[x] Down as much of that Gamer God Bath Water as you can.
You stumble away, toward a counting-house you can no longer see until you draw closer, a grey shape in the night.
You fumble out the flask and upend it, drinking deep with no regard for your own defence, counting on the hounds' distraction to protect you.
The rush of energy is intoxicating, the fatigue recedes, your senses sharpen, your Sah reasserts itself, closing your wounds. Your body stops feeling like crumbling sandstone, and more like living flesh again. The grey shapes around you take on more definition and colour, and as you turn you can see a gangly figure on the edge of vision, underlit by the reflected glow of his gaze, beset by dark predators. The Tax Collector thrusts down ineffectually at a wheeling shadow, roaring out in frustration as the other nips at his calf from behind. He wheels and gestures to the night beyond.
"Guards! Attend me!"
Life Flask: 0/4
Resolve ╞══════════════════╡20/20
Focus ╞══════════════════╡7/20
Stormhounds of Suteshet ╞════╡6/6 ╞════╡6/6
The Tax Collector ╞══════════════════════════════════════╡
You can't see what may be happening beyond the struggle, the gatehouse is lost in the darkness, but your foresight catches a blur of movement and an arrow that will land within the range of your vision, as archers heed the call of their master.
What now? You are at Short Range from the Counting House, Medium from the melee, and presumably Long from the gatehouse and the unseen archers. On this moonless night you can only see things within Short range of you, save for what is illuminated by the golden glow from the Tax Collector's eyes. However, as a Priest of the Moon, you know their phases, and a waning half moon should be rising soon, perhaps in 3 turns.
[ ] Write in.
You're getting to drink from the flask twice in one turn at the expense of forgoing your defence roll; the advantage of not having aggro!
The Tax Collector stands tall and gestures to the night with his left hand, scales hanging down like a threat of judgement.
"Guards! Attend me!"
An arrow enters your field of vision and thunks into the packed earth, exactly as foreseen. One of the hounds seizes this moment to lunge for a dangling right wrist, cracking energy arcing through the elongated hand and up the forearm. With a hiss, he tries to shake it off, foiling his own archer's aim as the ghost of an arrow passes through the hound, only to be followed too late by the arrow itself, after the hound is swung clear of its path.
The movement foils your own aim too, and you concentrate hard to keep the moonbow in hand, waiting vital seconds before drawing and loosing. The shooting star strikes home, a flash of searing brightness against the giant's ribcage. For a moment, you catch a glimpse of two archers near the gates, as well as the spearmen still holding their position, before the light fades and night reclaims the scene.
Resolve ╞══════════════════╡20/20
Focus ╞══════════════════╡3/20
Stormhounds of Suteshet ╞════╡6/6 ╞════╡6/6
The Tax Collector ╞══════════════════════════════════════╡
The Tax Collector raises both hands again to make one more attempt at skewering a tenacious hound, and more arrows fly into the melee, as the archers try to rid their master of this irritation. You can feel the magic taking its mental toll again, and hope the hounds can keep them occupied as long as possible, while you make the most of your last reserves of energy.
Not much has changed; will you continue as you have, or alter the tempo of your attacks? The need to end this quickly wars with your dwindling strength.
[ ] Keep shooting with the Crescent Moonbow.
[ ] Go for broke; draw the Moonbow fully and hope to fell your foe swiftly before your luck runs out.
[ ] Nurse your failing strength; incant the Star's Call, hoping the hounds can keep him at bay long enough.
[ ] Conserve energy and remain hidden by using the warbow you captured earlier.
[ ] Write in.
Fixed a display error with the boss health bar. I'm so sorry about that, it was supposed to be much longer and the reductions were proportional to the intended length rather than the displayed one. I'll update all the previous posts shortly.
The hounds are rolling really well so far, chipping away at his health and dodging everything thrown at them, but eventually their luck must run out; even a glancing blow from the boss will crush them.
[x] Go for broke; draw the Moonbow fully and hope to fell your foe swiftly before your luck runs out.
[x] Back up some more toward the Counting House.
The spike comes down heavily but too slow, the hound lunging for the throat as he hunches into the blow, sparks flying as it bites deep. The other leaps upon the hulking back, tearing at a shoulder as an arrow grazes its flank.
You draw back on the silver thread, bending the bow with all the strength of your soul as you slowly step backward, and just as the strain becomes too great to sustain, release it.
The shooting star cuts the night in two, passing straight through the cavernous torso and leaving a blackened hole. Illuminated by the moonrise behind your right shoulder, The Tax Collector rears back, throwing off the hounds, and screams.
The Tax Collector ╞══════════════════════════════════════╡
In the growing light you see the doors burst off the granaries on either side of you, a tide of grain pouring out and threatening to bury you. By the distant gate, the flood also issues from the furthest granaries, the archers stoically taking final shots at the hounds before being swept aside and lost to sight, along with the gate guards and the gates themselves.
Advancing before the tide, giving up trying to hit the darting beasts, your nemesis bears down on you, drawing back his scales as, roaring like the sea, a tax return looms on either side of you. Behind him, Suteshet's vengeance snaps doggedly at his heels.
What do you do? You are Close to the counting-house, with nowhere left to retreat, but if you stand, you will surely be buried. The Tax Collector is at Long range, but closing; if you advance, you will enter his Close range and risk the scything scales. The hounds follow behind him, baying and snapping; two ghostly arrows approach the hindmost. Victory and defeat alike draw near. [ ] Write in a plan, including an Action and a Reaction. Remember, you can spend your action on increased defence or movement instead of attacking, if you wish.
The hounds continue to roll fire (or lighting). You've triggered Stage 2 and to spare, stripping off more than a quarter of his health bar. The question is, can you finish it, with dwindling Resolve and an arena that's about to get a lot more claustrophobic? This is really close...
[X] Move forward and get ready to dodge his scales if he uses them.
You spring forward, jabbing with your staff and sending a glittering star to burst upon The Tax Collector's brow. A hound locks its jaws around his calf, which crumbles to dust between its crackling teeth. Arrows bite the dirt. The roar of rushing grain fills your ears as the stolen wealth of the delta inundates the courtyard. You dive forward, seeking the opening you can perceive, just inches - instants - away—
A hurtling bronze bowl strikes you on the right side of your head and sweeps you along with it, tumbling, rolling. You will your bones not to break. You lose sensation on your right side. Foresight flickers as your mind gropes for a future that continues.
Resolve ╞══════════════════╡3/20
Stormhounds of Suteshet ╞════╡4/6 ╞════╡6/6
The Tax Collector ╞══════════════════════════════════════╡
You are lying prone on the scarred earth. In the grey moonlight, grains of barley drift across the dirt before your eyes, and dust sleets down across your vision. The flesh on the shaven side of your scalp is cracking and crumbling away. A paw enters your vision; one of the hounds has taken a stance between you and death, growling, hackles raised. Suteshet's servant asserts her claim.
This doesn't feel like your body anymore, this broken and misshapen semblance of you. How can you persist like this?
But you've done this before. You can do it one more time. You claw the ground with withering hands, try to get to your feet.
You raise your gaze and visions of truncated futures waver before you. The Tax Collector, his body crumbling beneath the shrouding papyrus just as badly as your own, takes a long step back and winds up the final blow that will crush your broken body and the defiant hounds alike. Despite his disintegrating flesh, the golden fires in his eyes still glow bright.
In a dozen futures, you strike out. In only one of them does your blow have the strength to end it alone. But you are not alone, even now. Even without that one perfect stroke, you might yet triumph.
What do you do? You are Staggered, and have a -10 to all rolls you make this round. Consider carefully.
[ ] Try to make one perfect shot with a Crescent Moonbow. One perfect shot could end this, but anything less will fail. (You need a Full Hit; a Partial would cost more Resolve than you have, and thus would fizzle.)
[ ] Spend your last strength on Star's Call, and hope the hounds can do the rest. (This will not fell him, but will do a guaranteed 2/4/4 damage; even if you Miss, a lucky hit from a hound could do the rest.)
[ ] You are too vulnerable; focus all your efforts on avoiding this blow, and hope to buy time for the hounds. If you perish, they will scatter to the winds too. (You take a full defence action, gaining +30 to your dodge, for a net +40; +10 for Light load, +10 Foresight, +30 full defence, -10 stagger.)
[ ] Write in. You cannot survive any kind of hit at all now; even the lightest glancing hit he could deal will take you to 0. Retreating would heavily penalise your defence as you try to climb/wade through the mounds of grain.
You're right on the brink here, so I'm having your Foresight work overtime and giving some harder numbers. The boss is on 6 health. You have just enough Resolve for Star's Call to beat out using your dagger here, because none of his attacks can deal less than 3 damage to you, but if you survive another round it may come down to that.
I can't believe it's come down this close to the wire. I'm going to throw the hounds' attacks open for you folks to roll if you wish; I don't want this to be decided by a die I roll behind the screen.
It is possible that neither of you will survive this round; as per the Souls tradition, this still counts as beating the boss.
[x] Spend your last strength on Star's Call, and hope the hounds can do the rest.
You manage to rise to one knee and raise the staff feebly, the half-moon head catching the light of its rising twin. Muttering words through cracked lips, a dull red star answers your whisper, falling and cracking upon the upraised arm in a shower of dust.
The scales rise and begin to fall, and you can't find the strength to move aside.
The hounds open their mouths and howl like the storms over the boundless sands, and leap. One goes directly for the throat, and with a sickening crack, tears away half the giant's neck. For an instant you think you see it holding a blackened vertebra in its teeth, before a desperately-grasping right hand grips and crushes it, its shape dissipating into drifting sand once more.
The other locks its jaws around the descending hand, tearing loose a finger and snapping the wrist, but it is too late to halt the blow. Your upraised arm is shattered, your staff is broken. You slump sideways, half-crushed beneath the heavy bronze.
The Tax Collector falls to his knees, head slumped onto one shoulder, the fires in his eyes dimming. A wind rises, blowing away the dust of you and your enemy alike as you fade. The remaining hound lies down, watching you both solemnly, and then the windblown dust obscures it for a second and it is gone.
The Tax Collector speaks, one last time, a hollow whisper from a lipless mouth.
"Who were you, Moonseeker? Who was I? I only remember… duty. Failed…"
The fires go out. But the light remains, though the shadows shift, and it takes you long, slow seconds to realise that it issues from your own eyes.
You don't really have the strength to wonder about that. You manage to half-raise yourself on a remaining elbow, looking into dark sockets, empty yet still watching you. The wind rises.
Will you answer him?
[ ] Yes: Write in a sentence or an intent. You can manage maybe a dozen words.
[ ] No. You are too tired.
"The past is behind. I promised Rekhet a future. To heal the world…"
The world fades, and the wind carries you away.
You are dead.
There's really no doubt about this, it's one of those things you're extremely certain of; crumbling to dust and blowing away has a definitive, whole-body finality to it.
But your soul remains. In fact, there seems to be more of it. A restless fire is kindled in your spirit, the deep sense of loss and exhaustion warring with this burning need to be, to become.
And you made a promise. You have to return. Somehow.
You feel sure you could theoretically remake your physical self, but it feels like far too much effort. Must battles with cannot for a timeless age in this sightless, placeless space.
Imagine incarnation. Having a body again. Not the broken, crumbling semblance you last remember, a body that is truly you. It's hard, you haven't had much practice, but hold it in your mind, clothe it in habit, imagine the feeling of being.
You try to imagine it moving, but there is still no place to be, nowhere to move to. There is nothing here but you and your thoughts, nothing to see or touch, even had you a body to sense them.
You lie there, exhausted, listening to the music.
Wait; the music?
Direction rushes in. From somewhere nearby, a voice is humming, softly. You look towards it, and light and sensation return.
You are lying on a wooden bier, in a small barque that rocks gently at the side of the river in the twilight. To your left, dawn silhouettes the distant mountains of the eastern horizon. At your right side lies your half-moon staff, and at your left, a warbow and arrows in a soft leather case.
Rekhet is seated on the edge of the bier, by your left knee, watching the sunrise. Unhooded, her profile remains half-hidden by a midnight curtain of fine braids.
{Scholarship: Failure}
She is humming, a haunting tune you cannot quite place, dark eyes fixed upon the remote firepeaks.
You have gained 1 Sekhem, power that you can invest into your soul. Choose 1; if you vote for Ren, include a sub-vote for a name. [ ] Increase Sah to 2: Your form will better reflect your inner self. (Requires Ba 2)
[ ] Restore Ren at 1: Take a name. You will know and be known. (This will remove all the effects of lacking Ren, allowing you to learn peoples' names and be recognised and remembered.)
-[ ] Akhenrekhet ('effective for Rekhet'; this merely implies diligent service)
-[ ] Djedjetrekhet ('(she) whom Rekhet gives'; this implies a greater degree of fealty)
-[ ] Ankhesenrekhet ('her life is of/for Rekhet'; this implies a more profound devotion, and carries a potentially flirtatious ambiguity as to the nature of that devotion)
-[ ] Duatrekhet ('adorer of Rekhet'; this is practically a confession that you have a crush so bad you're naming yourself after it. An Authority roll will be required to not be a complete disaster when you tell her.)
-[ ] Ask Rekhet to give you a name.
-[ ] Write in (subject to veto).
[ ] Increase Ba to 2: Express yourself. Whoever you are, you will be, without restraint. (Your personality will be strengthened, adding new opportunities and options that are more impulsive or creative. You may recover some memories.)
[ ] Increase Ib to 2: Strengthen your convictions. You will know right, and do it. (Your moral centre will be strengthened, adding new opportunities and options that are more just or honourable. However, if you compromise your principles, this stat will atrophy.)
[ ] Increase Akh to 2: Sharpen your insight. (Your observation will improve, adding more perceptive details and options for dispassionate analysis. You may gain new insight into your quest.)
[X] Restore Ren at 1: Take a name. You will know and be known.
-[X] Ask Rekhet to give you a name.
You try to rise without disturbing her, but the bier is not so spacious as to admit doing so elegantly, and you end up awkwardly shuffling to move the bow before you can sit up, tucking your legs under you.
She turns her head to look at you, and you are at once glad of, and daunted by, that gentle smile. Resolutions made in lovesick daydreams recede when confronted with reality. Sea-deep eyes seem to examine your soul, without judging, but under that gaze you cannot help but judge yourself.
"Welcome back, Seeker. I see that you have found something of yourself in my absence."
You try to muster the courage of commitment, but find instead new hesitancy. Rekhet is more than just the image you hold in your mind, and the name you intended to lay at her feet crumbles on your tongue as presumptuous, disrespectful even. You drop your gaze.
"I have not found my name, my lady, but I wish for a new one." Out of habit, you take a deep breath. "I had thought to devote it to you, but I do not want to presume. Will you bestow one, instead?"
There is a moment of silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of water below. You glance up; Rekhet is regarding you with widened eyes, but as she meets your gaze she gives a slightly rueful smile.
"No-one has ever asked me for a name before; I hope I can do honour to it as you have honoured me." She looks at you thoughtfully, and you wonder what those fathomless eyes can see. "Then… may I call you Benerib?"
It is more than you hoped for, if less than you dreamed. You take it gladly. "Yes! Thank you."
You both look aside as the sun finally breaks the horizon, Banut ascending from the firemounts in his eternally-renewed journey across the heavens. The timeless moment is broken.
{+3 Culture for increasing Ren and taking a given name}
Rekhet stands, holding out a hand to help you rise. You take it without thinking, the unnatural pale of her skin contrasting sharply with your own ochre-brown. It is probably just the rosy dawn light that makes her look slightly flushed as she lets go.
"So, what news do you bring from the land? I can see you have faced great trials."
You begin to recount all you have learned and done as you refill your flask from the river. You describe the Tax Collector and his guards, and ask what became of them, and if they may return as you have. She frowns, looking northeast toward what you recognise in the rising light as the granaries.
"Those Dead without a physical body would normally return to the sky to await reincarnation, as the cremated do. But that is Banut's province, and reincarnation cannot proceed until the waters flow again. From your account, I think it unlikely this tax collector will return. If the guards' bodies remained when they fell, they may rise again; I am not sure. Much depends on the state of the soul."
{Scholarship: Success!}
You fall into a discussion of the theory of souls, and Rekhet's reserve dissolves as you both sit talking animatedly while the sun rises. She seems to know more about souls than any scholar you recall meeting, and though some of her terminology is archaic, you are able to follow each other quite well.
You learn that it is common for the Dead to return with only parts of their souls, but that greater detachment from the physical world also makes it easier to develop and strengthen aspects of the soul.
The guards you encountered may have retained little more than Akh and Khet, a state apparently common in those bound as servants by forbidden magics Rekhet only darkly alludes to. If so, it is unlikely they will rise again unless called.
The Tax Collector's monstrous form was undoubtedly an expression of a very powerful Sah, a seldom-visible trait as it cannot manifest without having cast off a mortal body. Rekhet claims that those with an extremely powerful Sah can even change between multiple forms, so long as each is still a true expression of their self, or what remains of it.
{+1 Endurance for gaining insight into the workings of your Sah}
Your conversation then naturally turns to Ren, and how those with a powerful Ren leave an indelible mark in the memory. This, of course, must be how her name stayed with you when all others fled your mind.
A sudden gust of wind from the east stirs your robes and blows long coils of hair across your face. Rekhet tails off in mid flow. "Oh. Yes. The day is passing, and you have promises to keep." She stands again, and passes you your staff from the bier.
{+1 Scholarship for keeping up with Rekhet's theories}
You notice as she reaches over that there is a heavy wooden chest at the foot of the bier, which wasn't there the last time you were aboard. Opening it, you find it contains more weapons, almost the twins of the ones the guards at the compound carried.
As you examine the contents, a thought comes back to you. "Oh, I forgot to ask; what were you singing when I woke?"
Rekhet looks reflectively at the horizon again. "It was an old version of the Journey of Night, the tale of Banut's nightly death and rebirth."
You nod understandingly. You know of it, of course. It tells of how Banut is borne along the river of the underworld, from where the sun dies in the west, to the springs of fire in the east, where he is reborn to carry the sun across the sky once again.
Do you wish to change your equipment? Consult the new Storage section of your character sheet for options.
[ ] Keep the gear you have.
[ ] Write in a Plan Vote for a new loadout.
Benerib means 'sweet of heart'. It's not an unusual feminine name, and she probably doesn't mean anything else by it. Probably. You're almost certain.
Increasing your Soul Stats also brings a skill increase that reflects how you are growing. This will not be entirely predictable, but will always in some way reflect the soul aspect, and how/why you're increasing it. In this case, accepting a given name increased Culture, while declaring a chosen one might have increased Authority.
You heft a shield thoughtfully. Even for the inexperienced, it would probably be a more reliable defence than dodging against most weapons, particularly arrows. But it is large, and despite the thinness of the wood, rather heavy. Not so bulky as the full-length greatshields favoured in the Middle Kingdom, but still cumbersome enough to make you hesitate.
Eventually you put it back; travelling light has served you well enough so far. Perhaps you should see if you could find a lightweight wicker shield of the sort skirmishers use.
Rekhet steadies the barque as you step off. "We must speak more when you return. The condition of the tax collector concerns me; such power in an imbalanced soul is normally rare, but there may be many such in these fell days." She lays a hand on your shoulder. "Be careful, Benerib. The Dead cannot die, but you have seen now how far they can lose themselves. I wish I could walk with you, but my ties to the land were broken long, long ago."
She releases you, and half turns away, drawing up her hood against the rising sun. Somehow the few inches of water between you and the barque now feel like the width of the great sea. So great is the sense of separation that you are struck mute, managing only to nod as you take your leave.
You feel your way through the reeds until you reach the dusty track between the village and the granaries. The morning sunlight has brought back the rich greens and the dusty yellows that moonlight bled from the landscape.
As you walk back toward the granaries, you are left with much to think about.
[ ] Introspection: Where did that chest full of weapons come from, anyway?
[ ] Introspection: What could have happened to Rekhet, to exile her so from the land?
[ ] Introspection: The Tax Collector was grand, monstrous, inhuman, with limbs stretched to grasp the heavens with the strength of ten men. Could you do the same? Could you change your visage to be grander? Could you get more arms? You deserve more arms. (Insufficient Sah & Ba)
[ ] Introspection: Write in.
When you reach the compound, you can still see the trampled ground from your fight outside the gates. The guards' weapons are still lying more or less where they fell, but many pawprints and drag marks in the dust testify to the work of the jackals who must have carried off the remains.
{Endurance: Failure}
{Athletics: Failure}
The gates do not yield to your push, and you remember they were barred behind you during the fight. You wedge your staff into the gap and try to force the bar, but you simply aren't strong enough. Eventually you have to climb over the wall, a lengthy and undignified process involving several falls and having to scrape footholds into the mudbrick with your dagger. It's a mercy no-one is around to witness your indignities, much less pelt you with arrows to further throw you off your escalade.
Finally clearing the wall, you land unsteadily in the loose grain that has spilled from the nearest granary, and with an effort heave the bar aside so you can open the gate again, before wading your way over the heap to survey the courtyard.
The buildings that loomed in grey moonlight look plain and modest by day. The counting-house is still half-buried by spilt grain, and before it is an ashen heap that is all that remains of your fallen foe. Warblers watch you from the rooftops as you approach.
Tattered papyrus flutters amid the grey flakes of a spirit burnt out. By your foot, bronze gleams. Beckons. Calls. You brush aside the ash and raise up the bronze spike, with its dangling chains. It seems smaller than you remember, small enough that you could almost wield it with two hands.
{Soulforged Weapon Claimed: The Measure} The Tax Collector had us made, forged from Law and alloyed with Duty. Now you temper us in Justice. We take the measure of men, of words, and of souls. Weigh your heart against this dying world, and we shall find what is wanting.
The Measure
A spear-length spike of bronze, tipped at the other end with a large set of balance scales.
Prerequisite: Might 60, OR Akh 2, OR Ib 2
Scales of Truth: Add +5 per level of Akh to all tests to discern falsehood.
Scales of Judgement: Add +5 per level of Ib to all attacks with The Measure, but also take -5 per level of the opponent's Ib, if any.
When Swung:
Hewing Weapon.
Inflicts 2/4/6 Blunt damage.
2-Handed, Reach (damage modifiers included).
Cumbersome (-10 to Defence Rolls when you attack with this weapon), Forceful (on a Full Success, inflicts Stagger -10).
When Thrust:
Thrusting Weapon.
Inflicts 0/4/6 Piercing damage.
2-Handed (damage modifiers included)
Cumbersome (-10 to Defence Rolls when you attack with this weapon), Precise (on a Full Success, ignore Armour Reduction).
Burden: 4
You cannot wield this weapon effectively yet; all attack results would be downgraded 1 step.
[ ] Equip it anyway.
[ ] Store it.
A flutter of wings makes you glance up; all along the rooftops, more and more birds are gathering, their attention all fixed upon you. Waiting. A desert lark meets your eye and inclines its head as if in acknowledgement.
The auspices are very easily read; you take up a handful of grain and begin the rite of propitiation, calling for Suteshet to take her due. As one, the flock descends, gorging on the stolen harvest.
Your vow is fulfilled. What should you do next?
[ ] Try to organise distribution of the grain. (Taking a hand will impact your reputations. Given time, the locals will probably make their own arrangements as the granaries are left unguarded.)
[ ] See if you can do something about the banditry. (Taking a hand will impact your reputations. Given time, they may disperse as word of the Tax Collector's fall spreads.)
[ ] Investigate what has befallen the temple of Satat-Mehet. (This may shed light on the fate of the waters. It is not likely to be resolved without your intervention.)
[ ] Write in.
I'm back! Life, etc. It took way too long to do this update once I got back in the QM seat, I hope it gets easier again.
Hope I won't regret putting 3 vote points in one update, but I wanted to get things rolling and not break it into a bunch of tiny updates.
Balance Tweak: Reduced the bite attack and dodge values on Stormhounds to 60/35 each.
As Suteshet's flock claim her own, you eventually clear a path and force open the counting-house door. Scrolls recording census, harvests, taxes and stores are neatly stacked on dusty shelves. A desk is piled with what turn out to be new reports dating back a year and more; stacks of clay tablets, slates and papyri in total disarray, the debris of a mind immovably locked in the past.
You force open the shutters to let in more light, and try to get some sense of the problems besetting the delta; how many villages, how many people, how best to distribute the stores to save those who can be saved.
{Culture: Success!}
{Scholarship: Success!}
As the day wears on, and the birds outside disperse, you manage to impose some sense of order on the records. Around noon, a nervous but curious face peers in at the door.
"Oh! Wise One, what has befallen? Where is the tax collector?"
Well, this will save you a journey. "He has been relieved of duty." You reflect on both the technical, and the profound truths of those words. "I am making assessments for famine relief; send word to the leaders of the local villages to attend."
{Authority: Failure}
Over the afternoon, the compound fills up with community leaders, desperate people, curious hangers-on, and - a mixed blessing - several minor officials and scribes. Just when you were getting a grip on the logistics, now you have to grapple with dozens of uninformed opinions. To cap it all, some officious fool is questioning your authority and insisting that he will send to the capital for the appointment of a new tax collector and that nothing should be done without due process.
What do you do?
[ ] Give way; there is still a law and a king, and now is not the time to make enemies. (No roll.) Your well-laid plans will not be enacted, and the people will continue to suffer while the wheels of government grind slowly, but at least they will be moving. You may gain a reputation for lack of conviction, bowing to law over justice.
[ ] Claim the authority of the people's great need; the law has failed them, and prompt action is needed. (Authority roll.) This may be construed as rebellion, or at least the threat of it; you may gain a reputation as a rabble-rouser, an inciter of unrest.
[ ] Claim the authority of the divine; preach an apocalypse, a revelation of change. (Culture roll.) These are extraordinary times, and even the divine mandate of kings may be questioned. You may gain a reputation as a prophet, or for madness; possibly both.
[ ] Write in.
Yeah so I got Elden Ring once I discovered using a controller doesn't trigger my hand pain? And oops that month went by quick.
[x] Claim the authority of the divine; preach an apocalypse, a revelation of change. (Culture roll.) These are extraordinary times, and even the divine mandate of kings may be questioned. You may gain a reputation as a prophet, or for madness; possibly both.
You sit at the desk full of records, mind racing, as subtly the room begins to split into two camps. On your right, the side of law, headed by a minor official named Hepu; on your left, several of the louder community leaders of the delta.
You marshal your thoughts to prepare an argument that will overrule them both. This is a time of strife and ruin, the old orders are breaking down, and you can be the herald of change, if only you can make them understand.
What can you say? You touch the feather of truth in your hair; the token of service Rekhet gave you, heavy as a crown. Here is your authority, if you can speak a truth that will shake their world. What do you know, or guess?
{Scholarship: Partial; +1 XP}
This is not the first time the river has failed; legend says that in ancient days Satat-Mehet punished the kings of the Old Kingdom for their hubris, drying up the river and bringing their lands to ruin. It was the downfall of an empire, the ending of the world as it was known, but also the beginning of a new world and the New Kingdoms, now themselves many centuries old.
You are still no closer to knowing why, how, or whom, but someone has set in motion a disaster of the same scale, and Rekhet sent you to seek the answers and set matters right. You stand, and drawing yourself to your full height, speak the words that will travel before you into the South.
{Culture: Success!}
"What did the Old Kingdom's laws avail them, when their kings were cursed for their hubris and all their lands became dust? I have been sent back from the Sea to seek the Truth, and I speak it to you now when I say that a great crime has been committed against the divine Order, and the Doom of Kingdoms is upon you! I charge you to take the measure of your own hearts, for only in Justice will the Waters of Life flow again, and any who stands against that inundation will bring ruin on their soul, the lives of their fellows, and upon the dying world that awaits its rebirth!"
The room falls silent. All eyes are upon you, until you meet their gazes and they shy away. Hepu has gone pale, and you see him for what he is; a man grasping for familiar structures to give him certainty in a changing world. In his eyes, you can see the pillars of his world tumbling. The world has so ended before, and he cannot deny the vision of its happening again.
Soon, men and carts are distributing grain across the delta, as a wind of change carries boats against the currents of tradition. And word travels with them.
{Ren 1: A prophet has arisen in the delta, who speaks of the doom of kingdoms, and of justice for a great crime against the heavens.}
You work continually, setting in motion the wheels that will continue to turn after your departure. Again and again you refill the flask of life as you work day and night to set a small part of the world to rights, at least for as long as the stores hold out. You are spending time to buy more time, but so long as the floods do not return, it can only ever delay the inevitable.
What will you do next?
[ ] Investigate the local banditry; you have hopefully already relieved the pressures that created it, though.
[ ] Investigate the dire omens that befell the Temple of Satat-Mehet, your only local lead on the fate of the waters.
[ ] Travel South to the capital, to investigate the war between the Lower and Middle Kingdoms. (This will leave the Delta Region)
[ ] Write in.
Introspection will resume next update, once you've left the labours of bureaucracy behind you. Comments, thoughts and questions are welcome, especially if they help populate the next Introspection vote!
