[Exalted] The Dragon Blood, Never Born
- Thread starter VagueZ
- Start date
- Fantasy
Whispers under bright sun
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[] Meditate alone, seeking internal guidance to find powers you can use discreetly.
[] Meet with Solace Through the Night and her mercenaries.
[] Meet with Ari as he explores the Penitent.
You sit alone in the middle of the Peleps house yard, sitting lotus-style in a sandy spot in the sun.
The month of Descending Fire is a hot one. Summer is slightly past its peak, but it's still hot, hence why the Immaculate Temple's Essence-powered cooling systems have been so appealing.
Right now, though, the heat doesn't bother you. Here you sit, unmoving, meditating on your own nature, as the brilliant noonday sun shines down on your pale skin.
You are passively aware of your discomfort, as well as the dish Taara placed by your right hand, covered to keep bugs away. From within it, you can smell a small snack, a bit of juice, beer, and some water, just to cover all the bases.
None of that holds your attention.
As your gaze turns inward, you find Essence flows within your body, as well as their interaction with the world at large.
Many things stop at your skin. You sense the dissonance between your nature and that of the rest of the world. The deathly pallor you have developed is far from coincidental: you are something of a corpse. Oh, you can walk and talk and even sire a child if you try. But you are dead. That's why you can't breathe in the living Essence of the world, and can only gain Essence by tearing it from the life of others.
Your corpse-body is sturdy. It will laugh off lesser blows simply because of what it is. Structural damage would be necessary to truly hurt you. Structural damage... or the focused wrath of the Sun, blazing down as it is.
A Whisper from within. The Sun was the source, the center of the rot. The Sun declares his enemies, and brands them darkness. It was the greed of the Sun which first turned lessers against... ... ... There is a word you can't grasp in the silent thought. But the Sun is not culpable. It only revealed.
Revelation.
Existence is suffering. To live, to strive, even in the fullness of victory and satisfaction, is a damnable lie, the first and only sin.
The truth observed by those things which first conceived of reality and forged even godhood is this: peace must be prized over suffering. All must come to know peace, even if only through the might of your throwing arm.
Beneath the words, there is a flash of images, and a suggestion of... infinitely more complexity. The Whispers have seen every type of striving humanity can turn its hand to. If you let them... they can guide your hand, in turn.
More than that. The Whispers are under your tongue, now. If you let them twine around your words, they will tear at people's will. If you were to turn your tongue to them completely, speaking a tongue you do not know in an uncontrolled fashion, you could utter a thoughtless glossolalia that would cause physical harm.
It wasn't quite what you intended to uncover, but it's what you found.
You think you start to understand why Solars are evil, if something like this whispers to you in every quiet moment. For the moment, though, your thoughts are your own. You're pretty sure of that.
You open your eyes. It's hot, you're sweaty, there's sand in your tunic, and Taara is standing off to one side, in the shade, because she's not dumb enough to sit out here in the sun like you. She's frowning at you, disapproving of your plan to sit in the dirt uncomfortably while the snack she set out for you early in your meditation grew hot next to you.
You eat it all, except the now-flat beer, before you head out.
You're up in the Arm Forest again. These woods are a strange outgrowth of the Penitent's outsized nature. The statue's hands are held up, at about the statue's heart level, knuckles together. This is the highest level of the Penitent where the fertility it conveys works, and due to the awkward and lengthy climb to get up here, it just isn't a place worth settling. Hence, a little woodland that makes a weird shape: the forest is long as it follows the course of the arms, but not all that wide, and there's a rather sharp fall if you aren't cautious. Perhaps the most surprising thing is that the Arm Forest has a fair amount of game, in the form of animals that somehow, perhaps a full age past, found their way up here and just made their own little ecosystem. There's nothing bigger than a pack of wolves, but it's still weird to think of wolves that live miles over your head when you're down in the Lap.
Today, the Penitent's head is blazing with one of the more imposing Essence-auroras you've seen. Visible sheets of rainbow Essence coruscate into being, twist as if in an unfelt wind, and trail into nothingness just to be replaced by new and stranger shapes.
It doesn't do anything, but it it sure is pretty.
Ari is completely human today, or at least as human as the Trickster ever gets. His Caste mark burns a firm silver on his brow as he observes. For now, he's clearly working through sorcerous means, passively observing the auroras, and probably some other things you're not aware of. He doesn't object to your presence, and you don't interrupt him until he ceases his efforts and begins marking down his notes on parchment he brought with him.
At that point, he turns his attention to you and offers a friendly grin. "You know, it's hard to focus with you around."
"Why's that?"
He sighs, scratching the end of one fur-tufted ear. "Dunno exactly. It's just one of those things. Each Lunar gets one Solar that they just get a... a tie to. It's not like a dog that has to obey, just general good vibes."
"Why?"
His grin returns. "No idea. I'm sure it made sense at some point."
"You're kind of distracting, too," you point out. Just being aware of it suppresses some of the power, but hardly all. Every bit of visible skin, every motion, has a tendency to catch the eye.
"Sorry. Pheromones. Got used to using it, now it's hard to turn off." He doesn't seem too sorry. You actually consider the word 'smug'.
You try to focus on the task at hand. "So what's the story?" You incline your head towards the Penitent's gargantuan face.
"It's geomantic," Ari says. Geomancy is used to shape Creation's natural flows of Essence. Its effects are usually subtle: a neighborhood with better geomancy will find its residents just a little more harmonious and their houses will need just a little fewer repairs.
The exceptions are demesnes, where the flows begin to have major effects on the world. Some of them are wild places, where strange animals, plants, and natural phenomena abound. In some, hearthstones grow like flowers. Others are capped by a manse that turns that energy to some purpose. Some get infested by Fair Folk and turned into a Freehold. The Realm has bent many to the will of the Dragon-Blooded Host, both on the Blessed Isle and beyond.
All that flashes through your mind as a long-winded way to say 'yes, and?'. The Essence-auroras alone could tell you that geomancy is afoot, but so far as you're aware, the Penitent is profoundly useless as a demesne, and that's following nearly eight centuries of Realm control and thoughts about trying to harness it.
You raise an eyebrow, instead. "I knew that much. Surely you knew more just before you decided to slip past my troops and examine it up close to begin with."
Ari leans back, note-taking forgotten for the moment, suddenly twisting into a horridly uncomfortable-looking pose that he seems able to relax in. Damn cat that he is. "No, I mean that. The Last Supplicant of Endless Power is geomantic, and seemingly nothing else." He's probably enjoying stretching out his explanation. "The more I look, the more I find incredibly strong, and incredibly deep, lines of Essence that go from this thing in all directions. Most directions," he corrects. "It seems to lead all across the South, but I haven't found any that go out into the Inland Sea. Maybe they're just dug in deep to go beneath the water?"
"So... what does it all do?" No one would build something like this for no reason. If you've ever given it any thought before meeting the Waif, you just assumed it was either to make a nice growing place or some weird Anathema thing that didn't make sense in the modern age. Mostly you didn't even do that much. It was just a place you were at. Mountains don't have a purpose, after all.
The Lunar grimaces at your question. "Still working on that. I'm wondering if maybe we'll get a clue soon, though, what with Calibration coming right up."
"Yeah." Calibration, the five-day period after the summer months of Fire, is a time of upheaval and change. Usually, that translates to being rather inauspicous. Calibration was when the Empress disappeared, most notably. It's not just a human thing, either: it's built into the very nature of the world. Natural phenomena go wild, spirits walk among men more easily, and the moon hides completely, never seen until the first day past Calibration.
"I'm kind of surprised you made time to come out here," Ari adds. "Don't you have administrative business?"
You shrug. "Nothing that can't wait." Of course, if you're not meeting with either Anira or Ptheno, odds are extremely good that they're going to have a casual meeting and just so happen to conspire against you. You're starting to feel like that just isn't going to be important for long. You can weather things. You'd rather spend a little time with someone who genuinely appreciates your presence.
You look back over at Ari. He finally pulls himself to something approximating a human sitting posture. "Did you figure out what you're going to do for Strength of Many?"
"I have. Should work whether he's aware of it or not. Are you in that close of contact with him?"
"No. We each do our own thing. What's the plan?"
"I'm going to keep the slaves heavily protected until the handoff. Once they're in Gem's hands, Strength of Many will have an opening."
Ari raises an eyebrow. "Not quite what I intended, and he might not be happy with it, either. He wanted to strike a blow to the Realm's slave-movers."
"If I look too bad out of this, especially if the Realm gets a bloody nose and other people need a scapegoat, I get people looking over my shoulder and I may not be able to keep up your access."
Ari looks away, making a frustrated sort of noise. "And, unfortunately, I do need specific places to keep up my research, and I can't do it outside my true forms and with my Caste mark glowing." That sounds like he's talking to himself more than you.
"Why are you so interested in the Last Supplicant?"
"It was the first thing I saw when I was Exalting. It's an old story: my family was part of a disenfranchised neighborhood when we became inconvenient for a Dynast. My only way out was to stow away aboard a ship bound elsewhere. Was caught as we landed. As I was pinned down, I looked again at the face of something older and more powerful than even the Realm. Then I Exalted, escaped, and found other Lunars." You get the impression that this was an incredibly abridged version of Ari's story, probably skipping important points.
"I see." You don't insult him by apologizing. It's true that the Realm does sometimes chew up a few smaller groups to keep the powerful stable and happy. It's better for everyone, except of course the unfortunate few.
"That's you, now, too." Ari looks at you. "You're now heir to something older and stronger and vastly more capable than what you grew up knowing. I do hope you're willing to claim that soon."
You consider this. It's true that Anathema powers are vast and twisted, but you've never really thought of them as stronger. Ari certainly seems to believe it. It's worth thinking about.
"I think I've done all the work I can get done today. The geomantic structure-flow doesn't change that quickly. I'm going to hunt something up here and eat it raw. You can join me if you want."
That doesn't seem nearly as disgusting to you right now as it would have before your Exaltation. However, "I just ate. I'll see you around, Ari."
He nods, and again takes the form of a hunting raptor.
You're alone in a hurry. You leave.
Danaro fusses over the complex alchemical distillation equipment he has set up in his room. Rare plants ferment in sealed containers, small but powerful candles evaporate odd brews, endless tubing carries mixtures, and delicate complexes of mirrors reflect sunlight where that is needed at certain times of day. To your jaded eye, the result is more confusing than imposing. Heptagram sorcerers learn much superior rituals to unlock sorcery; this is a huge amount of extra effort for very little good reason.
You, of course, feel completely at home wandering into any given place here. This is a Realm barracks, after all, and these mercenaries are paid by House Peleps.
"So, you're the sorcerer for Solace's outfit?" It's not like you don't know the answer to that, but Danaro understands the actual question.
He straightens up and turns away from his equipment to look at you. "Yes. I've mastered three spells: Death of Obsidian Butterflies, Cirrus Skiff, and Water From Stone." That raises your eyebrow. Three spells is an impressive total for a mortal, and it's a varied assortment. Death of Obsidian Butterflies is an attack spell, which lacerates everything in a wide area with a hail of fluttering stone butterflies with razor-edged wings. Cirrus Skiff is a transportation spell, which enables a small group to fly quickly. Water From Stone does exactly what it sounds like, and is extremely important in keeping the more extreme sections of the South habitable.
"You keep the books, you know that much sorcery... why are you following Solace, then?"
The sallow-faced man shrugs. "I am not a leader. Besides, Solace is someone I can trust. Everyone here has learned that. She trains with us so we all come home at the end of the day, and I've seen her personally jump in front of a scale to distract a trio of hungry ghosts. She's the sort to do that, and we all know it."
You nod. That's not a particularly unexpected answer. Solace leads this crew by strength of her own personal charisma. Control Solace, control the men.
You make your excuses and leave Danaro be. Several other members of the crew give murmured mentions of respect as you pass, which you return as appropriate, but none of the rest of the set-up here catches your eye.
When you exit the barracks, you find Solace running through some exercises with the men, with one fang taking the part of hungry ghosts and the others operating to fend them off, laying faux salt trails and withdrawing in good order while protecting a VIP, played by a Solace who is trying to run, panicked, into danger. They've laid out some 'buildings' in the exercise yard, denoted by lines on the ground that the hungry ghosts can ignore but everyone else has to respect, to emphasize the advantages that immaterial hungry ghosts have.
The exercise ends with the salt-layers managing to lay a complete ring around the 'hungry ghosts', trapping them.
Only then does Solace drop the damsel in distress act to greet you. She comes up and doffs her hat. "Triumvir! You honor us with your presence." She says it in a mildly insolent manner, sweeping the hat off to one side as she gives a dramatic bow. It's not really insubordinate: she's just not that given to standing on ceremony.
"Solace Through the Night." You incline your head, gravely. "I trust the accommodations are to your liking?"
She replaces the hat with a grin. "It'll do. Say, Triumvir... we've never had a chance to train with a real Prince of the Earth. Would you be willing to go a round with us?"
There's a dangerous gleam in her eye, but your reservoirs of Essence are overflowing and you have something new to experiment with. You'd also like to test what Solace might have up her sleeve, checking if for instance she has any supernatural leadership powers to back up her more mundane ability and supernatural personal strength. "Certainly. Who are my opponents?"
Solace considers for a moment, her eyes settling for a moment on Blizzard's Scourge. She gestures, and a half-dozen troops fall in behind her. "I'll take you on, with these men as my back-up." The men and women behind her are equipped with her group's standard loadout of sling and axe. "Any special safety precautions we need?" That is again at you.
You shake your head. "No, come at me with your best. "I'll take my lumps if you can hit me, and I'll be careful in turn."
"Hm." Solace looks at you even more appraisingly now. She's clearly somewhere between confident and interested to see how this goes. Doubtless, she considers herself something of a hotshot, and is anxious to see if she can beat a Dragon-Blood.
Pity that's not quite what she's facing.
One of the other officers steps up to declare the match start. As he does, you open your mouth and let Oblivion tinge your words, working a little something extra as you direct them to Solace's back-up. "There is no point in you joining this fight."
It works, they all stand there, a blank look of disinterest on their faces, the sort of expression one might have while waiting for the ferry to dock.
Solace doesn't recognize it at first. She springs back, drawing her flame pieces and leveling both barrels at you. "Volley!" she commands, and gets dull, empty looks in return. "Come on, rally. Shake it off. What's wrong?"
That answers one thing. Solace doesn't have any special powers to enhance her troops. Still, sheer effort begins to work: the men you spoke at are beginning to shake off the mental weight you saddled them with.
Solace ducks backward, bending at the knees like she's trying to win a limbo competition as Blizzard's Scourge slices past overhead. She straightens up, then has to throw herself to the side as it returns to your hand equally swiftly.
"Volley!" she commands again. This time, the men obey, little shaped bullets flying with with each swing of their arms. None of it touches you, as you twitch very slightly and are not in the arc of fire any longer, assuming an effortless grace with your dodging.
You hurl Blizzard's Scourge at Solace again. She sets her eyes and draws a deep breath as it comes at her. She levels both flame pieces against it. "Flaming River Burns the Boat!" Solace's strongest counter-attack comes out as a torrent of flame, sources merging and bursting forth like a stream freed from a dam. The inferno does not reach all the way to you, just due to distance. The most she can achieve is to deflect Blizzard's Scourge. Still, the magical boomerang knows its master's hand, and as you dart to one side, it returns to your throwing arm. More bullets strike the ground around you, and a gout of liquid flame makes you have to juke.
Your next throw is a sweeping arc, directly over the slinger's heads. They cringe, a moment too late. It's a clear statement however: you could have struck them down, there, so they are 'dead' for purposes of this exercise.
Solace stands before you alone. She takes a deep breath, and lets it out. Red flickers of aura flow from her mouth down to her weapons, condensing down the barrels. She's not quite ready to give up. "Hold," you say, mildly.
After a moment of discombobulation, Solace obeys. "I wasn't done," she argues, however.
"You were. I outrange you and you didn't have a way to close the gap. I could just keep throwing my weapon until you either got unlucky or had your Essence reserves drained." She's just some ifrit's by-blow, where your power, Anathema or not, is simply more. Despite her age, being about your age or maybe a year or so your junior, she's reached about as far as she possibly could have, and it simply isn't enough.
She takes it cheerfully enough. She tucks her flame pieces into their holsters and gives you a cheerful grin. "I suppose so! Pretty impressive, Triumvir. I hope you'll give me a rematch once I figure out an answer to that. I must say, I haven't heard of that technique you used on my men." She glances back at them, concern on her features for a second. They're okay, though they still look rattled and keep hugging themselves and rubbing their arms, as if they were cold or terrified. You didn't even turn it up to the level where it could slowly kill them.
"You didn't do too badly," you tell her, pitching your voice so it can be heard, not just by your opponents but the other observers. Nearly her whole cadre caught at least the end of it. "You just overestimated how far you could shorten the gap yourself. If I do have to ask you to fight some outcaste Dragon-Blood or Anathema, don't take any chances. Overwhelm them with numbers and don't let them in close."
"We'll do that." Solace touches the brim of her hat again, a small respectful gesture. "Okay, boys and girls." Her attention goes away from you. "Come on, let's run one more thing."
She barks more orders as you take your leave, but you catch her eyeing you. She is more than just impressed. She's here for the coin, but now she has something new to fixate on. Whether that's as a wall to climb or something more, time will tell.
The day of the raid-to-be comes. The first part of things goes off without a hitch, as lines of slaves, chained together, are marched up to one of the Lap's outlying buildings under the heavy supervision of an 'impromptu exercise', where Lap sepoys, Solace's mercenaries, and a few overseeing Realm legionnaires keep watch.
The building for the handoff is an old grain silo, abandoned when too many rats found their way through the outer walls and it was given up instead of repaired. It still serves as a reasonable set of walls, which is all that's really needed here.
You and Anira join the Gem delegation before the column reaches you. Gem has sent a Dragon-Blood outcaste to lead the expedition, and his troops loiter around the walls of the place. They're a sorry lot, with no military discipline and little awareness of of their surroundings. They're equipped with thick truncheons and, in some cases, bolas. They're here to restrain wayward slaves, not fight.
Their leader is no better. He introduced himself to you as Night-Blooming Cactus, a Wood Aspect, and almost immediately fell on the bottle of Lap-produced wine that Anira produced to be a good host. It practically all disappeared down his throat in less than fifteen minutes.
You and Anira exchanged a look at that. It goes a long way to confirm all the negative things you've heard about outcaste Dragon-Bloods, those kin of the elemental dragons who don't join up with the Realm. Anira clearly regrets not getting the cheapest possible vintage, and neither of you think anything of Night-Blooming Cactus's manners, as his outfit is scruffy, his hair is uncombed, and he's got his much-patched boots up on the table.
"So, this is a bunch of faerie-worshipers, huh?" He finally asks once he's absorbed all the alcohol, waving around the empty bottle for emphasis, his hand still clamped onto the bottle's neck.
"That's why they were condemned to this transportation, yes," Anira says, in a mild voice. She's been dealing with him since the delegation arrived yesterday, and you can tell she's been annoyed by him almost the whole time.
"Hm. Well, we'll work 'em hard enough to keep 'em out of trouble." He laughs to himself. You don't join in.
The doors swing open. The column shuffles in. Night-Blooming Cactus hollers at some of his men to inspect them and be sure it's what they're paying for. He has to yell several times to get his orders obeyed.
He doesn't wait, though. "Y'got the papers?" Unwilling to wait for the inspection, he demands Anira produce the official handoff documents. She does so, including handing him the cheapest pen she could provide for him to sign it. He does so with a tremendous flourish that goes over half the page. He doesn't give the pen back. Anira doesn't ask for it; she's cautious with the papers, too, as if afraid that his ill manners are contagious.
"You're kinda quiet," he observes to you, upending the wine bottle by the neck for the fourth or fifth time, just in case it has spontaneously generated a little more. "Y'seem boring."
"I'm working today," you tell him. Anira rolls her eyes while he's not looking at her.
"Relax. It's the Lap. Nothing ever happens in the Lap. You'll regret it when you're older if you don't live life a little bit." He stands up and throws the bottle against a wall, where it shatters. Several slaves close to the impact flinch. "All right, we're leaving! Pyka, Tig, stop screwing around with pawing over the slaves." The two who jerk guiltily were the ones still trying to inspect everything, per his previous instructions. "We're leaving."
Eyes downcast, steps reluctant, the slaves are marched out of the place with the non-too-gentle prodding of the guards with Night-Blooming Cactus.
You're not really going to miss this crew once Strength of Many happens to them. The slaves, those you don't really give much thought to. There's a mild possibility that they or at least some of them are innocent, and the charges were just convenience, but you can't be sure. Either way, they're not going to be your problem.
"_____ dear... I'm appalled you had to be introduced to such a dreadful example of my Aspect so soon after your own Exaltation. I hope you won't hold it against me. Can you believe he propositioned me last night? And me, a married woman!" Now that he's gone, Anira is ready to gossip all about his fascinatingly awful behavior. You might get the full litany if you're not careful.
"I think he might have propositioned me, too, if I'd given him any more of a chance," you agree, but pull yourself away before she can continue her thought, calling over the sepoy captain, Solace, and the Realm sergeant, getting a brief report and checking in with them to ensure that the exercise had gone well, and to find any rough edges. According to the reports from all three, it went about as expected, difficulties more in hesitation when trying to coordinate than any actual problems.
Anira practically bubbles over with the desire to tell more scandalous details, but she restrains herself for the few minutes of your work. It doesn't take long for you to dismiss everyone but Solace. She needs to stay here for a moment for you to talk more shop. Anira, however, doesn't leave. As your security forces leave, she finally bubbles over and tells you more about Night-Blooming Cactus's fascinatingly bad behavior.
You only have to listen for a couple of minutes, because then things go terribly wrong.
The slower-moving slave column still isn't very far away when the wind carries shouts of alarm and violence to your grain silo, very faint. This catches Anira's attention. "What was that, darling?" she interrupts herself to ask you.
"Probably nothing. A few slaves tried to make a break for it or something." That is definitely not what is happening. As you expected was likely, Strength of Many must have been observing the column for a while, hidden in some hard-to-recognize animal form.
Unfortunately, Anira doesn't take your word for it. "We should still look. This is our satrapy, after all, _____ dear. Come along, you two." She stands and gestures for you and Solace to follow her. You can't think of a good excuse not to go, now, as you can't very well ignore your responsibility as the Triumvir in charge of security.
The sounds grow a little louder and more distinct as you round a tiny hill that separated you from them.
Here you find a scene of carnage.
People are scattered everywhere. Some of them have the remains of broken chains on their limbs and are struggling to get up and away. Some are armed with truncheons and are very clearly dead. Some are armed with truncheons and still up and about, but looking dazed and unsure of what they can even try to do. Part of Night-Blooming Cactus is crumpled in a heap. His head and left arm are some distance away.
All of that you take in as minor details. The main thing you see is Strength of Many. It's clear how he earned his name. The blood-splattered Anathema has the head of a bull, his eyes flashing with anger and curved horns framing the silver Frenzied mark on his forehead. That head reaches a full ten feet above the ground. His bulk is unbelievable. Muscles like steel cable can be easily discerned even underneath his fur. He has the largest axe you've ever seen held in one hand, where it looks almost dainty.
"More slavers," he says. It puts you in mind of a bull about to charge as he stalks towards you, idly bisecting one unusually foolish slave guard as he passes. It might have been Pyka.
"Anathema." Anira breathes it slowly. She fiddles slightly with her bracelets. A glowing screen of energy appears, slightly above her skin, wrapping her completely. You didn't know Anira had a set of Discreet Essence Armor.
Solace draws her weapons, too. It seems you have a fight you can't easily escape from. You'll just have to get through it as well as you can.
Pick two. Two highest options win, counted individually.
[] You don't show anyone your Caste mark.
[] None of the Fair-Folk-consorting slaves escape back into the Lap
[] You don't anger the Whispers.
[] You escape blame for this fiasco.
[] Solace isn't hurt in the melee
Solace has taken your lesson to heart, and will keep herself out of Strength of Many's reach without you having to do anything further.
[] Meet with Solace Through the Night and her mercenaries.
[] Meet with Ari as he explores the Penitent.
You sit alone in the middle of the Peleps house yard, sitting lotus-style in a sandy spot in the sun.
The month of Descending Fire is a hot one. Summer is slightly past its peak, but it's still hot, hence why the Immaculate Temple's Essence-powered cooling systems have been so appealing.
Right now, though, the heat doesn't bother you. Here you sit, unmoving, meditating on your own nature, as the brilliant noonday sun shines down on your pale skin.
You are passively aware of your discomfort, as well as the dish Taara placed by your right hand, covered to keep bugs away. From within it, you can smell a small snack, a bit of juice, beer, and some water, just to cover all the bases.
None of that holds your attention.
As your gaze turns inward, you find Essence flows within your body, as well as their interaction with the world at large.
Many things stop at your skin. You sense the dissonance between your nature and that of the rest of the world. The deathly pallor you have developed is far from coincidental: you are something of a corpse. Oh, you can walk and talk and even sire a child if you try. But you are dead. That's why you can't breathe in the living Essence of the world, and can only gain Essence by tearing it from the life of others.
Your corpse-body is sturdy. It will laugh off lesser blows simply because of what it is. Structural damage would be necessary to truly hurt you. Structural damage... or the focused wrath of the Sun, blazing down as it is.
A Whisper from within. The Sun was the source, the center of the rot. The Sun declares his enemies, and brands them darkness. It was the greed of the Sun which first turned lessers against... ... ... There is a word you can't grasp in the silent thought. But the Sun is not culpable. It only revealed.
Revelation.
Existence is suffering. To live, to strive, even in the fullness of victory and satisfaction, is a damnable lie, the first and only sin.
The truth observed by those things which first conceived of reality and forged even godhood is this: peace must be prized over suffering. All must come to know peace, even if only through the might of your throwing arm.
Beneath the words, there is a flash of images, and a suggestion of... infinitely more complexity. The Whispers have seen every type of striving humanity can turn its hand to. If you let them... they can guide your hand, in turn.
More than that. The Whispers are under your tongue, now. If you let them twine around your words, they will tear at people's will. If you were to turn your tongue to them completely, speaking a tongue you do not know in an uncontrolled fashion, you could utter a thoughtless glossolalia that would cause physical harm.
It wasn't quite what you intended to uncover, but it's what you found.
You think you start to understand why Solars are evil, if something like this whispers to you in every quiet moment. For the moment, though, your thoughts are your own. You're pretty sure of that.
You open your eyes. It's hot, you're sweaty, there's sand in your tunic, and Taara is standing off to one side, in the shade, because she's not dumb enough to sit out here in the sun like you. She's frowning at you, disapproving of your plan to sit in the dirt uncomfortably while the snack she set out for you early in your meditation grew hot next to you.
You eat it all, except the now-flat beer, before you head out.
* * *
You're up in the Arm Forest again. These woods are a strange outgrowth of the Penitent's outsized nature. The statue's hands are held up, at about the statue's heart level, knuckles together. This is the highest level of the Penitent where the fertility it conveys works, and due to the awkward and lengthy climb to get up here, it just isn't a place worth settling. Hence, a little woodland that makes a weird shape: the forest is long as it follows the course of the arms, but not all that wide, and there's a rather sharp fall if you aren't cautious. Perhaps the most surprising thing is that the Arm Forest has a fair amount of game, in the form of animals that somehow, perhaps a full age past, found their way up here and just made their own little ecosystem. There's nothing bigger than a pack of wolves, but it's still weird to think of wolves that live miles over your head when you're down in the Lap.
Today, the Penitent's head is blazing with one of the more imposing Essence-auroras you've seen. Visible sheets of rainbow Essence coruscate into being, twist as if in an unfelt wind, and trail into nothingness just to be replaced by new and stranger shapes.
It doesn't do anything, but it it sure is pretty.
Ari is completely human today, or at least as human as the Trickster ever gets. His Caste mark burns a firm silver on his brow as he observes. For now, he's clearly working through sorcerous means, passively observing the auroras, and probably some other things you're not aware of. He doesn't object to your presence, and you don't interrupt him until he ceases his efforts and begins marking down his notes on parchment he brought with him.
At that point, he turns his attention to you and offers a friendly grin. "You know, it's hard to focus with you around."
"Why's that?"
He sighs, scratching the end of one fur-tufted ear. "Dunno exactly. It's just one of those things. Each Lunar gets one Solar that they just get a... a tie to. It's not like a dog that has to obey, just general good vibes."
"Why?"
His grin returns. "No idea. I'm sure it made sense at some point."
"You're kind of distracting, too," you point out. Just being aware of it suppresses some of the power, but hardly all. Every bit of visible skin, every motion, has a tendency to catch the eye.
"Sorry. Pheromones. Got used to using it, now it's hard to turn off." He doesn't seem too sorry. You actually consider the word 'smug'.
You try to focus on the task at hand. "So what's the story?" You incline your head towards the Penitent's gargantuan face.
"It's geomantic," Ari says. Geomancy is used to shape Creation's natural flows of Essence. Its effects are usually subtle: a neighborhood with better geomancy will find its residents just a little more harmonious and their houses will need just a little fewer repairs.
The exceptions are demesnes, where the flows begin to have major effects on the world. Some of them are wild places, where strange animals, plants, and natural phenomena abound. In some, hearthstones grow like flowers. Others are capped by a manse that turns that energy to some purpose. Some get infested by Fair Folk and turned into a Freehold. The Realm has bent many to the will of the Dragon-Blooded Host, both on the Blessed Isle and beyond.
All that flashes through your mind as a long-winded way to say 'yes, and?'. The Essence-auroras alone could tell you that geomancy is afoot, but so far as you're aware, the Penitent is profoundly useless as a demesne, and that's following nearly eight centuries of Realm control and thoughts about trying to harness it.
You raise an eyebrow, instead. "I knew that much. Surely you knew more just before you decided to slip past my troops and examine it up close to begin with."
Ari leans back, note-taking forgotten for the moment, suddenly twisting into a horridly uncomfortable-looking pose that he seems able to relax in. Damn cat that he is. "No, I mean that. The Last Supplicant of Endless Power is geomantic, and seemingly nothing else." He's probably enjoying stretching out his explanation. "The more I look, the more I find incredibly strong, and incredibly deep, lines of Essence that go from this thing in all directions. Most directions," he corrects. "It seems to lead all across the South, but I haven't found any that go out into the Inland Sea. Maybe they're just dug in deep to go beneath the water?"
"So... what does it all do?" No one would build something like this for no reason. If you've ever given it any thought before meeting the Waif, you just assumed it was either to make a nice growing place or some weird Anathema thing that didn't make sense in the modern age. Mostly you didn't even do that much. It was just a place you were at. Mountains don't have a purpose, after all.
The Lunar grimaces at your question. "Still working on that. I'm wondering if maybe we'll get a clue soon, though, what with Calibration coming right up."
"Yeah." Calibration, the five-day period after the summer months of Fire, is a time of upheaval and change. Usually, that translates to being rather inauspicous. Calibration was when the Empress disappeared, most notably. It's not just a human thing, either: it's built into the very nature of the world. Natural phenomena go wild, spirits walk among men more easily, and the moon hides completely, never seen until the first day past Calibration.
"I'm kind of surprised you made time to come out here," Ari adds. "Don't you have administrative business?"
You shrug. "Nothing that can't wait." Of course, if you're not meeting with either Anira or Ptheno, odds are extremely good that they're going to have a casual meeting and just so happen to conspire against you. You're starting to feel like that just isn't going to be important for long. You can weather things. You'd rather spend a little time with someone who genuinely appreciates your presence.
You look back over at Ari. He finally pulls himself to something approximating a human sitting posture. "Did you figure out what you're going to do for Strength of Many?"
"I have. Should work whether he's aware of it or not. Are you in that close of contact with him?"
"No. We each do our own thing. What's the plan?"
"I'm going to keep the slaves heavily protected until the handoff. Once they're in Gem's hands, Strength of Many will have an opening."
Ari raises an eyebrow. "Not quite what I intended, and he might not be happy with it, either. He wanted to strike a blow to the Realm's slave-movers."
"If I look too bad out of this, especially if the Realm gets a bloody nose and other people need a scapegoat, I get people looking over my shoulder and I may not be able to keep up your access."
Ari looks away, making a frustrated sort of noise. "And, unfortunately, I do need specific places to keep up my research, and I can't do it outside my true forms and with my Caste mark glowing." That sounds like he's talking to himself more than you.
"Why are you so interested in the Last Supplicant?"
"It was the first thing I saw when I was Exalting. It's an old story: my family was part of a disenfranchised neighborhood when we became inconvenient for a Dynast. My only way out was to stow away aboard a ship bound elsewhere. Was caught as we landed. As I was pinned down, I looked again at the face of something older and more powerful than even the Realm. Then I Exalted, escaped, and found other Lunars." You get the impression that this was an incredibly abridged version of Ari's story, probably skipping important points.
"I see." You don't insult him by apologizing. It's true that the Realm does sometimes chew up a few smaller groups to keep the powerful stable and happy. It's better for everyone, except of course the unfortunate few.
"That's you, now, too." Ari looks at you. "You're now heir to something older and stronger and vastly more capable than what you grew up knowing. I do hope you're willing to claim that soon."
You consider this. It's true that Anathema powers are vast and twisted, but you've never really thought of them as stronger. Ari certainly seems to believe it. It's worth thinking about.
"I think I've done all the work I can get done today. The geomantic structure-flow doesn't change that quickly. I'm going to hunt something up here and eat it raw. You can join me if you want."
That doesn't seem nearly as disgusting to you right now as it would have before your Exaltation. However, "I just ate. I'll see you around, Ari."
He nods, and again takes the form of a hunting raptor.
You're alone in a hurry. You leave.
* * *
Danaro fusses over the complex alchemical distillation equipment he has set up in his room. Rare plants ferment in sealed containers, small but powerful candles evaporate odd brews, endless tubing carries mixtures, and delicate complexes of mirrors reflect sunlight where that is needed at certain times of day. To your jaded eye, the result is more confusing than imposing. Heptagram sorcerers learn much superior rituals to unlock sorcery; this is a huge amount of extra effort for very little good reason.
You, of course, feel completely at home wandering into any given place here. This is a Realm barracks, after all, and these mercenaries are paid by House Peleps.
"So, you're the sorcerer for Solace's outfit?" It's not like you don't know the answer to that, but Danaro understands the actual question.
He straightens up and turns away from his equipment to look at you. "Yes. I've mastered three spells: Death of Obsidian Butterflies, Cirrus Skiff, and Water From Stone." That raises your eyebrow. Three spells is an impressive total for a mortal, and it's a varied assortment. Death of Obsidian Butterflies is an attack spell, which lacerates everything in a wide area with a hail of fluttering stone butterflies with razor-edged wings. Cirrus Skiff is a transportation spell, which enables a small group to fly quickly. Water From Stone does exactly what it sounds like, and is extremely important in keeping the more extreme sections of the South habitable.
"You keep the books, you know that much sorcery... why are you following Solace, then?"
The sallow-faced man shrugs. "I am not a leader. Besides, Solace is someone I can trust. Everyone here has learned that. She trains with us so we all come home at the end of the day, and I've seen her personally jump in front of a scale to distract a trio of hungry ghosts. She's the sort to do that, and we all know it."
You nod. That's not a particularly unexpected answer. Solace leads this crew by strength of her own personal charisma. Control Solace, control the men.
You make your excuses and leave Danaro be. Several other members of the crew give murmured mentions of respect as you pass, which you return as appropriate, but none of the rest of the set-up here catches your eye.
When you exit the barracks, you find Solace running through some exercises with the men, with one fang taking the part of hungry ghosts and the others operating to fend them off, laying faux salt trails and withdrawing in good order while protecting a VIP, played by a Solace who is trying to run, panicked, into danger. They've laid out some 'buildings' in the exercise yard, denoted by lines on the ground that the hungry ghosts can ignore but everyone else has to respect, to emphasize the advantages that immaterial hungry ghosts have.
The exercise ends with the salt-layers managing to lay a complete ring around the 'hungry ghosts', trapping them.
Only then does Solace drop the damsel in distress act to greet you. She comes up and doffs her hat. "Triumvir! You honor us with your presence." She says it in a mildly insolent manner, sweeping the hat off to one side as she gives a dramatic bow. It's not really insubordinate: she's just not that given to standing on ceremony.
"Solace Through the Night." You incline your head, gravely. "I trust the accommodations are to your liking?"
She replaces the hat with a grin. "It'll do. Say, Triumvir... we've never had a chance to train with a real Prince of the Earth. Would you be willing to go a round with us?"
There's a dangerous gleam in her eye, but your reservoirs of Essence are overflowing and you have something new to experiment with. You'd also like to test what Solace might have up her sleeve, checking if for instance she has any supernatural leadership powers to back up her more mundane ability and supernatural personal strength. "Certainly. Who are my opponents?"
Solace considers for a moment, her eyes settling for a moment on Blizzard's Scourge. She gestures, and a half-dozen troops fall in behind her. "I'll take you on, with these men as my back-up." The men and women behind her are equipped with her group's standard loadout of sling and axe. "Any special safety precautions we need?" That is again at you.
You shake your head. "No, come at me with your best. "I'll take my lumps if you can hit me, and I'll be careful in turn."
"Hm." Solace looks at you even more appraisingly now. She's clearly somewhere between confident and interested to see how this goes. Doubtless, she considers herself something of a hotshot, and is anxious to see if she can beat a Dragon-Blood.
Pity that's not quite what she's facing.
One of the other officers steps up to declare the match start. As he does, you open your mouth and let Oblivion tinge your words, working a little something extra as you direct them to Solace's back-up. "There is no point in you joining this fight."
It works, they all stand there, a blank look of disinterest on their faces, the sort of expression one might have while waiting for the ferry to dock.
Solace doesn't recognize it at first. She springs back, drawing her flame pieces and leveling both barrels at you. "Volley!" she commands, and gets dull, empty looks in return. "Come on, rally. Shake it off. What's wrong?"
That answers one thing. Solace doesn't have any special powers to enhance her troops. Still, sheer effort begins to work: the men you spoke at are beginning to shake off the mental weight you saddled them with.
Solace ducks backward, bending at the knees like she's trying to win a limbo competition as Blizzard's Scourge slices past overhead. She straightens up, then has to throw herself to the side as it returns to your hand equally swiftly.
"Volley!" she commands again. This time, the men obey, little shaped bullets flying with with each swing of their arms. None of it touches you, as you twitch very slightly and are not in the arc of fire any longer, assuming an effortless grace with your dodging.
You hurl Blizzard's Scourge at Solace again. She sets her eyes and draws a deep breath as it comes at her. She levels both flame pieces against it. "Flaming River Burns the Boat!" Solace's strongest counter-attack comes out as a torrent of flame, sources merging and bursting forth like a stream freed from a dam. The inferno does not reach all the way to you, just due to distance. The most she can achieve is to deflect Blizzard's Scourge. Still, the magical boomerang knows its master's hand, and as you dart to one side, it returns to your throwing arm. More bullets strike the ground around you, and a gout of liquid flame makes you have to juke.
Your next throw is a sweeping arc, directly over the slinger's heads. They cringe, a moment too late. It's a clear statement however: you could have struck them down, there, so they are 'dead' for purposes of this exercise.
Solace stands before you alone. She takes a deep breath, and lets it out. Red flickers of aura flow from her mouth down to her weapons, condensing down the barrels. She's not quite ready to give up. "Hold," you say, mildly.
After a moment of discombobulation, Solace obeys. "I wasn't done," she argues, however.
"You were. I outrange you and you didn't have a way to close the gap. I could just keep throwing my weapon until you either got unlucky or had your Essence reserves drained." She's just some ifrit's by-blow, where your power, Anathema or not, is simply more. Despite her age, being about your age or maybe a year or so your junior, she's reached about as far as she possibly could have, and it simply isn't enough.
She takes it cheerfully enough. She tucks her flame pieces into their holsters and gives you a cheerful grin. "I suppose so! Pretty impressive, Triumvir. I hope you'll give me a rematch once I figure out an answer to that. I must say, I haven't heard of that technique you used on my men." She glances back at them, concern on her features for a second. They're okay, though they still look rattled and keep hugging themselves and rubbing their arms, as if they were cold or terrified. You didn't even turn it up to the level where it could slowly kill them.
"You didn't do too badly," you tell her, pitching your voice so it can be heard, not just by your opponents but the other observers. Nearly her whole cadre caught at least the end of it. "You just overestimated how far you could shorten the gap yourself. If I do have to ask you to fight some outcaste Dragon-Blood or Anathema, don't take any chances. Overwhelm them with numbers and don't let them in close."
"We'll do that." Solace touches the brim of her hat again, a small respectful gesture. "Okay, boys and girls." Her attention goes away from you. "Come on, let's run one more thing."
She barks more orders as you take your leave, but you catch her eyeing you. She is more than just impressed. She's here for the coin, but now she has something new to fixate on. Whether that's as a wall to climb or something more, time will tell.
* * *
The day of the raid-to-be comes. The first part of things goes off without a hitch, as lines of slaves, chained together, are marched up to one of the Lap's outlying buildings under the heavy supervision of an 'impromptu exercise', where Lap sepoys, Solace's mercenaries, and a few overseeing Realm legionnaires keep watch.
The building for the handoff is an old grain silo, abandoned when too many rats found their way through the outer walls and it was given up instead of repaired. It still serves as a reasonable set of walls, which is all that's really needed here.
You and Anira join the Gem delegation before the column reaches you. Gem has sent a Dragon-Blood outcaste to lead the expedition, and his troops loiter around the walls of the place. They're a sorry lot, with no military discipline and little awareness of of their surroundings. They're equipped with thick truncheons and, in some cases, bolas. They're here to restrain wayward slaves, not fight.
Their leader is no better. He introduced himself to you as Night-Blooming Cactus, a Wood Aspect, and almost immediately fell on the bottle of Lap-produced wine that Anira produced to be a good host. It practically all disappeared down his throat in less than fifteen minutes.
You and Anira exchanged a look at that. It goes a long way to confirm all the negative things you've heard about outcaste Dragon-Bloods, those kin of the elemental dragons who don't join up with the Realm. Anira clearly regrets not getting the cheapest possible vintage, and neither of you think anything of Night-Blooming Cactus's manners, as his outfit is scruffy, his hair is uncombed, and he's got his much-patched boots up on the table.
"So, this is a bunch of faerie-worshipers, huh?" He finally asks once he's absorbed all the alcohol, waving around the empty bottle for emphasis, his hand still clamped onto the bottle's neck.
"That's why they were condemned to this transportation, yes," Anira says, in a mild voice. She's been dealing with him since the delegation arrived yesterday, and you can tell she's been annoyed by him almost the whole time.
"Hm. Well, we'll work 'em hard enough to keep 'em out of trouble." He laughs to himself. You don't join in.
The doors swing open. The column shuffles in. Night-Blooming Cactus hollers at some of his men to inspect them and be sure it's what they're paying for. He has to yell several times to get his orders obeyed.
He doesn't wait, though. "Y'got the papers?" Unwilling to wait for the inspection, he demands Anira produce the official handoff documents. She does so, including handing him the cheapest pen she could provide for him to sign it. He does so with a tremendous flourish that goes over half the page. He doesn't give the pen back. Anira doesn't ask for it; she's cautious with the papers, too, as if afraid that his ill manners are contagious.
"You're kinda quiet," he observes to you, upending the wine bottle by the neck for the fourth or fifth time, just in case it has spontaneously generated a little more. "Y'seem boring."
"I'm working today," you tell him. Anira rolls her eyes while he's not looking at her.
"Relax. It's the Lap. Nothing ever happens in the Lap. You'll regret it when you're older if you don't live life a little bit." He stands up and throws the bottle against a wall, where it shatters. Several slaves close to the impact flinch. "All right, we're leaving! Pyka, Tig, stop screwing around with pawing over the slaves." The two who jerk guiltily were the ones still trying to inspect everything, per his previous instructions. "We're leaving."
Eyes downcast, steps reluctant, the slaves are marched out of the place with the non-too-gentle prodding of the guards with Night-Blooming Cactus.
You're not really going to miss this crew once Strength of Many happens to them. The slaves, those you don't really give much thought to. There's a mild possibility that they or at least some of them are innocent, and the charges were just convenience, but you can't be sure. Either way, they're not going to be your problem.
"_____ dear... I'm appalled you had to be introduced to such a dreadful example of my Aspect so soon after your own Exaltation. I hope you won't hold it against me. Can you believe he propositioned me last night? And me, a married woman!" Now that he's gone, Anira is ready to gossip all about his fascinatingly awful behavior. You might get the full litany if you're not careful.
"I think he might have propositioned me, too, if I'd given him any more of a chance," you agree, but pull yourself away before she can continue her thought, calling over the sepoy captain, Solace, and the Realm sergeant, getting a brief report and checking in with them to ensure that the exercise had gone well, and to find any rough edges. According to the reports from all three, it went about as expected, difficulties more in hesitation when trying to coordinate than any actual problems.
Anira practically bubbles over with the desire to tell more scandalous details, but she restrains herself for the few minutes of your work. It doesn't take long for you to dismiss everyone but Solace. She needs to stay here for a moment for you to talk more shop. Anira, however, doesn't leave. As your security forces leave, she finally bubbles over and tells you more about Night-Blooming Cactus's fascinatingly bad behavior.
You only have to listen for a couple of minutes, because then things go terribly wrong.
The slower-moving slave column still isn't very far away when the wind carries shouts of alarm and violence to your grain silo, very faint. This catches Anira's attention. "What was that, darling?" she interrupts herself to ask you.
"Probably nothing. A few slaves tried to make a break for it or something." That is definitely not what is happening. As you expected was likely, Strength of Many must have been observing the column for a while, hidden in some hard-to-recognize animal form.
Unfortunately, Anira doesn't take your word for it. "We should still look. This is our satrapy, after all, _____ dear. Come along, you two." She stands and gestures for you and Solace to follow her. You can't think of a good excuse not to go, now, as you can't very well ignore your responsibility as the Triumvir in charge of security.
The sounds grow a little louder and more distinct as you round a tiny hill that separated you from them.
Here you find a scene of carnage.
People are scattered everywhere. Some of them have the remains of broken chains on their limbs and are struggling to get up and away. Some are armed with truncheons and are very clearly dead. Some are armed with truncheons and still up and about, but looking dazed and unsure of what they can even try to do. Part of Night-Blooming Cactus is crumpled in a heap. His head and left arm are some distance away.
All of that you take in as minor details. The main thing you see is Strength of Many. It's clear how he earned his name. The blood-splattered Anathema has the head of a bull, his eyes flashing with anger and curved horns framing the silver Frenzied mark on his forehead. That head reaches a full ten feet above the ground. His bulk is unbelievable. Muscles like steel cable can be easily discerned even underneath his fur. He has the largest axe you've ever seen held in one hand, where it looks almost dainty.
"More slavers," he says. It puts you in mind of a bull about to charge as he stalks towards you, idly bisecting one unusually foolish slave guard as he passes. It might have been Pyka.
"Anathema." Anira breathes it slowly. She fiddles slightly with her bracelets. A glowing screen of energy appears, slightly above her skin, wrapping her completely. You didn't know Anira had a set of Discreet Essence Armor.
Solace draws her weapons, too. It seems you have a fight you can't easily escape from. You'll just have to get through it as well as you can.
Pick two. Two highest options win, counted individually.
[] You don't show anyone your Caste mark.
[] None of the Fair-Folk-consorting slaves escape back into the Lap
[] You don't anger the Whispers.
[] You escape blame for this fiasco.
Solace has taken your lesson to heart, and will keep herself out of Strength of Many's reach without you having to do anything further.
- Location
- Bed
[X] You don't show anyone your Caste mark.
[X] You escape blame for this fiasco.
A mortal sorcerer with three solid spells? That's... not an easy feat. They're either traumatized up the whazoo, or they made some bargains with stuff they really shouldn't have. Odds are both, realistically.
That bit about the Sun and why the Solars are evil is, shockingly enough, essentially correct. Just, you know, with a skewed and aggressively nihilistic perspective on things, as befits the Neverborn.
Now, as for my votes, here's my thinking. We don't need to worry about Solace, which is good. The slaves escaping, well, worst comes to worst they start a grand plot that gives the Fair-Folk an edge and harms Creation. This is a net positive for us. Not angering the Whispers might be nice, but currently our social position is our greatest asset - risking anyone seeing our caste mark threatens that intensely, and taking the blame for this would cause us problems as well. The Neverborn aren't likely to care too much about this, either, so it shouldn't be a serious handicap later on.
Besides, we're an Abyssal. Ignoring what the Neverborn and the Deathlords want us to do is essentially required.
[X] You escape blame for this fiasco.
A mortal sorcerer with three solid spells? That's... not an easy feat. They're either traumatized up the whazoo, or they made some bargains with stuff they really shouldn't have. Odds are both, realistically.
That bit about the Sun and why the Solars are evil is, shockingly enough, essentially correct. Just, you know, with a skewed and aggressively nihilistic perspective on things, as befits the Neverborn.
Now, as for my votes, here's my thinking. We don't need to worry about Solace, which is good. The slaves escaping, well, worst comes to worst they start a grand plot that gives the Fair-Folk an edge and harms Creation. This is a net positive for us. Not angering the Whispers might be nice, but currently our social position is our greatest asset - risking anyone seeing our caste mark threatens that intensely, and taking the blame for this would cause us problems as well. The Neverborn aren't likely to care too much about this, either, so it shouldn't be a serious handicap later on.
Besides, we're an Abyssal. Ignoring what the Neverborn and the Deathlords want us to do is essentially required.
Anira is a dragon blooded triumvir. If she sees our caste mark she'll know we're Anathema. Which means we have to kill her.
I... think I am okay with that. She's not the Triumvir I wanted to kill, but we can make her out as a hero who died bravely fighting an Anathema. Which happens all the time.
Upsetting the Whispers can make it harder to hide what we are if I remember right.
leaning
[] You don't anger the Whispers.
[] You escape blame for this fiasco
I don't think it is a disaster if anyone else sees the caste mark. No one else is likely to be sure of what they saw.
I... think I am okay with that. She's not the Triumvir I wanted to kill, but we can make her out as a hero who died bravely fighting an Anathema. Which happens all the time.
Upsetting the Whispers can make it harder to hide what we are if I remember right.
leaning
[] You don't anger the Whispers.
[] You escape blame for this fiasco
I don't think it is a disaster if anyone else sees the caste mark. No one else is likely to be sure of what they saw.
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Everyone is extremely sanguine (get it becuz vampire) about our capacity to completely neutralise all possible witnesses without further complication. I'm going to hazard that if it didn't represent an actual problem for us, it wouldn't be on the list. It's the most interesting problem, though -- what's the point of having a secret if we're not skirting too close to it being exposed?
[X] You don't anger the Whispers.
[X] You escape blame for this fiasco.
[X] You don't anger the Whispers.
[X] You escape blame for this fiasco.
- Location
- [REDACTED]
[X] You don't anger the Whispers.
[X] You escape blame for this fiasco.
[X] You escape blame for this fiasco.
[x] You don't anger the Whispers.
[x] You escape blame for this fiasco
[x] You escape blame for this fiasco
[X] You don't anger the Whispers.
[X] You escape blame for this fiasco
I am curious to find out who all sees our Caste mark and the fallout from that.
[X] You escape blame for this fiasco
I am curious to find out who all sees our Caste mark and the fallout from that.
Strength of Many rampant
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[] You don't anger the Whispers.
[] You escape blame for this fiasco.
"I'm going to need you to damage the brute as I hold him down, darling." You look at Anira as if she's just grown a second head. The social butterfly has never shown any combat talent to you before.
She is still a Dynast, and like every other Dragon-Blood of the Realm, she has been trained in the basics of combat, but that's a far cry from standing up to something like that. The titanic Lunar is still coming closer, easily one-handing an axe whose biting edge is bigger than Anira's waist.
You're hardly anxious to throw yourself into the proverbial dragon's mouth, either, so let her. You won't shed any tears if either she or Strength of Many get hurt. "Solace, provide cover." She nods.
In the end, you're trying to buy time, with victory a grand benefit if you can achieve it on top of that. Regardless of how powerful this Anathema is, he can't possibly stand up to a sufficiently large military force, so once the guards realize what's going on, they'll be back. Strength of Many already declined to fight them in force once.
The difficulty is just surviving until then. Running would only mean he would catch you. Well, you might be able to escape. You're not sure. Solace and Anira, certainly not.
Anira approaches him with a strangely light and casual air, as if she were meeting someone she'd invited to dinner. It seems to work; the beast hesitates very briefly. "Darling, must there be more violence? I'm sure I wouldn't want to be on the bad side of a handsome brute like you." You can't see from behind, but you're sure she's offering a little smile.
"Slave-keeper," is his only reply.
"Too bad," Anira says, lightly. From her open and unassuming position, somehow she transforms a demure pose into a straight-arm thrust, aiming to bury two fingers deep into his gut.
All she gets is a small whuff noise as he clenches his abs, but it was still more resistance than he had expected. She dances past as you hurl your skycutter at him. He ignores her to bat at it with his axe. He doesn't deflect it enough, and it gouges the tiniest string of red across one temple.
That marks you the worst threat. He devours the distance between you with enormous strides that shake the ground. Solace, who spread out some distance to your right, empties her flame pieces one after the other and back to the first, alternating shots to keep him wreathed in flame that seems to bother him no more than a light sandstorm, some of her flame clouds even batted aside impossibly by his mirrored-silver axe.
Anira is somehow in his way, and she hooks one ankle into the back of his knee. He staggers, but doesn't quite fall. As he tries to keep his feet, Blizzard's Scourge is at his chest before he realizes it. He gets his free arm up in time, and the razored edge of jade bites deep, but only in the back of his forearm.
Anira does something delicate that turns into a hard motion, and his axe is suddenly flying free. That proves to be a mixed blessing, however, as his hand seizes her by the shoulder. Each of his fingers is bigger than her wrist, and his wrist is the size of her shin.
Before she can try to wiggle free, he drags her off the ground and hurls her over the hill you came around to find him.
That's her out of the fight for the moment, but you don't think she'll die from that.
A bull's eye finds you even as he shrugs off another wave of flame from Solace, his fur starting to singe and blacken under the assault.
The most dangerous witness is gone, though. You open your mouth, giving free rein to the Whispers. You don't know the words, or the language, but the terrible things you say start to tear at Strength of Many's ears.
He bellows, but even that won't drown you out. He covers his ears, which doesn't change anything, either. Solace, whom you are not speaking to and who can't make out the speech, gives you a confused look, but as far as she knows this is a normal combat power for you, so she keeps focusing on the task at hand, breathing new flame into her guns.
"STOP. THAT." You try to keep your distance, but he's insensitive to pain and his legs are so long. The giant catches up, only to pause as soon as he's possibly in arm's reach.
He's staring at your forehead. Which, you are suddenly aware, is bleeding in a giveaway shape. You stop speaking to catch your breath. "Hell's going on?" he asks now that your speech isn't clawing for his life.
He swings at you, but his grasping hand touches only smoke and shadow as you dodge away. "I'm a friend of Ari's!" You hiss it too low for the sound to carry. "I'm not trying to stop you from freeing the slaves!" That's even almost true. You don't care about these slaves one way or the other.
A last gout of flame washes over him. He rounds on Solace with a furious roar. "Quit it!" You gesture for her to comply, and she obeys your motion. He turns back to you, regarding you wtih a strange, rage-filled look, but no aggression. He's just mad and trying to think something out. He rotates on his heel and shows you his back as he stomps back over to his axe. You let him. Solace watches him warily.
You're not sure how a true fight to the finish would go, but it doesn't matter now. He scoops up his weapon and stomps away, gradually shrinking from a ten-foot bull-monster to merely a tower of muscle in human shape. He pauses briefly to roar at a couple of dallying slaves that they're free, they should go.
You catch your breath. The last few of Night-Blooming Cactus's men watch you with something like awe. They're nowhere near you, thankfully, but they know what they saw. You fought toe-to-foe with a monster and drove him off.
You start to hear the shouts of sepoys and mercenaries as they catch back up to your position. You might hear Anira's voice.
You're not entirely sure, because at about that point, you faint.
You wake up in your own bed. Taara is nearby, working on some paperwork herself. You try to speak, and end up making an undignified croak, instead.
She answers the question you tried to ask, though. She helps you sit up and puts a glass in your hands. "Two days, _____. Anira said it was just Essence fever, that you'd be fine after some rest. She thought it would probably take three days." There's a certain satisfaction in your unsmiling nanny's voice, that her little boy was able to beat expectations.
"News?" You're about halfway through the glass, now able to talk much more easily.
Taara consults the documents she has, probably unnecessarily. "Strength of Many escaped, but your showdown with an infamous Anathema is still the talk of the Lap. The remains of Gem's delegation are singing your praises and having beers bought for them to share the story. Some of the local sepoys who cleaned up seemed nearly as impressed.
"Most of the slaves escaped. Talon-Captain Vancer reports that he thinks that some of them may have linked up with local malcontents." She shuffles a page. "House Peleps has been heliographing us like wild. You're actually making at least some news all across the Blessed Isle, fighting so many Anathema evenly so soon after Exaltation. Your second cousin is coming out here, too: Peleps Deled." You're not sure if she's doing it intentionally or not, but Taara is oscillating between good news and bad at a rate you're having a hard time keeping up with. Deled coming, in particular, is terrible news, and would be even if you weren't Anathema yourself. He's a religious zealot, who has killed or maimed several people who disagreed with his interpretations of Immaculate texts, until he was rather forcibly and permanently seconded to the Wyld Hunt, which he actually seemed delighted about. You've barely exchanged two sentences with him in your lives; the Dynastic houses just aren't that sort of tight-knit family.
Taara isn't done, however. "Capitalizing on your new fame, there's some discussion of your marriage prospects. It's not settled yet, but it is moving quickly. Apparently, right now they've narrowed it to either a Ledaal or Tepet option."
That one just about knocks you out again. You hadn't even considered it, but coming out of this business looking good is definitely going to raise your value, so it's not surprise that Peleps leadership is looking to use your new celebrity status to marry you to some other House for advantage, quite possibly as a key piece of some agreement to help settle succession. All of the great Houses are looking for their opportunity to seat some figure they approve of as Emperor or Empress.
Maybe your betrothed will be nice.
You throw that thought aside.
You check in with your internal sense as you get up the rest of the way and find one of the new mourning outfits to dress in. To your surprise, your Essence reserves aren't completely zeroed out. In fact, it feels as if you're very slowly finding them fill up.
A cult. It doesn't take too much thought to figure out what happened. The Immaculate doctrine forbids an Exalt from developing a cult, but, well, you've broken far more important commandments already. It's not too hard to imagine some small handful of people starting to pray that you will be there when they're being menaced by some Anathema or might have to fight such.
This is actually somewhat surprising: you had been thinking that, very possibly, even a Cult would only end with you sickeningly unable to draw any Essence from the living. Right now, it's more a nice bonus than something you could use to stop preying on the lawbreakers you've been targeting, but there's two things that really catch you about this, even so. First, you could potentially take some steps to grow your cult and see if that will increase this recovery.
Second, it's a straight-up lie you caught the Waif in. She indicated there was no alternative to attacking the living.
"Any other important news, Taara?" You don't let your musings interrupt what you're doing.
"Details of the things I summarized. Also, Anira wants to see you." You wince. Of course she does.
"Really, darling, you have to be more careful." You're outside the Cathak manor. Anira sits across a delicate white table from you, both of you in the sort of spindly outdoor chairs that look good and continue to look good after sitting out through some seasons of weather, with 'comfort' a concern that the designers had once heard about and never looked into.
A servant pours tea. He's got the sort of V-taper to his upper body that speaks as much to working for looks as for functional strength. He's wearing a butler outfit, complete with bowtie, that would make sense in the NOrth and here just makes you wonder how he doesn't sweat himself to death.
Anira completely ignores him. "It's like how mortal runners sometimes faint if they go too quickly from a hard sprint to just standing around. You have to let yourself down a little more gently. I half-thought you were dying on me!"
Between the two of you, it's Anira who's actually hurt, one of her arms in an immobilizing sling that she made an effort to accessorize around and almost succeeded at. That's a task worthy of the Dragons, to make a medical necessity into a fashion statement.
"You surprised me, too." You're both aware that this is the actual reason you're meeting today: she's not just checking on you to be neighborly. She revealed something important and is checking on how secret her secret is. "That didn't look like any style of fighting I know. I didn't know you had a secret like that up your sleeve!"
Anira gives an appropriately reserved laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her uninjured hand. "Of course not, dear. And it's best if it stays up my sleeves, not something I use all the time." Just like her servant, who's become completely part of the background, standing invisibly just far enough away to pretend he can't hear any of this.
You nod. "Of course, I understand. I'm thinking I can trust Solace's discretion... but what was it that I didn't see?"
The Wood Aspect considers. "Well," she finally says. "It certainly wasn't White Veil Style, because there is no White Veil Style. There can't be a White Veil Style, because there is no White Veil Society to create and train it. If there were a White Veil Society, however, they wouldn't have more than a single person in the Lap, so there's no particular reason to treat that person as any different."
You nod. It figures. There's no end to the complexity of Dynastic politics. Ten thousand Dragon-Blooded in almost a dozen major Houses jockeying for advantage in the largest political unit of Creation leads to endless layers. That said, this sounds like something you can almost ignore, just as Anira is pleading for you to do. Any interest the White Veil Society could have in the Lap would be the same as anyone else: extract profit. It's hardly any concern of yours if Anira is padding her own nest egg or funneling some of her share of the pie to another party. "I understand. I certainly didn't see anything untoward." Anira relaxes fractionally. It's still something you may find use to badger her with later, but at least for now you're best off keeping it in your back pocket.
"By the way," Anira adds almost absently, "Gem's local ambassador has been in my office several times while you were out, using just the worst sort of language and demanding satisfaction." She smiles. It's not a nice smile. "He's clearly mostly just worried about his own job if he doesn't batter down my door; the Despot might think he's not advocating vociferously enough. Even the surviving Gem guards praised your courage and skill, since they witnessed you actually drive that dreadful brute off. Still..."
Anira pulls an envelope out from where she'd stored it within her sling and slides it over to you. It's addressed to you, but it's not sealed, so doubtlessly she's seen it.
You remove the contents and look them over. It's an itemized bill, done in actually quite pretty and elaborate calligraphy, stating that you, personally, are liable for Gem's losses because you failed to keep the land sufficiently safe. It has slaves, draft animals, funerals for guards, the costs of food and water and animal fodder during the trip, and the expected figure value of Night-Blooming Cactus's labor all there, adding up to a truly ludicrous sum.
Looking up, you find Anira still smiling, but this time a little more conspiratorially. "I recommend you frame and display it."
That might make for an amusing conversation piece. After all, you're not going to pay that.
You take a little more tea together. You can't quite feel as at peace as Anira is, though. The actual lesson you're seeing isn't the one she was trying to share.
While the Dragon-Blooded elite of the Realm will jockey with each other for advantage and profit, when the chips are down, they will cling to each other when they must. When some Anathema or other threat attacks, even someone like Anira will throw herself into the fray and count on other Dragon-Blooded to have her back.
It's such a deep instinct. You can't imagine that you're going to be treated any kindlier once you get uncovered. It hardly matters that it's not your fault, that you've tried to be a good Triumvir anyway, that you had to surrender your heritage and even your name just to still be breathing today. It doesn't even matter that by blood you should have become a Dragon-Blooded Exalt yourself before you were struck down.
No, completely ignoring all of that, if you find yourself publicly unmasked, everyone will turn on you, anyway.
Despite the heat of the day and even the warmth of the tea (why is she serving a hot drink, anyway?), you find yourself fighting off a chill.
You eventually stand and make your excuses to leave, wishing Anira well with the sling, and she responds by telling you her doctor thinks it can come off the next day.
That night, you wake to the sound of a weight landing at your window. You sit up and reach for Blizzard's Scourge. The weapon is ready to throw before you process who your visitor is.
It's Ari.
The Anathema looks much less happy to see you than the last time you'd seen him. You can't see him perfectly in the dark room, but the set to his luminous eyes is unmistakable.
"I spoke to Strength of Many." He keeps his voice low, perching on all fours on the windowsill. You can hear each other just fine, regardless, in the quiet of the night.
"And?" You keep your voice level. He is clearly expecting some sort of defense, but you're not about to give it. You're not going to defend yourself when he hasn't even accused you of anything.
His tail lashes. He bounds towards you. You don't attack, because his motion isn't an attack, either. He lands on your bed surprisingly softly, and leans over you, just barely not touching. He sniffs you carefully from this close distance.
Once he's checked you over, he leans back on his haunches. He's still very close, just now he's not overly intimately in your space. "I'm getting the same feeling the Elders told me to expect with my Solar bond," he says. He's talking to himself with that line. He seems to do that. "But Strength of Many said there was something wrong with your Caste mark, that it wasn't glowing golden."
You shrug. "This doesn't exactly come with an instruction manual. Until about a week ago, I was expecting my Dragon-Blooded heritage to express itself any day now."
Ari gives you a slight grin at that. It's a lopsided, winsome thing that reveals a large and pointed canine. "Heh." That's all he says for a moment, before he hops off your bed to take a quick look around your room, at the odds you've collected for winning competitions or for memories after various outings. Your outfits and gear are largely in closets or other rooms. Most of the room is empty, of course. You have a large bedroom, befitting your status. Having taken it all in, Ari turns his attention back to you. "Can I see your Caste mark?"
That's not hard to do. Suppressing it takes increasingly more effort the more you flex your Exalted power, but showing it is trivial.
So...
[] Yes.
[] No.
Feel free to write in a why, whether something internal or something to say to Ari.
[] You escape blame for this fiasco.
"I'm going to need you to damage the brute as I hold him down, darling." You look at Anira as if she's just grown a second head. The social butterfly has never shown any combat talent to you before.
She is still a Dynast, and like every other Dragon-Blood of the Realm, she has been trained in the basics of combat, but that's a far cry from standing up to something like that. The titanic Lunar is still coming closer, easily one-handing an axe whose biting edge is bigger than Anira's waist.
You're hardly anxious to throw yourself into the proverbial dragon's mouth, either, so let her. You won't shed any tears if either she or Strength of Many get hurt. "Solace, provide cover." She nods.
In the end, you're trying to buy time, with victory a grand benefit if you can achieve it on top of that. Regardless of how powerful this Anathema is, he can't possibly stand up to a sufficiently large military force, so once the guards realize what's going on, they'll be back. Strength of Many already declined to fight them in force once.
The difficulty is just surviving until then. Running would only mean he would catch you. Well, you might be able to escape. You're not sure. Solace and Anira, certainly not.
Anira approaches him with a strangely light and casual air, as if she were meeting someone she'd invited to dinner. It seems to work; the beast hesitates very briefly. "Darling, must there be more violence? I'm sure I wouldn't want to be on the bad side of a handsome brute like you." You can't see from behind, but you're sure she's offering a little smile.
"Slave-keeper," is his only reply.
"Too bad," Anira says, lightly. From her open and unassuming position, somehow she transforms a demure pose into a straight-arm thrust, aiming to bury two fingers deep into his gut.
All she gets is a small whuff noise as he clenches his abs, but it was still more resistance than he had expected. She dances past as you hurl your skycutter at him. He ignores her to bat at it with his axe. He doesn't deflect it enough, and it gouges the tiniest string of red across one temple.
That marks you the worst threat. He devours the distance between you with enormous strides that shake the ground. Solace, who spread out some distance to your right, empties her flame pieces one after the other and back to the first, alternating shots to keep him wreathed in flame that seems to bother him no more than a light sandstorm, some of her flame clouds even batted aside impossibly by his mirrored-silver axe.
Anira is somehow in his way, and she hooks one ankle into the back of his knee. He staggers, but doesn't quite fall. As he tries to keep his feet, Blizzard's Scourge is at his chest before he realizes it. He gets his free arm up in time, and the razored edge of jade bites deep, but only in the back of his forearm.
Anira does something delicate that turns into a hard motion, and his axe is suddenly flying free. That proves to be a mixed blessing, however, as his hand seizes her by the shoulder. Each of his fingers is bigger than her wrist, and his wrist is the size of her shin.
Before she can try to wiggle free, he drags her off the ground and hurls her over the hill you came around to find him.
That's her out of the fight for the moment, but you don't think she'll die from that.
A bull's eye finds you even as he shrugs off another wave of flame from Solace, his fur starting to singe and blacken under the assault.
The most dangerous witness is gone, though. You open your mouth, giving free rein to the Whispers. You don't know the words, or the language, but the terrible things you say start to tear at Strength of Many's ears.
He bellows, but even that won't drown you out. He covers his ears, which doesn't change anything, either. Solace, whom you are not speaking to and who can't make out the speech, gives you a confused look, but as far as she knows this is a normal combat power for you, so she keeps focusing on the task at hand, breathing new flame into her guns.
"STOP. THAT." You try to keep your distance, but he's insensitive to pain and his legs are so long. The giant catches up, only to pause as soon as he's possibly in arm's reach.
He's staring at your forehead. Which, you are suddenly aware, is bleeding in a giveaway shape. You stop speaking to catch your breath. "Hell's going on?" he asks now that your speech isn't clawing for his life.
He swings at you, but his grasping hand touches only smoke and shadow as you dodge away. "I'm a friend of Ari's!" You hiss it too low for the sound to carry. "I'm not trying to stop you from freeing the slaves!" That's even almost true. You don't care about these slaves one way or the other.
A last gout of flame washes over him. He rounds on Solace with a furious roar. "Quit it!" You gesture for her to comply, and she obeys your motion. He turns back to you, regarding you wtih a strange, rage-filled look, but no aggression. He's just mad and trying to think something out. He rotates on his heel and shows you his back as he stomps back over to his axe. You let him. Solace watches him warily.
You're not sure how a true fight to the finish would go, but it doesn't matter now. He scoops up his weapon and stomps away, gradually shrinking from a ten-foot bull-monster to merely a tower of muscle in human shape. He pauses briefly to roar at a couple of dallying slaves that they're free, they should go.
You catch your breath. The last few of Night-Blooming Cactus's men watch you with something like awe. They're nowhere near you, thankfully, but they know what they saw. You fought toe-to-foe with a monster and drove him off.
You start to hear the shouts of sepoys and mercenaries as they catch back up to your position. You might hear Anira's voice.
You're not entirely sure, because at about that point, you faint.
* * *
You wake up in your own bed. Taara is nearby, working on some paperwork herself. You try to speak, and end up making an undignified croak, instead.
She answers the question you tried to ask, though. She helps you sit up and puts a glass in your hands. "Two days, _____. Anira said it was just Essence fever, that you'd be fine after some rest. She thought it would probably take three days." There's a certain satisfaction in your unsmiling nanny's voice, that her little boy was able to beat expectations.
"News?" You're about halfway through the glass, now able to talk much more easily.
Taara consults the documents she has, probably unnecessarily. "Strength of Many escaped, but your showdown with an infamous Anathema is still the talk of the Lap. The remains of Gem's delegation are singing your praises and having beers bought for them to share the story. Some of the local sepoys who cleaned up seemed nearly as impressed.
"Most of the slaves escaped. Talon-Captain Vancer reports that he thinks that some of them may have linked up with local malcontents." She shuffles a page. "House Peleps has been heliographing us like wild. You're actually making at least some news all across the Blessed Isle, fighting so many Anathema evenly so soon after Exaltation. Your second cousin is coming out here, too: Peleps Deled." You're not sure if she's doing it intentionally or not, but Taara is oscillating between good news and bad at a rate you're having a hard time keeping up with. Deled coming, in particular, is terrible news, and would be even if you weren't Anathema yourself. He's a religious zealot, who has killed or maimed several people who disagreed with his interpretations of Immaculate texts, until he was rather forcibly and permanently seconded to the Wyld Hunt, which he actually seemed delighted about. You've barely exchanged two sentences with him in your lives; the Dynastic houses just aren't that sort of tight-knit family.
Taara isn't done, however. "Capitalizing on your new fame, there's some discussion of your marriage prospects. It's not settled yet, but it is moving quickly. Apparently, right now they've narrowed it to either a Ledaal or Tepet option."
That one just about knocks you out again. You hadn't even considered it, but coming out of this business looking good is definitely going to raise your value, so it's not surprise that Peleps leadership is looking to use your new celebrity status to marry you to some other House for advantage, quite possibly as a key piece of some agreement to help settle succession. All of the great Houses are looking for their opportunity to seat some figure they approve of as Emperor or Empress.
Maybe your betrothed will be nice.
You throw that thought aside.
You check in with your internal sense as you get up the rest of the way and find one of the new mourning outfits to dress in. To your surprise, your Essence reserves aren't completely zeroed out. In fact, it feels as if you're very slowly finding them fill up.
A cult. It doesn't take too much thought to figure out what happened. The Immaculate doctrine forbids an Exalt from developing a cult, but, well, you've broken far more important commandments already. It's not too hard to imagine some small handful of people starting to pray that you will be there when they're being menaced by some Anathema or might have to fight such.
This is actually somewhat surprising: you had been thinking that, very possibly, even a Cult would only end with you sickeningly unable to draw any Essence from the living. Right now, it's more a nice bonus than something you could use to stop preying on the lawbreakers you've been targeting, but there's two things that really catch you about this, even so. First, you could potentially take some steps to grow your cult and see if that will increase this recovery.
Second, it's a straight-up lie you caught the Waif in. She indicated there was no alternative to attacking the living.
"Any other important news, Taara?" You don't let your musings interrupt what you're doing.
"Details of the things I summarized. Also, Anira wants to see you." You wince. Of course she does.
* * *
"Really, darling, you have to be more careful." You're outside the Cathak manor. Anira sits across a delicate white table from you, both of you in the sort of spindly outdoor chairs that look good and continue to look good after sitting out through some seasons of weather, with 'comfort' a concern that the designers had once heard about and never looked into.
A servant pours tea. He's got the sort of V-taper to his upper body that speaks as much to working for looks as for functional strength. He's wearing a butler outfit, complete with bowtie, that would make sense in the NOrth and here just makes you wonder how he doesn't sweat himself to death.
Anira completely ignores him. "It's like how mortal runners sometimes faint if they go too quickly from a hard sprint to just standing around. You have to let yourself down a little more gently. I half-thought you were dying on me!"
Between the two of you, it's Anira who's actually hurt, one of her arms in an immobilizing sling that she made an effort to accessorize around and almost succeeded at. That's a task worthy of the Dragons, to make a medical necessity into a fashion statement.
"You surprised me, too." You're both aware that this is the actual reason you're meeting today: she's not just checking on you to be neighborly. She revealed something important and is checking on how secret her secret is. "That didn't look like any style of fighting I know. I didn't know you had a secret like that up your sleeve!"
Anira gives an appropriately reserved laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her uninjured hand. "Of course not, dear. And it's best if it stays up my sleeves, not something I use all the time." Just like her servant, who's become completely part of the background, standing invisibly just far enough away to pretend he can't hear any of this.
You nod. "Of course, I understand. I'm thinking I can trust Solace's discretion... but what was it that I didn't see?"
The Wood Aspect considers. "Well," she finally says. "It certainly wasn't White Veil Style, because there is no White Veil Style. There can't be a White Veil Style, because there is no White Veil Society to create and train it. If there were a White Veil Society, however, they wouldn't have more than a single person in the Lap, so there's no particular reason to treat that person as any different."
You nod. It figures. There's no end to the complexity of Dynastic politics. Ten thousand Dragon-Blooded in almost a dozen major Houses jockeying for advantage in the largest political unit of Creation leads to endless layers. That said, this sounds like something you can almost ignore, just as Anira is pleading for you to do. Any interest the White Veil Society could have in the Lap would be the same as anyone else: extract profit. It's hardly any concern of yours if Anira is padding her own nest egg or funneling some of her share of the pie to another party. "I understand. I certainly didn't see anything untoward." Anira relaxes fractionally. It's still something you may find use to badger her with later, but at least for now you're best off keeping it in your back pocket.
"By the way," Anira adds almost absently, "Gem's local ambassador has been in my office several times while you were out, using just the worst sort of language and demanding satisfaction." She smiles. It's not a nice smile. "He's clearly mostly just worried about his own job if he doesn't batter down my door; the Despot might think he's not advocating vociferously enough. Even the surviving Gem guards praised your courage and skill, since they witnessed you actually drive that dreadful brute off. Still..."
Anira pulls an envelope out from where she'd stored it within her sling and slides it over to you. It's addressed to you, but it's not sealed, so doubtlessly she's seen it.
You remove the contents and look them over. It's an itemized bill, done in actually quite pretty and elaborate calligraphy, stating that you, personally, are liable for Gem's losses because you failed to keep the land sufficiently safe. It has slaves, draft animals, funerals for guards, the costs of food and water and animal fodder during the trip, and the expected figure value of Night-Blooming Cactus's labor all there, adding up to a truly ludicrous sum.
Looking up, you find Anira still smiling, but this time a little more conspiratorially. "I recommend you frame and display it."
That might make for an amusing conversation piece. After all, you're not going to pay that.
You take a little more tea together. You can't quite feel as at peace as Anira is, though. The actual lesson you're seeing isn't the one she was trying to share.
While the Dragon-Blooded elite of the Realm will jockey with each other for advantage and profit, when the chips are down, they will cling to each other when they must. When some Anathema or other threat attacks, even someone like Anira will throw herself into the fray and count on other Dragon-Blooded to have her back.
It's such a deep instinct. You can't imagine that you're going to be treated any kindlier once you get uncovered. It hardly matters that it's not your fault, that you've tried to be a good Triumvir anyway, that you had to surrender your heritage and even your name just to still be breathing today. It doesn't even matter that by blood you should have become a Dragon-Blooded Exalt yourself before you were struck down.
No, completely ignoring all of that, if you find yourself publicly unmasked, everyone will turn on you, anyway.
Despite the heat of the day and even the warmth of the tea (why is she serving a hot drink, anyway?), you find yourself fighting off a chill.
You eventually stand and make your excuses to leave, wishing Anira well with the sling, and she responds by telling you her doctor thinks it can come off the next day.
* * *
That night, you wake to the sound of a weight landing at your window. You sit up and reach for Blizzard's Scourge. The weapon is ready to throw before you process who your visitor is.
It's Ari.
The Anathema looks much less happy to see you than the last time you'd seen him. You can't see him perfectly in the dark room, but the set to his luminous eyes is unmistakable.
"I spoke to Strength of Many." He keeps his voice low, perching on all fours on the windowsill. You can hear each other just fine, regardless, in the quiet of the night.
"And?" You keep your voice level. He is clearly expecting some sort of defense, but you're not about to give it. You're not going to defend yourself when he hasn't even accused you of anything.
His tail lashes. He bounds towards you. You don't attack, because his motion isn't an attack, either. He lands on your bed surprisingly softly, and leans over you, just barely not touching. He sniffs you carefully from this close distance.
Once he's checked you over, he leans back on his haunches. He's still very close, just now he's not overly intimately in your space. "I'm getting the same feeling the Elders told me to expect with my Solar bond," he says. He's talking to himself with that line. He seems to do that. "But Strength of Many said there was something wrong with your Caste mark, that it wasn't glowing golden."
You shrug. "This doesn't exactly come with an instruction manual. Until about a week ago, I was expecting my Dragon-Blooded heritage to express itself any day now."
Ari gives you a slight grin at that. It's a lopsided, winsome thing that reveals a large and pointed canine. "Heh." That's all he says for a moment, before he hops off your bed to take a quick look around your room, at the odds you've collected for winning competitions or for memories after various outings. Your outfits and gear are largely in closets or other rooms. Most of the room is empty, of course. You have a large bedroom, befitting your status. Having taken it all in, Ari turns his attention back to you. "Can I see your Caste mark?"
That's not hard to do. Suppressing it takes increasingly more effort the more you flex your Exalted power, but showing it is trivial.
So...
[] Yes.
[] No.
Feel free to write in a why, whether something internal or something to say to Ari.
Last edited:
- Location
- Bed
Oh. Oh crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap.
I was expecting maybe getting spotted by a handful of Terrestrials, maybe Anira if we got really unlucky. But Strength of Many!? We are in DEEP trouble. Lunars are basically the biggest, most dangerous threat to us right about now, save for if we actively try to murder our Deathlord or something.
That being said...
[X] Yes.
- The odds are, Ari won't know what's up. But you know what? Since Solar's invent their own charms, we also have a nice alibi: one of the first things we did when we Exalted was try to find a way to make it so our glowing forehead didn't, you know, out us immediately. Disguising it as a wound in combat? A clever little trick, and hardly a difficult one to pull. Unfortunately, we can't teach Ari or Strength of Many the Charm to confirm this because they're Lunars, not Solars.. Such a coincidental shame. And if Ari does know about Abyssals, well, that will be a total shock to us and solid information about a bigger danger we were previously unaware of - one that, coincidentally, we've developed a way to disguise as. What a stroke of good luck!
I was expecting maybe getting spotted by a handful of Terrestrials, maybe Anira if we got really unlucky. But Strength of Many!? We are in DEEP trouble. Lunars are basically the biggest, most dangerous threat to us right about now, save for if we actively try to murder our Deathlord or something.
That being said...
[X] Yes.
- The odds are, Ari won't know what's up. But you know what? Since Solar's invent their own charms, we also have a nice alibi: one of the first things we did when we Exalted was try to find a way to make it so our glowing forehead didn't, you know, out us immediately. Disguising it as a wound in combat? A clever little trick, and hardly a difficult one to pull. Unfortunately, we can't teach Ari or Strength of Many the Charm to confirm this because they're Lunars, not Solars.. Such a coincidental shame. And if Ari does know about Abyssals, well, that will be a total shock to us and solid information about a bigger danger we were previously unaware of - one that, coincidentally, we've developed a way to disguise as. What a stroke of good luck!
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Yes
If it comes out this way, our claim that we don't know the difference between a Solar and an Abyssal will be a lot more convincing if we just kind of obligingly show him.
If it comes out this way, our claim that we don't know the difference between a Solar and an Abyssal will be a lot more convincing if we just kind of obligingly show him.
- Location
- [REDACTED]
[X] Yes.
Best to keep the people who support us despite knowing we're Anathema on our good side.
Best to keep the people who support us despite knowing we're Anathema on our good side.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
..."giving", perhaps?
[x] No.
What is this, show me yours and I'll show you mine?
We are feeling awfully self-conscious right now after he broke in with implied accusations that we are wrong somehow. The nerve!
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Fixed, thank you.
And to be overly fair... he did already show you his!
- Pronouns
- They/Them
That's great, but you have to format it as a write in.
[X] Yes.
-[X] The odds are, Ari won't know what's up. But you know what? Since Solar's invent their own charms, we also have a nice alibi: one of the first things we did when we Exalted was try to find a way to make it so our glowing forehead didn't, you know, out us immediately. Disguising it as a wound in combat? A clever little trick, and hardly a difficult one to pull. Unfortunately, we can't teach Ari or Strength of Many the Charm to confirm this because they're Lunars, not Solars.. Such a coincidental shame. And if Ari does know about Abyssals, well, that will be a total shock to us and solid information about a bigger danger we were previously unaware of - one that, coincidentally, we've developed a way to disguise as. What a stroke of good luck!
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I get few enough votes to read it all by (metaphorical) hand, so while I appreciate trying for proper formatting, I recognized Ru_'s intent.
Whelp, my worst case analysis was wildly off. We can't even solve this problem with murder because Strength of Many will probably blame us if Ari dies. Plan Ru_ I guess. That's not at all how caste marks work, but maybe we'll get lucky and we'll spin a good enough story to buy some more time. Like Ari said, it's not like any of this stuff comes with an instruction manual.
[X] Yes.
-[X] The odds are, Ari won't know what's up. But you know what? Since Solar's invent their own charms, we also have a nice alibi: one of the first things we did when we Exalted was try to find a way to make it so our glowing forehead didn't, you know, out us immediately. Disguising it as a wound in combat? A clever little trick, and hardly a difficult one to pull. Unfortunately, we can't teach Ari or Strength of Many the Charm to confirm this because they're Lunars, not Solars.. Such a coincidental shame. And if Ari does know about Abyssals, well, that will be a total shock to us and solid information about a bigger danger we were previously unaware of - one that, coincidentally, we've developed a way to disguise as. What a stroke of good luck!
[X] Yes.
-[X] The odds are, Ari won't know what's up. But you know what? Since Solar's invent their own charms, we also have a nice alibi: one of the first things we did when we Exalted was try to find a way to make it so our glowing forehead didn't, you know, out us immediately. Disguising it as a wound in combat? A clever little trick, and hardly a difficult one to pull. Unfortunately, we can't teach Ari or Strength of Many the Charm to confirm this because they're Lunars, not Solars.. Such a coincidental shame. And if Ari does know about Abyssals, well, that will be a total shock to us and solid information about a bigger danger we were previously unaware of - one that, coincidentally, we've developed a way to disguise as. What a stroke of good luck!
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Well, I'm going to call the vote here and get to work, including Ru_'s explanation.
Which, if you have the Abyssals book, I recommend you check page 170 and 171. This actually is a real Charm!
Not that any of the characters involved have any reason to know that, but it amuses me to have it independently 'developed'.
Which, if you have the Abyssals book, I recommend you check page 170 and 171. This actually is a real Charm!
Not that any of the characters involved have any reason to know that, but it amuses me to have it independently 'developed'.
Countdown to Calibration
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[] Yes.
You take a deep breath, and allow the wound on your forehead to reopen and ooze blood. What you don't do is act like this is wrong or something to be ashamed of. Ari leans in close. He reaches as if to touch the blood, but you shift your weight back slightly in an unspoken no and he doesn't press it.
"How did that happen?"
You give him a sheepish smile. "I don't think any of us find it possible to completely hide these marks. I need to hide here. Disguising it as a wound, that's the best I've managed so far."
"I'd never heard of anything like that." His smile returns. "But that's exactly what it means, to be a Celestial Exalt." That's not a term you've heard of before, but it sounds like another synonym for 'Anathema'. "We are the ones who can break the bounds of reason and accomplish things that are completely impossible. Good for you." He cocks his head to his side. "Don't suppose it's something you could teach...?"
"I don't know how I'd teach it to another with the same Caste. Teaching you? I'll have to think about it. Not any time soon, at least."
Ari accepts this. "Fair enough. If you figure something out, let me know. I'm willing to try to trade anything we can teach each other."
You shift under the sheets. "You still came into my bedroom in the middle of the night to ask this question. Don't you think that was a bit rude?"
"Can't ever be sure where else I can meet you alone. You're always in meetings, or out and about, and not even a Lunar can completely wander in and out of a Realm place like this." He gestures vaguely towards the wall, to take in the whole of the Lap.
"I've made a point of going out to meet you before."
"I suppose I just was... suspicious?" Now he looks slightly guilty.
"I went to the effort of making sure Strength of Many's attack went off relatively smoothly. Have I given you any reason to doubt me yet?" Ari would absolutely be eaten alive by Dynastic politics.
He bounces back towards the window. "No... no, I suppose you haven't." He turns back to give you one more fangy grin. "It's actually a nice change."
And with that, he's gone again.
Out of all the surprises you've had in your short career as an Anathema, Ari might just be the one you have the hardest time placing. Unless he's hiding something deep, the only thing he seems to want from you is your presence, and maybe you to do something, anything, that will show your greatness. It's something you haven't really dealt with before. Even something like the Waif is more in line with what you expect: she reaches out to you because she wants something specific from you.
You end up back asleep before long, however.
You wake when Taara opens the door, but you let her try to wake you before you actually sit up. "There's been an incident at the North Orchard," she says without preamble. "You should go there right away."
Behind Taara is a dresser with a mirror on it. As your eyes touch it, blood begins to seep from the top of the glass. As before, when the Waif contacted you, it begins to form letters.
You can't let Taara turn around. You shift slightly, preserving modesty while keeping her eyes on you. "Give me some idea of what I'm walking into?
Come to the meeting place at the same time tonight.
You can't very well write a return message. You just have to hope that it will drain off before Taara looks at it. She answers you. "A work team was found dead. There's evidence of Fair Folk activity there. Triumvir Ragara Ptheno will probably already be there by the time you can arrive."
"Fair Folk? Are you sure?" The words are starting to melt away, but oh so slowly.
Taara makes a small motion that isn't a shrug, but communicates the same sentiment more classily. "I am only reporting what the runner told me."
"That makes sense." At least it's Taara, not Ari, with you right now. Ari's eyes never stop moving for even a moment. This wouldn't have worked with him.
Finally, finally, the bloody letters are all gone, and you can stop saying dumb little nothings to hold onto Taara's attention. You send her on her way and get yourself dressed and ready. There's no time for breakfast, though, so you hurry out the door still hungry.
The morning is actually not unbearably hot yet. It's only going to get unpleasant around noon. The worst of the summer's heat is past, this close to Calibration and winter starting just after. It's something you notice only in passing as you pass through the streets at high speed. People are quite happy to believe that their Dragon-Blooded protectors can run at superhuman speeds for miles, so that at least lets you get around faster.
As Taara had suggested, Ptheno has reached the site before you. "Peleps," he greets you with a grave nod.
"Ragara," you reply.
You take in the scene once you've greeted each other. Four workers, in their late 30's, have been trussed up and are not breathing. There is some evidence of a struggle, some bruises, but nothing that suggests an actual cause of death.
Ptheno lets you take your first look at things before he says anything. "From what I can tell, we're not looking at any actual raksha, not even a hobgoblin. It looks to me like just cultists. They overpowered these people and then drained them with some fey gift." You nod. That lines up reasonably well with your inspections. They had to attack from ambush, overpower the poor targets, and then restrain them so they could get just a trickle of power from them. Inefficient compared to any real source of power; even one of Avalanche Fury Roiling's monks would almost certainly tear through the entire cult.
That said, having one's dreams and drive for life drained away was, understandably, terrifying and hard to comprehend for the mortals here. Even the Whispers in the back of your mind bear no love for these beings from the chaos outside Creation, and if anything drop a single tantalizing hint in your head of how sweet their life force could be for you to consume yourself.
"They were found by a supervisor when they were late for work. He told the closest work crews, and they all spontaneously decided to take the day off." That interrupts production timetables and frustrates Ptheno's efforts as the Triumvir who oversees such. He's upset by it.
"Any leads as to the culprits?"
"None in particular." He's frustrated, and on more than just a professional level.
"I don't see anything I can on, either," you admit.
He sighs hard, raising the temperature in the surrounding area by a degree or so as his frustration leaks out. "I'm going to have to have some sleepless nights stalking them, then. I'm sure that they'll feel emboldened and keep going, and I'm not about to let that happen."
You nod. "I'll see if I can find anything to help you with that." This is one of those things where the responsibility could have fallen on either of you, and Ptheno has already declared it to be his. You're just saying something generally non-commital, the better to keep your options open for now.
Ptheno and you part ways shortly thereafter, with him also taking on the duties of seeing things are cleaned up and that the workers are at least eventually encouraged back into the orchards. Summer ends soon, after all, and then is Calibration.
You have a dull but lengthy day ahead of you, however. There's the summons from the Waif at the end of it, but a full day of fun and exciting paperwork and trivial decisions you have to take care of because, as far as anyone knows, you are just a completely normal Air Aspect here to do the business of Realm and House.
You're wrapped up in your thoughts, as you walk to the next place you need to be, so you don't pay too much attention as the streets of the Lap begin to fill a bit around you. Not, that is, until someone blocks your way.
You look up, almost surprised. You're used to people clearing out for you, so this is a surprise. What's even more surprising is that the one in your path is the Mendicant, the homeless holy man you've seen around before. He is clearly trying to block your path, and as soon as you pause to mentally take this in, he draws a deep breath. He holds one hand slightly above his head, palm flat, and draws it straight down his midline as he breathes out, his skinny body oddly steady as he does it. "The chill of the grave cannot be allowed within the... the... big thing..." His calm melts into confusion. "Lest... lest..." He doesn't seem like he's able to complete the thought.
Friendly hands reach him as some of the locals pull him out of your way, not unkindly, with worried looks and bows and a few variants of "please forgive him, Triumvir" and "he doesn't know what he's saying, please don't mind him".
You let them. It wasn't really an imposition. It was, honestly, probably the high point of your day. The Mendicant is typically amusing, even if this moment might have come uncomfortably close to realizing something important about you.
Tesklore is in the same place as before, standing quietly within the triangle of the trees in the shadowland a mere few paces across. The muscular purple-clad figure bows his skeletal head to greet you, and gestures for you to join him within the confines of the shadowland.
You do so, the comfort of the death-aspected Essence as welcome as the last time. Tesklore fiddles with a small bag he has at his side. He reverently draws something out, checking the presentation as he does. Atop a pure, white cloth, one that you recognize as being a type of fire-proof fiber, lies a hearthstone. Why fire-proof? briefly goes through your head as you pick up the stone. It's a blue gem, perhaps twice the size of your thumb, that is cool to the touch. If you look from the corner of your eye, it looks like there's trapped winds blowing within its depths, but it is an unmoving stone when you look at it directly.
"This is a Stone of Chilled Breath, a gift for you from our master, the great Deathlord." It's on a fine necklace of metal, close to your skintone and long enough to hide with the collar on the mourning outfits you wear. You slip it on, and take a deep breath. Winds swirl around you slightly as you do so, small whorls of cool air. "May it help your disguise, fellow servant."
You nod. This isn't a particularly powerful hearthstone, just one that can do a little something for making your efforts look more appropriate to an Air Aspect. That's comforting, in a way. It does say that the Waif is investing effort into keeping you here and hidden.
"I will again channel the Deathlord, so you may converse."
Tesklore doesn't wait for your confirmation. He holds up his hands, and calls on dark purple necromantic energy for the long moments it takes to work the spell.
After his shuddering collapse and puppet-like straightening up, you can again see the change in poise and stance.
The Lonely Waif of Cooling Embers is here.
"Vessel of the Mourning's Light Unyielding," she says, curtsying in a body and outfit not standard for it. "We meet again. I trust the gift is to your liking?"
"It's going to be helpful," you say.
"Excellent." Her pose shifts, one hand cupping the other elbow, and the other hand almost hiding her mouth. "I have updated orders for you. You are to climb the Last Supplicant of Endless Power and enter as previously instructed as night falls on the first full day of Calibration."
That's only a few days away. "I understand," you say, inclining your head. Neither of you are fooled by you not including the word 'obey'.
"Status report," she says, instead of pressing harder.
You consider your last set of orders, as well as what sources of information the Waif may have to check against them. She can't have too many, given how eager she seemed before to have you on site. However, if she does catch you in any obvious untruths, she will be upset, and you don't want to find out what punishments she may be able to levy. Ari she probably can't know about, for instance, but she might have information sources from the Blessed Isle. "I have hired a mercenary company, effectively bound them to me as a person, and kept my control over the local military forces. I have not revealed myself as your Chosen, but I have fought a powerful Lunar known as Strength of Many. I drove him from the battlefield and achieved some notoriety as an Air Aspect of the Realm by doing so."
"Hm." The Waif considers you for a moment. "I suppose I did not forbid you from showing off a bit. No matter. How have you kept your Essence reserves up?"
"I have been catching various criminals and draining their life."
She giggles. It's too planned for it to sound mirthful. "I thought you would find some solution like that. Is that really all you've done, though?" It's not a question, not exactly. She's clear by her tone that she knows something more.
"I think I may have developed a small cult after fighting with Strength of Many," you confess. "I haven't done anything with it, because the Immaculate doctrine forbids a Dragon-Blood from developing their own cults."
"You'll have to get rid of it," the Waif tells you. "Deathknights are forbidden from having cults, as well. Squelch it completely."
You're somehow a little surprised by that instruction. Still, you nod, acknowledging the order. "Anything else?"
"Just emphasis." The Waif opens her arms, holding her hands out to you, palm-up. "Anything. I said that and I meant it. Do not get distracted from following my orders at the right time, even if the whole world seems to be breaking apart at the time."
You leave the meeting with the Waif with your thoughts in even more disarray than before. There are so many things happening over the next few days: Peleps Deled of the Wyld Hunt will land just before Calibration, Calibration itself is always a chaotic time, the Lap may be seeing an increase in Wyld-related attacks, and now the Waif is telling you something big is about to happen. You are pulled this way and that, and you're going to have to figure out what to focus on.
You may not know enough about what is coming, but you know you have only a very brief time before the Fire months end and Calibration begins. You have one last chance to set your priorities and see what you can arrange before this.
Vote for as many options as you like from the list below. The three highest vote-getters will be chosen, with the exception of the mutually exclusive Cult options. If both of those are in, the lower one will be skipped and the fourth option wins.
[] Stamp out your cult and establish your Immaculate bonafides.
This will make the Waif happier and help make sure that the Wyld Hunt is less likely to ping on you, but has the downside of weakening your own personal power.
[] Seek out your cult and do something to help grow it.
It shouldn't be that hard to find where people are whispering your name for protection. Encourage it, and improve your own staying power. Even a hidden cult could be found, however, and a bigger one more easily...
[] Help Ptheno find and stamp out the Fair Folk worshipers.
This would protect the people of the Lap. It would also be a chance for you to see how the Essence of the Wyld tastes, and to eliminate one source of complications. Perhaps the Waif would appreciate that? Ptheno certainly would.
[] Try to wake some evocations from Blizzard's Scourge.
Blizzard's Scourge is a powerful weapon, able to wound even the infamous Strength of Many. There are things hidden in storied weapons to pull out even more ranged power.
[] Ask Avalanche Fury Roiling for instruction in Air Dragon Style.
There's no time for mastery. There's barely time for basics. However, even a little control of this style would complete your disguise, allowing better hand-to-hand fighting and more mastery of the winds.
[] Meet with Ari again, and ask for a sorcerous initiation.
Ari already offered the possibility of swapping training. Maybe you can pick up something through an initiation that will open more options for you.
[] Meet with Solace, see how she is doing after her first Anathema fight.
The elemental-blooded has seen how big the world is, how little she could stand up to something like a Lunar. How will that affect her breezy confidence? Or, perhaps, has she developed some tactic out of it?
[] Find the Mendicant, and try to get a straighter answer out of him.
It seems like he knows something. Is it worth it to try to follow up on that?
[] Follow up on your imminent betrothal.
House Peleps is in talks with House Ledaal and House Tepet in the hopes of marrying you off. This isn't too likely to get your new fiancee, whenever she's decided on, out here before the end of Calibration, but if you're planning for the future, it could be good to see what you can do with that. Anira would enjoy helping you with that, and probably would even be completely above-board.
You take a deep breath, and allow the wound on your forehead to reopen and ooze blood. What you don't do is act like this is wrong or something to be ashamed of. Ari leans in close. He reaches as if to touch the blood, but you shift your weight back slightly in an unspoken no and he doesn't press it.
"How did that happen?"
You give him a sheepish smile. "I don't think any of us find it possible to completely hide these marks. I need to hide here. Disguising it as a wound, that's the best I've managed so far."
"I'd never heard of anything like that." His smile returns. "But that's exactly what it means, to be a Celestial Exalt." That's not a term you've heard of before, but it sounds like another synonym for 'Anathema'. "We are the ones who can break the bounds of reason and accomplish things that are completely impossible. Good for you." He cocks his head to his side. "Don't suppose it's something you could teach...?"
"I don't know how I'd teach it to another with the same Caste. Teaching you? I'll have to think about it. Not any time soon, at least."
Ari accepts this. "Fair enough. If you figure something out, let me know. I'm willing to try to trade anything we can teach each other."
You shift under the sheets. "You still came into my bedroom in the middle of the night to ask this question. Don't you think that was a bit rude?"
"Can't ever be sure where else I can meet you alone. You're always in meetings, or out and about, and not even a Lunar can completely wander in and out of a Realm place like this." He gestures vaguely towards the wall, to take in the whole of the Lap.
"I've made a point of going out to meet you before."
"I suppose I just was... suspicious?" Now he looks slightly guilty.
"I went to the effort of making sure Strength of Many's attack went off relatively smoothly. Have I given you any reason to doubt me yet?" Ari would absolutely be eaten alive by Dynastic politics.
He bounces back towards the window. "No... no, I suppose you haven't." He turns back to give you one more fangy grin. "It's actually a nice change."
And with that, he's gone again.
Out of all the surprises you've had in your short career as an Anathema, Ari might just be the one you have the hardest time placing. Unless he's hiding something deep, the only thing he seems to want from you is your presence, and maybe you to do something, anything, that will show your greatness. It's something you haven't really dealt with before. Even something like the Waif is more in line with what you expect: she reaches out to you because she wants something specific from you.
You end up back asleep before long, however.
* * *
You wake when Taara opens the door, but you let her try to wake you before you actually sit up. "There's been an incident at the North Orchard," she says without preamble. "You should go there right away."
Behind Taara is a dresser with a mirror on it. As your eyes touch it, blood begins to seep from the top of the glass. As before, when the Waif contacted you, it begins to form letters.
You can't let Taara turn around. You shift slightly, preserving modesty while keeping her eyes on you. "Give me some idea of what I'm walking into?
Come to the meeting place at the same time tonight.
You can't very well write a return message. You just have to hope that it will drain off before Taara looks at it. She answers you. "A work team was found dead. There's evidence of Fair Folk activity there. Triumvir Ragara Ptheno will probably already be there by the time you can arrive."
"Fair Folk? Are you sure?" The words are starting to melt away, but oh so slowly.
Taara makes a small motion that isn't a shrug, but communicates the same sentiment more classily. "I am only reporting what the runner told me."
"That makes sense." At least it's Taara, not Ari, with you right now. Ari's eyes never stop moving for even a moment. This wouldn't have worked with him.
Finally, finally, the bloody letters are all gone, and you can stop saying dumb little nothings to hold onto Taara's attention. You send her on her way and get yourself dressed and ready. There's no time for breakfast, though, so you hurry out the door still hungry.
The morning is actually not unbearably hot yet. It's only going to get unpleasant around noon. The worst of the summer's heat is past, this close to Calibration and winter starting just after. It's something you notice only in passing as you pass through the streets at high speed. People are quite happy to believe that their Dragon-Blooded protectors can run at superhuman speeds for miles, so that at least lets you get around faster.
As Taara had suggested, Ptheno has reached the site before you. "Peleps," he greets you with a grave nod.
"Ragara," you reply.
You take in the scene once you've greeted each other. Four workers, in their late 30's, have been trussed up and are not breathing. There is some evidence of a struggle, some bruises, but nothing that suggests an actual cause of death.
Ptheno lets you take your first look at things before he says anything. "From what I can tell, we're not looking at any actual raksha, not even a hobgoblin. It looks to me like just cultists. They overpowered these people and then drained them with some fey gift." You nod. That lines up reasonably well with your inspections. They had to attack from ambush, overpower the poor targets, and then restrain them so they could get just a trickle of power from them. Inefficient compared to any real source of power; even one of Avalanche Fury Roiling's monks would almost certainly tear through the entire cult.
That said, having one's dreams and drive for life drained away was, understandably, terrifying and hard to comprehend for the mortals here. Even the Whispers in the back of your mind bear no love for these beings from the chaos outside Creation, and if anything drop a single tantalizing hint in your head of how sweet their life force could be for you to consume yourself.
"They were found by a supervisor when they were late for work. He told the closest work crews, and they all spontaneously decided to take the day off." That interrupts production timetables and frustrates Ptheno's efforts as the Triumvir who oversees such. He's upset by it.
"Any leads as to the culprits?"
"None in particular." He's frustrated, and on more than just a professional level.
"I don't see anything I can on, either," you admit.
He sighs hard, raising the temperature in the surrounding area by a degree or so as his frustration leaks out. "I'm going to have to have some sleepless nights stalking them, then. I'm sure that they'll feel emboldened and keep going, and I'm not about to let that happen."
You nod. "I'll see if I can find anything to help you with that." This is one of those things where the responsibility could have fallen on either of you, and Ptheno has already declared it to be his. You're just saying something generally non-commital, the better to keep your options open for now.
Ptheno and you part ways shortly thereafter, with him also taking on the duties of seeing things are cleaned up and that the workers are at least eventually encouraged back into the orchards. Summer ends soon, after all, and then is Calibration.
You have a dull but lengthy day ahead of you, however. There's the summons from the Waif at the end of it, but a full day of fun and exciting paperwork and trivial decisions you have to take care of because, as far as anyone knows, you are just a completely normal Air Aspect here to do the business of Realm and House.
You're wrapped up in your thoughts, as you walk to the next place you need to be, so you don't pay too much attention as the streets of the Lap begin to fill a bit around you. Not, that is, until someone blocks your way.
You look up, almost surprised. You're used to people clearing out for you, so this is a surprise. What's even more surprising is that the one in your path is the Mendicant, the homeless holy man you've seen around before. He is clearly trying to block your path, and as soon as you pause to mentally take this in, he draws a deep breath. He holds one hand slightly above his head, palm flat, and draws it straight down his midline as he breathes out, his skinny body oddly steady as he does it. "The chill of the grave cannot be allowed within the... the... big thing..." His calm melts into confusion. "Lest... lest..." He doesn't seem like he's able to complete the thought.
Friendly hands reach him as some of the locals pull him out of your way, not unkindly, with worried looks and bows and a few variants of "please forgive him, Triumvir" and "he doesn't know what he's saying, please don't mind him".
You let them. It wasn't really an imposition. It was, honestly, probably the high point of your day. The Mendicant is typically amusing, even if this moment might have come uncomfortably close to realizing something important about you.
* * *
Tesklore is in the same place as before, standing quietly within the triangle of the trees in the shadowland a mere few paces across. The muscular purple-clad figure bows his skeletal head to greet you, and gestures for you to join him within the confines of the shadowland.
You do so, the comfort of the death-aspected Essence as welcome as the last time. Tesklore fiddles with a small bag he has at his side. He reverently draws something out, checking the presentation as he does. Atop a pure, white cloth, one that you recognize as being a type of fire-proof fiber, lies a hearthstone. Why fire-proof? briefly goes through your head as you pick up the stone. It's a blue gem, perhaps twice the size of your thumb, that is cool to the touch. If you look from the corner of your eye, it looks like there's trapped winds blowing within its depths, but it is an unmoving stone when you look at it directly.
"This is a Stone of Chilled Breath, a gift for you from our master, the great Deathlord." It's on a fine necklace of metal, close to your skintone and long enough to hide with the collar on the mourning outfits you wear. You slip it on, and take a deep breath. Winds swirl around you slightly as you do so, small whorls of cool air. "May it help your disguise, fellow servant."
You nod. This isn't a particularly powerful hearthstone, just one that can do a little something for making your efforts look more appropriate to an Air Aspect. That's comforting, in a way. It does say that the Waif is investing effort into keeping you here and hidden.
"I will again channel the Deathlord, so you may converse."
Tesklore doesn't wait for your confirmation. He holds up his hands, and calls on dark purple necromantic energy for the long moments it takes to work the spell.
After his shuddering collapse and puppet-like straightening up, you can again see the change in poise and stance.
The Lonely Waif of Cooling Embers is here.
"Vessel of the Mourning's Light Unyielding," she says, curtsying in a body and outfit not standard for it. "We meet again. I trust the gift is to your liking?"
"It's going to be helpful," you say.
"Excellent." Her pose shifts, one hand cupping the other elbow, and the other hand almost hiding her mouth. "I have updated orders for you. You are to climb the Last Supplicant of Endless Power and enter as previously instructed as night falls on the first full day of Calibration."
That's only a few days away. "I understand," you say, inclining your head. Neither of you are fooled by you not including the word 'obey'.
"Status report," she says, instead of pressing harder.
You consider your last set of orders, as well as what sources of information the Waif may have to check against them. She can't have too many, given how eager she seemed before to have you on site. However, if she does catch you in any obvious untruths, she will be upset, and you don't want to find out what punishments she may be able to levy. Ari she probably can't know about, for instance, but she might have information sources from the Blessed Isle. "I have hired a mercenary company, effectively bound them to me as a person, and kept my control over the local military forces. I have not revealed myself as your Chosen, but I have fought a powerful Lunar known as Strength of Many. I drove him from the battlefield and achieved some notoriety as an Air Aspect of the Realm by doing so."
"Hm." The Waif considers you for a moment. "I suppose I did not forbid you from showing off a bit. No matter. How have you kept your Essence reserves up?"
"I have been catching various criminals and draining their life."
She giggles. It's too planned for it to sound mirthful. "I thought you would find some solution like that. Is that really all you've done, though?" It's not a question, not exactly. She's clear by her tone that she knows something more.
"I think I may have developed a small cult after fighting with Strength of Many," you confess. "I haven't done anything with it, because the Immaculate doctrine forbids a Dragon-Blood from developing their own cults."
"You'll have to get rid of it," the Waif tells you. "Deathknights are forbidden from having cults, as well. Squelch it completely."
You're somehow a little surprised by that instruction. Still, you nod, acknowledging the order. "Anything else?"
"Just emphasis." The Waif opens her arms, holding her hands out to you, palm-up. "Anything. I said that and I meant it. Do not get distracted from following my orders at the right time, even if the whole world seems to be breaking apart at the time."
* * *
You leave the meeting with the Waif with your thoughts in even more disarray than before. There are so many things happening over the next few days: Peleps Deled of the Wyld Hunt will land just before Calibration, Calibration itself is always a chaotic time, the Lap may be seeing an increase in Wyld-related attacks, and now the Waif is telling you something big is about to happen. You are pulled this way and that, and you're going to have to figure out what to focus on.
You may not know enough about what is coming, but you know you have only a very brief time before the Fire months end and Calibration begins. You have one last chance to set your priorities and see what you can arrange before this.
Vote for as many options as you like from the list below. The three highest vote-getters will be chosen, with the exception of the mutually exclusive Cult options. If both of those are in, the lower one will be skipped and the fourth option wins.
[] Stamp out your cult and establish your Immaculate bonafides.
This will make the Waif happier and help make sure that the Wyld Hunt is less likely to ping on you, but has the downside of weakening your own personal power.
[] Seek out your cult and do something to help grow it.
It shouldn't be that hard to find where people are whispering your name for protection. Encourage it, and improve your own staying power. Even a hidden cult could be found, however, and a bigger one more easily...
[] Help Ptheno find and stamp out the Fair Folk worshipers.
This would protect the people of the Lap. It would also be a chance for you to see how the Essence of the Wyld tastes, and to eliminate one source of complications. Perhaps the Waif would appreciate that? Ptheno certainly would.
[] Try to wake some evocations from Blizzard's Scourge.
Blizzard's Scourge is a powerful weapon, able to wound even the infamous Strength of Many. There are things hidden in storied weapons to pull out even more ranged power.
[] Ask Avalanche Fury Roiling for instruction in Air Dragon Style.
There's no time for mastery. There's barely time for basics. However, even a little control of this style would complete your disguise, allowing better hand-to-hand fighting and more mastery of the winds.
[] Meet with Ari again, and ask for a sorcerous initiation.
Ari already offered the possibility of swapping training. Maybe you can pick up something through an initiation that will open more options for you.
[] Meet with Solace, see how she is doing after her first Anathema fight.
The elemental-blooded has seen how big the world is, how little she could stand up to something like a Lunar. How will that affect her breezy confidence? Or, perhaps, has she developed some tactic out of it?
[] Find the Mendicant, and try to get a straighter answer out of him.
It seems like he knows something. Is it worth it to try to follow up on that?
[] Follow up on your imminent betrothal.
House Peleps is in talks with House Ledaal and House Tepet in the hopes of marrying you off. This isn't too likely to get your new fiancee, whenever she's decided on, out here before the end of Calibration, but if you're planning for the future, it could be good to see what you can do with that. Anira would enjoy helping you with that, and probably would even be completely above-board.