms letters.

    They took the bait

    Forces mustering to march on the Frozen Wood, now or never

    A    ​

    Jasmine lets out a long sigh. She'd expected Argent to survive, but it's good to have confirmation — he's the only one she hasn't lost yet. Everything is going according to plan, more or less, whatever Aster and Pause think they're doing. In spite of everything, her chest tightens painfully at this last thought, and she fights it down with some effort. She has to stay focused — All that's left now is the one last step. This is the point where it will all come together... or fall apart spectacularly.

    Pricking her finger on a suddenly-sharpened tooth, Jasmine leans over to the glass, writing simply: well done in return. She's smiling to herself, in the grips of a nervous anticipation, when her own face is suddenly looking back at her from the mirror.

    "Oh, you startled me," Jasmine says, running a hand down her face.

    The image in the mirror doesn't copy her, instead giving a shrug. "The excavation below is complete," Reflection says. "All that's left is the final seal."

    And, right on cue. Jasmine straightens, a smile coming onto her lips. "Thank you. I'll be down momentarily," she says.

    She's so close, she can taste it.

    Article:
    We're going to have a bit of something different next update. It will be told from the perspective of a character other than Aster, revealing important information that she isn't immediately aware of.

    Who will we follow in the next update?

    [ ] Fateful Jewel
    [ ] Parting Sigh
    [ ] A Whisper
     
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    • [X] A Whisper

    She hasn't been on screen much, aside from the side story not too long ago.
     
    [x] Parting Sigh

    I like sigh.

    And this was a great update! I'm really glad that there's this feeling like the characters have finally really started to get eachother's measure, and there's trust. I like trust. Plus I'm really wanting to see the next meeting with winter Jasmine, now that we have context and know where she is coming from, how she was in the right even if what she is doing now isn't.

    Still rooting for our cute little wood aspect with the fire wand though.
     
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