[Exalted] The Dragon's Spite
- Thread starter EarthScorpion
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- Mature Fantasy
[X] They'll cross at Qirmiz's bridge, facing the greedy and brutal bandit lord. It'll be fast, but she'll need to either bribe or fight her way across when she gets there.
Okay, well. by the very thinnest of margins, Qirmiz's bridge wins, which means Rena is heading to the bandit bridge (though she's not sure whether it's the right decision or not, given that it may literally have come down to the flip of a coin).
(or it may have been just decided by her tight-fistedness)
(or it may have been just decided by her tight-fistedness)
LVII. The Bandit’s Bridge
LVII. The Bandit's Bridge
The argument over which route to take goes on far too long. While the longer detour is immediately dismissed, the thought of a path that allows you to look at the ruins of an old sorcerer's workshop has more than a certain allure. Not that you tell your underlings, of course. No, the arguments you acknowledge are the ones which balance the risk of a certain threat of a murderous bandit lord to a possible threat from the Dead which could be negated if you travelled by day and spread salt around your camps by night.
But it drags on. And on. And on. And you're aware of the slithering passage of sand in the hourglasses. So you decide to lay down the law.
"Silence!" you command, letting a hint of your dragon-blood surge forth. The air fills with the scent of northern alpine flowers and everyone else stops babbling.
"We're wasting time," you say by way of explanation. "And time is sunlight and time is water. If there's no obvious choice, we need to pick just one and do it. So," you pull out a tarnished silver rel from Mashyia to the north, "heads we go to the haunted Sadae ford; tails we take the bridge. And may the gods guide us well." And you flip the coin.
No, you think as the silver coin spins in the air. Not the gods. You wouldn't trust them with something like this. They would lead you into destruction yet again. But chance - chaos - is your servant.
Well, that and the fact you're really kind of bored listening to them. And worried about what Fahd might be sending after you if the Cult of Ma has whispered their venom in his ear. But those are worries of weakness. Trusting chaos feels stronger. Like you're more in control.
The coin comes up tails.
"Looks like we're takin' the bridge," Captain Burhan says, with a phlegmatic shrug. "I'll go prepare the men for this."
"Aye. And I'll make sure we're set up for the crossing, since we won't need as many supplies," Amigere says, stepping out with the man.
You are left in the room with the guide Zakiya, slumping down onto a chair that creaks too much under you. "Dragons," you groan to yourself in your native tongue, massaging your temples. You wasted too much time with that argument.
Glancing up, you see that Zakiya has her hands pressed together, and mouthing something that - you read her lips, you're sure it's a prayer. And cold fear crawls up your spine. Zakiya was arguing in favour of the bridge, and - no. No, you can't be overcome by fear that she somehow rigged your coin toss. She had very much not wanted to go via the ford; of course she'd pray in thanks after she got to avoid having to guide you through a haunted, cursed location.
Well, that's good for her. Right now, you feel like a cup of tea.
Amigere finds you while you're bitterly regretting that you're out of nearly all of the good tea and had to make yourself a pot with the awful black tea that's very nearly flavoured sawdust. You pour him a cup too, because he doesn't notice the difference, and he slumps down in relief.
"Thank you, Meira," he says, wiping his brow as he sheds his outer kaftan.
"It is my pleasure," you say, sipping your own tea and regretting the fact you hadn't spent more on the better quality leaves back in Zorpondam. Something is clearly on his mind. "Speak," you say.
"I think this is probably the better route," he says. "I mean, Qirmiz is infamous as a savage, vicious killer. The men are scared of him. But… they'd be more scared about passing through a cursed land of the Dead. A man is something you can fight. But with the Dead…" he spreads his hands, expressing the fear of the mortal in the face of those who once lived. "What can one do?"
He talks of the men being scared, but- "And you?"
His cheek twitches, his tongue flicking out between his beak. "I've run into ghosts before," he mutters. "On other digs. We're best rid of them. Only someone with something wrong with them lingers as a ghost. Something cursed, or some great hate. I don't want to face them again."
A superstitious view of things, or perhaps at least one which says a little more about the context in which he has encountered the Dead. Because it is not curses or great hate that makes a ghost linger, not fundamentally. It is attachment. Yes, a horrifying lingering curse or the hatred of a murdered soul spawns some foul spectres, but you have met other ghosts; the weeping haunt whose weak manly heart led him to linger by the falls overlooking the Beojji River eternally waiting for his love, the brave warrior of the Kuso family who still defends their ruined fortress, and yes, some murder victims who still retain enough sanity and seek to pass on by resolving their own death. Ghosts are fearful things and fearsome things, no longer human, but you can't say that there cannot be a certain beauty to them.
But that is something to note; Amigere fears them, and will not want to stand up to them.
"Do the men have any better idea how many people Qirmiz has?" you instead ask him.
He sips his tea, shaking his head. "No. Not in terms of men. But some had guesses - maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred, but not all of them will be fighters. He's a bandit lord, but a place like that is still a village."
"Fairly even numbers, but they'll be on the defensive," you muse. "If it comes to a fight, well…"
"It'll be bloody," he agrees.
No, he thinks he's agreeing. But that's not what you're thinking of. What you're thinking of is that you're a sorcerer, and a group of trash bandits will find their morale sorely tested in the face of your power. You haven't used your sorcery in war in quite a while. Not since you stopped taking to the field against northern raiders. Of course, you hadn't needed to, not after you'd made a few deals with some handsome gentlemen who did everything you needed for keeping the upper passes safe. Foolish people had complained about that, but in the end it makes no real difference whether hillmen are slain by feats of arms or ravened by Fae. Save, of course, that fewer of your people are slain that way, and you have never been good at losing what you care about. The hillmen deserved worse.
"Bloody, but I have ways to turn the tide," you say.
"One of your tricks?" Amigere asks hopefully.
"You know I'm quite the cunning one," you tell him playfully, stroking his chin. "Always with a few tiles up your sleeve. So, darling, be sure that you can assure the men that a few ragged bandits won't pose much of a problem if matters come to it."
He leaves with a smile on his face, and you nurse your shoddy tea. You really can't wait to get back to Zorpondam so you can spend those precious last couple of months in cooled comfort before Calibration.
"Sei," you murmur.
But your obnoxious little familiar doesn't make himself known and after finishing your tea you head out to oversee the preparations and make sure the men don't slack off.
The weather is worsening as you ride out from the most recent town. The sandstorm seen on the slopes was the harbinger of a wind from the east, bringing with it biting sand born on crackling dry winds. The glass lensed goggles you bought back in Zorpondam protect your eyes; others resort to thin layers of cloth over their faces. Apart from Blue, who doesn't need such things and you have to pressure him into wearing a hair-thin gossamer veil so he doesn't draw any more attention.
"Miserable weather, gal," Jarida Dal says, making herself known to you as you wait for the guides to path out a route across a street which is apparently at risk of a sandslide. "I love it."
"You love it?" you grump at her.
"I'm a goddess of ruin - among other things," she says. "Seeing the city like this, with the sand-thunder echoing through the sky? It's a beaut."
"I'm glad you are enjoying it."
"Spend a century and more in a binding circle and you'll appreciate any weather you can get," she fires back. "Especially when your servants are givin' me thanks and offerings. And askin' for protection." She laughs, a squeaky rising-and-falling sound. "It does an ol' girl like me good to hear all these little people askin' for me to keep 'em safe."
"Which you are going to do?"
"Well, you at least," she says shamelessly. "I signed that contract with you, gal, and I ain't forgettin' it. But if some handsome lad asks me real nice, I might do something good for him too." The old goddess flashes you a grin. "An' now I bet you're thinkin' to yourself 'well, she might look ol' in the ways of men, but at least she got a good head on her shoulders', right?"
"No," you lie. It's not really a lie, anyway. You wouldn't phrase it like that. "I of course would not dare insult you by-"
"Yeah, stop lyin'." She stretches, her old bones crackling one by one, and bounces up and down on her rat-feet. "If I remember rightly, ol' Kanais used to have his temple somewhere around here. It's gone, a'cos I can feel that there's nothin' left of that ornery elemental's bellowin' and ragin' nearby. But old abandoned temples are part of my benefice, after all, so I'm just doin' my duty to go check up on them and see if anything is left of that bastard."
"Good luck with your plundering, grandmother," you murmur.
"Plunderin'? Me? Such cheek, gal," she says with a wicked smile, and dissolves into a swarm of rats that skitter off. The mortals around you can't see them, but some of the more sensitive ones look around, ears pricking at the sound of tiny claws.
"A sign!" you say, raising your voice. "Jarida Dal is with us, people! Unseen rats are a mark of her presence, the blessings she extends over us."
Maybe that might help the morale of your people, because more than a few eyes are nervously turned towards the wyldstorm up on the valley slopes.
Word comes from your scouts. They've seen the gleam of a spyglass in one of the tall structures close to the bridge. Whether or not Qirmiz has seen you yet, it's only a matter of time. People can't move quickly through the ruins without being seen - not that your convoy can move all that quickly anyway.
You pause for noon in the shade of what was once an elaborately painted artistic fresco in the indelible paints of lost eras showing a man drinking from a glass bottle, but now is just a flaking remnant of what it once was. In the sweltering heat, you water the steeds, aware of how the barrels in the carts are emptying. So many beasts, so many men; only so much water. There's some water here in the ruins, down in the cellars, and it helps, but outside the air sizzles and spilled liquid sizzles. There are spots of dappled light refracted through a shattered tower which focus the light like a lens and are hot enough that anyone fool enough to step there.
"So, Qirmiz," you say to Zakiya. "What's he like?"
She grunts at you. "Mid-height. Caught too much sun, so he looks like old boot leather and he shaves his head so it's like he's a sun-mummy without having died first."
"A sun-mummy?"
"If someone dies out in the ruins and y'don't get their body back and beasts don't get it and it's late enough in the year, all the water dries out 'fore they rot. Those ones often don't realise they're dead." She shakes her head. "Worst thing you can do is tell 'em they're dead, because that makes them mad and them and their hungry ghost are sharing the same body. So if you tell them they're dead, the hungry ghost off'n takes over."
Oh. You know about that; it sounds a lot like the mountain walkers you get if someone freezes out there in the depths of winter and doesn't realise their heart isn't beating and their joints are frozen solid. "Is… he one of them?" you ask, narrowing your eyes.
She inhales. "I don't think so. He still had white in his eyes. But I tell you, I've never seen a man who looks so close without having died beforehand." She picks up a stone of tallen masonry, and tosses it from hand to hand. "Shorter than you, and covered in scars. Uses a pair of old cutting swords. Heard he cut off a horse's head with just one blow, though. Could just be a tall tale, could be something more than a pair of dented ol' swords."
"I see," you say, thinking. "So what is the custom here?"
"We'll send some people out to get some feelers for the price. Depending on what it is, well, we see where that goes. See how much he's asking. And," she looks you in the eye, "you're a good bargainer, my lady. You can probably get a better price, 'cause I've seen what you do with contracts."
You nod at the acknowledgement of your skill. "So I don't go with the initial feelers?"
"Not with a man like this. If he was a bit more respectable, maybe, but I wouldn't trust him if I were you."
The guides have more than paid for themselves. Local knowledge like this is definitely worth what you paid for it. "See to it, then," you direct her. "We'll fort up, since I doubt we'll be crossing today."
The other woman nods at you, and goes off to grab some soldiers as an escort and a few more of her kin. You give the orders, then take Blue up a building made of flaking rose-coloured stone for some privacy.
Your darling idiot is a little disappointed when he finds the reason you want privacy.
"Ow!"
"Oh, don't be a big baby," you say, wiping the blade on the welling-up orange blood on the back of his hand. You squat by the little heater you brought up, and wipe his blood on the small silver plate you've been heating up. Immediately, you drop a pinch of copper powder onto it, and sprinkle a tiny amount of your depleting stocks of winter aconite on the copper.
The fae-blood sizzles on the plate, twisting and coiling in a wisp of many-coloured smoke. You read the patterns of the smoke, the way it twists and coils against the wind, and doesn't dissipate like it should.
"Well, fuck," you eventually say elloquently.
"You cut me. That was my blood," Blue says sadly.
"Yes it was, darling," you say, frowning.
"I need it."
"I need it more for this augury."
You nearly go to bite your thumbnail, but stop. It wouldn't be good to get some of these reagents in your mouth. Maybe things don't work like they do back home. Maybe you should try again, just in case you're reading the wyld-augury wrong. But a second test of Blue's blood gets exactly the same results, and that means you were right to not trust the weather.
The smoke is telling you what you feared. The wyldstorm up on the slopes will be repulsed by the good, solid Earth of the mountains and rebound back into the valley. It may or may not directly hit you, but it'll certainly pass close enough to you that anyone sensible would lock themselves up in a house, ignore the voices on the wind, and line the threshold with salt or fresh-cut herbs, Cahzor being short of running water.
You tap your index fingers together, thinking. The widdershins whirl in the smoke was of such intensity that you doubt you'll have more than a day until the storm comes your way. It might look a goodly distance away, but you know well how fast and unpredictable chaos-storms can be.
"What is it, my lady?" Blue asks.
"I am considering how well the current section of ruins will work to weather the storm." You rise, and survey the area. "It could be better. Could be better. But it doesn't look like rain and so there's no risk of flooding. But, hmm. I'll," you lean against the wall, looking over the tired stone and broken crystal-glass of the city, "I'll need to see with the guides how much a wyld-polluted sand-storm will slow us. If it chokes the streets, that'll be bad. And…"
Down below, you can see Amigere hurrying along the way, looking for something.
"Darling?" you call down to him. "Are you looking for me?"
"Yes!" he calls up through cupped hands. "Thank the gods! We've got someone coming up behind us."
"So?"
"A lot of people. I-"
"I'll come down and talk to you." You take the stairs two at a time. "What is it?"
"A lot of vultures are behind us, and the locals say that means a large group is coming up from behind."
You swear. Maybe it's just more travellers. Maybe. Probably not. And even if it is, in the Cahzori ruins, you don't doubt that a legitimate convoy might decide to take up raiding if they heard that you're carrying wealth.
But maybe this is a time to take advantage of the whole reason you came to Zorpearl in the first place.
"I'll take a look," you say.
"You'll do what? Take a look?"
You roll your eyes. "Don't waste time repeating me, darling. It's a waste of both our time. Because the wyld storm up on the slopes is going to take a turn towards us. The gods told me this," you lie shamelessly.
"Son of-" Amigere violently shakes his head. "It never blows but it gusts! Why does everything go wrong?"
"Focus! I don't know if we want to fort down here for the storm. And if I'm gone too long, make sure you hear back from the guides about how much that bandit lord wants."
"Ay!" His hand goes to his forehead. "How are you-"
"Amigere! Handle things when I'm gone!"
You send him scurrying off, then step away from this broad street into the ruins of a quadrant where dry creeping vines coat the interior with their pungent, flaking forms. The ground is dusty sand, but the sky overhead is clear, and that's enough for you.
With one of your blades, you mark out the cardinal directions, then trace out a circle around you. 'Jarida Dal' you write with the tip in the dust, then spit on the ground as a libation.
"Come forth, disc of heavenly travel, in the name of Jarida Dal, goddess of vermin, ruins and fortune!" you declaim in the divine tongue, focussing your intent as you grasp your pact with her tight and channel it into the lines on the ground. Her authority holds you tight, embraces you, and you can smell unseen irises all around you.
It is done.
This is your newly called mount; nothing at all like a horse or a similar beast of burden. Instead, it has the shape of a board disc of intricately shaped ruddy copper, a man's height across. It can bear you safely, and maybe one or two others if they hold on. The metal is covered in a spiral of detailed engravings - dancing rats, ruined towers, cave doves, and other things sacred to Jarida Dal. But they are not only an emblazon of her patronage. Those little indentations will help you grip on, rather than it just being slippery smooth metal. The edge of the disk is rimmed in fire-red rubies, deep twilight sapphires, and from the centre sprouts horn-like juttings of diamond.
You know that, sadly, when you dismiss this spell, the disc will vanish. No, you can't sell the jewels or even the copper. A shame.
But still. The power! The rush of managing a new spell for the first time! The buoyant feeling in your heart at seeing this new wonder, something you never learned before. You know there are people who have tamed the storm clouds or the fluffy white clouds of late Fire, but this kind of thing is much more your number.
With a quiet whoop, you step on the disc, and it rises with your command.
Oh, it is so very wonderful to fly! Once you could ride the northern stormwinds, but the Immaculates slew the spirits who were in your pocket and who empowered those rites. And Ammal's Jewelled Disc might not have quite the flair of riding a stormwind, but it has a certain solidity and soundness to it. And it looks damn good.
But your joy is snatched away from when you see what is behind you. Riding your disc at the height of the upper spires, you catch sight of the vultures, and below them, the dust kicked up by many men and mounts moving through the Cahzori wastes. You bring the disc down to the top of a sky-scraping tower, and bring up your spyglass to take a look at what's down there.
You recognise the banner of one, two, three of the mercenary bands you saw in Zorpearl.
"Crap," you mutter.
"Oh dear," Sei says, from beside you at your feet. The deer-cat looks up at you maliciously. "Could your greed possibly be coming back to bite you?"
"Shut up, Sei."
"I do believe that this would suggest that the priest tattled on you to that man, and he's sent any mercenary willing to hunt you down for a share of the plunder."
"Probably. Also, shut up Sei."
"Whatever will you do, my lady?" Sei says, beaming.
Whatever will you do? It is a Sei question, but it's not wrong, though you do tell him to shut up as you set off back to your camp. The problem, as presented, is this; there is a wyldstorm coming. Ahead of you, a greedy, rapacious bandit-lord who'll want a toll to cross and it won't be cheap. Behind you, greedy, rapacious mercenaries who are after you because the ulinke is a bastard who doesn't take rejection well.
There is a wyldstorm coming. And they won't have a wyld-witch as brilliant as you there to know it'll turn in your direction.
Chaos is your friend. Maybe you can use this.
The argument over which route to take goes on far too long. While the longer detour is immediately dismissed, the thought of a path that allows you to look at the ruins of an old sorcerer's workshop has more than a certain allure. Not that you tell your underlings, of course. No, the arguments you acknowledge are the ones which balance the risk of a certain threat of a murderous bandit lord to a possible threat from the Dead which could be negated if you travelled by day and spread salt around your camps by night.
But it drags on. And on. And on. And you're aware of the slithering passage of sand in the hourglasses. So you decide to lay down the law.
"Silence!" you command, letting a hint of your dragon-blood surge forth. The air fills with the scent of northern alpine flowers and everyone else stops babbling.
"We're wasting time," you say by way of explanation. "And time is sunlight and time is water. If there's no obvious choice, we need to pick just one and do it. So," you pull out a tarnished silver rel from Mashyia to the north, "heads we go to the haunted Sadae ford; tails we take the bridge. And may the gods guide us well." And you flip the coin.
No, you think as the silver coin spins in the air. Not the gods. You wouldn't trust them with something like this. They would lead you into destruction yet again. But chance - chaos - is your servant.
Well, that and the fact you're really kind of bored listening to them. And worried about what Fahd might be sending after you if the Cult of Ma has whispered their venom in his ear. But those are worries of weakness. Trusting chaos feels stronger. Like you're more in control.
The coin comes up tails.
"Looks like we're takin' the bridge," Captain Burhan says, with a phlegmatic shrug. "I'll go prepare the men for this."
"Aye. And I'll make sure we're set up for the crossing, since we won't need as many supplies," Amigere says, stepping out with the man.
You are left in the room with the guide Zakiya, slumping down onto a chair that creaks too much under you. "Dragons," you groan to yourself in your native tongue, massaging your temples. You wasted too much time with that argument.
Glancing up, you see that Zakiya has her hands pressed together, and mouthing something that - you read her lips, you're sure it's a prayer. And cold fear crawls up your spine. Zakiya was arguing in favour of the bridge, and - no. No, you can't be overcome by fear that she somehow rigged your coin toss. She had very much not wanted to go via the ford; of course she'd pray in thanks after she got to avoid having to guide you through a haunted, cursed location.
Well, that's good for her. Right now, you feel like a cup of tea.
Amigere finds you while you're bitterly regretting that you're out of nearly all of the good tea and had to make yourself a pot with the awful black tea that's very nearly flavoured sawdust. You pour him a cup too, because he doesn't notice the difference, and he slumps down in relief.
"Thank you, Meira," he says, wiping his brow as he sheds his outer kaftan.
"It is my pleasure," you say, sipping your own tea and regretting the fact you hadn't spent more on the better quality leaves back in Zorpondam. Something is clearly on his mind. "Speak," you say.
"I think this is probably the better route," he says. "I mean, Qirmiz is infamous as a savage, vicious killer. The men are scared of him. But… they'd be more scared about passing through a cursed land of the Dead. A man is something you can fight. But with the Dead…" he spreads his hands, expressing the fear of the mortal in the face of those who once lived. "What can one do?"
He talks of the men being scared, but- "And you?"
His cheek twitches, his tongue flicking out between his beak. "I've run into ghosts before," he mutters. "On other digs. We're best rid of them. Only someone with something wrong with them lingers as a ghost. Something cursed, or some great hate. I don't want to face them again."
A superstitious view of things, or perhaps at least one which says a little more about the context in which he has encountered the Dead. Because it is not curses or great hate that makes a ghost linger, not fundamentally. It is attachment. Yes, a horrifying lingering curse or the hatred of a murdered soul spawns some foul spectres, but you have met other ghosts; the weeping haunt whose weak manly heart led him to linger by the falls overlooking the Beojji River eternally waiting for his love, the brave warrior of the Kuso family who still defends their ruined fortress, and yes, some murder victims who still retain enough sanity and seek to pass on by resolving their own death. Ghosts are fearful things and fearsome things, no longer human, but you can't say that there cannot be a certain beauty to them.
But that is something to note; Amigere fears them, and will not want to stand up to them.
"Do the men have any better idea how many people Qirmiz has?" you instead ask him.
He sips his tea, shaking his head. "No. Not in terms of men. But some had guesses - maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred, but not all of them will be fighters. He's a bandit lord, but a place like that is still a village."
"Fairly even numbers, but they'll be on the defensive," you muse. "If it comes to a fight, well…"
"It'll be bloody," he agrees.
No, he thinks he's agreeing. But that's not what you're thinking of. What you're thinking of is that you're a sorcerer, and a group of trash bandits will find their morale sorely tested in the face of your power. You haven't used your sorcery in war in quite a while. Not since you stopped taking to the field against northern raiders. Of course, you hadn't needed to, not after you'd made a few deals with some handsome gentlemen who did everything you needed for keeping the upper passes safe. Foolish people had complained about that, but in the end it makes no real difference whether hillmen are slain by feats of arms or ravened by Fae. Save, of course, that fewer of your people are slain that way, and you have never been good at losing what you care about. The hillmen deserved worse.
"Bloody, but I have ways to turn the tide," you say.
"One of your tricks?" Amigere asks hopefully.
"You know I'm quite the cunning one," you tell him playfully, stroking his chin. "Always with a few tiles up your sleeve. So, darling, be sure that you can assure the men that a few ragged bandits won't pose much of a problem if matters come to it."
He leaves with a smile on his face, and you nurse your shoddy tea. You really can't wait to get back to Zorpondam so you can spend those precious last couple of months in cooled comfort before Calibration.
"Sei," you murmur.
But your obnoxious little familiar doesn't make himself known and after finishing your tea you head out to oversee the preparations and make sure the men don't slack off.
The weather is worsening as you ride out from the most recent town. The sandstorm seen on the slopes was the harbinger of a wind from the east, bringing with it biting sand born on crackling dry winds. The glass lensed goggles you bought back in Zorpondam protect your eyes; others resort to thin layers of cloth over their faces. Apart from Blue, who doesn't need such things and you have to pressure him into wearing a hair-thin gossamer veil so he doesn't draw any more attention.
"Miserable weather, gal," Jarida Dal says, making herself known to you as you wait for the guides to path out a route across a street which is apparently at risk of a sandslide. "I love it."
"You love it?" you grump at her.
"I'm a goddess of ruin - among other things," she says. "Seeing the city like this, with the sand-thunder echoing through the sky? It's a beaut."
"I'm glad you are enjoying it."
"Spend a century and more in a binding circle and you'll appreciate any weather you can get," she fires back. "Especially when your servants are givin' me thanks and offerings. And askin' for protection." She laughs, a squeaky rising-and-falling sound. "It does an ol' girl like me good to hear all these little people askin' for me to keep 'em safe."
"Which you are going to do?"
"Well, you at least," she says shamelessly. "I signed that contract with you, gal, and I ain't forgettin' it. But if some handsome lad asks me real nice, I might do something good for him too." The old goddess flashes you a grin. "An' now I bet you're thinkin' to yourself 'well, she might look ol' in the ways of men, but at least she got a good head on her shoulders', right?"
"No," you lie. It's not really a lie, anyway. You wouldn't phrase it like that. "I of course would not dare insult you by-"
"Yeah, stop lyin'." She stretches, her old bones crackling one by one, and bounces up and down on her rat-feet. "If I remember rightly, ol' Kanais used to have his temple somewhere around here. It's gone, a'cos I can feel that there's nothin' left of that ornery elemental's bellowin' and ragin' nearby. But old abandoned temples are part of my benefice, after all, so I'm just doin' my duty to go check up on them and see if anything is left of that bastard."
"Good luck with your plundering, grandmother," you murmur.
"Plunderin'? Me? Such cheek, gal," she says with a wicked smile, and dissolves into a swarm of rats that skitter off. The mortals around you can't see them, but some of the more sensitive ones look around, ears pricking at the sound of tiny claws.
"A sign!" you say, raising your voice. "Jarida Dal is with us, people! Unseen rats are a mark of her presence, the blessings she extends over us."
Maybe that might help the morale of your people, because more than a few eyes are nervously turned towards the wyldstorm up on the valley slopes.
Word comes from your scouts. They've seen the gleam of a spyglass in one of the tall structures close to the bridge. Whether or not Qirmiz has seen you yet, it's only a matter of time. People can't move quickly through the ruins without being seen - not that your convoy can move all that quickly anyway.
You pause for noon in the shade of what was once an elaborately painted artistic fresco in the indelible paints of lost eras showing a man drinking from a glass bottle, but now is just a flaking remnant of what it once was. In the sweltering heat, you water the steeds, aware of how the barrels in the carts are emptying. So many beasts, so many men; only so much water. There's some water here in the ruins, down in the cellars, and it helps, but outside the air sizzles and spilled liquid sizzles. There are spots of dappled light refracted through a shattered tower which focus the light like a lens and are hot enough that anyone fool enough to step there.
"So, Qirmiz," you say to Zakiya. "What's he like?"
She grunts at you. "Mid-height. Caught too much sun, so he looks like old boot leather and he shaves his head so it's like he's a sun-mummy without having died first."
"A sun-mummy?"
"If someone dies out in the ruins and y'don't get their body back and beasts don't get it and it's late enough in the year, all the water dries out 'fore they rot. Those ones often don't realise they're dead." She shakes her head. "Worst thing you can do is tell 'em they're dead, because that makes them mad and them and their hungry ghost are sharing the same body. So if you tell them they're dead, the hungry ghost off'n takes over."
Oh. You know about that; it sounds a lot like the mountain walkers you get if someone freezes out there in the depths of winter and doesn't realise their heart isn't beating and their joints are frozen solid. "Is… he one of them?" you ask, narrowing your eyes.
She inhales. "I don't think so. He still had white in his eyes. But I tell you, I've never seen a man who looks so close without having died beforehand." She picks up a stone of tallen masonry, and tosses it from hand to hand. "Shorter than you, and covered in scars. Uses a pair of old cutting swords. Heard he cut off a horse's head with just one blow, though. Could just be a tall tale, could be something more than a pair of dented ol' swords."
"I see," you say, thinking. "So what is the custom here?"
"We'll send some people out to get some feelers for the price. Depending on what it is, well, we see where that goes. See how much he's asking. And," she looks you in the eye, "you're a good bargainer, my lady. You can probably get a better price, 'cause I've seen what you do with contracts."
You nod at the acknowledgement of your skill. "So I don't go with the initial feelers?"
"Not with a man like this. If he was a bit more respectable, maybe, but I wouldn't trust him if I were you."
The guides have more than paid for themselves. Local knowledge like this is definitely worth what you paid for it. "See to it, then," you direct her. "We'll fort up, since I doubt we'll be crossing today."
The other woman nods at you, and goes off to grab some soldiers as an escort and a few more of her kin. You give the orders, then take Blue up a building made of flaking rose-coloured stone for some privacy.
Your darling idiot is a little disappointed when he finds the reason you want privacy.
"Ow!"
"Oh, don't be a big baby," you say, wiping the blade on the welling-up orange blood on the back of his hand. You squat by the little heater you brought up, and wipe his blood on the small silver plate you've been heating up. Immediately, you drop a pinch of copper powder onto it, and sprinkle a tiny amount of your depleting stocks of winter aconite on the copper.
The fae-blood sizzles on the plate, twisting and coiling in a wisp of many-coloured smoke. You read the patterns of the smoke, the way it twists and coils against the wind, and doesn't dissipate like it should.
"Well, fuck," you eventually say elloquently.
"You cut me. That was my blood," Blue says sadly.
"Yes it was, darling," you say, frowning.
"I need it."
"I need it more for this augury."
You nearly go to bite your thumbnail, but stop. It wouldn't be good to get some of these reagents in your mouth. Maybe things don't work like they do back home. Maybe you should try again, just in case you're reading the wyld-augury wrong. But a second test of Blue's blood gets exactly the same results, and that means you were right to not trust the weather.
The smoke is telling you what you feared. The wyldstorm up on the slopes will be repulsed by the good, solid Earth of the mountains and rebound back into the valley. It may or may not directly hit you, but it'll certainly pass close enough to you that anyone sensible would lock themselves up in a house, ignore the voices on the wind, and line the threshold with salt or fresh-cut herbs, Cahzor being short of running water.
You tap your index fingers together, thinking. The widdershins whirl in the smoke was of such intensity that you doubt you'll have more than a day until the storm comes your way. It might look a goodly distance away, but you know well how fast and unpredictable chaos-storms can be.
"What is it, my lady?" Blue asks.
"I am considering how well the current section of ruins will work to weather the storm." You rise, and survey the area. "It could be better. Could be better. But it doesn't look like rain and so there's no risk of flooding. But, hmm. I'll," you lean against the wall, looking over the tired stone and broken crystal-glass of the city, "I'll need to see with the guides how much a wyld-polluted sand-storm will slow us. If it chokes the streets, that'll be bad. And…"
Down below, you can see Amigere hurrying along the way, looking for something.
"Darling?" you call down to him. "Are you looking for me?"
"Yes!" he calls up through cupped hands. "Thank the gods! We've got someone coming up behind us."
"So?"
"A lot of people. I-"
"I'll come down and talk to you." You take the stairs two at a time. "What is it?"
"A lot of vultures are behind us, and the locals say that means a large group is coming up from behind."
You swear. Maybe it's just more travellers. Maybe. Probably not. And even if it is, in the Cahzori ruins, you don't doubt that a legitimate convoy might decide to take up raiding if they heard that you're carrying wealth.
But maybe this is a time to take advantage of the whole reason you came to Zorpearl in the first place.
"I'll take a look," you say.
"You'll do what? Take a look?"
You roll your eyes. "Don't waste time repeating me, darling. It's a waste of both our time. Because the wyld storm up on the slopes is going to take a turn towards us. The gods told me this," you lie shamelessly.
"Son of-" Amigere violently shakes his head. "It never blows but it gusts! Why does everything go wrong?"
"Focus! I don't know if we want to fort down here for the storm. And if I'm gone too long, make sure you hear back from the guides about how much that bandit lord wants."
"Ay!" His hand goes to his forehead. "How are you-"
"Amigere! Handle things when I'm gone!"
You send him scurrying off, then step away from this broad street into the ruins of a quadrant where dry creeping vines coat the interior with their pungent, flaking forms. The ground is dusty sand, but the sky overhead is clear, and that's enough for you.
With one of your blades, you mark out the cardinal directions, then trace out a circle around you. 'Jarida Dal' you write with the tip in the dust, then spit on the ground as a libation.
"Come forth, disc of heavenly travel, in the name of Jarida Dal, goddess of vermin, ruins and fortune!" you declaim in the divine tongue, focussing your intent as you grasp your pact with her tight and channel it into the lines on the ground. Her authority holds you tight, embraces you, and you can smell unseen irises all around you.
It is done.
This is your newly called mount; nothing at all like a horse or a similar beast of burden. Instead, it has the shape of a board disc of intricately shaped ruddy copper, a man's height across. It can bear you safely, and maybe one or two others if they hold on. The metal is covered in a spiral of detailed engravings - dancing rats, ruined towers, cave doves, and other things sacred to Jarida Dal. But they are not only an emblazon of her patronage. Those little indentations will help you grip on, rather than it just being slippery smooth metal. The edge of the disk is rimmed in fire-red rubies, deep twilight sapphires, and from the centre sprouts horn-like juttings of diamond.
You know that, sadly, when you dismiss this spell, the disc will vanish. No, you can't sell the jewels or even the copper. A shame.
But still. The power! The rush of managing a new spell for the first time! The buoyant feeling in your heart at seeing this new wonder, something you never learned before. You know there are people who have tamed the storm clouds or the fluffy white clouds of late Fire, but this kind of thing is much more your number.
With a quiet whoop, you step on the disc, and it rises with your command.
Oh, it is so very wonderful to fly! Once you could ride the northern stormwinds, but the Immaculates slew the spirits who were in your pocket and who empowered those rites. And Ammal's Jewelled Disc might not have quite the flair of riding a stormwind, but it has a certain solidity and soundness to it. And it looks damn good.
But your joy is snatched away from when you see what is behind you. Riding your disc at the height of the upper spires, you catch sight of the vultures, and below them, the dust kicked up by many men and mounts moving through the Cahzori wastes. You bring the disc down to the top of a sky-scraping tower, and bring up your spyglass to take a look at what's down there.
You recognise the banner of one, two, three of the mercenary bands you saw in Zorpearl.
"Crap," you mutter.
"Oh dear," Sei says, from beside you at your feet. The deer-cat looks up at you maliciously. "Could your greed possibly be coming back to bite you?"
"Shut up, Sei."
"I do believe that this would suggest that the priest tattled on you to that man, and he's sent any mercenary willing to hunt you down for a share of the plunder."
"Probably. Also, shut up Sei."
"Whatever will you do, my lady?" Sei says, beaming.
Whatever will you do? It is a Sei question, but it's not wrong, though you do tell him to shut up as you set off back to your camp. The problem, as presented, is this; there is a wyldstorm coming. Ahead of you, a greedy, rapacious bandit-lord who'll want a toll to cross and it won't be cheap. Behind you, greedy, rapacious mercenaries who are after you because the ulinke is a bastard who doesn't take rejection well.
There is a wyldstorm coming. And they won't have a wyld-witch as brilliant as you there to know it'll turn in your direction.
Chaos is your friend. Maybe you can use this.
Article: This is the situation; Rena's weather-augury has told that the wyldstorm will take a turn in their direction. When she gets back, she has found the (dear) price that the bandit lord Qirmiz is asking. In normal circumstances she could bargain him down, but she needs to get across now before the storm or the mercenaries attack. The terrain here is somewhat defensible and will endure the storm better than being on the move. But alternatively, maybe she will order the attack before the storm and plan to be safely across the bridge before it gets here.
What is Rena's Plan?
[ ] Fort Up. This isn't the best ground to defend or endure a wyldstorm, but it's better than the mercenaries will have. Fortify this location, and endure the storm, and hope it'll make the mercenaries pull back.
[ ] Pay Up. There's no time to barter down the price, so all she can do now is pay up and get her people across before the storm arrives and before Qirmiz realises she's being followed. No need to take risks now. [Gain 6 Debt]
[ ] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
The more mercenaries die the fewer we have to pay.
The more mercenaries die the fewer we have to pay.
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
The more mercenaries die the fewer we have to pay.
The more mercenaries die the fewer we have to pay.
Can we write-in for this? Because I have an idea about using sorcery to convince Qirmiz that the mercenaries are coming to attack him and he should either allow us go past or let as shelter with him as thanks for the warning, or more likely lead most of his troops to sally out and engage while we definitely won't use the distraction to punch through whatever garrison he leaves in reserve.
- Location
- Spain
- Location
- PA
[X] Fort Up. This isn't the best ground to defend or endure a wyldstorm, but it's better than the mercenaries will have. Fortify this location, and endure the storm, and hope it'll make the mercenaries pull back.
paying is watching our money spiral around the drain even further.
Attack...Has it's own price, paid in blood instead of coin.
But we know the storm is about to ruin everyone's day. I'd rather pull in and let them deal with the havoc, because Rena is smart enough to get out of the rain!
...
Also? That moment when Rena stopped underneath an ancient Coke! Billboard singing about an irreplaceable work of art ruined nearly slew me.
Though one thing I couldn't help but wonder about is Blue.
Namely, blue looked very sad at losing his blood, and a part of me wonders if there's a world, where Rena is NOT a social Panzer divison surprising you at optimal engagement distance, where Blue actually has a chance to cause trouble socially instead of just being another of Rena's boys.
paying is watching our money spiral around the drain even further.
Attack...Has it's own price, paid in blood instead of coin.
But we know the storm is about to ruin everyone's day. I'd rather pull in and let them deal with the havoc, because Rena is smart enough to get out of the rain!
...
Also? That moment when Rena stopped underneath an ancient Coke! Billboard singing about an irreplaceable work of art ruined nearly slew me.
Though one thing I couldn't help but wonder about is Blue.
Namely, blue looked very sad at losing his blood, and a part of me wonders if there's a world, where Rena is NOT a social Panzer divison surprising you at optimal engagement distance, where Blue actually has a chance to cause trouble socially instead of just being another of Rena's boys.
- Location
- Spain
Don't understimate Blue.
Blue is a moron because he is roleplaying a moron.
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
Oh awesome! I just found this and caught up recently, and I'm so happy to find it is alive!
This may be my favorite Exalted quest- I love the not-quite-evil sorcess so much!
As far as options go... We've got an ace, a caster, and a warband- our opponent has at most an Ace and a warband. But fortified.
Other thing to consider is that Blue swore not to harm us, not to stay in our service. So there's a chance he either returns to his realm with the wyldstorm or gets reinforcements. Either way, not a reliable card to pay for much longer.
We've got a charm to cut down a mass group, and a disk we can use to pick off individuals at range.
I think we should take the bridge. Strike hard, strike fast, no mercy. Cobras are close to vipers, right?
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
This may be my favorite Exalted quest- I love the not-quite-evil sorcess so much!
As far as options go... We've got an ace, a caster, and a warband- our opponent has at most an Ace and a warband. But fortified.
Other thing to consider is that Blue swore not to harm us, not to stay in our service. So there's a chance he either returns to his realm with the wyldstorm or gets reinforcements. Either way, not a reliable card to pay for much longer.
We've got a charm to cut down a mass group, and a disk we can use to pick off individuals at range.
I think we should take the bridge. Strike hard, strike fast, no mercy. Cobras are close to vipers, right?
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
- Location
- Spain
Imrix
Periodically Malevolent QM
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
Of course we attack, it's why we came, and getting across quickly will leave the pursuing mercenaries to face the Wyldstorm in our wake.
Of course we attack, it's why we came, and getting across quickly will leave the pursuing mercenaries to face the Wyldstorm in our wake.
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
It's a choice between doubling down or taking a safer action. C'mon.
It's a choice between doubling down or taking a safer action. C'mon.
- Location
- France
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross
We took this route because y'all wanted to deal with murderable bandits instead of the poking at the spooky shiny mystery box
So let's do some bandit murder.
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
So let's do some bandit murder.
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
- Location
- Spain
Yeah it's a terrible plan but it's the best option now.
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.
[X] Attack Now! She has her men and can make sure they're motivated to take that defensible location. She has her own fae prince, Blue, and of course she's a sorceress in her own right. Break Qirmiz's forces. Take the bridge. Avoid paying to cross.