Thought: The Opening Gate
- Location
- ?
For decades, you have sought to master the sword.
Your family style, Cloud Petitioner, is revered among the great devil-slaying sword arts. Many postulants high and low come to study under your branch family armsmasters, but only you, as the true heir, are privy to its secret techniques, passed down from mother to daughter since the time of the first unification.
Each morning, you rise before the sun and drill. Each raindrop on the stones of the training yard guides your katas, each form, transformation and return drilled ten thousand times into your muscles. It is the nature of Cloud Petitioner to know the body and its limits.
After taking tea with the dawn, you study by rote the sword arts of rival schools; the versatile Even Blade, the fearsome Rising Ember, the forbidden Black Iron Myrmidon. To each, you devise countermeasures and stratagems. It is the nature of Cloud Petitioner to know one's enemy and their failings.
After breaking fast, you spar with your masters at arms, sometimes alone, sometimes all six at once, or in pairs, or one after another. Each attempts to vary their use of the style to keep your own abilities at their optimal peak. It is the nature of Cloud Petitioner to always test oneself, and never fail.
So continues your day, every day. You train to be the best blade in the Realm, and you cannot lapse; your rivals will overtake you, given a moment's weakness. You pride yourself on your skill in your forms, your knowledge of the sword arts, your killing instincts. Most of all, perhaps, you value your skills in observation. There is no style you cannot dissect with a glance, no stance from which you cannot extrapolate your opponent's next move. In ferocity, Radiant Breath may surpass you, but in perspicacity you reign supreme.
It is your custom, on the last afternoon of each month, to attend the dueling grounds of Lord's Crossing to observe a ritual tourney of mock-duels fought with dull blades among students who wish to gain the ultimate prize; a personal session of instruction from you. No servant of the sword could ask for more.
On today's visit, you have your eye on one postulant in particular. Sesus White Tiger is prominent in the rankings, outcaste by birth, ascended by marriage, distinguished by skill. The outdoor arena is well-attended, and he is popular with the vocal crowd. His Eastern Swallow style is swift and precise, if a little lacking in creativity. He is arrogant, but deservedly so. Even Blade, Falling Blossom, Silent Executioner, he conquers them all in quick succession, leaving the outcome of the tourney in little doubt. In him, you see a little of your younger self.
Then he issues a challenge.
"To all in the audience here, I ask that the best of you face me, on your honor!"
It is a challenge to you, there can be no doubt. All eyes turn in anticipation of your response.
Alas, it seems you will take no student today, but you will issue a lesson. His arrogance was undeserved after all.
You are just beginning to rise from your bench when something hits the sand of the arena next to White Tiger.
It is a wad of paper money. Peasant scrip. A murmur of confusion ripples through the crowd.
Just then, a bedraggled woman with a mop of unbound black hair drags herself onto the raised platform of the arena. She pulls herself to her feet, swaying back and forth, and holding a clay flask that surely contains wine or something stronger. A sheathed longsword is tucked by her corded belt.
"I've no honor, but I'll give you a fight, if you're good for the money."
Some cries of outrage come from the crowd at the debauching of this sacred martial ceremony, but they are mostly drowned out by laughter. This woman is clearly a clown.
"Begone fool, I have no time to beat dogs."
"Oh, alright then." she staggers towards him. "Just let me get my-"
She reaches for the wad of money she threw into the arena at his feet. He bats it away with the tip of his sword.
"I said begone, unless you want to face my sword!"
"I mean yeah, that was the point."
Sesus White Tiger strikes.
His opening move is Dying Crescent, an ostentatious overhead swing. It is a testing strike; it bears killing force and is aimed for the head, but has little chance of connecting against a competent opponent, who can deflect or, more likely, backstep to avoid the descending arc. To her credit, the woman drops her wine flask and stumbles backwards to avoid the swing, sprawling footwork sending her to the edge of the arena.
Mid-step, White Tiger attacks again. You see at once that this is his true attack, First Autumn Flame; a second return to strike her solidly in the right of her torso. She reaches for her blade, clumsily, instinctively. It is futile, you know. The arc of a vertical or horizontal draw will counter too slow to impede White Tiger's attack and cannot intersect to block or parry. With her footwork occupied and her blade sheathed, you see that there is no viable defense from this angle of attack.
Instead, she grasps the hilt and lifts the sheathed sword diagonally from her belt across her belly into the angle of attack. There is a peal of metal-on-metal; not the elegant chime of clashing blades, but the ugly snap of a knife striking a dinner plate.
You stare, along with the rest of the audience. The woman is holding her sheathed sword still half-tucked into her belt. She has intercepted the descending arc of White Tiger's attack by thrusting the iron pommel of her sword directly into the arc of the descending blade. It is a ridiculous maneuver. A minute miscalculation would have shattered her hand or, even with a practice blade, severed her fingers.
You feel a fresh thrill. Surely this was a fluke, the outcome of unpredictable imperfections of techinque and sobriety, but still, it was a maneuver you did not anticipate.
White Tiger, surprised as anyone, backs up and takes his form, sparing a glance at the new chip in his practice blade. He takes a more cautious Eastern Swallow stance, sword reserved to the left, footwork low.
His challenger draws her sword with some effort from its too-stiff sheath, looks at the sheath as though she is considering using it instead, then casts it over her shoulder. She adopts the third meridian of the Opening Gate.
You stifle a chuckle. Many in the arena do not. Opening Gate is widely considered a failure of a style. It is a cautionary tale among masters; a style that seeks perfection will fail against adaptation. Hidur's admirable genius blinded him to the limits of his own vision; while the tightly constrained movements and Essences of the style purport to offer an undefeatable system of attacks to conquer any defense and defenses to thwart any attack, even in their most ideal use, the forms are strictly only effective against single opponents using longswords in the confines of an arena with no significant variation in terrain. Even in these ideal circumstances, every other school quickly learned simple countermeasures to thwart rare masters of Opening Gate; variations in tempo and stance would quickly confuse the precisely calibrated maneuvers of the style, rendering its intricate algorithmic approach worthless. You haven't seen anyone attempt to use it in the arena in years.
Seven attacks will settle it, you decide, in White Tiger's favor.
His first slash aims for the head again, an unwise underestimation now that he knows he is facing an opponent of unorthodox skill. This time, she parries, clashes to the hilt and thrusts a remise. White Tiger darts back, slashing low.
His opponent stumbles back and springs forward to return, switching to first meridian, an overhead power stance for slashing through off-balance defenses. He raises his blade to block, but it's a feint; she reverses to sixth meridian and strikes his braced weapon from beneath at the same point her pommel chipped earlier. The third span of the damaged sword snaps clear in a shower of sparks as he swings to exchange, missing her exposed throat by a handsbreadth.
White Tiger rallies, darting close to compensate for his truncated blade, using Shadowed Oak, a sidesword killing technique, aiming to impale or disembowel. From this range, his opponent cannot maneuver to deflect.
The attack never lands. White Tiger falls, blood dripping from the crown of his head where he was struck. You did not see the seventh strike.
The crowd, formerly hushed, explodes in cheers. You review the exchange in your head, varying angles and reaches in every possible combination. White Tiger was not hit.
This outcome is impossible.
You stand. The crowd falls silent.
"Warrior. I would know your name, if I am to take you as a student."
"No thanks, I'm good." she is rifling through the pockets of White Tiger's tunic. She finds a small bag of jade obols, and seems satisfied.
"I would very much like to meet with you in private. Your form is exceptional, even to my eye."
"Oh yeah?" She takes back her trampled wad of scrip and tucks it into her belt pouch. "What's it to you?"
Despite everything, you can't think how to answer her.
"I… I have sought for decades to master the sword…"
"Why?" she asks, recovering her fallen wine flask. "It's only a sword."
You can only stare in silence as she leaves. You never see her again.
Next morning, you sleep in, and decide to take up painting instead.
Your family style, Cloud Petitioner, is revered among the great devil-slaying sword arts. Many postulants high and low come to study under your branch family armsmasters, but only you, as the true heir, are privy to its secret techniques, passed down from mother to daughter since the time of the first unification.
Each morning, you rise before the sun and drill. Each raindrop on the stones of the training yard guides your katas, each form, transformation and return drilled ten thousand times into your muscles. It is the nature of Cloud Petitioner to know the body and its limits.
After taking tea with the dawn, you study by rote the sword arts of rival schools; the versatile Even Blade, the fearsome Rising Ember, the forbidden Black Iron Myrmidon. To each, you devise countermeasures and stratagems. It is the nature of Cloud Petitioner to know one's enemy and their failings.
After breaking fast, you spar with your masters at arms, sometimes alone, sometimes all six at once, or in pairs, or one after another. Each attempts to vary their use of the style to keep your own abilities at their optimal peak. It is the nature of Cloud Petitioner to always test oneself, and never fail.
So continues your day, every day. You train to be the best blade in the Realm, and you cannot lapse; your rivals will overtake you, given a moment's weakness. You pride yourself on your skill in your forms, your knowledge of the sword arts, your killing instincts. Most of all, perhaps, you value your skills in observation. There is no style you cannot dissect with a glance, no stance from which you cannot extrapolate your opponent's next move. In ferocity, Radiant Breath may surpass you, but in perspicacity you reign supreme.
It is your custom, on the last afternoon of each month, to attend the dueling grounds of Lord's Crossing to observe a ritual tourney of mock-duels fought with dull blades among students who wish to gain the ultimate prize; a personal session of instruction from you. No servant of the sword could ask for more.
On today's visit, you have your eye on one postulant in particular. Sesus White Tiger is prominent in the rankings, outcaste by birth, ascended by marriage, distinguished by skill. The outdoor arena is well-attended, and he is popular with the vocal crowd. His Eastern Swallow style is swift and precise, if a little lacking in creativity. He is arrogant, but deservedly so. Even Blade, Falling Blossom, Silent Executioner, he conquers them all in quick succession, leaving the outcome of the tourney in little doubt. In him, you see a little of your younger self.
Then he issues a challenge.
"To all in the audience here, I ask that the best of you face me, on your honor!"
It is a challenge to you, there can be no doubt. All eyes turn in anticipation of your response.
Alas, it seems you will take no student today, but you will issue a lesson. His arrogance was undeserved after all.
You are just beginning to rise from your bench when something hits the sand of the arena next to White Tiger.
It is a wad of paper money. Peasant scrip. A murmur of confusion ripples through the crowd.
Just then, a bedraggled woman with a mop of unbound black hair drags herself onto the raised platform of the arena. She pulls herself to her feet, swaying back and forth, and holding a clay flask that surely contains wine or something stronger. A sheathed longsword is tucked by her corded belt.
"I've no honor, but I'll give you a fight, if you're good for the money."
Some cries of outrage come from the crowd at the debauching of this sacred martial ceremony, but they are mostly drowned out by laughter. This woman is clearly a clown.
"Begone fool, I have no time to beat dogs."
"Oh, alright then." she staggers towards him. "Just let me get my-"
She reaches for the wad of money she threw into the arena at his feet. He bats it away with the tip of his sword.
"I said begone, unless you want to face my sword!"
"I mean yeah, that was the point."
Sesus White Tiger strikes.
His opening move is Dying Crescent, an ostentatious overhead swing. It is a testing strike; it bears killing force and is aimed for the head, but has little chance of connecting against a competent opponent, who can deflect or, more likely, backstep to avoid the descending arc. To her credit, the woman drops her wine flask and stumbles backwards to avoid the swing, sprawling footwork sending her to the edge of the arena.
Mid-step, White Tiger attacks again. You see at once that this is his true attack, First Autumn Flame; a second return to strike her solidly in the right of her torso. She reaches for her blade, clumsily, instinctively. It is futile, you know. The arc of a vertical or horizontal draw will counter too slow to impede White Tiger's attack and cannot intersect to block or parry. With her footwork occupied and her blade sheathed, you see that there is no viable defense from this angle of attack.
Instead, she grasps the hilt and lifts the sheathed sword diagonally from her belt across her belly into the angle of attack. There is a peal of metal-on-metal; not the elegant chime of clashing blades, but the ugly snap of a knife striking a dinner plate.
You stare, along with the rest of the audience. The woman is holding her sheathed sword still half-tucked into her belt. She has intercepted the descending arc of White Tiger's attack by thrusting the iron pommel of her sword directly into the arc of the descending blade. It is a ridiculous maneuver. A minute miscalculation would have shattered her hand or, even with a practice blade, severed her fingers.
You feel a fresh thrill. Surely this was a fluke, the outcome of unpredictable imperfections of techinque and sobriety, but still, it was a maneuver you did not anticipate.
White Tiger, surprised as anyone, backs up and takes his form, sparing a glance at the new chip in his practice blade. He takes a more cautious Eastern Swallow stance, sword reserved to the left, footwork low.
His challenger draws her sword with some effort from its too-stiff sheath, looks at the sheath as though she is considering using it instead, then casts it over her shoulder. She adopts the third meridian of the Opening Gate.
You stifle a chuckle. Many in the arena do not. Opening Gate is widely considered a failure of a style. It is a cautionary tale among masters; a style that seeks perfection will fail against adaptation. Hidur's admirable genius blinded him to the limits of his own vision; while the tightly constrained movements and Essences of the style purport to offer an undefeatable system of attacks to conquer any defense and defenses to thwart any attack, even in their most ideal use, the forms are strictly only effective against single opponents using longswords in the confines of an arena with no significant variation in terrain. Even in these ideal circumstances, every other school quickly learned simple countermeasures to thwart rare masters of Opening Gate; variations in tempo and stance would quickly confuse the precisely calibrated maneuvers of the style, rendering its intricate algorithmic approach worthless. You haven't seen anyone attempt to use it in the arena in years.
Seven attacks will settle it, you decide, in White Tiger's favor.
His first slash aims for the head again, an unwise underestimation now that he knows he is facing an opponent of unorthodox skill. This time, she parries, clashes to the hilt and thrusts a remise. White Tiger darts back, slashing low.
His opponent stumbles back and springs forward to return, switching to first meridian, an overhead power stance for slashing through off-balance defenses. He raises his blade to block, but it's a feint; she reverses to sixth meridian and strikes his braced weapon from beneath at the same point her pommel chipped earlier. The third span of the damaged sword snaps clear in a shower of sparks as he swings to exchange, missing her exposed throat by a handsbreadth.
White Tiger rallies, darting close to compensate for his truncated blade, using Shadowed Oak, a sidesword killing technique, aiming to impale or disembowel. From this range, his opponent cannot maneuver to deflect.
The attack never lands. White Tiger falls, blood dripping from the crown of his head where he was struck. You did not see the seventh strike.
The crowd, formerly hushed, explodes in cheers. You review the exchange in your head, varying angles and reaches in every possible combination. White Tiger was not hit.
This outcome is impossible.
You stand. The crowd falls silent.
"Warrior. I would know your name, if I am to take you as a student."
"No thanks, I'm good." she is rifling through the pockets of White Tiger's tunic. She finds a small bag of jade obols, and seems satisfied.
"I would very much like to meet with you in private. Your form is exceptional, even to my eye."
"Oh yeah?" She takes back her trampled wad of scrip and tucks it into her belt pouch. "What's it to you?"
Despite everything, you can't think how to answer her.
"I… I have sought for decades to master the sword…"
"Why?" she asks, recovering her fallen wine flask. "It's only a sword."
You can only stare in silence as she leaves. You never see her again.
Next morning, you sleep in, and decide to take up painting instead.
Diamond and Thunderbolt
The highest calling of any Dragon-Blood is to fight the Anathema. They are some of the few adversaries in the world who can outmatch you in single combat, and a material and spiritual threat to the order of the world. Those who have slain one of these terrible creatures have a unique place of respect anywhere the Realm or the relicts of the Dragon-Blooded Shogunate hold sway. Could you be one of these heroes? Is your secret mission to slay the human demons that haunt this island?
War -1 (Personal Deeds Only)
24 hours.
The Dweller in Chaos
You had a daiklave. How did you obtain this precious treasure? What is its history? Where did it go? Is there any chance you might be able to get it back? Probably not, honestly, but surely an outside chance of having a cool sword is better than nothing.
Craft +1 (Contemplate the Material)
Integrity -1 (Memory Hole)
12 hours.
Mysterious Stranger
Someone has changed the numbers. What does it mean? You have to know. Someone is here today who wasn't yesterday. Do you remember their face from before they were here? Will you remember them tomorrow? Why are they here, what are they planning? You have to know.
Integrity +1 (Someone Has Changed The Numbers)
Presence -2 (Wild-Eyed Paranoia)
10 hours.
The Prisoner's Dilemma
You asked for the gag back. Why? Did you derive some value from it? Was it the joy of violence? The warm satisfaction of eating well? The exhilaration of surviving danger? Was it perhaps that it was just funny? Is it possible that it might be some other, mysterious, fifth thing, heretofore unknown to you? Take some time to ponder the gag thing. Then talk to Fincher about it.
Integrity +1 (Do You Know What You Want?)
Sagacity -1 (Obviously Irrelevant)
8 hours.
Those Jagged Peaks
The Realm sucks pretty bad, just generally. The Dynasty in particular sucks dick. But why does it suck dick? What destructive incentive structures are at play? What about its systems of power perpetuate inequity and injustice? Is it possible that it actually sucks dick for everyone, including those that ostensibly benefit from it? Formulate a structural critique of imperialism and aristocratic power structures. Then talk to Logris about it.
Embassy +1 (Systems Are Important)
Presence -1 (Thought Over Action)
Physique -1 (Enervating Nerd Energies)
12 hours.
The Wolf and the Falcon
Why did you introduce yourself as the Wolf of Sibun? Did you have something to do with the disaster that destroyed the winter palace thirty years ago? Did you once know what happened there, and why? Is it at all possible that you secretly an Anathema? To the last one, no, you are absolutely not, but have a good think about that other stuff.
Embassy -1 (Revel in Infamy)
10 hours. (Halved for completing Maker, Builder, Breaker)
Maker, Builder, Breaker (Complete)
You almost died. Perhaps you almost died many times. You never knew the name or face of your mysterious saviour, but they left you with words to remember them by.
Physique: +2 (Survival is Fury)
Sagacity: +1 (Trust in your fate)
Embassy: -1 (It is not done)
Special: Remember the words.
The New Black Jade (Complete)
You are definitely not Yonris, so I hope you didn't waste too much time thinking about that. Still, it was interesting to contemplate. The other stuff you learned might be important later. And maybe you have some connection to this island. Maybe.
Navigate: +2 (I Know This Place)
Craft: +1 (I Know Its Works)
Sagacity: -1 (Still Can't Believe You Thought About This)
Special: Gain additional dialogue options about your possible ancestry.
The Opening Gate (Complete)
It turns out Opening Gate isn't actually a very good sword style, but you are very good at it. You are also very good at making sword nerds depressed. Suck it, sword nerds.
Athletics: +3 When Using Opening Gate (I Studied The Blade)
Integrity +1 (No Introspection)
Special: Use Techniques of Opening Gate.
Unbroken Rushes (Complete)
The Realm has taken everything from you, and it has done it more than once. Then you were made to visit its horrors on others. What could you have been, if not for this? The memories remain hazy, but the lesson is clear. Never let go of the hate.
Stealth: +2 (We Act in the Shadows)
Navigate: +1 (Know the Better World)
Presence: +1 (Revolutionary Fervor)
Embassy: -1 to Dynasts and Realm patriots only. (Offputting Intensity)
Presence: -2 to Dynasts and Realm patriots only. (Misplaced Loyalties)
Special: Gain additional subversive dialogue options.
You are currently thinking about Unbroken Rushes (Complete), Maker, Builder, Breaker (Complete), and The Opening Gate (Complete). You can change your thoughts when you sleep.
The highest calling of any Dragon-Blood is to fight the Anathema. They are some of the few adversaries in the world who can outmatch you in single combat, and a material and spiritual threat to the order of the world. Those who have slain one of these terrible creatures have a unique place of respect anywhere the Realm or the relicts of the Dragon-Blooded Shogunate hold sway. Could you be one of these heroes? Is your secret mission to slay the human demons that haunt this island?
War -1 (Personal Deeds Only)
24 hours.
The Dweller in Chaos
You had a daiklave. How did you obtain this precious treasure? What is its history? Where did it go? Is there any chance you might be able to get it back? Probably not, honestly, but surely an outside chance of having a cool sword is better than nothing.
Craft +1 (Contemplate the Material)
Integrity -1 (Memory Hole)
12 hours.
Mysterious Stranger
Someone has changed the numbers. What does it mean? You have to know. Someone is here today who wasn't yesterday. Do you remember their face from before they were here? Will you remember them tomorrow? Why are they here, what are they planning? You have to know.
Integrity +1 (Someone Has Changed The Numbers)
Presence -2 (Wild-Eyed Paranoia)
10 hours.
The Prisoner's Dilemma
You asked for the gag back. Why? Did you derive some value from it? Was it the joy of violence? The warm satisfaction of eating well? The exhilaration of surviving danger? Was it perhaps that it was just funny? Is it possible that it might be some other, mysterious, fifth thing, heretofore unknown to you? Take some time to ponder the gag thing. Then talk to Fincher about it.
Integrity +1 (Do You Know What You Want?)
Sagacity -1 (Obviously Irrelevant)
8 hours.
Those Jagged Peaks
The Realm sucks pretty bad, just generally. The Dynasty in particular sucks dick. But why does it suck dick? What destructive incentive structures are at play? What about its systems of power perpetuate inequity and injustice? Is it possible that it actually sucks dick for everyone, including those that ostensibly benefit from it? Formulate a structural critique of imperialism and aristocratic power structures. Then talk to Logris about it.
Embassy +1 (Systems Are Important)
Presence -1 (Thought Over Action)
Physique -1 (Enervating Nerd Energies)
12 hours.
The Wolf and the Falcon
Why did you introduce yourself as the Wolf of Sibun? Did you have something to do with the disaster that destroyed the winter palace thirty years ago? Did you once know what happened there, and why? Is it at all possible that you secretly an Anathema? To the last one, no, you are absolutely not, but have a good think about that other stuff.
Embassy -1 (Revel in Infamy)
10 hours. (Halved for completing Maker, Builder, Breaker)
Maker, Builder, Breaker (Complete)
You almost died. Perhaps you almost died many times. You never knew the name or face of your mysterious saviour, but they left you with words to remember them by.
Physique: +2 (Survival is Fury)
Sagacity: +1 (Trust in your fate)
Embassy: -1 (It is not done)
Special: Remember the words.
The New Black Jade (Complete)
You are definitely not Yonris, so I hope you didn't waste too much time thinking about that. Still, it was interesting to contemplate. The other stuff you learned might be important later. And maybe you have some connection to this island. Maybe.
Navigate: +2 (I Know This Place)
Craft: +1 (I Know Its Works)
Sagacity: -1 (Still Can't Believe You Thought About This)
Special: Gain additional dialogue options about your possible ancestry.
The Opening Gate (Complete)
It turns out Opening Gate isn't actually a very good sword style, but you are very good at it. You are also very good at making sword nerds depressed. Suck it, sword nerds.
Athletics: +3 When Using Opening Gate (I Studied The Blade)
Integrity +1 (No Introspection)
Special: Use Techniques of Opening Gate.
Unbroken Rushes (Complete)
The Realm has taken everything from you, and it has done it more than once. Then you were made to visit its horrors on others. What could you have been, if not for this? The memories remain hazy, but the lesson is clear. Never let go of the hate.
Stealth: +2 (We Act in the Shadows)
Navigate: +1 (Know the Better World)
Presence: +1 (Revolutionary Fervor)
Embassy: -1 to Dynasts and Realm patriots only. (Offputting Intensity)
Presence: -2 to Dynasts and Realm patriots only. (Misplaced Loyalties)
Special: Gain additional subversive dialogue options.
You are currently thinking about Unbroken Rushes (Complete), Maker, Builder, Breaker (Complete), and The Opening Gate (Complete). You can change your thoughts when you sleep.
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