The Dream that is Dying (Exalted)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
BungieONI
Seven gremlins in a trench coat
- Location
- Lickwidget
- Pronouns
- She/Her
WorthyAlchemist?
100% certifiably without-a-doubt mediocre
- Location
- That place...yeah that one
[X] Pursue the Vakotans. They have raised weapon against you, and now they will bleed for it. Perhaps they might tell you more of the snakes who would see your family harmed.
- Location
- singapore
[x] Return to the City. Your family is in danger. Your place is at their side. Reclaim the horse that was to be a gift, and ride swiftly back to Zamash before the conspirator's plot can be completed.
Actually it makes everyone think they are ugly (appearance 1) and makes anyone in love with them stop being so. The charm for shipping is Cash and Murder Games which lets you assign relationships to people as long as the nature grants one emotional power over the other. The Sidereal charmtree The Lovers has a really pragmatic and cynical take on love. Of course all of what I just said is based on 2e.
- Location
- his hidden lair
You know... if I'm being honest I wasn't really thrilled we wound up as a gender fluid protagonist, but in combination with being a fairly decent-hearted badass who can no longer really build meaningful attachments, especially if we grab Shun the Smiling Maiden to cut that off at the pass... it's a really powerful and tragic image while still being heroic. Everything is in flux, to stay anywhere too long is to invite sorrow, discarding identities is a constant and even one's own self is a changing and inconstant thing.
Considering how Exalted tends to be such an empowering setting for the exalted, it's all the more poignant to have a character where 'merely' persisting is this heroic feat.
Although from my limited understanding, doesn't exaltation burn out any existing mutations? How is that going to affect Luna-touched here?
Considering how Exalted tends to be such an empowering setting for the exalted, it's all the more poignant to have a character where 'merely' persisting is this heroic feat.
Although from my limited understanding, doesn't exaltation burn out any existing mutations? How is that going to affect Luna-touched here?
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In exalted moontouched can mean you physically change your gender with the phases of the moon... which, I believe, is a mutation.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
It allows you to fix it when someone declares the wrong girl to be Best Girl.
The Maidens were ready for the Waifu wars.
I may have not been specific enoough. Shun the Smiling Maiden makes the target of the charm ugly not the wielder.
That said it is hard to have a relationship when the only people who can remember you exist are your 99 senior coworkers and gods that work in your department.
- Location
- London, England
1) Farah's gender changes depending on circumstance, not their sex.
2) Being genderfluid is not a 'mutation'
3) Even if it were, 3e scrapped the 'burn out mutations' thing and now you can just have an Exalt with wings or armoured skin as appropriate.
2) Being genderfluid is not a 'mutation'
3) Even if it were, 3e scrapped the 'burn out mutations' thing and now you can just have an Exalt with wings or armoured skin as appropriate.
- Location
- his hidden lair
See, that came out rather wrong in that regard- I was under the impression that Farah physically changed genders as a moontouched, and like Radaeth assumes that would be considered a mutation in Exalted terms.
Not that Farah's gender fluidity was itself a mutation. I really did not mean for that to be as horrible as it sounded.
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Imrix
Periodically Malevolent QM
Also, strictly speaking being Exalted never burned out mutations. Rather, Exaltation burned out prior magical heritages, such as being God-Blooded, some of which was represented with mutations, but it was always possible to be a beastfolk Exalt, for example, which is also represented by mutations.
Never quite sure about the intent of burning out anything personally. If you're human enough to exalt you're human enough to keep the mutations.
NSMS
Probably evil, unfortunately.
- Location
- A rapidly widening tear in the fabric of reality
I think it's because, point for point, Exalted Charms and so on are often worth more than mutations.
Imrix
Periodically Malevolent QM
It's mostly a matter of not allowing for power-stacking; an Exalt might keep the burning hair and aversion to water of their Fire Elemental parent, but not the capacity to learn fire-themed Spirit Charms, which would be overwritten by the capacity to learn, y'know, Exalted magic. The larger mote pool from the Essence Abundance mutation would likewise be expunged, since the Exalted have access to native mote pool expanders that do the job better, and the size of your mote pool is a critical balance point, so letting characters double-dip on expanding it is a bad idea. Many of the mutations that do get burned out are also redundant, since they represent Half-Castes and halfblooded having access to select or weaker versions of Exalted powers, such as the Exalted's relatively fast healing, or (with significant effort) the use of an Anima power.
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IV. A Grim Homecoming
- Location
- London, England
The Vakotans are fleeing, the courage forsaking them in the face of your inexplicable rejuvenation. You watch with a slight smile on your face as they run, tugging hard on the reins of their steeds and heading for the horizon as fast as they can move. They will not stop, you know, until they are well free of Zamash and it's territory.
...how do you know that?
Your smile becomes a frown, and you look down at yourself in confusion. You feel strange, for there is a strength in your limbs that was not there previously, and the wounds you have taken are gone as though they never were. None of this feels remarkable, and yet you know it is, just as you know the strange crimson glow surrounding your body is something worthy of note. Already the streaks of yellow in your robes are losing their hue, stained by the light, and around your feet the individual blades of grass are turning slowly to blood-stained steel.
You turn your gaze and look upon Al'rama, who you should not have been able to best with such ease, not wounded and outnumbered as you were. He lines dead at your feet, split almost entirely in twain by a single blow from your sword, and the scarlet tint to his robes cannot be entirely explained by the slowly spreading pool of gore. In fact, now that you look closer…
You kneel, and study your reflection in the pool of traitor's blood.
Your face has always been a lean one; a sharp, imposing countenance with prominent cheekbones and no excess fat to soften it, but now it seems almost… sculpted. The tiniest of changes have been made from what you recall, just enough to lend your face a harsh, almost inhuman air, and where once your eyes were plain disks the colour of rust now they sparkle with hidden lights, as though a constellation of stars dances just beyond the iris. You look like a painting come to life, a stylized representation of who and what you are, and the thought shakes something in your heart you lack the words to truly describe.
Most notable of all, of course, is the rune of burning red upon your brow; a circle, crowned with an arrow, identical to the signs marked on the pillars of your most sacred of temples.
"The sign of Mars…" you say softly, studying your own reflection for a moment longer, "Why is…"
No. You have no time for such frivolous speculation. Al'rama spoke of a plot made to harm your family, to butcher them in the safety of their own palace, and this you must not allow. Rising to your feet you turn and face the black-flanked mare, watching it skitter and snort with nervous energy as you approach.
"I must ride with speed, lest my duty come undone," you say in a somber voice, and in your tone is an echo of every order ever given, "and so I must have a steed."
You raise your hand and trace a symbol on the horse's flank, fingers gliding through the shape of a familiar pattern you have yet to dream of seeing, and as the shape completes the mare's nervous disposition falls away. She stands still and silent, then bows her head in acknowledgement of your command, ready to serve as you would have it.
You sling yourself up into the saddle once more, and with a cluck of the tongue spur your new steed into motion. The mare leaps forwards, and without a backwards glance the two of you race towards Zamash and your family. You leave Al'rama's body in the dirt, that the beasts of the jungle might know him for their own, and give to him all the honours a traitor deserves.
It takes you perhaps ten minutes of hard riding to reach Zamash, the journey passing in a blur of motion and half-held recollections. Knowledge fills your mind and enlightenment teases at your soul with every passing heartbeat, and you have time to spare on none of it. When the echoes of lost trade ships dance across the salty waters of the Alisian Sea before your eyes, you banish them with a blink. When glimpses of the stepped pyramids of home come with fragmented recollections of reptilian priests and bloody hearts raised up high, you dismiss them with a snarl. When the endless rhythm of cause and effect dances across the sky, promising wisdom and beauty if only you could understand, you turn your face away.
Your family is in danger. All other concerns can wait.
The walls of Zamash are tall and strong, studded with towers and patrolled by soldiers in livery of green and silver. There are only a limited number of gates, and as you draw close to the nearest you see with a sinking heart that it seems to be blocked; not by enemy soldiers or deliberate sabotage, but by sheer weight of traffic. Carts of merchandise fill the paved road and throngs of merchants and visiting pilgrims throng the gaps between, all waiting patiently in line for their chance to pass through the narrow portal up ahead.
"Clear the road!" You scream, but it is a hopeless command; there are too many people, and not nearly enough room for them all to get clear of your path before you reach them. Even if there were, they do not seem inclined to obey - already you can see guards hurrying to level spears in your direction and archers on the walls stringing arrows to their bows. More traitors, or loyal servants who cannot recognize their sehzade when they are wreathed in crimson starlight? It doesn't matter either way, the result is the same.
You will not be stopped.
A light touch on the mare's flanks sees her powerful legs gather beneath her, and a heartbeat later you are in the air as she leaps at your command. Well-shod hooves come down on the back of merchant's cart, and then you are off, pushing forwards through the crush without the slightest loss of speed. You lean to and fro as instinct demands, and the mare navigates the broken terrain with skill and fortune more appropriate to that of a mountain goat. It should not be possible to ride through the crowd this way, to force your way through without ever once choosing poor footing or making contact with the panicking mass of humanity all around, but somehow you do, and before the shouting guards can even comprehend what is happening you are past them and through the gate beyond.
The streets of Zamash are wide and spacious, laid out with exacting precision in long lines that radiate out from the central pyramid-palace complex. You have heard it said that the strength and quality of their construction is a legacy of the ancestors, those golden titans of yore who first built this place and imbued it with promise undimmed for millennia to come, but to be quite frank you've never really cared. Zamash has wide streets and functional waterworks and is therefore one of the finest places in Taira to live, and that was all you ever needed to know. Now, your only concern is that they are wide enough to make your passage easy, and that the citizens within know better than to stand in the way of a starborn rider moving at the gallop.
Ahead you can see the jagged bulk of the palace, looming high in the sights and minds of all who live beneath its shadow. The torches are lit and the walls still whole, but the garrison… you cannot see soldiers on the walls, and from somewhere within faint tendrils of smoke already rise to brush against the azure sky. Are you too late? No. That cannot be permitted.
You look once more at the trails of smoke rising to the sky, and with a thought you take their quality for your own.
You reign in your horse, bringing her to a halt in the shadow of the palace walls, and with a single flex of your legs throw yourself into the sky. You rise as smoke does, and when you touch down on the edge of a stone protruding roughly from the wall you exert no greater weight. With long, bounding leaps you scale the palace walls, moving from window to balcony to arrow slit with equal ease. Eventually you rise to the level of your family's own quarters, and with an acrobatic flex you throw yourself inside.
Within, the palace is a charnel house. Servants lie in pools of gore, throats cut and bellies open, while at junctions and doorways men of the palace guard lie equally dead. Your blood boils to see such desecration, but you cannot stop now, for along the corridors and up the stairs rings the song of steel on steel; combat is yet ongoing, and you might yet intervene to stop this day's carnage before it can grow any worse. With a growl you pluck the curved bow from your back, claiming a handful of arrows from a fallen guard as you proceed. The family quarters are up ahead, you still have time!
Five second later, you find your father's corpse.
The sound you make should not come from human lips, and as you fall to your knees you are helpless to stop the flow of images racing across your mind.
The assassins came less than a minute after you left on your ride, dressed in the livery of palace guards and bearing curved daggers of rune-wrought make. You watch as they cast off their disguises throughout the palace, witness them open throats and stomachs with equal ease, can only listen to the screams as their victims fall before them.
They caught your father off guard, but not unprepared. It had been many years since the Shah last led his troops into battle, but some skills never fade, and you watch with bitter satisfaction as he crushes the skull of the first man to slice at him with their cursed dagger. You watch as he seizes the weapons of the fallen and rushes to his family's side, hacking his way through smiling murderers with great sweeps of his bloody blade. You watch as he gathers them up, one by one, your immediate kin and your relatives visiting from beyond the city walls, watch as he leads them to this hardened redoubt at the heart of his palace.
You watch them die.
Your mother falls beneath a flurry of poisoned blades. Your cousins are drowned in emerald flame and plunge screaming from the palace walls. Your uncles swear oaths of blood and stay behind to guard the doors, to catch arrows with their bodies within the span of moments. Your aunt moves too close to the shadows in the corner and is torn apart by ivory fangs.
Your father stands alone, cutting down men and monsters by the score, and falls to a hundred bloody wounds with blade yet in hand.
You watch them die, one by one. Then you raise your head and look upon the sole survivor.
Sabah, little Sabah, peers at you with horror and grief from her refuge in the corner. Her soft black hair is streaked with gore, and her dark eyes wide with sights no girl of such age should ever have to see.
"Who're you?" She says, and for a moment you can only blink in mute surprise.
"Sabah, it's me," you say, setting your bow carefully aside and spreading your hands open in a gesture of peace. "It's Farah. Don't you recognize me?"
Sabah blinks slowly at you, and you find yourself examining her with thinly veiled fear. Her hair is matted with gore, her skin streaked with soot, but... you can't see any injuries. Did she knock her head, perhaps? Is that why she doesn't seem to recognize you?
"Who Farah?" Your sister says, and the words break your heart into hundred shining pieces.
"I'm… it doesn't matter," you say in a voice made hoarse by grief, "I wasn't quick enough. We… we need to get you out of here, alright?"
You expect Sabah to object, to make reference to father or her friends within the palace, but she simply nods in silent acceptance and steps away from the wall. You don't know what she has seen, that all innocence has been so thoroughly burned away. You don't want to know.
"Where we go?" Your sister asks, and you are glad to have an answer.
...how do you know that?
Your smile becomes a frown, and you look down at yourself in confusion. You feel strange, for there is a strength in your limbs that was not there previously, and the wounds you have taken are gone as though they never were. None of this feels remarkable, and yet you know it is, just as you know the strange crimson glow surrounding your body is something worthy of note. Already the streaks of yellow in your robes are losing their hue, stained by the light, and around your feet the individual blades of grass are turning slowly to blood-stained steel.
You turn your gaze and look upon Al'rama, who you should not have been able to best with such ease, not wounded and outnumbered as you were. He lines dead at your feet, split almost entirely in twain by a single blow from your sword, and the scarlet tint to his robes cannot be entirely explained by the slowly spreading pool of gore. In fact, now that you look closer…
You kneel, and study your reflection in the pool of traitor's blood.
Your face has always been a lean one; a sharp, imposing countenance with prominent cheekbones and no excess fat to soften it, but now it seems almost… sculpted. The tiniest of changes have been made from what you recall, just enough to lend your face a harsh, almost inhuman air, and where once your eyes were plain disks the colour of rust now they sparkle with hidden lights, as though a constellation of stars dances just beyond the iris. You look like a painting come to life, a stylized representation of who and what you are, and the thought shakes something in your heart you lack the words to truly describe.
Most notable of all, of course, is the rune of burning red upon your brow; a circle, crowned with an arrow, identical to the signs marked on the pillars of your most sacred of temples.
"The sign of Mars…" you say softly, studying your own reflection for a moment longer, "Why is…"
No. You have no time for such frivolous speculation. Al'rama spoke of a plot made to harm your family, to butcher them in the safety of their own palace, and this you must not allow. Rising to your feet you turn and face the black-flanked mare, watching it skitter and snort with nervous energy as you approach.
"I must ride with speed, lest my duty come undone," you say in a somber voice, and in your tone is an echo of every order ever given, "and so I must have a steed."
You raise your hand and trace a symbol on the horse's flank, fingers gliding through the shape of a familiar pattern you have yet to dream of seeing, and as the shape completes the mare's nervous disposition falls away. She stands still and silent, then bows her head in acknowledgement of your command, ready to serve as you would have it.
A rider must have a mount. By tracing the sign of the Messenger on the flank of a potential steed, the Sidereal May claim it for their own. Animals marked as such become instantly loyal and obedient to their ordained rider, and gain all the knowledge and benefits of being fully trained as a potential mount. A Sidereal may have up to (Ride) mounts bound to themselves at any one time, and can summon them with a whistle.
You sling yourself up into the saddle once more, and with a cluck of the tongue spur your new steed into motion. The mare leaps forwards, and without a backwards glance the two of you race towards Zamash and your family. You leave Al'rama's body in the dirt, that the beasts of the jungle might know him for their own, and give to him all the honours a traitor deserves.
It takes you perhaps ten minutes of hard riding to reach Zamash, the journey passing in a blur of motion and half-held recollections. Knowledge fills your mind and enlightenment teases at your soul with every passing heartbeat, and you have time to spare on none of it. When the echoes of lost trade ships dance across the salty waters of the Alisian Sea before your eyes, you banish them with a blink. When glimpses of the stepped pyramids of home come with fragmented recollections of reptilian priests and bloody hearts raised up high, you dismiss them with a snarl. When the endless rhythm of cause and effect dances across the sky, promising wisdom and beauty if only you could understand, you turn your face away.
Your family is in danger. All other concerns can wait.
The walls of Zamash are tall and strong, studded with towers and patrolled by soldiers in livery of green and silver. There are only a limited number of gates, and as you draw close to the nearest you see with a sinking heart that it seems to be blocked; not by enemy soldiers or deliberate sabotage, but by sheer weight of traffic. Carts of merchandise fill the paved road and throngs of merchants and visiting pilgrims throng the gaps between, all waiting patiently in line for their chance to pass through the narrow portal up ahead.
"Clear the road!" You scream, but it is a hopeless command; there are too many people, and not nearly enough room for them all to get clear of your path before you reach them. Even if there were, they do not seem inclined to obey - already you can see guards hurrying to level spears in your direction and archers on the walls stringing arrows to their bows. More traitors, or loyal servants who cannot recognize their sehzade when they are wreathed in crimson starlight? It doesn't matter either way, the result is the same.
You will not be stopped.
No matter how fast you run, you cannot escape the end. Farah disregards all wound and mobility penalties on her movement rolls, whether they come from internal sources (such as manacles or restrictive clothing) or external ones (such as a crowded road).
A light touch on the mare's flanks sees her powerful legs gather beneath her, and a heartbeat later you are in the air as she leaps at your command. Well-shod hooves come down on the back of merchant's cart, and then you are off, pushing forwards through the crush without the slightest loss of speed. You lean to and fro as instinct demands, and the mare navigates the broken terrain with skill and fortune more appropriate to that of a mountain goat. It should not be possible to ride through the crowd this way, to force your way through without ever once choosing poor footing or making contact with the panicking mass of humanity all around, but somehow you do, and before the shouting guards can even comprehend what is happening you are past them and through the gate beyond.
The streets of Zamash are wide and spacious, laid out with exacting precision in long lines that radiate out from the central pyramid-palace complex. You have heard it said that the strength and quality of their construction is a legacy of the ancestors, those golden titans of yore who first built this place and imbued it with promise undimmed for millennia to come, but to be quite frank you've never really cared. Zamash has wide streets and functional waterworks and is therefore one of the finest places in Taira to live, and that was all you ever needed to know. Now, your only concern is that they are wide enough to make your passage easy, and that the citizens within know better than to stand in the way of a starborn rider moving at the gallop.
Ahead you can see the jagged bulk of the palace, looming high in the sights and minds of all who live beneath its shadow. The torches are lit and the walls still whole, but the garrison… you cannot see soldiers on the walls, and from somewhere within faint tendrils of smoke already rise to brush against the azure sky. Are you too late? No. That cannot be permitted.
You look once more at the trails of smoke rising to the sky, and with a thought you take their quality for your own.
Adopting the destiny of a burnt offering, the Sidereal leaps into the sky. They forget to fall, and the world is too rude to remind them. Farah gains perfect balance and exerts as much weight on any surface as smoke; additionally, they can leap one range band in any direction without the need for a test.
You reign in your horse, bringing her to a halt in the shadow of the palace walls, and with a single flex of your legs throw yourself into the sky. You rise as smoke does, and when you touch down on the edge of a stone protruding roughly from the wall you exert no greater weight. With long, bounding leaps you scale the palace walls, moving from window to balcony to arrow slit with equal ease. Eventually you rise to the level of your family's own quarters, and with an acrobatic flex you throw yourself inside.
Within, the palace is a charnel house. Servants lie in pools of gore, throats cut and bellies open, while at junctions and doorways men of the palace guard lie equally dead. Your blood boils to see such desecration, but you cannot stop now, for along the corridors and up the stairs rings the song of steel on steel; combat is yet ongoing, and you might yet intervene to stop this day's carnage before it can grow any worse. With a growl you pluck the curved bow from your back, claiming a handful of arrows from a fallen guard as you proceed. The family quarters are up ahead, you still have time!
Five second later, you find your father's corpse.
The sound you make should not come from human lips, and as you fall to your knees you are helpless to stop the flow of images racing across your mind.
The assassins came less than a minute after you left on your ride, dressed in the livery of palace guards and bearing curved daggers of rune-wrought make. You watch as they cast off their disguises throughout the palace, witness them open throats and stomachs with equal ease, can only listen to the screams as their victims fall before them.
They caught your father off guard, but not unprepared. It had been many years since the Shah last led his troops into battle, but some skills never fade, and you watch with bitter satisfaction as he crushes the skull of the first man to slice at him with their cursed dagger. You watch as he seizes the weapons of the fallen and rushes to his family's side, hacking his way through smiling murderers with great sweeps of his bloody blade. You watch as he gathers them up, one by one, your immediate kin and your relatives visiting from beyond the city walls, watch as he leads them to this hardened redoubt at the heart of his palace.
You watch them die.
Your mother falls beneath a flurry of poisoned blades. Your cousins are drowned in emerald flame and plunge screaming from the palace walls. Your uncles swear oaths of blood and stay behind to guard the doors, to catch arrows with their bodies within the span of moments. Your aunt moves too close to the shadows in the corner and is torn apart by ivory fangs.
Your father stands alone, cutting down men and monsters by the score, and falls to a hundred bloody wounds with blade yet in hand.
You watch them die, one by one. Then you raise your head and look upon the sole survivor.
Sabah, little Sabah, peers at you with horror and grief from her refuge in the corner. Her soft black hair is streaked with gore, and her dark eyes wide with sights no girl of such age should ever have to see.
"Who're you?" She says, and for a moment you can only blink in mute surprise.
"Sabah, it's me," you say, setting your bow carefully aside and spreading your hands open in a gesture of peace. "It's Farah. Don't you recognize me?"
Sabah blinks slowly at you, and you find yourself examining her with thinly veiled fear. Her hair is matted with gore, her skin streaked with soot, but... you can't see any injuries. Did she knock her head, perhaps? Is that why she doesn't seem to recognize you?
"Who Farah?" Your sister says, and the words break your heart into hundred shining pieces.
Article: The Sign of the Mask was broken, and to this day the Fellowship pays the price.
Every member of the Sidereal Exalted is afflicted by curse known as 'arcane fate'. Their names and faces are clouded in the eyes of the world, and as time passes Creation will simply… forget. Records mentioning them will be lost, stories of their exploits will change to credit them to another, friends and relatives will look at them with ignorance in their eyes. This curse affects all beings within the dominion of the loom of fate, save for other Sidereals and the gods of the Bureau of Destiny.
"I'm… it doesn't matter," you say in a voice made hoarse by grief, "I wasn't quick enough. We… we need to get you out of here, alright?"
You expect Sabah to object, to make reference to father or her friends within the palace, but she simply nods in silent acceptance and steps away from the wall. You don't know what she has seen, that all innocence has been so thoroughly burned away. You don't want to know.
"Where we go?" Your sister asks, and you are glad to have an answer.
Article: Your family is dead, save for Sabah, the youngest of them all. Your name has been forgotten, your authority as sehzade vanished with the morning dew. Where, then, do you go?
[ ] To Family. You yet have relatives beyond the walls of Zamash - distant kin, for the most part, but family all the same. Take Sabah to them, and know that they will care for her as best they can, for bonds of blood are sacred and only the worst kind of villain would seek to sunder them.
[ ] To the Temple. Mortal guards could not protect your father, and you cannot trust them with your sister's life. Head to the temples and seek the aid of the gods. Your family have always been pious and true; surely the divine will not forsake you now, in this time of need?
[ ] To the River. Taira is not safe, and above all else you must protect your sister from those who would seek to do her harm. Head for the docks and sneak aboard a boat, take the river out beyond your nation's borders. You will stay at her side, and see that she is safe.
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AmaiKotori
Not quite pure enough.
[X] To the Temple. Mortal guards could not protect your father, and you cannot trust them with your sister's life. Head to the temples and seek the aid of the gods. Your family have always been pious and true; surely the divine will not forsake you now, in this time of need?
This could lead to some interesting interactions, and if our initial Charm selection is being determined by our actions, some spirit-related and negotiation Charms would be nice to have.
This could lead to some interesting interactions, and if our initial Charm selection is being determined by our actions, some spirit-related and negotiation Charms would be nice to have.
- Location
- Elsewhere
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] To the River. Taira is not safe, and above all else you must protect your sister from those who would seek to do her harm. Head for the docks and sneak aboard a boat, take the river out beyond your nation's borders. You will stay at her side, and see that she is safe.
[X] To Family. You yet have relatives beyond the walls of Zamash - distant kin, for the most part, but family all the same. Take Sabah to them, and know that they will care for her as best they can, for bonds of blood are sacred and only the worst kind of villain would seek to sunder them.
Mother Nyx
Mother of Elpis
- Location
- The Kei Klub
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Ugggggh. Sadness.
[X] To Family. You yet have relatives beyond the walls of Zamash - distant kin, for the most part, but family all the same. Take Sabah to them, and know that they will care for her as best they can, for bonds of blood are sacred and only the worst kind of villain would seek to sunder them.
[X] To Family. You yet have relatives beyond the walls of Zamash - distant kin, for the most part, but family all the same. Take Sabah to them, and know that they will care for her as best they can, for bonds of blood are sacred and only the worst kind of villain would seek to sunder them.
- Location
- Earth
[X] To the Temple. Mortal guards could not protect your father, and you cannot trust them with your sister's life. Head to the temples and seek the aid of the gods. Your family have always been pious and true; surely the divine will not forsake you now, in this time of need?
[X] To the River. Taira is not safe, and above all else you must protect your sister from those who would seek to do her harm. Head for the docks and sneak aboard a boat, take the river out beyond your nation's borders. You will stay at her side, and see that she is safe.
Farah cannot trust the military, and she cannot trust the priesthood. Someone who can murder the entire royal family - save one little girl - has hands everywhere. It would be too easy for some well-born scion of the nobility to slide their knife into Sabah's back. And her relative's guards cannot stand fast against these kinds of killers.
No, the capital is not safe and Farah can trust no one save herself. So run beyond Taira, run to somewhere beyond the reach of the assassins, and prepare for revenge. As long as both of them are alive, the bloodline survives and the fury of the gods will be unleashed on throne-stealing traitors. And she can prepare her vengeance - and find out who did this. She can lead an army, after all...
Farah will grab all the jewellery she can (for money, because they are royalty) - as well as the crown jewels, to prevent usurpers making use of them - and then flee, heading to the Grey River and taking a boat up towards the Scavenger Lands.
Farah cannot trust the military, and she cannot trust the priesthood. Someone who can murder the entire royal family - save one little girl - has hands everywhere. It would be too easy for some well-born scion of the nobility to slide their knife into Sabah's back. And her relative's guards cannot stand fast against these kinds of killers.
No, the capital is not safe and Farah can trust no one save herself. So run beyond Taira, run to somewhere beyond the reach of the assassins, and prepare for revenge. As long as both of them are alive, the bloodline survives and the fury of the gods will be unleashed on throne-stealing traitors. And she can prepare her vengeance - and find out who did this. She can lead an army, after all...
Farah will grab all the jewellery she can (for money, because they are royalty) - as well as the crown jewels, to prevent usurpers making use of them - and then flee, heading to the Grey River and taking a boat up towards the Scavenger Lands.