Of Silver, Jade, and Steel (Exalted)
- Thread starter SunnySprings
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Chapter 1.7
- Location
- United States
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[X] Go to the market. You suppose Gardener had a point. This room is depressing. Maybe you should get some kind of decorations for it.
You decide that the market would probably be the best bet. Might as well spend at least some of your wealth on making your room look like someone actually lives here. You fish out a fistful of quarters and eighths from your sack and then chuck it into your chest, locking it in with your spare clothes and the various implements you use in your work. You look around for your umbrella, just in case the clouds are indicative of a future downpour, but remember that you left it at a friend of Yazu's a week ago. You sigh, but you suppose that you could just buy an umbrella at the market or stay at a tavern if it begins to rain.
Exiting your home, you take the short trip to the Nexus Market as you think on what to buy. Maybe a rug? You could use a rug, you suppose. Or a bookshelf, perhaps. Could be a good place to put a potted plant on in addition to any books you buy. You don't exactly know what kind of book you'd buy, though; most books to your understanding are for specific scholarly purposes, dry examinations of the various creatures of the Gray River, Sijanese funerary practices, historians bickering on which generals contributed the most to the defeat of the Third Realm Invasion, and so on.
As you think, you take in all the various sights Nexus has to offer. Massive towers from the Shogunate era, made of unknown concretes and stones you've heard are completely impervious to damage from any mundane source. Distant pulley cars filled with those too rich or too infirm to be able to walk through the highly elevated roads of Sentinel's Hill and Bastion District. A small flock of raitons in an alleyway eating a dead cat, the tiny lizard-birds snapping at each other occasionally when one finds a choice bit of gore all of the rest desire. Thousands of tired-looking people moving through the streets, masks and bandanas wrapped around their necks for if the wind changes direction and the Nexus snow begins to blow east.
You finally arrive at the Little Market, the heart of Nexus's retail sales. You figure this would be a good place to start, rather than heading to the specialty districts such as Paper Lane or Dyer Square. A little bit of everything can be found here, from cheap jewelry to new carpentry tools, from fancy silverware to copious amounts of hashish imported from Great Froks, and more. The smell of street vendor food mingles with the sweat of the teeming bodies filling the area. You exchange an eighth of a yen for a few slices of spit-roasted lamb kebab wrapped in flat bread, and take a few nibbles of it as you explore your options here, careful not to bump into any of the other shoppers.
As you look around, you spy a firewand of good make from Chiaroscuro, and get excited for a few minutes as you think you could maybe get a display to mount it about your window, but you remember that they're far too expensive to buy even with what you just made and that there's a Civility around forbidding the purchase and possession of firewands, flame-pieces, and any other flame-discharging weapons by those under the age of twenty-one after an unfortunate accident in which a ten-year old child of a Guildsman pulled the trigger of a loaded one her father bought for her and caused a modest fire in Bastion District a year ago. You sigh and look around for something else interesting when you come across a trader from Lookshy selling pottery. You always liked the look of their ceramics, the vivid orange-red color contrasting with a metallic-looking black, and the intricate designs on the side.
The trader, a stern looking woman wearing a well-fit and practical green tunic and black trousers, says in the curt-sounding Riverspeak of her home city-state, "Best ceramics you'll find. They're hand-made by our fine citizens with a special technique unique to our city and supervised by the watchful eye of Dragon-blooded craftsmen from the honorable Gens Maheka. You'll note that many of the designs depict historical events from our shared history in the River Province."
She lifts a wine cup off the crate it is standing on, and begins slowly rotating it around, showing you the image of a Lookshyan ashigaru impaling another soldier on the end of a long spear. In the background, several other similar fights take place. "This, for instance, depicts our soldiers engaged with the forces of Thorns at the Battle of Mishaka, eight years ago."
You say, "Impressive work. But, I'm not sure it's what I'm looking for. It seems a bit, well, violent for something that I'm going to be displaying to guests."
You fumble through that last part, as you don't really ever entertain any guests at your home. For the most part, Yazu just comes by if he wants you for something and you head off with him, or you leave your house to see your friends at their places. You don't think anyone but you has been in there for longer than five minutes. You try to of ways to change that when the trader interrupts you.
"Yes, I suppose you are from a far softer culture than ours." You internally groan at this Lookshyan thinking less of you simply because not everyone here is a military conscript. She looks for something else in her crate and draws out a vase. This one has a depiction of the Immaculate Dragons through the Lookshyan lens of them. You always found it interesting how those from the Realm that visited the shrine were completely aghast at the idea of such iconography; they would always blanch at the sight of your prayer calendar in the center of the building having depictions of the various deities listed upon it.
You finish the last bite of your kebab to take the vase and examine it. Each of the Dragons is depicted in one of the pivotal moments during and after the revolution against the Anathema. On one side, Mela hovers above a battlefield, her strong gales casting flames and arrow away from the armies of the Dragon-blooded. On another, Hesiesh burns the corpses of the war's fallen in a holy conflagration to protect the world from their risen hungry ghosts. Sextes Jylis and Pasiap both rebuild the world with newly planted seeds and mighty constructs of stone on a another scene. Finally, you spot your favored Danaa'd diving to the bottom of the world, hundreds of small orange-red suns carried in her hands.
You look at it, before saying, "I'd like to buy this, and a set of cups too. Preferably without scenes of people getting stabbed."
You eventually work out the purchase with the trader, getting the vase you want as well as a few cups depicting various nature scenes located around Lookshy. You get it down in writing that this all is to be delivered to you two hours past mid day to your apartment. You hand the woman your coins and take your proof of purchase in their place. She mouths a small, "Thank you," before you head out of the market. As you get out of the bounds of the Little Market and halfway to home, you feel a few drops of water hit your head. You look around and see that it has begun to rain.
You swear as you try and hurry up as the rain begins to pick up pace, annoyed that you didn't just buy an umbrella while you were at the market. You dip into an alleyway thick with overhanging balconies and try to use them to shield you from the downpour. As you weave from alleyway to alleyway, you notice something odd: someone is following you.
A man in his thirties, strongly built and wearing a conical straw hat, is tailing you. As you go along, you note others are following too. A stout woman with a short-sword at her side at your distant right. There's a younger man, a few years older than you, corralling you to your left. You swear internally, disappointed in yourself. You didn't check to see if anyone was watching you in the market, and they probably saw you had a lot of money on you and that you were alone.
You try to keep walking steadily, trying not to alert them. You think on what to do:
[ ] Run. You think if you put enough distance between you and them, they'll give up. (Dexterity+Athletics)
[ ] Hide. Duck into somewhere to hide, and see if they pass you by. (Dexterity+Stealth)
[ ] Work the crowd. Try and see if you can get help from anyone nearby. (Manipulation+Performance, -2 to roll from attempting to target multiple people)
You decide that the market would probably be the best bet. Might as well spend at least some of your wealth on making your room look like someone actually lives here. You fish out a fistful of quarters and eighths from your sack and then chuck it into your chest, locking it in with your spare clothes and the various implements you use in your work. You look around for your umbrella, just in case the clouds are indicative of a future downpour, but remember that you left it at a friend of Yazu's a week ago. You sigh, but you suppose that you could just buy an umbrella at the market or stay at a tavern if it begins to rain.
Exiting your home, you take the short trip to the Nexus Market as you think on what to buy. Maybe a rug? You could use a rug, you suppose. Or a bookshelf, perhaps. Could be a good place to put a potted plant on in addition to any books you buy. You don't exactly know what kind of book you'd buy, though; most books to your understanding are for specific scholarly purposes, dry examinations of the various creatures of the Gray River, Sijanese funerary practices, historians bickering on which generals contributed the most to the defeat of the Third Realm Invasion, and so on.
As you think, you take in all the various sights Nexus has to offer. Massive towers from the Shogunate era, made of unknown concretes and stones you've heard are completely impervious to damage from any mundane source. Distant pulley cars filled with those too rich or too infirm to be able to walk through the highly elevated roads of Sentinel's Hill and Bastion District. A small flock of raitons in an alleyway eating a dead cat, the tiny lizard-birds snapping at each other occasionally when one finds a choice bit of gore all of the rest desire. Thousands of tired-looking people moving through the streets, masks and bandanas wrapped around their necks for if the wind changes direction and the Nexus snow begins to blow east.
You finally arrive at the Little Market, the heart of Nexus's retail sales. You figure this would be a good place to start, rather than heading to the specialty districts such as Paper Lane or Dyer Square. A little bit of everything can be found here, from cheap jewelry to new carpentry tools, from fancy silverware to copious amounts of hashish imported from Great Froks, and more. The smell of street vendor food mingles with the sweat of the teeming bodies filling the area. You exchange an eighth of a yen for a few slices of spit-roasted lamb kebab wrapped in flat bread, and take a few nibbles of it as you explore your options here, careful not to bump into any of the other shoppers.
As you look around, you spy a firewand of good make from Chiaroscuro, and get excited for a few minutes as you think you could maybe get a display to mount it about your window, but you remember that they're far too expensive to buy even with what you just made and that there's a Civility around forbidding the purchase and possession of firewands, flame-pieces, and any other flame-discharging weapons by those under the age of twenty-one after an unfortunate accident in which a ten-year old child of a Guildsman pulled the trigger of a loaded one her father bought for her and caused a modest fire in Bastion District a year ago. You sigh and look around for something else interesting when you come across a trader from Lookshy selling pottery. You always liked the look of their ceramics, the vivid orange-red color contrasting with a metallic-looking black, and the intricate designs on the side.
The trader, a stern looking woman wearing a well-fit and practical green tunic and black trousers, says in the curt-sounding Riverspeak of her home city-state, "Best ceramics you'll find. They're hand-made by our fine citizens with a special technique unique to our city and supervised by the watchful eye of Dragon-blooded craftsmen from the honorable Gens Maheka. You'll note that many of the designs depict historical events from our shared history in the River Province."
She lifts a wine cup off the crate it is standing on, and begins slowly rotating it around, showing you the image of a Lookshyan ashigaru impaling another soldier on the end of a long spear. In the background, several other similar fights take place. "This, for instance, depicts our soldiers engaged with the forces of Thorns at the Battle of Mishaka, eight years ago."
You say, "Impressive work. But, I'm not sure it's what I'm looking for. It seems a bit, well, violent for something that I'm going to be displaying to guests."
You fumble through that last part, as you don't really ever entertain any guests at your home. For the most part, Yazu just comes by if he wants you for something and you head off with him, or you leave your house to see your friends at their places. You don't think anyone but you has been in there for longer than five minutes. You try to of ways to change that when the trader interrupts you.
"Yes, I suppose you are from a far softer culture than ours." You internally groan at this Lookshyan thinking less of you simply because not everyone here is a military conscript. She looks for something else in her crate and draws out a vase. This one has a depiction of the Immaculate Dragons through the Lookshyan lens of them. You always found it interesting how those from the Realm that visited the shrine were completely aghast at the idea of such iconography; they would always blanch at the sight of your prayer calendar in the center of the building having depictions of the various deities listed upon it.
You finish the last bite of your kebab to take the vase and examine it. Each of the Dragons is depicted in one of the pivotal moments during and after the revolution against the Anathema. On one side, Mela hovers above a battlefield, her strong gales casting flames and arrow away from the armies of the Dragon-blooded. On another, Hesiesh burns the corpses of the war's fallen in a holy conflagration to protect the world from their risen hungry ghosts. Sextes Jylis and Pasiap both rebuild the world with newly planted seeds and mighty constructs of stone on a another scene. Finally, you spot your favored Danaa'd diving to the bottom of the world, hundreds of small orange-red suns carried in her hands.
You look at it, before saying, "I'd like to buy this, and a set of cups too. Preferably without scenes of people getting stabbed."
You eventually work out the purchase with the trader, getting the vase you want as well as a few cups depicting various nature scenes located around Lookshy. You get it down in writing that this all is to be delivered to you two hours past mid day to your apartment. You hand the woman your coins and take your proof of purchase in their place. She mouths a small, "Thank you," before you head out of the market. As you get out of the bounds of the Little Market and halfway to home, you feel a few drops of water hit your head. You look around and see that it has begun to rain.
You swear as you try and hurry up as the rain begins to pick up pace, annoyed that you didn't just buy an umbrella while you were at the market. You dip into an alleyway thick with overhanging balconies and try to use them to shield you from the downpour. As you weave from alleyway to alleyway, you notice something odd: someone is following you.
A man in his thirties, strongly built and wearing a conical straw hat, is tailing you. As you go along, you note others are following too. A stout woman with a short-sword at her side at your distant right. There's a younger man, a few years older than you, corralling you to your left. You swear internally, disappointed in yourself. You didn't check to see if anyone was watching you in the market, and they probably saw you had a lot of money on you and that you were alone.
You try to keep walking steadily, trying not to alert them. You think on what to do:
[ ] Run. You think if you put enough distance between you and them, they'll give up. (Dexterity+Athletics)
[ ] Hide. Duck into somewhere to hide, and see if they pass you by. (Dexterity+Stealth)
[ ] Work the crowd. Try and see if you can get help from anyone nearby. (Manipulation+Performance, -2 to roll from attempting to target multiple people)
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- Location
- St. Petersburg
Considering that a dinar is what a bouncer in an above average inn makes in a month...
...this is some really expensive street food, even considering this is just stolen money that doesn't really have much value to us.
I wonder if it's an accidental mistake in the economy side of things, or if the Little Market price ranges are beyond most of the citizenry.
That's a lot of people. I wonder if they are even from the same gang.
[x] Work the crowd. Try and see if you can get help from anyone nearby. (Manipulation+Performance, -2 to roll from attempting to target multiple people)
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- Location
- United States
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I am undone! It would definitely be far less; maybe an eighth or two of a yen (which is a copper coin treated to be green that's equivalent to a day's wages of a peasant laborer, and of which an eighth can buy several glasses of cheap beer or a jar of wine). I very rarely keep track of the tiny bits of coins in Exalted simply because playing as an Exalt (the titular demigod heroes of the game imbued with the power of the sun, moon, stars, or elements) means it is ridiculously easy to get lots of money from managing a business, working as a mercenary, conquering a city-state with your insanely elite troops, being born into a wealthy noble caste where you get an incredibly high monthly stipend of cash just for existing, and so on, so I'm used to thinking in silver and jade talents rather then in yen and dinars. It is very good kebab though, in my imagination.
I imagine some megabeast
[X] Hide. Duck into somewhere to hide, and see if they pass you by. (Dexterity+Stealth)
shulkerbox
free gender radicals (ze/hir)
- Location
- not here
decisions descisons...
we are better at the whole talky thing, but that might bring more attention then needed so
[X] Hide. Duck into somewhere to hide, and see if they pass you by. (Dexterity+Stealth)
we are better at the whole talky thing, but that might bring more attention then needed so
[X] Hide. Duck into somewhere to hide, and see if they pass you by. (Dexterity+Stealth)
Chapter 1.8
- Location
- United States
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[X] Hide. Duck into somewhere to hide, and see if they pass you by. (Dexterity+Stealth)
You walk for a minute or two longer, scanning the area for any place to lay low in and hope these people will pass you by. Sweat mixed with rain pours down your face, blurring your view, but you avoid wiping it away for fear of giving any indication that you're aware of them. Eventually, you get your chance to evade them; the geography of the alleyway you're in now obscures you from all the people tailing you for a quick moment. Hurrying, you look around and spot a cobblestone wall that is constructed in a way that gives it natural handholds. You shoot up it, your hands slipping on the wet surface, but eventually your feet and fingers feet purchase and you are able to clamber up onto a nearby balcony. You try the door leading into the residence and it is miraculously unlocked. You slip in, closing the door behind you, and try to catch your breath quickly before they begin searching the area.
The house you dipped into is thankfully abandoned, its owner off for work at whatever place they may be. It is fairly well-furnished, with fine woolen rugs covering the floors and even a few paintings of various still life arrangements of fruit and what appear to be masonry tools. You take a quick look at the door you just came through and note that the bar that's supposed to seal it is stuck within its hold, rust making it so that no force you exert makes it rise. You briefly wonder if this is what the owner of the house is up to today, searching for a new lock. You quickly regain your focus and decide on finding a place within this room to hide until the coast is clear; you don't like your odds for walking out the front door, as you might just walk face-first into one of these people.
You find a nearby armoire in the corner of the bedroom here and open it up quickly. Inside is a various collection of work clothes and a few dresses and gowns of decent make, but more importantly has enough space for you to fit in. You pull the garments out and hurriedly shove them underneath the bed, and then climb inside. You quiet your breathing and still yourself, listening to the sound of rain.
In a minute, you hear voices. You can make out a few snippets here and there.
"-lost him, he's definitely near-"
"-can't afford to"
"Shut up." This last one is louder and sounds like the commands you hear mercenary captains give to their underlings. You wonder if this was the man in the straw hat, when you hear something that makes your bones chill.
"There's footprints on the side of the wall here."
You hold back a gasp as you fumble for your knife. You hear a grunt from another source, and then the sound of footsteps on the wooden balcony outside. The door creaks open, and you feel like your heart is going to jump out of your chest. You find your dagger and quietly unsheathe it from its leather scabbard. You've never had to kill anyone before, but you'll do it to get out of here if they find where you're hiding.
You hear the footsteps romp around the room, before you hear them stop, as if your pursuer is stopping to take a closer look at something. Then, they begin to approach you, stepping softly towards the armoire. You grip your knife tightly enough that your hand begins to ache, readying yourself to attack. He speaks in a deep calm voice once he gets within arm's length of the door, "Alright, come out of the dresser peacefully."
You don't reply, and he says after taking a deep breath, "Well, it was worth a shot. I'll be dragging you out, then."
He flings the door open. You burst out, wordlessly screaming as you go for the throat with your dagger. He moves back just a hair to the left, his craggy face showing a bit of surprise as your knife goes off mark and only cuts a thick slice into his neck, rather than sinking into the carotid artery you were intending to hit. He counters quickly, his right hand reaching for your throat as you lunge forward. It's all over in a second as he slams your face into the nearby wall, and then pins your knife arm behind you.
You've taken a punch before, but you feel oddly numb. You are roughly dragged to the ground by your assailant as you struggle and try to worm your way out of his grasp, but he's far too strong for you to escape. You look up and see the two other people you saw earlier, the stout woman and the young man, step into the room. The woman laughs in the raspy voice on gets from years of tobacco use, "Hah, Carthus, seems like the kid managed to land a blow on you. Didn't you see the dagger in his belt?"
You hear the man say, after he takes a few quick breaths, "Shut up. It was raining and dark the whole time. Stop jabbering and help me get the kid tied up. Fucking hell, this hurts. Think I'm just gonna leave him with you two while I look for somebody to bandage me up."
The young man bends down and produces a length of rope from his back, and within a second your arms are sealed behind your back and after that, your legs, as he swiftly dodges your kicks and manages to get a loop around them both. You shout, "What in the-", before the large man's hand clamps down over your mouth.
"Carthus, put the kid to sleep. We're disturbing the neighbors," says the younger man in a dispassionate, quiet voice, the same as the one that let the others know you had hidden in here. You hear Carthus mutter, "Sorry," before he lifts your head up with both of his hands, and then slams it down into the floor before you have a chance to scream. You feel the most blinding pain ever for the briefest of moments, and then nothing, as you slip into oblivion.
"-river smells like shit today. What do you think they're dumping into it?"
"Literal shit, probably. The First Age buildings that still have functioning plumbing tend to have it pile up somewhere underneath the city before some automated system just vents it all out into the Yanaze. It happens usually twice a year."
"Disgusting. I think I'd honestly consider killing myself if I fell in today."
You stir back to life. You feel an unbelievable pain and pressure all focused on the center of your head, and taste blood in your mouth. You moan in pain as you open your eyes. You're not in Nexus anymore; you can just barely see it on the horizon. It's night time now, and still raining, judging from the raindrops striking the river past the two figures you're looking at.
Two people are at the stern of the ship you're on, holding umbrellas and standing by each other, making small talk. The one on the right turns to face you, and you see that it is the young man from before. Now that you're this close, you see his face is sharp and diamond-like, with well-pronounced cheekbones and sunken cheeks, and his hair is kept professionally cut short, straight, and swept back out of his face. He is wearing a form-fitting buff jacket now, dyed black and unadorned with any unneeded ornamentation, and with a short sword kept at his side. This man turns back to the other person on the stern and says, "He's awake."
This one wears a similar set of armor to her companion, but where his face was bare, she wears a veil of black spider's silk around everything but her grey eyes, which scan you with an unnerving clarity of purpose. She walks into the cabin you're in first, closing her umbrella and tossing it aside, as her friend follows in. She goes behind you, out of your field of view, and as she does so, says, "He looks concussed. Why didn't you use anything else to knock him out? I pay you well, surely you could afford something like a bottle of ether."
The man shrugs as he closes the door behind him and says, "This was on short notice. I had only received the news about this person this morning, put out a notice to our informants to look out for this one, and had received news of his appearance in the market. Needless to say, I had no time to go to Surgeon's Row and pick up a bottle of ether or milk of the poppy or what have you, and I certainly can't keep a bottle of such substances on me at all times. Furthermore, I can't exactly give a proper dose of the substance to a writhing boy of indeterminate health status and weight; too much anesthesia and he has just as much or more brain damage as if he got hit in the head."
The woman returns with a chair and drops it off in front of you. "You could have just waited. Took the boy in his sleep."
"You said you wanted the matter with the Sesus fugitive resolved quickly. This is certainly quick enough."
She sighs, muttering what sounds like, "Glory hound," underneath her breath, and then takes a seat in front of you. You look down and find yourself bound to another chair. The woman says, sharply, "Look at me."
You struggle to comply; your head feels ten times heavier than usual. It's hard to focus right now, and you feel like you might get sick. You do manage, with great effort and pain, to look into her eyes. She leans in, resting one hand on her trousers, and says, "You must be incredibly confused right now, so I'm going to let you in on what is happening, so that you better understand the gravitas of the current situation. I am Ephiselle, boy."
Even in your condition, you know who this is immediately. Ephiselle is of the Council of Entities, those who rule over the city of Nexus. As its Midnight Queen (a self-given title, as all of the Council's inane sobriquets are, save for the unknowable Emissary), she manages the Council's massive network of informants and spies. When violations of the Council's decrees occur (such as the one where it is illegal to speak of, sing of, or write of her office within the borders of Nexus), it is often because some agent of hers reports it for a handful of copper coins that the Council is able to retaliate against these lawbreakers. You break out into a cold sweat as you continue to look up at her, too terrified to speak.
"Good, you know of me. Here's the deal: unfortunately for you, your neighbor is one of mine." You feel confused to learn that the elderly woman next door, the one who would occasionally give you spare berries she picked from the woods outside of Nexus, was an informant. This all feels like an absurd dream to you right now. You begin to drift off, just wanting to go to bed so badly right now.
"Focus. She dutifully informed us of odd goings on at her neighbor's residence in the middle of the night that she listened in on through the walls, and what a lucky find for us this was. This "Gardener" you were talking to happens to is a known alias of Sesus Valus, a spy of the Realm. He had, through some effort, suborned a few of our bureaucrats, mercenaries, and agents. We received word of him through Lookshy's Security Directorate, who have been putting pressure on us to deal with this nuisance. He, unfortunately, is fairly crafty and has avoided our retribution for a time now."
Your head falls abruptly, your strength failing you. Her hand whips out and lifts it back up by your hair, forcibly. "I will be frank, here. You will tell me what I wish to know. If you refuse, or lie to me, I execute you immediately under the authority I have to enforce Dogma 6. 'None shall harbor a fugitive from the Council's wrath.' I pity you, you know? I understand what it's like for someone of your status to have gotten such an offer. But I'm offering you something far more valuable: your life."
You feel so weak, and everything feels so unreal. You decide, through the fog of your concussion, to:
[ ] Tell her everything. Nothing is worth this. This was all a bad idea.
[ ] Lie. Everyone's fallible. You can keep your relation with this Sesus man, maybe work in some other city for him, if you prevent him from getting killed.
[ ] Spit blood in her face. She can go fuck herself forever. You know where this is all heading in the end.
You walk for a minute or two longer, scanning the area for any place to lay low in and hope these people will pass you by. Sweat mixed with rain pours down your face, blurring your view, but you avoid wiping it away for fear of giving any indication that you're aware of them. Eventually, you get your chance to evade them; the geography of the alleyway you're in now obscures you from all the people tailing you for a quick moment. Hurrying, you look around and spot a cobblestone wall that is constructed in a way that gives it natural handholds. You shoot up it, your hands slipping on the wet surface, but eventually your feet and fingers feet purchase and you are able to clamber up onto a nearby balcony. You try the door leading into the residence and it is miraculously unlocked. You slip in, closing the door behind you, and try to catch your breath quickly before they begin searching the area.
The house you dipped into is thankfully abandoned, its owner off for work at whatever place they may be. It is fairly well-furnished, with fine woolen rugs covering the floors and even a few paintings of various still life arrangements of fruit and what appear to be masonry tools. You take a quick look at the door you just came through and note that the bar that's supposed to seal it is stuck within its hold, rust making it so that no force you exert makes it rise. You briefly wonder if this is what the owner of the house is up to today, searching for a new lock. You quickly regain your focus and decide on finding a place within this room to hide until the coast is clear; you don't like your odds for walking out the front door, as you might just walk face-first into one of these people.
You find a nearby armoire in the corner of the bedroom here and open it up quickly. Inside is a various collection of work clothes and a few dresses and gowns of decent make, but more importantly has enough space for you to fit in. You pull the garments out and hurriedly shove them underneath the bed, and then climb inside. You quiet your breathing and still yourself, listening to the sound of rain.
In a minute, you hear voices. You can make out a few snippets here and there.
"-lost him, he's definitely near-"
"-can't afford to"
"Shut up." This last one is louder and sounds like the commands you hear mercenary captains give to their underlings. You wonder if this was the man in the straw hat, when you hear something that makes your bones chill.
"There's footprints on the side of the wall here."
You hold back a gasp as you fumble for your knife. You hear a grunt from another source, and then the sound of footsteps on the wooden balcony outside. The door creaks open, and you feel like your heart is going to jump out of your chest. You find your dagger and quietly unsheathe it from its leather scabbard. You've never had to kill anyone before, but you'll do it to get out of here if they find where you're hiding.
You hear the footsteps romp around the room, before you hear them stop, as if your pursuer is stopping to take a closer look at something. Then, they begin to approach you, stepping softly towards the armoire. You grip your knife tightly enough that your hand begins to ache, readying yourself to attack. He speaks in a deep calm voice once he gets within arm's length of the door, "Alright, come out of the dresser peacefully."
You don't reply, and he says after taking a deep breath, "Well, it was worth a shot. I'll be dragging you out, then."
He flings the door open. You burst out, wordlessly screaming as you go for the throat with your dagger. He moves back just a hair to the left, his craggy face showing a bit of surprise as your knife goes off mark and only cuts a thick slice into his neck, rather than sinking into the carotid artery you were intending to hit. He counters quickly, his right hand reaching for your throat as you lunge forward. It's all over in a second as he slams your face into the nearby wall, and then pins your knife arm behind you.
You've taken a punch before, but you feel oddly numb. You are roughly dragged to the ground by your assailant as you struggle and try to worm your way out of his grasp, but he's far too strong for you to escape. You look up and see the two other people you saw earlier, the stout woman and the young man, step into the room. The woman laughs in the raspy voice on gets from years of tobacco use, "Hah, Carthus, seems like the kid managed to land a blow on you. Didn't you see the dagger in his belt?"
You hear the man say, after he takes a few quick breaths, "Shut up. It was raining and dark the whole time. Stop jabbering and help me get the kid tied up. Fucking hell, this hurts. Think I'm just gonna leave him with you two while I look for somebody to bandage me up."
The young man bends down and produces a length of rope from his back, and within a second your arms are sealed behind your back and after that, your legs, as he swiftly dodges your kicks and manages to get a loop around them both. You shout, "What in the-", before the large man's hand clamps down over your mouth.
"Carthus, put the kid to sleep. We're disturbing the neighbors," says the younger man in a dispassionate, quiet voice, the same as the one that let the others know you had hidden in here. You hear Carthus mutter, "Sorry," before he lifts your head up with both of his hands, and then slams it down into the floor before you have a chance to scream. You feel the most blinding pain ever for the briefest of moments, and then nothing, as you slip into oblivion.
"-river smells like shit today. What do you think they're dumping into it?"
"Literal shit, probably. The First Age buildings that still have functioning plumbing tend to have it pile up somewhere underneath the city before some automated system just vents it all out into the Yanaze. It happens usually twice a year."
"Disgusting. I think I'd honestly consider killing myself if I fell in today."
You stir back to life. You feel an unbelievable pain and pressure all focused on the center of your head, and taste blood in your mouth. You moan in pain as you open your eyes. You're not in Nexus anymore; you can just barely see it on the horizon. It's night time now, and still raining, judging from the raindrops striking the river past the two figures you're looking at.
Two people are at the stern of the ship you're on, holding umbrellas and standing by each other, making small talk. The one on the right turns to face you, and you see that it is the young man from before. Now that you're this close, you see his face is sharp and diamond-like, with well-pronounced cheekbones and sunken cheeks, and his hair is kept professionally cut short, straight, and swept back out of his face. He is wearing a form-fitting buff jacket now, dyed black and unadorned with any unneeded ornamentation, and with a short sword kept at his side. This man turns back to the other person on the stern and says, "He's awake."
This one wears a similar set of armor to her companion, but where his face was bare, she wears a veil of black spider's silk around everything but her grey eyes, which scan you with an unnerving clarity of purpose. She walks into the cabin you're in first, closing her umbrella and tossing it aside, as her friend follows in. She goes behind you, out of your field of view, and as she does so, says, "He looks concussed. Why didn't you use anything else to knock him out? I pay you well, surely you could afford something like a bottle of ether."
The man shrugs as he closes the door behind him and says, "This was on short notice. I had only received the news about this person this morning, put out a notice to our informants to look out for this one, and had received news of his appearance in the market. Needless to say, I had no time to go to Surgeon's Row and pick up a bottle of ether or milk of the poppy or what have you, and I certainly can't keep a bottle of such substances on me at all times. Furthermore, I can't exactly give a proper dose of the substance to a writhing boy of indeterminate health status and weight; too much anesthesia and he has just as much or more brain damage as if he got hit in the head."
The woman returns with a chair and drops it off in front of you. "You could have just waited. Took the boy in his sleep."
"You said you wanted the matter with the Sesus fugitive resolved quickly. This is certainly quick enough."
She sighs, muttering what sounds like, "Glory hound," underneath her breath, and then takes a seat in front of you. You look down and find yourself bound to another chair. The woman says, sharply, "Look at me."
You struggle to comply; your head feels ten times heavier than usual. It's hard to focus right now, and you feel like you might get sick. You do manage, with great effort and pain, to look into her eyes. She leans in, resting one hand on her trousers, and says, "You must be incredibly confused right now, so I'm going to let you in on what is happening, so that you better understand the gravitas of the current situation. I am Ephiselle, boy."
Even in your condition, you know who this is immediately. Ephiselle is of the Council of Entities, those who rule over the city of Nexus. As its Midnight Queen (a self-given title, as all of the Council's inane sobriquets are, save for the unknowable Emissary), she manages the Council's massive network of informants and spies. When violations of the Council's decrees occur (such as the one where it is illegal to speak of, sing of, or write of her office within the borders of Nexus), it is often because some agent of hers reports it for a handful of copper coins that the Council is able to retaliate against these lawbreakers. You break out into a cold sweat as you continue to look up at her, too terrified to speak.
"Good, you know of me. Here's the deal: unfortunately for you, your neighbor is one of mine." You feel confused to learn that the elderly woman next door, the one who would occasionally give you spare berries she picked from the woods outside of Nexus, was an informant. This all feels like an absurd dream to you right now. You begin to drift off, just wanting to go to bed so badly right now.
"Focus. She dutifully informed us of odd goings on at her neighbor's residence in the middle of the night that she listened in on through the walls, and what a lucky find for us this was. This "Gardener" you were talking to happens to is a known alias of Sesus Valus, a spy of the Realm. He had, through some effort, suborned a few of our bureaucrats, mercenaries, and agents. We received word of him through Lookshy's Security Directorate, who have been putting pressure on us to deal with this nuisance. He, unfortunately, is fairly crafty and has avoided our retribution for a time now."
Your head falls abruptly, your strength failing you. Her hand whips out and lifts it back up by your hair, forcibly. "I will be frank, here. You will tell me what I wish to know. If you refuse, or lie to me, I execute you immediately under the authority I have to enforce Dogma 6. 'None shall harbor a fugitive from the Council's wrath.' I pity you, you know? I understand what it's like for someone of your status to have gotten such an offer. But I'm offering you something far more valuable: your life."
You feel so weak, and everything feels so unreal. You decide, through the fog of your concussion, to:
[ ] Tell her everything. Nothing is worth this. This was all a bad idea.
[ ] Lie. Everyone's fallible. You can keep your relation with this Sesus man, maybe work in some other city for him, if you prevent him from getting killed.
[ ] Spit blood in her face. She can go fuck herself forever. You know where this is all heading in the end.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
...
A ninja, we are not.
[x] Lie. Everyone's fallible. You can keep your relation with this Sesus man, maybe work in some other city for him, if you prevent him from getting killed.
[x] Lie. Everyone's fallible. You can keep your relation with this Sesus man, maybe work in some other city for him, if you prevent him from getting killed.
[X] Tell her everything. Nothing is worth this. This was all a bad idea.
Chapter 1.9
- Location
- United States
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[x] Lie. Everyone's fallible. You can keep your relation with this Sesus man, maybe work in some other city for him, if you prevent him from getting killed.
"I'll talk! Just let go of my hair, I can barely think straight."
Ephiselle acquiesces, letting go of you. You manage to hold your head straight up, and look her straight in the eyes. The veil makes it hard to get a read on her; you can't even begin to know what she's thinking. You see that her lieutenant has taken up a sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal, and appears to be taking records of this meeting. She says, "What was the purpose of your meeting?"
You say, "It was a job offer. I was to be an informant within my own criminal organization, the Golden Crow Society, and he was to help me get as high of a position as I could within it."
"Ah, those lot. I suppose it makes sense. They're connected to multiple building contract rackets here, in Great Forks, and in Marita. A useful connection to have if they want the layouts of newer buildings without raising suspicions." She inclines her head towards her underling as she says this, and he scratches a few more lines of Riverspeak onto his paper.
When the man has finished recording, she says, "Well, boy, sorry to end your career so early. I do have to ask, why did he choose a teenager?"
"I impressed him with a scam I pulled. He figured I'd be able to rise higher than some random enforcer, and be useful for longer."
"I see. Well, then, tell us what he looked like this time."
You take a moment to swallow the blood and spit pooling in your mouth, and say, "Red-haired, straight and reaching to his shoulders. No facial hair. Orange eyes. In his thirties, but who fucking knows what that tells with Dragon-blooded; he could be in his eighties for all I know."
She makes no motion, just silently observing you as you talk. "Did he give you any way of contacting him?"
"There's a loose brick near the intersection of Eel Canal with Mortician's Avenue, under the bridge. I'm supposed to get messages out of the hollow behind it every Jupiter's Day."
"Anything else? Any special instructions?"
"Beyond just making a good impression on my actual boss? None. I've been at this for only a day."
Ephiselle nods. "You get all that?"
Her lieutenant says, "Yes. Every word. But, did you believe any of it?"
She shrugs her shoulder. "It's mostly just basic information. No harm done investigating any of it, even if it is falsehoods."
The man smiles, but in a way that doesn't meet his eyes. "I suppose, but I'd prefer to keep him for a little while longer to make sure we don't waste time on falsehoods. See if he gives us anymore details when I pry out his teeth."
Ephiselle rolls her eyes. "You're about as green as he is, honestly. Torture's worthless for information extraction. A liar's always a liar, no matter how much you beat them; hell, you'll probably just make their story more incoherent if you do that. I'll do it to make an example of someone if the Council asks me to, but I'll have already found out all I need to know before I get to that point."
The man loses his smile, and you can see something venomous behind his expression before he squashes it down. "Very well. Well, what is to be done with this boy?"
Ephiselle rises up from her chair and says, "He dies. I'm not certain Valus will even bother to take him back, but no sense in letting that be a possibility."
She walks outside of the cabin as the man approaches, drawing his blade from his sheathe. You scream, "Wait, I have more-"
The blade goes between your ribs, and you feel a shock like nothing you've ever known before. You jolt upwards, unable to even scream, as he draws it out of you. You feel a heat now, like hot coals were poured onto your chest, as the Midnight Queen's agent frees you from your bondage, and lifts you up. You can't even begin to try and get away at this point as he comes close to the stern of the boat. He pauses, for one second, to look at you, and to sneer at you, "Oh, better luck next life, rat," before he casts you down into the black waters of the Yanaze.
You feel cold for a brief second, before everything goes numb. The boat you were on turns away, its wake pushing you away. You drift back to the top, blood streaming out of your stab wound, and you deliriously think that, perhaps, this part of the Yanaze will carry you to the Underworld. You will not die, but will be transported body and soul into the bleak lands below Creation, where the sun's light never shines. You try to drink in the sky, then, before it is lost to you forever. You take a look at the constellations in the sky that peek through the rain clouds, and wonder if they had ordained everything that happened today. You stare at the heavens for a time, trying to divine some meaning in this as the river carries you down itself until you pass out when the pain finally catches up to you.
You startle back to consciousness some time later. You're still on your back, but you feel yourself brushing up against wet mud and river grass. Waves lap at your injury, drinking the few rivulets of blood dripping down from your chest. The rain has ceased, and the light of the fingernail moon and of the stars filters down onto the world around you. Above you stands a fisherman, elderly and rough looking with a mane of coarse silver hair, who is currently hoisting up his nets from the river, illuminated by a few small oil lanterns. He doesn't look at you, but grunts and says, in a gravelly voice, "Ah, you're awake."
You respond, finding that your own voice is a hoarse whisper at this point. "W-who-"
"A fisherman, for now. I caught you in my lines. I'm surprised you're still alive with that stab wound."
You try to lift yourself up but can't, getting a face full of mud for your efforts. Every bit of you hurts, the agony from your chest radiating out to your head and elsewhere, clouding your mind. You feel pathetic, wondering what in the world is wrong with you that you're always having to be rescued. Tears well up in your eyes, and you start to sob. Your savior doesn't even appear to notice this, hoisting up the net and remarking, "Good haul, good haul. I always do it at night in the summer, see; less ships to disturb the waters and scare away the fish, and it's not burning hot."
He begins sorting through them, tossing back the smaller fish into the Yanaze. After the old man finishes sorting, he seals up the net, and says, "Well, Blue, can't help but say I'm sick of you feeling sorry for yourself."
You sputter, "H-how do you know me?"
"I just do. It's part of my nature to know the ways of every beast that walks this world, and that includes humankind. And even then, I've been around for a hell of a long time, and seen more mortals come and go then you can even imagine." He turns and looks at you, with eyes that are an unnatural silver, lacking irises or pupils. They gleam in strange colors as the flickering light from the lanterns strikes them.
You stay silent, wordless and unable to think clearly in all this mess. Is this a spirit, maybe, or a demon? Your head is swimming. No, you decide that this must be a-
"Hallucination? No. I'm merely here to bestow upon you something you deserve. Now quit your sniveling and look."
He reaches for one of his lanterns, flips the cover, and reaches into it to grasp at the candle flame within. He manages to seize it, somehow, and it begins changing cover, burning a bright white that covers the area around it with a soothing light. He walks towards you and kneels next to you in the mud, hand hovering over where you were stabbed. You look at it, wild-eyed. Something about this seems familiar, as if you've heard about this before, but it just can't break through the fog of your pain.
"You want to be self-sufficient? No one ever truly is, but I will grant you the power to determine your destiny for yourself, to adapt to all struggles. I give you my Exaltation, child. What you do with it is up to you. I will be watching."
With that, the fisherman takes the flame and plunges it into your chest. You gasp as it merges into your body, and feel a wordless rush of sheer power flow into you. A pillar of swirling light erupts from your body, a towering aurora of violets, blues, silvers, and whites that extends all the way into the heavens, rivaling the glow of the moon and stars above. You feel your flesh reshaping itself, your mind refining itself with new alacrity, changing to better suit your desires and the newfound supernatural might surging from within. You manage to focus on two traits of yours that you want to direct this force towards improving.
Pick one from this category.
[ ] Perception. You wish to never be caught off guard again. You will expand your senses to the point that nothing can hide its intentions from you.
[ ] Intelligence. You wish to unlock the secrets hidden in the dark corners of the world. You want to know of sorcery, of the spirits, and of stranger things beyond.
[ ] Wits: You wish to have the resolve to face your life. Your will must be forged into something that controls your environment just as much as it controls you.
And pick another from these two:
[ ] Dexterity. You want to have speed and grace unmatched by any mere mortal. Your blade will be a blur, your movement as fast and silent as a diving hawk.
[ ] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
The options that get the most votes in each category will define our lovely supernatural powers going forward (well, at least for the start).
"I'll talk! Just let go of my hair, I can barely think straight."
Ephiselle acquiesces, letting go of you. You manage to hold your head straight up, and look her straight in the eyes. The veil makes it hard to get a read on her; you can't even begin to know what she's thinking. You see that her lieutenant has taken up a sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal, and appears to be taking records of this meeting. She says, "What was the purpose of your meeting?"
You say, "It was a job offer. I was to be an informant within my own criminal organization, the Golden Crow Society, and he was to help me get as high of a position as I could within it."
"Ah, those lot. I suppose it makes sense. They're connected to multiple building contract rackets here, in Great Forks, and in Marita. A useful connection to have if they want the layouts of newer buildings without raising suspicions." She inclines her head towards her underling as she says this, and he scratches a few more lines of Riverspeak onto his paper.
When the man has finished recording, she says, "Well, boy, sorry to end your career so early. I do have to ask, why did he choose a teenager?"
"I impressed him with a scam I pulled. He figured I'd be able to rise higher than some random enforcer, and be useful for longer."
"I see. Well, then, tell us what he looked like this time."
You take a moment to swallow the blood and spit pooling in your mouth, and say, "Red-haired, straight and reaching to his shoulders. No facial hair. Orange eyes. In his thirties, but who fucking knows what that tells with Dragon-blooded; he could be in his eighties for all I know."
She makes no motion, just silently observing you as you talk. "Did he give you any way of contacting him?"
"There's a loose brick near the intersection of Eel Canal with Mortician's Avenue, under the bridge. I'm supposed to get messages out of the hollow behind it every Jupiter's Day."
"Anything else? Any special instructions?"
"Beyond just making a good impression on my actual boss? None. I've been at this for only a day."
Ephiselle nods. "You get all that?"
Her lieutenant says, "Yes. Every word. But, did you believe any of it?"
She shrugs her shoulder. "It's mostly just basic information. No harm done investigating any of it, even if it is falsehoods."
The man smiles, but in a way that doesn't meet his eyes. "I suppose, but I'd prefer to keep him for a little while longer to make sure we don't waste time on falsehoods. See if he gives us anymore details when I pry out his teeth."
Ephiselle rolls her eyes. "You're about as green as he is, honestly. Torture's worthless for information extraction. A liar's always a liar, no matter how much you beat them; hell, you'll probably just make their story more incoherent if you do that. I'll do it to make an example of someone if the Council asks me to, but I'll have already found out all I need to know before I get to that point."
The man loses his smile, and you can see something venomous behind his expression before he squashes it down. "Very well. Well, what is to be done with this boy?"
Ephiselle rises up from her chair and says, "He dies. I'm not certain Valus will even bother to take him back, but no sense in letting that be a possibility."
She walks outside of the cabin as the man approaches, drawing his blade from his sheathe. You scream, "Wait, I have more-"
The blade goes between your ribs, and you feel a shock like nothing you've ever known before. You jolt upwards, unable to even scream, as he draws it out of you. You feel a heat now, like hot coals were poured onto your chest, as the Midnight Queen's agent frees you from your bondage, and lifts you up. You can't even begin to try and get away at this point as he comes close to the stern of the boat. He pauses, for one second, to look at you, and to sneer at you, "Oh, better luck next life, rat," before he casts you down into the black waters of the Yanaze.
You feel cold for a brief second, before everything goes numb. The boat you were on turns away, its wake pushing you away. You drift back to the top, blood streaming out of your stab wound, and you deliriously think that, perhaps, this part of the Yanaze will carry you to the Underworld. You will not die, but will be transported body and soul into the bleak lands below Creation, where the sun's light never shines. You try to drink in the sky, then, before it is lost to you forever. You take a look at the constellations in the sky that peek through the rain clouds, and wonder if they had ordained everything that happened today. You stare at the heavens for a time, trying to divine some meaning in this as the river carries you down itself until you pass out when the pain finally catches up to you.
You startle back to consciousness some time later. You're still on your back, but you feel yourself brushing up against wet mud and river grass. Waves lap at your injury, drinking the few rivulets of blood dripping down from your chest. The rain has ceased, and the light of the fingernail moon and of the stars filters down onto the world around you. Above you stands a fisherman, elderly and rough looking with a mane of coarse silver hair, who is currently hoisting up his nets from the river, illuminated by a few small oil lanterns. He doesn't look at you, but grunts and says, in a gravelly voice, "Ah, you're awake."
You respond, finding that your own voice is a hoarse whisper at this point. "W-who-"
"A fisherman, for now. I caught you in my lines. I'm surprised you're still alive with that stab wound."
You try to lift yourself up but can't, getting a face full of mud for your efforts. Every bit of you hurts, the agony from your chest radiating out to your head and elsewhere, clouding your mind. You feel pathetic, wondering what in the world is wrong with you that you're always having to be rescued. Tears well up in your eyes, and you start to sob. Your savior doesn't even appear to notice this, hoisting up the net and remarking, "Good haul, good haul. I always do it at night in the summer, see; less ships to disturb the waters and scare away the fish, and it's not burning hot."
He begins sorting through them, tossing back the smaller fish into the Yanaze. After the old man finishes sorting, he seals up the net, and says, "Well, Blue, can't help but say I'm sick of you feeling sorry for yourself."
You sputter, "H-how do you know me?"
"I just do. It's part of my nature to know the ways of every beast that walks this world, and that includes humankind. And even then, I've been around for a hell of a long time, and seen more mortals come and go then you can even imagine." He turns and looks at you, with eyes that are an unnatural silver, lacking irises or pupils. They gleam in strange colors as the flickering light from the lanterns strikes them.
You stay silent, wordless and unable to think clearly in all this mess. Is this a spirit, maybe, or a demon? Your head is swimming. No, you decide that this must be a-
"Hallucination? No. I'm merely here to bestow upon you something you deserve. Now quit your sniveling and look."
He reaches for one of his lanterns, flips the cover, and reaches into it to grasp at the candle flame within. He manages to seize it, somehow, and it begins changing cover, burning a bright white that covers the area around it with a soothing light. He walks towards you and kneels next to you in the mud, hand hovering over where you were stabbed. You look at it, wild-eyed. Something about this seems familiar, as if you've heard about this before, but it just can't break through the fog of your pain.
"You want to be self-sufficient? No one ever truly is, but I will grant you the power to determine your destiny for yourself, to adapt to all struggles. I give you my Exaltation, child. What you do with it is up to you. I will be watching."
With that, the fisherman takes the flame and plunges it into your chest. You gasp as it merges into your body, and feel a wordless rush of sheer power flow into you. A pillar of swirling light erupts from your body, a towering aurora of violets, blues, silvers, and whites that extends all the way into the heavens, rivaling the glow of the moon and stars above. You feel your flesh reshaping itself, your mind refining itself with new alacrity, changing to better suit your desires and the newfound supernatural might surging from within. You manage to focus on two traits of yours that you want to direct this force towards improving.
Pick one from this category.
[ ] Perception. You wish to never be caught off guard again. You will expand your senses to the point that nothing can hide its intentions from you.
[ ] Intelligence. You wish to unlock the secrets hidden in the dark corners of the world. You want to know of sorcery, of the spirits, and of stranger things beyond.
[ ] Wits: You wish to have the resolve to face your life. Your will must be forged into something that controls your environment just as much as it controls you.
And pick another from these two:
[ ] Dexterity. You want to have speed and grace unmatched by any mere mortal. Your blade will be a blur, your movement as fast and silent as a diving hawk.
[ ] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
The options that get the most votes in each category will define our lovely supernatural powers going forward (well, at least for the start).
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[X] Perception. You wish to never be caught off guard again. You will expand your senses to the point that nothing can hide its intentions from you.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
Something seems to be missing from the sentence.
[x] Wits: You wish to have the resolve to face your life. Your will must be forged into something that controls your environment just as much as it controls you.
[x] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
That's how we played the game so far (though best not to think about where it got us), so might as well make it our style.
shulkerbox
free gender radicals (ze/hir)
- Location
- not here
what are weeee
I originally thought we we gonna be an abyssal cause we got stabbed in the heart
(and you're too late! you give love a bad name!)
but silver hair, talking about self-sufficiency the moon coming up in background narration a lot plus the attributes vote means lunar
[x] Wits: You wish to have the resolve to face your life. Your will must be forged into something that controls your environment just as much as it controls you.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
I originally thought we we gonna be an abyssal cause we got stabbed in the heart
(and you're too late! you give love a bad name!)
but silver hair, talking about self-sufficiency the moon coming up in background narration a lot plus the attributes vote means lunar
[x] Wits: You wish to have the resolve to face your life. Your will must be forged into something that controls your environment just as much as it controls you.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
- Location
- italy bologna
[X] Perception. You wish to never be caught off guard again. You will expand your senses to the point that nothing can hide its intentions from you.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
- Location
- usa
[X] Intelligence. You wish to unlock the secrets hidden in the dark corners of the world. You want to know of sorcery, of the spirits, and of stranger things beyond.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.
[X] Manipulation. You want to have your turn hoisting and twisting the strings of puppets. You will be a trickster, a liar, and more, but none will be the wiser as to your true nature.