thelordofmango
may be stupid
- Location
- under a rock
[X] At the worst possible time
[Exalted] The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest
- Thread starter Gazetteer
- Start date
- Fantasy
Hampsterpig
I write stuff.
- Location
- Somewhere in my own head
[X] At the worst possible time
Vote closed, Year 4 01
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Year 4: Flames and Frost 02
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
A training session: 23
The worst possible time: 15
A difficult binding ritual: 6
The worst possible time: 15
A difficult binding ritual: 6
Ascending Earth, Realm Year 761
Two years, three months before the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress
The Isle of Voices
You'd been the one to talk her around to the idea, and you reconsider whether it was such a good idea almost immediately.
By this point, you and Sola have been using this same spot for training for going on three years, the ground underfoot having been cleared by the passage of feet, the stony ground properly leveled through the exertion of your power. Rocks rising up on several sides provide a semblance of privacy, although the fog is already so thick you're not sure you'd need it.
You and Sola stand across from one another, weapons at the ready, the air silent except for the distant sound of the waves and the raucous cry of a seabird somewhere overhead. You're holding your training sword as usual, but Sola holds Storm's Eye, the daiklave sheathed, but still very large and very heavy.
"This can still break bone like this even if it won't cut you in half," Sola says, offering you one last chance to change your mind.
"My bones aren't the easiest to break," you say. And more to the point, you're not actively trying to hurt one another. You're a grown woman, more or less — you can handle a few unpleasant bruises. You don't have to see Verdigris to know how unhappy she must seem, coiled up small and still on the ground behind you.
"Alright," Sola says. And then she closes her eyes, and somehow just from that, you know that you're not going to fare half as well as usual. Sola is always fast, preternaturally skilled and focused in a way that has only been honed more and more in the years you've known each other. Now, though, she shoots forward toward you accompanied by an electric crackle and a flash of light, crossing the distance between you and her in the blink of an eye. You catch the first blow on your sword, and even though you had prepared yourself for the weight of a real daiklave, the blow still rings through your blade and up your arms, very nearly pushing you back a half step.
You try to counter, but she's already moving again, her power focused and amplified, raining blows down on you faster than you can account for. Then, frustratingly quickly, you overextend by a hair. Sola forces your blade up, darts neatly around behind you, and presses Storm's Eye's sheath directly into your throat.
Having kept her eyes closed the entire time.
"I suppose I can't really complain that that wasn't fair," you say.
"You could, and I wouldn't point out the hypocrisy, but you'd know I could point it out, and that would be even more galling," Sola says, and you can hear that familiar grin in her voice. "You wanted to see a bit of what I could do with this sword, so I decided not to hold back too much."
"Yes, thank you," you say, trying not to sound annoyed. It would be absurd to sound annoyed. You'd known you were unlikely to win like this on your first attempt, but you'd hoped to at least hold your own a little better. "That speed is hard to adjust to," you say.
"And dealing with the weight tires you out faster," Sola agrees. She has the daiklave leaned against her shoulder, holding it all casually as she might any lesser weapon. "I can't do that speed trick very often, yet, but it makes for a good opener, doesn't it?" She pulls the sheathed sword away from your throat, and steps back, letting you turn to look at her. To your relief, she's at least breathing hard, if not quite to the degree that you are.
"Why were your eyes closed?" you ask, kneeling to give Verdigris a reassuring stroke.
"It's hard to explain," Sola says, sinking down to the ground and examining the jewel in the blade's hilt. "The sword works as a scrying focus, I'm pretty sure. It lets me see my surroundings without seeing them — blocking out other stimuli makes it flow easier. It's good for casting spells, surprisingly, but also just focusing on a point and making myself go there. Narrowing all my speed and power down into a single movement." She slides the blade a hair out of its sheath, the brilliant gold and electric blue of the daiklave glinting as if it were in full sunlight despite the overcast sky. "I think it's got something to do with how the jadesteel flows through the orichalcum. Artifice isn't my specialty, though."
"No, using artifice to hit people is, apparently," you say.
Sola laughs. "Among other things! Hey, Ledaal, you want to come out now? This is getting awkward."
You whirl around, cursing yourself for your inattention. Sure enough, stepping out from behind a particular boulder, looking distinctly guilty, is Ledaal Anay Idelle. "My apologies!" she says, "I didn't interrupt. I didn't want to interrupt, I mean. Since you were busy." She hesitates for a moment, before saying, a note of faint frustration in her voice, "I didn't think I was being so obvious."
"Didn't you catch the part about the sword helping me sense my surroundings, while you were listening in?" Sola asks, amused.
"I wasn't listening!" Idelle insists, deeply sincere on this point. "I mean, I was. But I wasn't listening in. On purpose. Eavesdropping, you know — that's what I wasn't doing."
You manage not to laugh, which allows you to straighten up, and almost serenely ask: "Did you need something, Idelle?"
"I just wanted to talk to you," she says. "I know that you usually come out here at this time of day. So..." she shrugs, still completely thrown off her intended approach by having been found out.
You start to ask her what she needs, but Sola speaks first: "Well, you can make up for the unintentional eavesdropping by giving Ambraea a proper sparring partner."
Idelle seems taken aback. "I'm sorry?"
"She didn't get much out of that bout we just had — I was going nearly all out and using techniques she's not prepared for. And you're not that tired, are you?"
"I'm not," you confirm, giving Sola a strange look. You do have to admit to having some genuine interest in the prospect, although you can't help but feel that it's being thrust upon you, to say nothing of poor Idelle.
"I don't have a spear," Idelle says, looking at your sword.
"Oh, here," Sola says. She reaches up and takes hold of some of the mist, twisting it together until it solidifies diaphanously. It forms into a staff of approximately the right size for a woman of Idelle's height, its heft obvious in the way Sola handles it.
"And just how long have you been waiting to show that off?" you ask.
"Well, this is the first time I've actually really managed it," Sola admits, sounding pleased but even more drained than before. She's outlined in blue light, and there's an electric intensity in the air around her that isn't usually quite so pronounced. Still, she holds the staff up for Idelle to come take.
After a moment, Idelle approaches to take it — you notice that as she passes near to Verdigris, that same small, clear chime sounds. You're beginning to think that her earrings are some manner of spirit-detecting artifact. She only spares your snake a brief glance before accepting the strange staff from Sola. She gives it an experimental twirl, followed by a sudden stabbing strike at the air. Apparently, the weapon passes muster. "If you both insist," she says, meeting your eyes. "I really did just come here to talk."
"We could always talk at the same time," you say, picking your practice sword up again. That isn't really an option with Sola most of the time — something about her using the training to help herself achieve the meditative state necessary to make the alchemical solutions she takes work properly.
"Alright," Idelle says. She squares up in the spot Sola had originally occupied, allowing you to take your place across the notional practice ring from her. "You recall my conversation with Sesus Amiti back in Chanos?" She holds the staff in both hands, her stance solid, but clearly poised on the brink of motion.
"I recall," you say, frowning a little as you take your own guard.
"I do not believe she has taken heed of my advice," Idelle says. Then she moves, whirling into a sweeping staff strike. You turn it aside and answer in kind, slashing at her. She dances back, the staff coming up between you to block.
"I would have been shocked if she had," you say, letting her back off again. You can't imagine Amiti of all people responding to something as vague as an urge to 'be careful' in her academic pursuits.
"I'm worried," Idelle says, bluntly. "She's doing something dangerous."
"What, specifically?" you ask. And as you ask it, you move, your strikes coming down on her like an avalanche, forcing her to nimbly step aside and parry each one.
"She's staying out at all hours — her roommate is hardly lifting a finger to keep an eye on her." That much you can believe; the reason Heptagram students are kept in such cramped sleeping arrangements is to minimise your opportunities for doing something stupid alone. Both of Amiti's original roommates dropped out over the course of the first two years, however, and she's ended up with a Ragara girl a year older than you. You've never gotten the impression that she particularly cares what Amiti does. Idelle bats aside your sword, and moves into a sudden, lunging strike — you're forced to brace your off hand against the back edge of your sabre to parry it, and the shocking force of it drives you down to one knee. "She brought an entire case of salt with her!" Idelle adds, for final emphasis.
Salt has several supernatural uses, but most famously, a line of salt is a simple and effective ward against many ghosts and other undead creatures. Particularly if it's laid with the power of a Dragon-Blood behind it. For all its horrors, ghosts should ideally not be a serious problem on the Isle of Voices.
"What, exactly, are you asking?" You ask, breathing hard. Idelle lets you get up, the two of you circling each other once again.
"For you to talk to her!" Idelle says, frustrated or winded or both. "She trusts you, doesn't she?"
"And she doesn't trust you?" you ask.
"We don't get along as well as we used to, anymore," Idelle admits.
"And is there a reason you're not just going to an instructor with this?" You ask.
Idelle bristles a little. "I'm concerned as a childhood friend of hers, not just because my mother asked me to watch out for her, or because I'm trying to get her into trouble!"
You consider her for a moment. "We'll call this a draw," you say, relaxing your guard.
After a moment, she does the same, still frowning. "Well?" she asks.
"I may speak to her," you say, dubious. You're not going to commit to what specifically it would be about.
"Oh, well... good," Idelle says. The flickering glow in her eyes is definitely brighter, and there's a faint scent of burning incense in the air around her. You're certain that the vitreous lustre in your own hair and eyes has likewise deepened noticeably.
"Thank you for the match, I will do my best to reflect on it."
"You're welcome," Idelle says. She makes as though to lean on the staff for a moment or two, but seems startled when it vanishes back into mist. Presumably maintaining such a weapon is not yet practical for Sola. "It's not really what I intended, but it's good to stay sharp, when the opportunity arises." She's quiet then, as if not entirely certain how to disengage from the conversation from here.
"I am sure you will need to prepare for Instructor Ovo's remedial lecture before tomorrow," you say, nodding graciously. It's not a slight at her — you'd had a particularly monstrous lecture from the dominie earlier that day, and almost no one had followed the finer points of it. It's common enough for the rest of the staff to quietly schedule followup lectures to explain such things.
"Oh, yes," Idelle says. "Right! Well, thank you. And please remember what I've said!" With that, she turns on her heel, and begins to walk away.
It's a few moments before she's far enough away that you speak again. "What do you think?" You ask Sola, kneeling down to let Verdigris climb up your arm.
"She's definitely had some Golden Janissary training," Sola says, glancing after Idelle's receding form through the mist. "You can tell by the footwork. I've seen it demonstrated before."
"No," you say, frowning at her, "I mean about Amiti."
"Oh, well, Ledaal's probably right," Sola says, as if this is obvious. "Amiti's been too quiet so far this year -- she probably is up to something. Girl cut her own soul to pieces to learn necromancy, remember?"
"That is true," you acknowledge.
"Nice girl, especially for a Sesus," Sola says, in case there was any doubt of her good opinion, "but her eyes light up when she talks about death magic the yours do when Maia walks into the room."
"That is a deeply inappropriate comparison," you say, slightly annoyed. Comparing Maia to something dark and unsavoury you'd be better off avoiding strikes a nerve, just now, even if that's not how Sola meant it. "Still, checking in on her wouldn't be the worst idea."
Amiti is harder to track down than she should be, based on your prior experience of her. She's not haunting her usual dim levels of the library tower, or occupying her favourite workroom, or in her dorm — her roommate proves to be quite as disinterested as Idelle had led you to believe. It's enough to make you give greater credence to what Idelle had said in the first place.
In the end, though, Maia comes to your rescue. "I'm meeting Amiti tomorrow to go over a few things together," she'd said, when you'd arrived back at the dorm that night. "She's very good at catching basic mistakes in geomantic diagrams, and I'm helping her brush up on demonic hierarchical theory — apparently quite a few post-Immaculate works on ghost classification take some familiarity with that for granted as a basis for comparison. You can probably just come too, if you need to talk to her."
Then you'd kissed her out of general gratitude, and L'nessa, who had just entered the room, had very unreasonably thrown a pillow at you.
And so the next day, after breakfast and after renewing a particularly nasty binding for the school, you set out with the workroom that Maia directed you to in mind. You're a level up from your destination, currently traveling in between towers, when you find yourself face to face with easily your least favourite Heptagram student:
"Ambraea! so glad to see you well," says Peleps Nalri, giving you a cuttingly pleasant smile. "I'd meant to say hello sooner, but we never seem to be in the same place for very long — strange, considering how few of us there are here."
"Yes. Strange." You don't twitch a smile, and feel obligated to reach up to give Verdigris a soothing stroke where her head is poking up from the collar of your school tunic. The snake still lets out a small but distinctly threatening hiss.
Now a sixth year, Nalri is much as you recall her — willowy and darkly attractive, her dense curls threaded through with kelp fronds gently waving in an invisible current. "I hope you enjoyed your summer?"
"I did," you say, voice stiff.
"I'm told you made a fool out of one of my older cousins," Nalri says, not sounding particularly upset about it. "I've met Asher before — I only wish I could have been there to see it."
You take in a deep breath, and decide to abandon subtlety. "What is it that you want?"
"Oh, very little," she says. "I could see you were displeased after that... unpleasant accident, last year, so I kept my distance. But I would hope that there's been enough time now to clear the air."
"Well," you say, "by all means, clear it."
You would call Nalri's continued pleasant calm admirable, coming from anyone else. "While I can of course accept no responsibility for what occurred with the V'neef boy's experiment, I will again gently advise you that greater care taken in your associations may yield fewer instances of you finding yourself... collateral." She smiles at the last word, as if too amused by it to refrain from the expression.
You narrow your eyes. "I don't appreciate threats."
Nalri waves that off. "We're Dynasts, my dear. The threats come along with the fabulous wealth and power. And in this case, I am still simply warning you — you choose your enemies along with your allies. And I would hate to see you choose poorly."
"Thank you for your consideration," you say. "However, I am expected elsewhere. Hello, Maia, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
"I could see you were occupied," says Maia, standing about a pace behind Nalri. Nalri gives a slight start at the sound of the voice, turning swiftly to glare. You'd watched Maia seem to almost melt out of the darkness, setting herself up to scare the older girl deliberately — from Nalri's expression, she is as aware of this as you were.
"Erona Maia," Nalri says, struggling to maintain composure, "you will remain at least two paces away from me unless I invite otherwise." You're forced to bite your tongue — this much is Nalri's right to demand, particularly with her house fostering Maia to the Heptagram in the first place.
Dutifully, Maia takes a step back. She bows apologetically. "As you wish, my lady," she says. Her eyes stay downcast in open deference, but you think you see something a little worrisome in them.
Nalri shakes her head. "I hope you will not have lost sight of such things completely by the time you offer your service to my family." She looks back to you, and dredges back up a shadow of her original smile. "Please, think long on what I have said," she says.
"I will give your words all the weight they merit," you promise. She says nothing as she politely walks past you and down the passageway.
"That's quite an expression you're wearing," you tell Maia, approaching her once Nalri has passed.
Maia gives the corner Nalri vanished around a cold glare, quite unlike her usual demeanor. "There are a lot of ways for someone to have an 'unpleasant accident' on the Isle of Voices," she says, voice very low.
"It doesn't sound like you just mean ruining her experiments or humiliating her in front of our peers," you say, voice cautious. It feels, suddenly, like you're standing at the very edge of a precipice, and you won't be able to take back a misstep.
"When someone nearly kills you, I take it seriously," Maia says, her voice nearly as much of a hiss as Verdigris' had been.
"I was fine," you say. Then you can't quite help but add, "Simendor was hurt worse than I was."
"Peleps Nalri does not get credit for you being brave and talented," Maia says. She raises a hand and lays it against your chest, just over your collarbone. The words send a complex series of feelings curling through your chest, along with the warmth of her touch.
You let Verdigris slither down into her arm before speaking again: "We should probably not keep Amiti waiting for too long," you say. The issue of Maia and Nalri is one you'll need to address at some point, but it's... awkward. Somehow made more so by what you learned about her over the summer.
Maia nods, and pulls away.
Amiti is where she's meant to be, perched on a chair in the work room beside a deeply scarred table table, but she's so engrossed in her latest battered romance novel that she doesn't notice at first when you come in.
"Hello, Amiti," Maia says quietly.
Amiti looks up, and smiles. "Well! You two were a while. Did you end up dallying in a hallway?"
You're so taken aback by the question that you answer more or less honestly: "Something a little like that." before taking a seat across from Amiti.
Maia, face extraordinarily red, sits down next to you, Verdigris still cradled coiled in her arms. She doesn't contradict you, however.
"Wait, am I being rude?" Amiti asks. "I'm not trying to be rude."
"We know, Amiti," you say.
"You two are just so adorable, though!"
"... Thank you?" Maia ventures, utterly unsure how else to take that.
"You're welcome," Amiti says, relaxing. She puts her novel away, opening a notebook to two pages dense with arcane diagrams winding their way around an innocuous looking drawing of a horse. You've learned to ignore these things, when it comes to Amiti's notes.
The three of you get down to work, comparing notes from your areas of focus in order to fill in gaps in one another's understanding — for all that you had been distracted over the summer, the research material your mother had sent you had been invaluable in expanding your understanding of elementals and their connection to Creation's Essence flows. The general subject matter doesn't make Amiti come quite as alive as necromancy does, but she has an impressive intellectual grasp on much of it, and assures you both that it can be surprisingly relevant to some experiments she's been considering for the future. Maia surprises you slightly — she doesn't usually let on how complex her understanding of demonology is, for all the amount of time you spend together.
You almost decide against pursuing what first brought you to seek Amiti out in the first place, but in the end, responsibility to one's peers is the Realm's first line of defense against sorcerous corruption. "Amiti?" you ask.
Amiti glances up from where she's been adding some thoughts to her notebook. "Yes?" she asks.
"Is everything alright, lately?"
She seems more taken aback by the seriousness of your tone than anything. "Oh, things are lovely, generally. Better than I've ever been, I think!"
You abruptly feel unaccountably guilty. You try to be careful in your words. "I just mean, I haven't seen you around the school very much, lately. And no one seems to know what you're... doing with your time. Not even your roommate."
Amiti is quiet for a moment, looking back at you with her large, pale eyes. "Idelle put you up to this, didn't she?" She sounds disappointed, somehow. Like she's upset at herself for thinking this wouldn't happen.
"She expressed concerns, and thought that it would be better if it came from me than from her," you say. There's a defensive note in your voice that you hate.
"You can tell Idelle that everything is fine," Amiti says. "I'm fine. Things are fine. It's going fine!"
"What is?" Maia asks.
Amiti blinks. "I'm sorry?"
Maia leans over the table. "You said it's going fine. What is it?"
Amiti hunches down in her seat, rolling her pendant back and forth across her lips with one hand. "Do you not trust me either?" she asks, looking between you and Maia.
"Of course I trust you," you say, almost impatient. "Especially after last year. I am concerned."
"Oh." She stops short, apparently uncertain how to respond to that kind of sentiment. It's a long moment before she manages: "I'm not doing anything immoral."
"The way you just said that fills me with less confidence than one would hope," you say.
"Well, it's true! I think so, a anyway!" she says. This time, she's the one who sounds defensive. "But it's just... possibly not something the school would approve of. Maybe. I didn't, exactly, ask them."
"Are you doing something really dangerous?" Maia asks.
"I'm learning!" says Amiti. "That's why we're here, isn't it? I will let you know if there's actual cause to worry. I'm sorry, I think I need to go. Thank you both, I had a good time. Goodbye!" She rises, and begins to quickly stuff her things into her bag.
"Amiti—" she slips past you before you can catch her, leaving you and Maia alone in the workroom.
There's a moment of frustrated silence on your part, while Maia strokes Verdigris's head thoughtfully — she's been resting across Maia's shoulders for most of the study session. "Do you want me to keep an eye on her?" Maia asks. "Figure out where she's been going?"
That surprises you. "You mean, follow her."
"Without her noticing, yes," Maia says, not quite meeting your eyes.
"You're very quick to offer to do that to one of our fellow students," you say, bemused despite everything.
"That's, well..." Maia abruptly seems flustered, for some reason. "Well, you know it's in my skillset, by now. I'm worried about her too, now."
"I suppose it... wouldn't hurt," you allow. "If you really don't mind doing it."
Maia looks like she's on the verge of saying something difficult just then, but in the end, she swallows the words. She leans up and brushes a kiss against your lips, giving Verdigris a chance to slither back over to you. "It's the kind of thing I'm good for," she says, pulling away.
"You're good for a lot of things," you tell her, frowning.
She only smiles at you, small and troubled, gathering her own things back up. When she's gone, you're left feeling like you're still missing something, about more than just Amiti.
Article: Unfortunately, Amiti is eventually going to have to tell you that there is actually something to worry about. Something in her secretive experiments go wrong — what is it?
[ ] Something Burning
[ ] Something Cold
[ ] Something Silent
Last edited:
Eternal_0bserver
(Unverified Bookworm)
- Location
- Earth, Northern Europe
[X] Something Cold
[X] Something Silent
Both sounds cool.
[X] Something Silent
Both sounds cool.
UrsaTempest
Don't Panic!
[X] Something Silent
This sounds like the most ominous.
This sounds like the most ominous.
- Location
- Te Ika-a-Māui
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Something Silent
- Location
- Florida
[X] Something Burning
- Pronouns
- Reader
Yeah! It's almost like comparing her to someone descended from traitors to the realm or something!
I'd say they should both take a could shower, but who knows how that affects a water aspect.
Oh this bitch is asking for it. Next years choices are going to be so, so hard.
Wow. Survival instincts of a Lemming. Does not know who she is fucking with.
Yes! Do you think that if Ambraea does nothing to avenge herself Maia spends the summer after Peleps Nalri's graduation arranging for her to have an accident? Or does she kill her if we do something to prevent retaliation?
No Amiti, there cute. Your adorable.
Seems like some kind of explosion, or simply something getting lose next to burnables.
An elemental? Maybe more water monster she's been trying to raise?
Ominous. God I hope she hasn't disturbed some protective ward keeping the school from filling with some colorless gas that could poison everyone.
[X] Something Cold
Not sure what I'm getting into but I'm going with my gut.
mothematics
How wide is the concept of "you"?
- Location
- the bottom of a coffee cup
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[x] Something Cold
[X] Something Silent
It does sound the most ominous, though I imagine all of them are probably partly figurative and ghostly. Like, burning hate, cold revenge, that sort of thing. So really, it's that this sounds the most potentially mystical.
It does sound the most ominous, though I imagine all of them are probably partly figurative and ghostly. Like, burning hate, cold revenge, that sort of thing. So really, it's that this sounds the most potentially mystical.
I feel like Maia - quite possibly without even consciously realizing it - would have been happier if we asked her not to tap into her skill set on our behalf, even to help Amiti. Though our actions were perfectly reasonable, it probably feels too much like we're treating her as our kept ninja agent, in a way that's irrevocably tainted by her knowing that we know.
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Something Silent
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] Something Cold
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
I'm torn on this. On one hand, it does feel a bit too much like trying to prove to herself that she is useful, when that's not a frame of mind I think is good now.
On the other hand, it is her proving to herself that she is useful (has talents the others don't) and can help her friends with what she is taught?
On the third hand, it really is the best thing for Amiti, and the extra layer of our drama doesn't help that because it sets up a tradeoff between them.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Something Cold
Ganurath
Literal Enthusiast
- Location
- A Valid Location
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Looking at the 2e Underworld book, and having zero clue how many carried over into 3e, my best guesses are Vengeful Exile (mindless killer ghost that radiates the ultimate cold of Oblivion,) a swarm of Fireflies (plasmic insects that ignite everything they touch,) and the Underworld's bear-sized version of Portee dogs (like their living counterpart, they don't bark.)
Since Underworld Portee dog hide is an alternative source of Silken Armor...
[X] Something Silent
Since Underworld Portee dog hide is an alternative source of Silken Armor...
[X] Something Silent