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The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

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Vote closed, Year 1 03
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Gazetteer on Nov 24, 2021 at 11:58 AM, finished with 58 posts and 39 votes.
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    Year 1: Sacrifice 04
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    • [Fighting Style] Prasadi saber fighting: 18

    [Initiation] A Tribute of Gems: 17



    [Fighting Style] Brutal and pragmatic hand-to-hand fighting: 14

    [Fighting Style] Spear fighting: 6

    [Initiation] Names Plucked Like Blossoms: 12

    [Initiation] Geomantic Mandala: 11

    Ascending Water, Realm Year 759

    On the night of your sixteenth birthday, things hit a breaking point.

    "I need to go out."

    Maia blinks up at you, startled and confused. "It's curfew in a few minutes," she whispers. It's a little unnecessary — it's just the three of you alone in your dorm, and L'nessa can hardly fail to overhear.

    "I know," you say. "I just... need to go out."

    "Why are you telling me?" Maia asks, looking distinctly nervous.

    "I need you to help me sneak out without being caught," you say, bluntly.

    "Ambraea, don't drag Maia into trouble," L'nessa says, frowning at you. She's already dressed for sleep, sitting on her bed as she goes through some lecture notes. "What's gotten into you? It's not safe outside, and it's freezing, and there's a storm coming on." Raised all your life in Scarlet Prefecture, you'd thought you'd experienced winters before. This first year on an island somewhere north of Chanos Prefecture has disavowed you of that notion — the weather here turns on a dime, and the winter storms are merciless.

    "I need to," you say, keeping your voice calm. "I need to be out there in the storm. I need to feel the elemental power surging in the dragon lines — drawing on Air is the hardest for me, it might be what I need. I'm so close."

    "If you're close, why does it have to be tonight?" L'nessa asks.

    You try to take a deep breath, to calm down, to master your frustration, hands balling into fists at your sides. But what comes out of your mouth is: "Because I've been close for months!" Both of your roommates are staring at you — it's the first time they've ever heard you raise your voice. "I've been working as hard as I can, I've been doing everything they've taught us, I've been skipping ahead where I can!"

    "Yes, you barely sleep!" L'nessa says, open concern on her face. "Even less than the rest of us."

    "I don't have time to sleep," you say. "I need to do something." You're pacing — with an effort, you force yourself to stop.

    L'nessa opens her mouth to say something else, but Maia cuts in: "I'll help," she says. "If... you think I can." You appreciate that she's not trying to be coy about whether or not she's capable of this anymore.

    You give a light sort of snort. "The amount of times we've seen you disappear, when you want to?" Maia blushes, looking down at her feet. You spare her a slight, harried smile and add, very quietly: "Thank you."

    Maia's face reddens further, and she only nods.

    L'nessa puts her head in her hands. An orange leaf drifts free from her hair — they appear to do that more often when she's stressed. "Just... be careful. And don't get eaten by a spirit."


    You don't have Maia's utterly silent tread, or her uncanny sense for when to creep, when to dash, and when to hide — you don't even see the supernatural servants whose attentions she's evading, and you suspect neither does she. It isn't strange for a Water Aspect to have such talents, of course, but as you struggle to follow her without giving you both away, you gradually come to appreciate that Maia is either a rare prodigy, or she's had some manner of formal training. Likely both — the patrician families of the Thousand Scales have their own petty intrigues, you suppose.

    The two of you slip through darkened corridors down unlit stairwells before, eventually, coming to a first-story window. At Maia's gesture, you leap out of it, landing on the rocky ground below without injury.

    "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Maia whispers, leaning out the window to look down at you. You don't actually think she wants to go out into the night with you, but the fact that she's offering is a small salve to your over-stressed nerves.

    "I'll be fine," you say, the freezing night air harsh against your skin, even where you're dressed for it. "Just go back to bed."

    Maia frowns, shaking her head. "I'll... be back in a couple hours to help you get back in. You don't want to be caught, right?"

    You think about telling her not to bother, but in all honesty, you don't want to be caught either. "Thank you," you say. Then you turn to face the nighttime gloom, and walk out into it, shoulders hunched against the wind.

    It's a dark enough night that this would ordinarily be a foolish and dangerous thing to do even without the spirits to think of. The ground is rocky and uneven at the best of times, and just now, it's covered in a fine dusting of snow, periodically hiding pockets of black ice. You can see with more than just your eyes, however — you flood your senses with Earth Essence, every footfall painting you a rough picture of your surroundings. Enough to avoid falling into a crevice, at least.

    Eyes follow you as you go. Strange wisps light the night, sometimes accompanied by disturbingly human cries or whispers. Invisible creatures rustle through scrubby underbrush, and silent figures flit at the very edge of your perception, even enhanced as it is. Once, a many-fanged mouth had lunged at you through the mist — you'd been ready for it, seizing the attacker by its thin neck. A particularly delicate and fleeting form of Air elemental, it had all but shattered in your grip, blowing away on the breeze like loose powder snow.

    That nothing worse comes for you is luck, more than anything.

    All the while, even as you're forced to focus on where you're going, your supernatural senses are also straining to feel the dragon lines beneath your feet, the flows of elemental power that intertwine so thickly beneath the Isle of Voices and its mist-shrouded archipelago.

    At long last, after half an hour of walking, your hands already cold in your gloves, you reach the spot you want — a small nexus of Dragon Lines of Air, Water and Earth, near the edge of a sharp drop off with the sea crashing below. For just a moment as you arrive, the clouds part enough for the crescent moon to filter a little light down to you. You decide to take this as auspicious, even if it lets you see the ominous cloud mass bearing down on you from the North.

    You sweep away some of the snow on a conveniently placed stone, and settle yourself down onto it, ignoring the bitter cold from the rock as well as the biting wind. The hardship involved, you decide, should help. You haven't been taught this, but it feels instinctively true.

    You've just begun to commune with this place where three elements meet when, fatefully, you catch sight of something in the water. A strangely captivating glimmer, many-hued and iridescent, moving against the current. There are many strange things in the waters here, of course, but this one makes you creep forward to the edge of the cliff, just far enough to peer down into the dark, churning water. You can't quite make out what you're looking at, but you can tell that it's vast. And you can tell the precise moment when, somehow, it begins looking back up at you. It's a cold, assessing sort of attention you feel in your mind and your bones, and it makes you shiver more than the cold.

    Then, impossibly fast, the shape is gone. The clouds are already beginning to go back over the moon. You force yourself to relax, sit back up, and take a deep breath. Whatever it was, it's hopefully gone now.

    "I didn't expect to see a human out in this," a voice says from behind you. It takes iron resolve not to jump, and only slightly less not to immediately whirl around and punch the speaker in the jaw. You feel abruptly, horribly unarmed and exposed — maybe Sola has the right idea, wearing a sword everywhere, even at school.

    Maintaining an air of cool unflappability, you climb to your feet, and turn to look at the speaker. Seemingly they're a youth your own age or a little bit older. Ordinarily, their features and complexion wouldn't look at all out of place on the streets of Chanos, although the pale blonde hair would imply a bit more Northern blood than most — present circumstances contextualise many things. The thread-of-silver robes they're wearing are perfectly dry, but their hair is soaked, as if they've just come from a swim. And they have, in a sense — they're brushing snow and dust from off their narrow shoulders, and the ground beneath their feet has an odd, freshly turned quality, as if they had somehow burrowed into the cliffside from below the water and popped up here. You can see this in such clear detail because they're giving off a soft, white glow, almost as if from beneath their skin. It's the only thing that clearly marks them as non-human, just now.

    "What are you?" you ask.

    The youth gives a mocking shake of their head. You can't quite pin a gender to them, for all their beauty. It's... confusing. "And here I thought Dynasts were supposed to have manners," he says. "Unbecoming of a young Prince of the Earth, don't you think?"

    You bridle at the tone, but they're right. It's also just not wise to offend an intelligent spirit of unknown power and providence when it seems more interested in talking than in trying to bite you in half. "I apologise. You surprised me," you say. "Who are you?"

    "You have the great honour of speaking to Diamond-Cut Perfection." They're wearing such a profoundly self satisfied look on their face now that you're very certain they picked that name out themself.

    "A pleasure to meet you," you say, still playing along. "I am Ambraea, twenty-second daughter of the Scarlet Empress." You notice a distinct shift in their bearing as you say this last. Before, they'd had the look of a bored aristocrat entertaining themselves for the space of a novel conversation. Now, they're looking at you with a thoughtful sort of interest that you're not sure you like. "Regretfully, I must focus on my meditations."

    "You're a student here," Perfection says, noticing the uniform you're wearing beneath your heavy cloak. "Studying all alone at night, outside, right before a storm. You're either doing something you're not supposed to, or pushing yourself harder than you're supposed to. Or both, perhaps?"

    "I'm afraid that it's none of your concern," you say. "It is extremely important that I make progress tonight. Perhaps we can continue this conversation a different time." Or never.

    "You wouldn't be the first student here to push yourself too far, early in your training," Perfection muses. "Although, you have something none of the others do: My attention, in person."

    "How unfortunate for them," you say, unable to suppress your sarcasm.

    They take a step forward, uncomfortably close, eyes staring into yours with an inhuman intensity, hard and unyielding as a mountainside. "It was," they say, completely sincere. "I have never shared a tenth of what I know with any Dragon-Blood from your school or the one before. Much as they've sought out my knowledge."

    You want to brush them off, but they're so serious all of a sudden that you can't actually bring yourself to. That desperate, grasping part of you that brought you out here in the first place simply won't let you. Still, you have your pride. "Are you trying to make me an offer, or are you just bragging?"


    They stare at you for a moment longer, before throwing back their head and laughing. "I like you!" they say, deciding on the spot. The levity dries up quickly. "Fine. I know things about the elements and the deep magics at the root of Creation that you cannot imagine. That you could not learn on your own in twice the short lifespan you have in front of you. I will make this knowledge available to you, for a price."

    Your eyes narrow. "A price?"

    "Favours for favours!" they say. "Nothing odious, or beneath your dignity."

    "That is incredibly nonspecific," you say.

    Perfection sighs. "I have been... stuck in place for a very long time. Longer than your Scarlet Realm has existed. Things are suddenly very different, though. And I would like well-placed allies I can call upon at need."

    "And so you ask the first sixteen-year-old Dragon-Blood you meet?" you ask.

    "And so I ask the first daughter of the Empress training to be a sorcerer who I meet," Perfection corrects. "Earth is slow and methodical, but I know an opportunity when I see one."

    It's started to snow now, small, stinging flakes born in on a steadily rising wind. You have to raise your voice to be heard: "How do I know you're telling the truth about any of this?"

    Perfection closes their eyes for a moment, and inhales a great lungfull of frigid air. Just for an instant, their body shines like brilliant crystal, transparent and dazzlingl — then the youth is gone entirely, and you're looking up at the creature you've really been holding this conversation with:

    Serpentine coils fill the space, blocking off any avenue of escape you might take other than leaping into the sea behind you. Scales in every dazzling colour imaginable, each one cut from a different kind of gem. Teeth and claws of purest adamant. A great, reptilian head lowers to regard you with an eye of faceted diamond. It's the same voice from before that speaks, somehow, but deeper, sharper, colder. "Heed me, Ambraea of the Terrestrial Exalted: I have knowledge that you seek. I will ask boons of you in return for bestowing that knowledge, now or in the future. We will be bound together by this congress. I do not offer that lightly, or suffer those who break faith with me. Do you still doubt me, or will you accept? There will not be a second offer."

    For a few seconds, you're left stunned, processing the situation you've found yourself in as quickly as you can. There are certain weaker elementals that might imitate a draconic form, but you know in the very fibre of your being what you're looking at now. And, while you're not at all sure what they're doing here, you do believe that what they're offering is well within their power. Risks or not, this is not the kind of opportunity you have the luxury of spurning. You swallow, and speak:

    "I, Ambraea, Chosen of Pasiap, do swear in his name to bargain future favour in exchange for sorcerous knowledge. I do not suffer betrayal either, dragon." You stare into that burning, gemstone eye with all the steely resolve you can muster. It's difficult.

    Perfection laughs again, a far more intimidating sound now, before reaching out a talon that could easily punch through your whole body, just barely touching its razor point to your brow. "And I, Diamond-Cut Perfection, Lesser Elemental Dragon of Earth, do likewise swear. With the Earth as our witness." As they say this, you feel a slight tremor underfoot, and struggle not to cry out as foreign Earth essence floods your body, centred on the claw against your forehead.

    You succeed in not screaming, but you still fall to your knees, gasping and shivering all over. You hear a clink of metal, and something small flashes through the air as it lands on snow in front of you. Tentatively, you reach out to pick it up by the fine silver chain attached to the object: It's a scale the size of your palm, one of the many thousands from Perfection's true form, seemingly carved from a solid gemstone. It has no fixed colour, shifting constantly as you watch in a slow, steady gradient. You can feel the dragon's essence still pulsing through it.

    "Wear that," Perfection instructs you. "Sleep with it, and you will learn what I have to teach."

    "Wh-why did no one tell us you were here?" you gasp, clutching the object in your hand.

    "They may have," Perfection says. "The gemlord in a cavern beneath a neighbouring island. Master of a small and isolated court. Nothing overly concerning. One of my mice overheard a Heptagram instructor declaring that I would surely take at least another century to ascend to draconic form. And I might have, before she gave me motivation to hurry." The tone is thick with satisfaction.

    You nod. You had heard mention of the gemlord, an ancient creature to be respected, but like all of its kind, almost fully sessile. A mass of living gemstones attended by lesser elementals, visited once or twice a year by instructors and senior students. Not a cause for major concern otherwise — the fact that this same elemental could now not only move, but literally fly and walk undetected among humans, would certainly change that. "They'll realise it was you, when they notice what I've done," you tell them.

    "They will," the dragon says. "I have broken none of the strictures they've extorted from me, although I am sure they will attempt more now. Go, before the storm begins in earnest: you will hear from me very soon." Then, in a flash of scales and wings and power, Perfection soars over your head, entering the churning water behind you with barely a splash. And you're left alone.

    You stagger back to your feet, slipping the chain around your neck. The metal is cold against your skin. Taking a deep breath, you set about retracing your steps back to the school, the concrete sense of the stone and thin, frozen soil underfoot helping to convince you that this all hasn't just been a strange dream. Whatever the consequences of your actions will be, you can strangely already feel a great weight falling from your shoulders — you can sense yourself on the utter cusp of the understanding you've been chasing all these months. The sensation of the scale worn against your skin is a reminder of that, as much as it's also a source of uncertainty.

    You're about halfway there when a figure looms out at the edge of your sight. "Ambraea!"

    "Maia?" You stare at your roommate as she comes out of the snow, flummoxed by her presence. She's wearing a cloak as well, but it's the same one she'd been using to ward off the much lesser chill of the halls of the Heptagram.

    "I saw—" she hesitates. "I saw something. Did it hurt you?"

    "... No," you say. "No. I'm fine. You shouldn't have come all the way back down here just for me."

    Maia takes on an oddly guilty expression, before turning back in the direction of the school. "Well," she says, voice very quiet, "it's not as though you don't have friends here."

    With how distracted you are, between the strange bargain you just struck and the process of getting back to bed unnoticed and the faintly warm feeling of hearing your own words repeated back at you, you don't think about the obvious until much, much later: The window of your dormitory is on the far side of the central tower from the spot you sought out for your meditation. For Maia to see even the faintest glimpse of what happened, she would have had to stay where she was, after telling you that she'd intended to go back upstairs.

    Or, more likely, she would have had to already have been following you.

    Article:
    The first spell a sorcerer learns is known as her "control spell" — it very often deeply intertwined with her sorcery itself, allowing her to do more with it than other sorcerers, but sometimes affecting her in strange and visible ways. In particular, spells intended primarily for violence tend to have less subtle effects as control spells.

    Due to the nature of Ambraea's sorcerous initiation, her control spell will be aligned with the element of Earth. You may vote for as many of these three options as you like. The one with the most votes wins.

    [ ] Death of Obsidian Butterflies

    Creates a massive cascade of razor-winged butterflies formed of glass or pure obsidian, aimed at the target of the sorcerer's choosing. While a skilled supernatural opponent can defend themself against this, mortal troops or other massed enemies are generally cut to ribbons. Can be used to devastating effect in naval combat, as it destroys sails and rigging and damages wooden structures. The butterflies themselves linger broken underfoot once their job is done. A well known and reliable spell for sorcerers trained for the battlefield.

    As a control spell, Ambraea's control and power over the stream of butterflies is exceptional. When she's angry or overexcited, her nails turn to solid, razor-edged obsidian, and the silhouettes of butterflies seem to flit up out of her shadow.


    [ ] Plague of Bronze Snakes

    Pulls a horde of metallic serpents up out of the ground under the sorcerer's command, to vex her enemies or their lands, hunt down dangerous animals, or guard an important location. Under normal circumstances, these are simple, vicious creatures who will only last a single night for a novice sorcerer, or a handful of nights for those more experienced. The snakes' venom is both deadly and supernatural in nature.

    As a control spell, Ambraea's snakes last longer and are slightly more intelligent than average, capable of very basic reasoning that minimises the chance of unwanted collateral damage. A single bronze snake lingers after her first experimental casting — it appears at least as intelligent as a mundane snake, and can obey complex commands as a familiar. It is unwilling or incapable of straying far from Ambraea, however, and will respond with lethal force to defend her from danger. If destroyed, the snake reforms from Ambraea's Essence within the next night.


    [ ] Stalwart Earth Guardian

    Creates a protective ward dug into the earth or drawn into stone, protecting the sorcerer and those closest to her while they remain within the bounds of the magically-enlarged figure, with space enough for multiple adults to lay down or sleep. Anyone approaching the figure from the outside is beset by the earth itself, the ground churning like a very localised earthquake, alerting the sorcerer to the danger and making it extremely treacherous for those with ill-intent to reach her.

    As a control spell, Ambraea gains the uncanny ability to cut into solid stone with only her fingernails. In addition to being periodically useful and very impressive at parties, this allows Ambraea to create this ward on any exposed piece of stone, even without chalk or other writing utensils.
     
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    • Vote closed, Year 1 04
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Gazetteer on Dec 4, 2021 at 1:49 PM, finished with 68 posts and 43 votes.
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    • Year 1: Sacrifice 05
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    • Plague of Bronze Snakes: 22

    Death of Obsidian Butterflies: 16

    Stalwart Earth Guardian: 7

    You dream of being vast, but terribly finite — immobile save for your own glacial growth outward. Earth Essence flows through your mineral body in place of blood, connecting you to the vastness of all Creation as the seconds crawl by like years. In that bizarre and ponderous existence beneath the earth, you gradually bear witness to the interplay of the five elements, and the hidden workings of the world beyond them.

    It wouldn't have worked if your mind hadn't already been primed for this, gradually pried open little by little by the Heptagram's Ten Thousand Labours. You don't think you could have grasped what Perfection was trying to show you even half as quickly as you did if you'd been earlier in your studies. Even now, the alien perspective is incredibly disorientating.

    "Beautiful, isn't it?" the androgynous youth asks, somehow both alongside you and not here at all as you drift amid a glimmering crystalline lattice. You would respond, but you have no mouth. Somehow, they hear you anyway. "I'd forgotten how beautiful, until now. Seeing it through fresh eyes is a good reminder!"

    Even your waking hours are surreal and dreamlike, full of the whispering of the young dragon's wisdom in your mind. The trickle of your understanding gradually increases until it's an outright landslide, threatening to overwhelm you entirely.

    Then one day, you wake up, and everything is changed.


    Resplendent Wood, Realm Year 759

    Creation is larger than before. It's not quite a sixth sense being opened, so much as it is all your others being sharpened in a way you couldn't have imagined beforehand, and certainly couldn't begin to describe now. You can sense the power in this place, in the Isle of Voices — the interplay of geomancy and spiritual energy and mightier forces you can only just begin to glimpse.

    You have been given the faintest understanding of the great secrets behind the surface of the world. The laws that govern it, and how they can be changed. This is the true power of the Emerald Circle, through which everything else flows.

    Coming as you are out of your haze of frantic work, you pay close attention to the student body for the first time in months. It's smaller than it was even a few short weeks ago, the attrition felt most heavily among your fellow first years. You'd been only dimly aware of faces just disappearing from the meal hall, no longer appearing in the hallways. Dorm assignments being reshuffled to pair up those left without roommates. It is stress, mainly, that leads so many to slink back home in ignominious failure. This is, of course, normal — the Heptagram separates the wheat from the chaff.

    And whatever happens to anyone else, you are one step closer to being the wheat.

    Eyes follow you as you descend the steps at the end of the lecture, plainly trying to catch the instructor before she leaves. Your new companion is eye-catching enough to cause a stir.

    "May I have a moment of your time, Instructor?"

    Cynis Bashura looks up from where she's packing up her lecture materials, looking poised to tell you she's too busy. When she looks at you, instead of meeting your gaze, she locks eyes with the serpent that's slithering up from the collar of your tunic, twining languidly around your neck. It's certainly striking at a glance — its scales are a handsome blue-green, the patinated bronze warm as it slides over your skin. Beyond that, though, the polished, metallic tones of its eyes and darting tongue mark it as supernatural even if someone hasn't seen its like before.

    She blows a thoughtful smoke ring up over both your heads. "I think I can find the time," she says, a weary sort of smile creeping over her face. "This should be interesting."


    The work room she leads you to is in the basement of one of the towers, warded with a basic ritual that you could have gotten through anytime after your first week. It's only middling in size, but it feels very large and very empty — there's nothing here but a few unoccupied shelves, and a dirt floor. The latter is why she chose it.

    "Now," Bashura says, closing the door behind you with a firm snap, "it isn't nighttime yet, but I think you should be able to manage a demonstration."

    You nod. Summonings of all kinds are often easier after dark, particularly at the stroke of midnight, particularly during nights without a moon. Times when the barriers between worlds grow infinitesimally weaker. Lesser elementals aren't quite so picky, however, even for specialised summonings like the spell that burns in your chest. "You know what I wanted to do?" you ask her.

    "I've seen a bronze serpent before, Ambraea," she says. "You've certainly been busy. Show me."

    Swallowing your nerves — and ignoring the slight tickle of a forked tongue flicking concernedly at your ear — you reach out for that spark of foreign Earth Essence you've cultivated inside you, mingling so strangely with your own. You'd bolstered it before going to bed the night before by ritually consigning a silver coin into the ground. You slow your breathing, finding the steady peace of the solitary mountain. There's a pulse underfoot that only you can sense, and the dragon scale hanging beneath your tunic burns cold for just a moment. Despite the part of you that simply wants to get the thing done with, you go slowly and carefully as you form the power that you need. When you're ready, your hands flash through a sequence of Heptagram mudras, signs describing the Verdigris Serpent Chant in place of you speaking it aloud.

    A book you cross-referenced spoke of two different methods for the final casting of this spell. Diamond-Cut Perfection had told you of a third, only viable for one whom the earth itself already obeys. It's this last that you perform now, raising a booted foot in order to slam it down onto the hard-packed soil underfoot, perfectly in time with the last of your signs. There's a flash of bronze-coloured Essence, and this time, you're very certain that the slight tremor was felt by more than just you. You stomp down on the same spot again, and then a third time, forcing yourself to focus through the euphoria of the casting. It's easier this time than your first casting.

    The dirt floor splits open at your feet, a small, narrow hole forming. Out of it flows half a dozen snakes, each an adder as long as your arm, each thin and deadly and waiting for your word. Last time, you'd panicked, looking back at all those snake eyes staring expectantly up at you, and you'd said the first thing that came to mind: "Rats!" They'd all slithered off into the darkness... except for one.

    "Anyone who steps into that corner," you say, pointing to the far end of the room. As one, they hiss an affirmation and slither over the ground to the spot you've indicated, forming a strange, unnaturally still guard there.

    Bashura, wisely, does not approach them. She's been watching this all transpire with a keen eye, leaning against the back wall. You see that she's actually produced a pipe, which she's presumably lit with her bare hands — a sensible enough habit to pick up, when one already had her Aspect markings. "You've been tutored by an elemental," she says.

    You stiffen, and don't reach up to touch the dragon scale. On your shoulders, your snake goes abruptly still. "It's that obvious?" you say.

    "No," Bashura says, gesturing with the pipe. "I'm just very smart." She frowns, as though mulling over a possibility for a second or two. Then she says, with actual venom: "Diamond-Cut Perfection."

    Perhaps conjured up by the mention of their name, you feel the elemental's mind touching your own — they're unquestionably amused. No use trying to hide it. "Yes," you say.

    "And just when did you get a chance to—" Bashura reconsiders the question, and her tone, taking a puff from her pipe before starting again. "You know, I've been watching you a little, this year."

    You're aware that many people have, for reasons other than your great skill or dedication. Still, you're a little surprised to hear it from her. "You have, instructor?"

    "To be honest, I thought there was a decent chance you'd go home early. Or not at all."

    The words genuinely sting. No matter how common that is, it was never an option for you. "Why?"

    "Most of us do not become flawless diamonds when we're under all the pressure in the world," Bashura says, as blunt as before. "And you are most definitely lucky to be alive, the way you've been carrying on."

    "You... noticed this much, but you didn't stop me?" You frown, finally letting an expression pass through your calm facade.

    Bashura shrugs. "It's our job to make diamonds out of coal, as it would happen. We can't do that without a few splitting, or falling through the cracks. I'll have words with that elemental — so will the dominie, I suspect. We were bound to need to sooner rather than later, but tempting first year students into bargains is too far to be borne. Be careful of what that dragon tries to drag you into." For the first time, her expression softens a little, as she adds: "But... congratulations. You're a sorcerer."

    You don't quite let yourself heave the relieved sigh you want to at those words, but you feel your snake coil a little tighter around your neck — just enough to be a comfort.

    "Put a sign up on the door when you leave," Bashura says, turning toward the door. "We don't need anyone blundering into your little pets here, before they go back to the earth."


    This is not, of course, the end of things — you're questioned further on both your actions and your judgment, and called foolish by more than a few instructors.

    The response from your peers is more mixed — upperclassmen seem to view you with a sort of keen-eyed scrutiny, as if you have suddenly just threatened to become an actual human whose presence they'll have to consider beyond a single year. Your own yearmates are a mix of awe and a sort of disapproving envy, depending on the student. One of them takes it a great deal farther than most, however:

    You haven't had a great deal to do with Ragara Yonan, but you've seen him often enough. You remember him from countless lectures, practical exercises, and binding rituals. A quiet boy, and certainly not lazy, but also not particularly talented. Twice, he is caught attempting to go outside after curfew. The third time, he succeeds, venturing out into a rainstorm.

    His body is found two days later laying at the bottom of a dry gorge with a broken neck, already partially eaten. Reflection helpfully tells you that it was probably the fall that killed him, the drop off having been nearly invisible in the darkness. Whatever had been feeding off of his body was much more likely an opportunist than anything. In the end, being fireproof doesn't protect you from splitting your skull open on a sharp rock.

    You don't mourn for the boy in particular, although you're not thrilled by the thought of someone dying in emulation of you. The largest part of your disquiet is more existential than that — Exalts don't die this way in stories, it's always a glorious battle or a heroic last stand. Certainly you know, intellectually, that this isn't always true in the real world. One of your own half-sisters infamously died after too much heroin mixed with too much dreamstone dust. Cynis had been nearing two-hundred, though, already the Founder of her own Great House. This feels... different.

    It is a slight wakeup call, for all that it doesn't entirely take away your giddy sense of triumph.

    "Honestly, it's like you're trying to make us all look bad," L'nessa says, one night. It's one of the few truly clear evenings you've seen all year, the stars fully visible overhead. You're on top of one of the towers, expected to correctly read the heavens above, and record your findings meticulously — astrology is primarily known for divination, but it can be used in all manner of odd rituals a sorcerer might take advantage of.

    "Well," you say, not quite looking up as you work, "at least you'll be able to tell your mother that you did manage to get to know me. Like she asked." Your snake is curled up on the ground beside you, dozing smugly as it digests an unlucky mouse.

    She laughs, the sound kept quiet enough as to not disturb the others at their work. "As difficult as you make that! Although to be fair, you're still one of the more approachable aunts I have."

    You crack a smile at that. "Yes, I imagine so."

    You both fall silent for a moment, concentrating on your work. At length, she speaks again: "This year will have been the hardest part, supposedly," she notes.

    "Yes, I'm sure it's nothing but smooth sailing from here," you say. It won't be, and you know it — you still have a great deal to learn over the next seven years, even if you've made an auspicious start in only one. One spell does not a master sorcerer make.

    "Naturally," L'nessa agrees. "Try to keep up with me, won't you?"

    You only smile at that, as the two of you look up at the heavens, both already thinking ahead to the remaining years of your schooling, and even beyond. Neither of you can see the storm on the horizon yet, but how could you? After all, no one expects the Imperial Mountain to crumble or the sky to fall. For you in particular, either of those things are as easy to contemplate as what the future holds.


    The end of the first year approaches, and you have not only survived, but triumphed. You will now have the short months of the academic break to recover and bask in your accomplishments.

    Returning to the Imperial City is impractical by ordinary means, from the sheer length of the voyage. Anticipating this, you have been given permission to stay in the Empress's personal residence in the city of Chanos, one of the many she maintains across the Blessed Isle. The break is, among other things, intended to keep secondary school students connected to the Dynasty as a whole.

    As a young student of sorcery, you will not precisely be swamped with offers to attend salons and gallas. You do intend to do more than merely moping around in a strange house with no one but servants for company, however — some of the connections you've made during this year offer opportunities to begin to take your first baby steps toward establishing yourself as your own woman, rather than merely your mother's daughter. This is a vital time in every young Dynast's life, where you work to forge lasting networks among your peers, as well as impress your elders.

    Article:
    The following choices reference gaining ties and scrutiny — these are informal ways to track who Ambraea has been directing her efforts towards, and who else is taking notice. Scrutiny is not necessarily bad at this stage, with your place in Dynastic society not yet secured and the tentative alliances you might form yet so fragile. Over the long term, however, you cannot please everyone, and all Great Houses have enemies who they will judge you for associating too closely with. This will not preclude having a positive relationship with certain individuals from a given Great House, but it may make things more interesting, from time to time.

    You may vote for as many options as you like, but only the option with the most votes will be picked.

    During the break, you...

    [ ] Stay in Chanos, but accept an invitation to call on Sesus Cerec, Amiti's mother, at her estate outside the city

    Its unsavory reputation aside, you could do far worse than working to associate yourself with one of the three Great Military Houses of the Realm. Even if Amiti herself has shown no great talent at sorcery, her mother is a well respected legionary officer both within House Sesus and beyond, with more power and influence than you can possibly guess at yet. However, long term, you cannot hope to attach yourself to one of the military houses without drawing suspicion from scions of its rivals.

    +1 ties to Sesus Amiti, House Sesus
    +1 scrutiny from House Tepet, House Cathak

    [ ] Accept an invitation from your elder sister, V'neef, to call on her in Eagle Prefecture, traveling with L'nessa via sorcerous conveyance

    House V'neef is a wealthy and dynamic young house, and attaching your fortunes to it in its early days may reap substantial benefits down the road. V'neef yourself is popular and gregarious, well known for being a gracious host. Both the fledgling house and its matriarch have powerful enemies kept at bay mainly by your mother's attentions, however, and at some point you will be perceived as taking sides in the intrigues and enmities of your elder siblings. Perhaps unavoidable, in the long term.

    +1 ties to V'neef L'nessa, House V'neef, V'neef
    +1 scrutiny from House Peleps, Mnemon

    [ ] Exchange favours with Diamond-Cut Perfection in order to return to the Imperial Palace at supernatural speed, making a grand statement about your sorcerous progress

    Doing so will cause a minor stir at court, and announce you as a rising talent, as well as deepening your entanglement with a powerful and enigmatic elemental. You can count on a chance to speak privately with your father, at least, and to see servants and palace officials who very literally raised you far more than either of your parents did.

    +1 ties to Diamond-Cut Perfection
    +1 scrutiny (general))
     
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    • Interlude 1: Favoured Daughter 01
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    • Visit V'neef: 12

    Return home with Perfection: 11

    Visit Amiti's family: 5

    Descending Wood, Realm Year 759

    Four years, seven months before the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress

    It's a very similar voyage by ship to the one you took nearly a year before, but the atmosphere is completely different. You're not sailing into the unknown, giddy with nerves and anticipation — you're all on your way to leave your long months of isolation, undefeated by your studies, and set to enjoy a well-earned rest.

    "I'm going to be staying with a cousin," Maia says, leaning against the railing of the ship. You wouldn't normally be this close to the edge yourself, but Maia being here helps — when a cold, salty spray crashes over the railing, it parts around her in clear deference, leaving the two of you dry.

    "Home's too far?" you ask. You have the vague impression that Maia's household is on the southern coast of the Blessed Isle.

    "I was born in Incas Prefecture," she agrees. Incas is wealthy and prosperous, nearly clear on the far side of the entire Isle from Chanos.

    Your snake — newly dubbed 'Verdigris' — is around your shoulders. She gives a long, curious look in Maia's direction. Noticing this, Maia tentatively reaches out a hand toward Verdigris. Sensing your friendly feelings toward the Water Aspect, the snake stretches out to flick her metallic tongue over the palm of Maia's hand inquisitively. Maia smiles, and is distracted from spending anymore time glancing around at the rest of the ship.

    Like that first day, things have mostly broken off into groups for conversation during the voyage. You and Maia are by yourselves, and not just because you're both standing a little closer to the side of the ship than many would like. Looking at the uninviting glances some of the others are sparing Maia, it's clear that the realities of the world outside of school are already reasserting themselves. Someone in Maia's position was to be tolerated when you were all shut up in the Heptagram together, roughing it without so much as a servant to your names, but no one else seems to have been scrambling to include the patrician girl in their groups. Not necessarily out of malice, in all cases, but certainly in some.

    You understand what you're doing here. It's a sincere friendship — you enjoy her company, find her intelligent and talented, and don't regret having had her assigned as your roommate. You don't like to see her shut out like this. But you're also consciously deigning to show her more consideration than you entirely need to, and based on the grateful look in her eyes, she knows that, too. Perhaps there are some who would read something manipulative or false into this — but the concept that all your friendships would have a practical political element, positive or negative, is something that's been drilled into you from your earliest years. "Chanos is quite nice in the summer, I'm told," you say.

    Maia smiles. "Do you think they just say that to make themselves feel better about the winters?"

    "Yes, probably," you admit, and she laughs at your frankness. Ahead, the fog is beginning to thin, even as the unnatural storm winds that shroud the Isle of Voices begin to recede.

    The port of Chanos is as busy as you recall it from the year before, awash with sailors and merchants, ships crossing the Inland Sea in both directions. This city is the famed Gateway to the North, through which the wealth of countless great nations flows back into the Realm: feathersteel, blue jade and other mineral wealth both mundane and fantastic, furs and rare timber from the Northeast, whale oil and ambergris from the White Sea, and much else besides. It's also the home port of the Air Fleet, the Northern branch of the Imperial Navy. Warships and other naval craft occupy a healthy chunk of the bay's shoreline, the city heavy with Imperial marines as well as with soldiers of the Sesus House Legions.

    Above all of this, banners fly stark against the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the Imperial Mountain dwarfing all others. The red and black, dried blood shade of the House Sesus banners, as well as the true scarlet of the Imperial Navy.

    Amid all this, the Heptagram maintains a small but well-kept private dock. Despite how busy the port is elsewhere, the crowds give your ship and its disembarking passengers a wide berth, and few captains seem inclined to moor their ships alongside the sorcery school's vessels.

    Disembarking is more or less orderly, transportation having been arranged by the various students' families beforehand. Most students are not so eager to make an impression that they'd be gauche enough to summon magical transportation in the middle of a busy port, even where they were advanced enough to do so. Most students.

    Simendor Deiza says something to the knot of students she's been talking to. Once again, you recognise Mnemon Keric, currently preoccupied with shooting her a disapproving look. That look quickly turns to shock as Deiza puts two fingers in her mouth, and lets out a long, piercing whistle. Short moments later, a spirit materialises out of thin air — a gigantic wasp, glittering in all the colours you can imagine, a creature of such beauty that, even knowing what it is, you feel your heart stir with wonder and admiration. Deiza pulls herself up onto its back, gives a parting grin, and then girl and creature both are gone in a rush of wind and a deafening buzz of wings.

    Trust a Simendor to call up a demon just to show off. You refuse to be impressed.

    Your own transportation is much more respectable, once you've extricated yourself from a procession of courteous goodbyes. You spot a familiar face among the servants and attendants waiting with the assorted carriages staged nearby: A thin, solemn looking young woman, hair and eyes a seafoam blue that betrays Western heritage, despite her otherwise unremarkable servant's dress.You don't bother to suppress a very small smile at the sight of her — Demure Peony has been your personal servant for years, and it's good to see her looking the same as always. Or, almost the same.

    "My lady Ambraea," she says as you approach. She gives you an appropriately low bow, and doesn't raise her head until you give her permission. There's something uncharacteristically nervous about her beneath the expected courtesy — exposure to so many strange, Exalted sorcerers, you assume. Although, given the way her eyes track Verdigris's movements, maybe there's a simpler explanation.

    "Punctual as ever, Peony," you tell her. An unremarkable bit of praise that alludes to a shared joke — this is far too public a space for open familiarity, after all.

    You don't receive so much as a smile, however. Peony merely ducks her head again. "I will strive to never be anything less, my lady," she says, opening the carriage door for you.

    The stiffness is a little odd, but you don't give it too much thought, as you step up to duck through the door. You will end up thinking a great deal more about it later as it would happen, but here and now, you're far too beguiled by thoughts of collapsing into a very large, very soft bed.

    Dragons all know, you can use a good rest.


    Interlude 01: Favoured Daughter

    You prefer not to think of yourself as a particularly spoiled creature. Perseverance and fortitude in the face of hardship are both among Earth's many illustrious qualities, after all. So you have refrained from joining in on the quiet griping from some of your yearmates about the conditions at the Heptagram: The shared rooms, the simple meals, the lack of any personal servants or various creature comforts. Brushing your own hair out everyday has certainly been an adjustment, but you comforted yourself by considering some of the stories you recall having heard from graduates of the Cloister of Wisdom. You'd all had proper beds, at least.

    You would be lying if you said that this bath wasn't the single greatest of your life, however. The hot water seems to scour away the very memory of the clammy weather back on the Isle of Voices, heated from below by the geomancy of your mother's official Chanos residence. The Empress has homes like this in major cities across the Blessed Isle, and even in some particularly important satrapies. You strongly suspect that she hasn't so much as spent a night in half of them, but it's the principle of the thing. As long as the residence is there, properly maintained and waiting, it serves as a reminder that she might choose to show up for a stint at any time. It reinforces the knowledge of just whose Realm you're all living in.

    The Chanos residence is a tall, narrow Fire Aspected manse, the red stone of its construction pleasantly warm to the touch. The baths are its best feature, each one large and spacious, deep enough to come up to your chest while standing, capable of heating to comfortably hot unnaturally fast. You fully intend to spend at least an hour like this, but you've barely been soaking for all of twenty minutes when you hear a throat being politely cleared.

    You recognise the voice. "... Yes, Peony?" you ask, sitting up as you reluctantly open your eyes.

    She stands near the door, polite and waiting, bowing once as if in thanks for you acknowledging her at all. "You've received a letter, my lady. I thought you would like to see it sooner rather than later. Apologies if I've overstepped."

    You consider her, and the letter she's carrying on a handsome, carved wooden tray. She's sensible about these things, in your experience, and wouldn't be interrupting you to show you nothing of import. "Who is it from?" you ask.

    "It carries the seal of House V'neef."

    Silently mourning the loss of the rest of your bath, you sigh, and rise up out of the water.

    In short order, an attendant helps to towel you off, then slips a robe around your shoulders. At a nod of dismissal from you, she scurries out of the room, taking obvious care to stay as far away from the cushion where Verdigris has been napping as possible. "Let's see, then," you say, taking the note from off the tray. Sure enough, the large, bulky letter has been sealed in brilliant green wax bearing the mon of House V'neef.

    Unfolded, you see that it's actually two letters — one of them is from L'nessa, passing on her well-wishes and coyly noting that she hopes to see you sooner than expected. The other it's attached to illuminates why.

    "It's from Matriarch V'neef," you say.

    "Is it, my lady?" Peony asks, not breaking her air of servile composure.

    "She's inviting me to visit her in Eagle Prefecture," you say.

    Peony nods, but doesn't comment. You bite back an irritated remark that she hasn't reasonably earned.

    Demure Peony was very plainly named by someone with well-founded hopes for her career as a servant. A girl within a year of your own age and the daughter of your wet nurse, you'd grown up together, playing out the type of childhood companionship common among Dynasts and the children of their servants. Things had changed, of course, once you'd both gotten old enough for propriety to demand a certain distance. Then again when she'd entered your service directly, and again when the Dragons had Chosen you. Still, there'd been some warmth there. Some familiarity where it could be permitted — neither of you are prone to effusive displays of emotion, but a reference to an old joke here, an unasked for opinion there... you wouldn't have identified it as something important to you, until it was suddenly gone.

    You've always been someone who could, if an uncharacteristically vicious mood took you, destroy Peony's life, and you've both understood that for many years. For the first time, though, you cannot shake the niggling feeling that behind her veil of professional courtesy, she's afraid of you. The thought of several months in this very nice house, alone except for strangers jumping at your every mild reprimand, starts to feel a lot less appealing, even with this very nice bath available. "Well," you decide, since this is apparently a one-sided conversation, "we'll be leaving the day after tomorrow. By ship, apparently, with only enough room for one attendant." Which obviously means Peony.

    Peony nods, showing no visible reaction to the sudden news that she'll be traveling all the way to Eagle Prefecture. "Understood, my lady. I will make preparations for your departure. Shall I arrange for a visitor's gift?"

    "Yes, thank you. Something memorable, but within my price range," you tell her.

    Peony nods again to acknowledge the praise. "I should begin at once, then. With your permission, my lady?"

    "You're dismissed," you tell her, and then try hard not to pay attention to the tiny flinch she gives on her way out, when Verdigris raises her head and yawns. With a sigh, you bend down to pick up the snake, and feel her wrap reassuringly around your arm. You'll think of... something to do about Peony, you suppose. You're just not sure what.


    Your mother's Chanos home is strategically just on the edge of Emberswathe. The wealthiest and most defended part of the city, populated almost entirely by households of House Sesus and various hangers on.

    This makes for a slightly circuitous route to the small dock that L'nessa's instructions have directed you toward. You can't help but notice that it's almost as far away from the naval docks as possible — House Peleps commands the Navy as its imperial remit, after all, and Peleps is no friend to House V'neef.

    It's a gloomy, overcast day even out of the shadow of the buildings. You spot L'nessa right away, deep in conversation with a boy you recognise as a fourth year Heptagram student, the only other member of her fledgling house currently in attendance. Supplies and luggage are piled up neatly on the docks, managed by what look to be a crew of sailors. Oddly, you do not currently see a ship.

    The door of your carriage is opened for you, and you step out into the cool summer air, making your way briskly down the dock toward L'nessa. You're aware of Peony following you at the expected distance, and of the activity of your things being removed from the carriage. "Well, the wind seems right for sailing," you say, as you draw near, "but I'm afraid you might be missing something."

    L'nessa laughs, delighted. "An actual joke!" she exclaims. "The academic break suits you, I see! You look lovely."

    This last is in reference to your outfit, sleekly practical for travel by sea. In particular, the finely tailored jacket you're wearing will keep out the worst of the wind while out on the water... as well as being exactly the right shade to match most of the chips of black quartz on your face and neck. For the first time since departing for the Heptagram, you're also wearing your sword, the curved length of the ornate, Prasadi style saber hanging at your waist. Diamond-Cut Perfection's scale hangs fully visible from your neck, accompanied by Verdigris, who is currently lounging in pride of place across your shoulders. You've gotten used to standing out ever since you Exalted and shot up a head in height in the same year. Based on the reactions from the mortal crew today, though, you must be cutting a particularly imposing figure despite your youth. "I can make those, now and again," you say.

    "I'd be skeptical, if I hadn't just heard it," L'nessa says. She looks back over to her companion. "Fish, this is Ambraea, my aunt. Ambraea, this is my nephew, V'neef Darting Fish."

    "Adoptive nephew," Darting Fish says, giving you a respectful bow of his head. "An honour to formally meet you, Lady Ambraea." He's a scant inch taller than you are, dressed well, but humbly, by Dynastic standards. He has a deep brown complexion, with hair and eyes a shade or two darker — but when they catch the light, his eyes seem to shift colour strangely, like the sea under a changing sky. His correction has the air of not wanting to seem above himself. That there's that much of a pecking order between V'neef's daughter by birth and, presumably, a grandson by one of her many adoptive daughters doesn't surprise you. Five years ago, Fish would have been a first generation Patrician. V'neef's Ascension had happened just in time for him to secure a seat at the Heptagram. Everything from his posture to his overly careful manner of speech betrays his discomfort with the high station life has conspired to thrust him into.

    "I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well," you agree.

    "You two are no fun at all," L'nessa complains, without a trace of venom. "Anyway, Fish was just about to bring out the ship."

    You watch with interest as Darting Fish reaches into the inside of his coat, and pulls out what looks like a somewhat lackluster daisy, a little too long out of the soil. "Lady L'nessa, if I could ask for your assistance?"

    L'nessa smiles good-naturedly, and reaches out a slender finger to touch the withered flower. There's a tiny spark of Wood Essence as the cutting immediately perks up, petals unfurling to their full glory. "There," she says.

    "Thank you," Fish says. "One moment." He steps past you to the edge of the dock, staring out into the water. In one hand, he holds the flower. In the other, his hand flashes through a series of one-handed casting mudras. You can sense the power he's drawing from the ocean itself, and the Dragon Lines coursing through it, until finally, he casts the flower into the water. You feel a swell of sorcerous Essence, and the tiny plant floating on the waves explodes outward. Part of the stem becomes huge, elongated, wood-textured, solidifying into a green-tinged hull, even as the rest curves up, petals forming sails as expertly shaped as anything turned out by Imperial shipwrights.

    In short order, what you're looking at is a small-sized craft, plainly suited for at least coastal sailing. Right away, the crew spurs into action, leaping onto the deck with ropes to secure it before it can float away. They at least seem used to the spell enough not to outwardly show fear of it, although you think you catch sight of Peony jerking back in shock. Onlookers from elsewhere on the docks look away quickly, and go about their business.

    Despite having been formed from a living plant, the ship is clean and dry inside, smelling faintly of nectar and greenery, and seeming at least as watertight as any other craft you've ever been on. It takes a little while to bring aboard the supplies and luggage, but not so long, with everything already staged on the dock. There is limited cabin space, of course — just enough to put you and L'nessa up together, with a small space left aside for Darting Fish himself.

    Soon enough, you're slipping out onto the bay, heading for the Inland Sea beyond. You pass by a navy galley going the other way, the sailors aboard giving the V'neef mon flying from the conjured ship's mast a look of wary contempt — at least until a particularly hard look from you sets them to ostentatiously minding their own business.

    Darting Fish takes the helm himself, giving calm orders to his handful of sailors in what you have to admit is far better Low Realm than you speak. Under his attentions, the flower ship moves far faster than any you've ever been on, rapidly leaving Chanos and its bay behind, heading west along the shoreline. You'd trusted that the ship L'nessa would be traveling on would be able to cross the distance to Eagle Prefecture quickly enough to not eat up nearly the whole break in travel, but you have to admit, you're impressed.

    And so it is that, two days aside, you spend the first week of the academic break sharing an even smaller room with L'nessa than you had at school. You consciously avoid directly contacting Perfection — if they found out about this situation, you know they'd laugh at you.


    Article:
    The visitor's gift is a tradition dating back to the Shogunate, demonstrating your friendship and gratitude to your host. While it is merely a social nicety for someone as wealthy as a Great House matriarch, this is your first time being invited as an adult, and it is an excellent chance to make a good first impression. Despite her youth, Demure Peony's judgment is very reliable in matters of hospitality and etiquette, and you have no compunctions at all approving her choice of gift to present to your half sister.

    What do you plan to present to V'neef? This choice will affect how she reads you, but also informs the direction of Ambraea's first stumbling steps toward establishing herself in wider Dynastic society. All of these options will fall within the bounds of good taste.

    [ ] Something mysterious and arcane: A novelty, but one that emphasises your fledgling status as a sorcerer

    [ ] Something safe and traditional: An entirely respectable gift that demonstrates a commitment to stability and tradition

    [ ] Something exotic: A gift that emphasises the foreign side of Ambraea's parentage
     
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    • Interlude 1: Favoured Daughter 02
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    • Something Exotic: 12

    Something mysterious and arcane: 9

    You don't go all the way to the Prefectoral capital of Eagle's Launch. Instead, your destination is a coastal estate on the Prefecture's easternmost extreme. As the flower ship is lashed to a private pier, the setting sun is warm on your face, and the sea air fresh and bracing. Due to the vagaries of currents and Dragon Lines and distant proximity to the Elemental Poles, the Northwest coast of the Blessed Isle is considerably milder and less gloomy than Chanos had been, and you're all already enjoying the change of weather.

    The rocky shore here gives way to a rolling green dotted with farms and vineyards, and you can already see the manor house that is your destination. L'nessa describes it as 'just part of the lands given over to the house when mother was ascended." It's not a manse in its own right, but still apparently a very nice place to spend a few weeks nonetheless. You assume a benefit is that it's not so distant that the matriarch won't be able to maintain important correspondence during her stay here, and could even rush back to the city at need. She's presumably still very integral to day to day goings on, for such a young house.

    "How is your stomach?" Your voice is pitched for Peony's ears only as you prepare to disembark.

    "Better now I think, my lady," she says, not allowing herself even the smallest frown. Sea voyages normally don't trouble her unduly, but the accelerated speed of the flower ship caused particular difficulties for her. You don't miss being mortal. After a moment's quiet, she adds: "I will be able to carry out my duties tonight as expected." As if that's the only reason why you're asking.

    "... Good," you say. Verdigris tightens ever so slightly where she's wound around your arm beneath your sleeve. You've already grown used to that sort of thing as a comforting gesture from the snake, and you appreciate it. With a tiny sigh, you walk down the gangplank.

    At the end of the pier, your host is waiting along with a number of servants, and a carriage to bring you up to the house itself. As you approach along with L'nessa and Darting Fish, she addresses you first, as her guest. She smiles, inclining her head in greeting: "Ambraea, I'm so pleased you could make the journey! It's lovely to see you again." Matriarch V'neef has all the radiant youth of a Dragon-Blooded nearing her sixties, the gentle approachability of her countenance casting the features she shares with your mother into a wholly different light. Now that you see them standing near to each other, her hair is a deeper shade of autumnal red than L'nessa's burnt orange, her impossibly green eyes making for a very pretty contrast.

    You bow your head precisely the correct amount to address the matriarch and founder of a Great House. "I was honoured to receive the invitation, Matriarch V'neef."

    "Oh, please," she says, "we don't need to stand on quite so much ceremony — my L'nessa has told so much about you in her letters, after all. 'Elder sister' would be fine." As she says this, her smile is deeply affecting, exuding genuine welcome and a touch of tentative warmth.

    Exercising one's right to dispense with formalities is another way to emphasise power, though, and something about it all gives you a strange, tangled sort of feeling deep within your chest. You can sort that out later. "As you wish, elder sister," you agree. Without you even needing to say a word, Peony is suddenly there at hand, head bowed, holding out the treasure she's guarded all the long way from Chanos. "A gift, to show my gratitude for your hospitality," you say.

    It's a teabox of carved ivory, intricately adorned with a pattern that is almost, but not quite floral — enough plausible deniability to still be considered aniconic art. That alone would be a fine work of craftsmanship, but as V'neef examines it, you see the moment when she spots the true beauty of the piece — when viewed from above at just the right angle, the lid of the box is somehow revealed to have a scene of a family of elephants. Distinctly less than aniconic, but respectable enough, obscured as it is, and gifted from one Dragon-Blood to another. It's not something that you would have chosen to give to a more fervently devout or old-fashioned matriarch, but from V'neef's reaction, you think that this was right on the mark.

    "Tea from the shores of the Dreaming Sea," you say, as Peony carefully opens the box to show her. You all know that the box is the better part of the gift, but it's good to keep up the pretense, and the tea alone would make an acceptable gift.

    "However did you find this in Chanos?" V'neef asks, but it's not a question she expects to have answered. "This is beautiful, sister — thank you, it's more than generous." The box is closed again, and wrapped back up, as Peony passes it to one of V'neef's servants, her head still bowed. She's really outdone herself, frankly, but Peony always has tremendous luck when it comes to ferreting out improbably well-chosen gifts. She'd found the Prasadi-carved box at an insultingly low price from a trader who apparently didn't know what he'd had, and she'd haggled him down even further, despite recognising the style from a similar piece your father owns.

    Only with your greetings exchanged and the gift formally received does V'neef move on to L'nessa, reaching out to take both her hands in her own. "It looks as though the Chanos climate hasn't done you too much harm, daughter." You've heard the rumours about V'neef's overly familiar parenting style, but it still takes you a little by surprise.

    "I'm not entirely sure myself yet," L'nessa says, smiling back.

    "It's good to have you back with us, regardless," V'neef says. She holds the look for a lingering moment longer, before breaking it off and releasing L'nessa in order to look at the third Dynast in your group. "Darting Fish," she says, voice pleasant, but a great deal less warm. "You have my thanks for going so far out of your way to attend me here."

    "It is my honour, matriarch," he says, bowing considerably lower than you had.

    She doesn't correct Fish on his formality. Instead she turns to the three of you, and says, "you must all be tired and hungry. A meal should be ready soon, and rooms have already been made ready for you." This is your cue to all follow her to the waiting carriage, leaving the servants to manage your belongings. You don't immediately follow it.

    "Apologies," you say, "but if you would excuse me for a brief moment?"

    You think you register a barely noticeable blink of surprise, before V'neef smiles again, and says "Of course."

    "Thank you." You bow again, and then purposefully stride a few paces away, kneeling down on the hillside, well aware of all the stares you're getting. You hold a hand over the grassy earth, willing it to follow your directions. With a modest effort, it opens up a hole as wide as your fist, and as deep as your forearm. Reaching into the inside pocket of your jacket, you produce a silver coin, and slowly, reverently place it in the hole, before covering it back over with the same earth you'd shifted out of the way.

    As you return to the group, you feel Verdigris slithering up out of your sleeve, her green head peeking up from beneath your collar to reoccupy her ordinary place around your neck, now in full view of the entire group. You get the distinct impression that L'nessa is trying not to grin behind her hand.


    Despite your fatigue, dinner is a particular treat after the uninspired culinary year you've had. It's full of seafood, and exotic western spices, and the truly excellent wine that Eagle Prefecture has always been famous for.

    You're seated beside V'neef, as her guest, and she keeps you effortlessly engaged throughout the whole of the dinner, showing no awkwardness at all in the differences in your age and status, or in the strangeness inherent to your own side of the conversation concerning your recent year. She doesn't even blink as Verdigris makes her way down from your shoulder to coil herself up in your lap.

    "... and by the time he turned back around, gloating over how she'd missed the start of class for the third day running, she was somehow in her seat already," V'neef says, smiling at the old memory. "It quite took the wind out of his sails, I think."

    "What did she say?" you ask.

    V'neef laughs. "She insisted she'd been there the whole time 'I know your eyesight isn't what it used to be, sir'. No one had actually seen her come in, so he couldn't actually prove that she hadn't been."

    You can't help but crack a smile at that. You catch sight of L'nessa, deep in much more subdued conversation with her father, Tepet Igan. A tall, imposing Air Aspect from an entirely different branch of his family than Sola — there's not much in the way of family resemblance between him and his young daughter. The rest of the dinner party is filled out with a smattering of cousins and local hangers on. Not a large crowd by the standards of Great House matriarchs' tables, but enough to make the dining hall not feel too empty. The large, glass windows give you a spectacular view of the setting sun reflected on the sea, even as servants efficiently light lamps in the background.

    Despite your best attempts to remain impartial and level-headed, you can't deny being charmed by it all, and flattered by the attention of your host. You know she's doing this for reasons of her own, but that's true of absolutely everyone in your life. Still, though, something nags at the edge of your mind.

    "What did she do after graduation?" you ask.

    "Oh, Alona? She's satrap for a nation in the far West," V'neef says. "We all expected her to find success, of course. You can tell who's going to go places fairly early on, sometimes."

    There's a veiled compliment in there that you're sure you're supposed to recognise. "There hasn't been so much time to think of such things, this past year," you say. "I'm told the second year tends to give more room to breathe."

    "And I'm sure you had more pressure on you than most, even by your school's standards," V'neef says. She leans in closer, dropping her voice to keep her words from carrying. "I hope that our honoured mother's well wishes found you before you had to set sail," she says. "It is her habit to send them, after one of her children excels so early in their studies." You realise then, what's been bothering you about V'neef — half of what's been bothering you, at least. She's speaking to you with an air of sisterly confidence. Even if it's for the purposes of winning you over to secure you as a contact in the future, it's not a way you've ever been addressed in your life.

    You're not sure you like it.

    "I received a letter," you agree. It had been a thing of coolly impersonal formality, but, Dragons help you, you had drunk up every bit of the praise as though it were the very ambrosia of heaven. Beneath it all had been the only message that really mattered: you have not disappointed her, so far.

    V'neef nods, her face taking on a sympathetic cast. "You must have been relieved to receive it. For me, I was nearly sick with worry until I heard her say that she was pleased with my progress."

    You pause infinitesimally. Your tone is carefully guarded as you ask: "She told you so in person?"

    "Yes," V'neef admits, "but the Spiral Academy being in the Imperial City made it easy enough for her to have me attend her, at need." There's a note of humble self effacement in her voice as she says this, casting it as a matter only of practicality.

    For one precarious instant, the savage envy trying to claw its way out of your chest is too great for you to trust yourself to reply. It's only then that you truly understand why, perhaps through no fault of her own, more than one of your other half-siblings loathe this woman. You idly stroke Verdigris's head before she can start hissing. "That would have been convenient, elder sister," you say.

    Then the next course arrives, and rescues you from having to continue this line of conversation.


    Despite your physical exhaustion and your voicing your intent to do so, you're too troubled to immediately go to bed after dinner. So you find yourself in the guest chambers that have been provided for you, sitting in a comfortable chair, a warm cup of green tea held in one hand, Verdigris on the floor, peeking out from beneath the chair with a lazy, watchful air.

    "I think she was pleased," you say. "Genuinely, not just for the sake of ritual niceties. Well done."

    "Thank you, my lady," Peony says. Her back is currently to you, as she finishes carefully organising your clothes in the wardrobe. V'neef's servants had already hung them up serviceably enough, but she's taking the liberty of arranging them to your preference without needing to be asked. The rooms that have been set aside for you here are technically larger than the ones you had back in Chanos, although they're not half as large as the ones kept for you in the Imperial Palace.

    There's a moment's hesitation, before Peony adds: "I... had heard she had a fondness for elephants."

    That genuinely surprises you. "Where did you hear that?"

    Peony looks over to you, an expression going over her face like she's regretting having broached the subject. Still, she answers. "From some of the older servants at the Imperial palace, who knew the matriarch when she was young."

    "Did you talk to other servants about Matriarch V'neef often?" you ask, a little taken aback.

    "Well, no!" Peony says, wincing. "It's just the sort of harmless gossip that tends to go around the servants' quarters, my lady. Nothing mean-spirited, or of any real consequence! Many of the palace servants love her very dearly -- she was always good to them."

    This, at least, fits what you've heard yourself -- out of all your half-siblings, V'neef is famously good at winning the hearts of common people. The question that burns on the tip of your tongue isn't about V'neef though. From the minute tightness coming into Peony's shoulders, you can tell that she's waiting for you to ask it: had anyone ever spoken about you that way?

    You settle back into your seat, take a long sip of tea, and with deliberate effort, let the question go. All you say instead is "Still, very well done, Peony. Where would I be, without your singular grace and dedication?"

    It's a question you've asked before -- an old joke, as much as a genuine compliment. And you can't help but feel a stab of disappointment when she simply says "My lady is kind to say so." But then, after so long a pause that you've given up on anything further, she adds the expected reply in a very quiet voice: "And... I'm sure you would be somewhere."

    It is not, you know, everything being back to normal. There's still that strange distance between you that you don't know how to cross anymore. For that one instant, though, things are right again.


    As her guest, you spend a great deal of time in V'neef's company in the coming days and weeks. She is unfailingly polite, witty in a disarming way, generous in her largesse. It's insidiously easy to forget that she's as powerful a woman as she is, and you think that you'd like her, despite all your wariness. At least, if it weren't for that image of your mother personally praising a sixteen year old V'neef for her efforts, burned irrevocably into your mind.

    You hope that you're doing as good a job as you think you are at hiding this from her.

    On more than a few days, however, your host is effectively L'nessa — it's perfectly acceptable for V'neef's family to entertain you in her place, as long as this doesn't stray into an insulting dereliction of duty, but you're quite certain this was part of the plan all along. Even while ostensibly taking a few weeks' leisure out in the countryside, the matriarch clearly has business that she's attending to when time allows. That you and L'nessa are already more or less close friends only makes this more seamless.

    "Mother's a little displeased with me," L'nessa confides, enough good humour in her voice that you don't think it's an active source of dread. The way it would be if you'd been the one to say those words. Then she punctuates this announcement by taking one of your tigers.

    "What did you do to earn that?" you ask, moving an elephant out of danger. You're both seated at a stone table in a lush garden, protected from the noonday sun by an awning, a supply of delicate snacks and cold drinks on hand as you pass the time with a game of Gateway. Neither of you are spectacularly good, which at least makes for an interesting match — you're each intelligent enough to spot one another's mistakes, but not so good as to avoid making them entirely. Verdigris is taking up her usual place across your neck and shoulders, but she's not bothering you too terribly while you play.

    "Well, I finally got around to telling her about Maia's little secret," L'nessa admits, hand hovering thoughtfully over a carved emerald fox as she speaks. Your own pieces are polished amethyst, the three-tiered board itself made from clear, crystalline glass — it's the kind of incredible extravagance that you have been surrounded by your entire life, and merely accept as a matter of course.

    You frown. "What secret?"

    L'nessa laughs, and moves an eagle instead, neatly walking right into the trap you've been putting together for the last three turns. You're too distracted to be immediately pleased by this. "Why am I surprised? Of course you didn't notice, with the kind of year you led."

    "I was busy," you say, before your elephant drops down from a higher level in order to take one of her tigers, left exposed by her too-eager advance.

    "Yes, you were," L'essa says, pouting at the state of the board. "So busy, apparently, that you didn't even stop to consider what house is fostering our roommate?"

    You look back on your interactions with Maia — somehow, it had failed to seem significant that at no point during the academic year had she mentioned which Great House her family had struck a bargain with to secure her place at the Heptagram. Part of this simply speaks of skillful evasion on Maia's part, of course. There's probably some truth to L'nessa's jab, however. "Why would she keep that a secret?" you ask.

    "Oh, I'm quite certain it's Peleps, and she's worried about making things awkward with me," L'nessa says. "Mnemon's out — you just know Keric wouldn't be able to not be smug about that, otherwise. And besides that, the Erona have quite a good reputation for producing Water Aspects, especially for patricians. I imagine there was a marriage contract or two involved to shore up a failing household at a bargain." She's trying to salvage the game at this point, but you've decidedly put her on the backfoot.

    "Your mother is displeased that you didn't mention this earlier?" you guess, moving in for the kill. Most of your thoughts are tied up in trying to consider how you feel about this revelation, though. Trying to avoid conflict with L'nessa over this does feel a lot like Maia. Such an arrangement would mean a few years of service to House Peleps, at minimum, and very likely her own family's interests being aligned with the Great House's for at least a generation... and decidedly against House V'neef's. You can't help but feel a little unfairly stung at the thought that she'd been lying to you by omission as well, though.

    "Mildly," L'nessa says. "It's not a huge factor, but she wants to know about the interests I've got at play around me." Her voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper as she adds: "I think she feels a little out of her depth with the actual sorcery aspect of it all, so she's fixating on this sort of thing."

    "I'm sure she'd love to hear you say so," you say.

    L'nessa laughs. "Oh, she'd hate it. It rather undermines the tact she's taking with you, I think. Ugh, you've won, haven't you?"

    "So it would seem." You can't hang onto worries about Maia or bitterness toward your half-sister, just then. L'nessa's good mood is infectious, and the air is pleasantly warm, filled with the scent of flowers and the sea. The cry of gulls is far enough off in the distance to be scenic, along with the faint sound of crashing waves. You take a long sip of chilled wine and just enjoy the moment.

    "Gateway, or have you found another game to lose at, L'nessa?" a voice asks, making you both start. A young woman is sitting on the edge of a nearby wall that had decidedly been unoccupied a moment before. Your hand shoots out to steady the arm of the servant who'd been refilling your glass — the stranger's sudden appearance had startled him rather worse than it had you, and you don't fancy having cold white wine spilled all over your dress. You ignore his profuse apologies and obvious fear at the scrutiny Verdigris is giving him, in order to give the newcomer a hard, searching look.

    "Oh, hello, sister," L'nessa says, an annoyed sort of calm setting over her features. "Yes, it is Gateway. Must you do this?"

    "At least until I stop catching you off guard," the woman says. "I'd have thought you'd have learned a spell that stops me from sneaking up on you, by now." She doesn't look a great deal like L'nessa or V'neef, but now that you look, she does bear a striking enough resemblance to Tepet Igan that you assume this is one of L'nessa's handful of blood siblings. The woman is tall, leanly muscled and dressed for riding. More eye-catching are the Wood aspect markings in the form of flowers twining through her dark hair, and the sheathed daiklave laid out on the wall beside her, as though she'd been carrying it when she stopped. It's not hard to see why she'd need to ask what game you're playing: she wears a cloth embroidered with a pattern based on the mon of House V'neef tied around her eyes. Matriarch V'neef's blind swordmaster daughter is not exactly unknown to you, by reputation.

    With a small sigh, L'nessa gets to her feet. "Ambraea, this is my elder sister, V'neef S'thera. Sister, this is Ambraea, our guest, and my classmate."

    You get to your feet as well. "Pleased to meet you," you say, despite your annoyance at the sort of introduction S'thera thinks is suitable.

    "Oh, you did sound like an Earth Aspect," S'thera says. "They mentioned you were here — you really do have a magical snake with you, don't you?"

    "I do," you say, putting a protective hand on Verdigris's cool, metallic head. "And, I didn't realise Earth Aspects sounded like anything in particular."

    "The breathing," S'thera says, without further explanation.

    "Sister, what are you doing here?" L'nessa asks, dropping any pretense of ceremony. "I thought you were back in Eagle's Launch."

    S'thera laughs. "I'm on a hunt, actually. We were passing by, so it seemed like a good opportunity to water the horses, and pay my respects to mother."

    "What are you hunting?" you ask.

    "Hellboar!" S'thera says, with an eager sort of grin. As if a hunt for the Blessed Isle's largest and fiercest land predator is her idea of fun. "A huge male's been terrorising the countryside. I was showing Kedus the Prefecture when we heard — Tepet Kedus, my fiancé," she adds this last for your benefit.

    "You're not going after it just the two of you, are you?" L'nessa asks, slightly appalled.

    "Of course not," S'thera says, waving the thought away. "We have a whole hunt with us, hounds and all. And V'neef Argan — Dancing Boar's youngest, she just graduated from the House of Bells. Wasn't back a day before this came up."

    "I'm sure mother will be thrilled to hear all about this," L'nessa says, sounding skeptical.

    "Oh, yes, I fully intend to give her a chance to fuss a little, it's why I'm here," S'thera says. "But it's important work — the monster's ruining perfectly good grape plants, and it's starting to get a taste for fieldworker. And who can they look for for protection, if not their betters along the Perfected Hierarchy? We'll be gone with her blessing within the day. Where is she, by the way?"

    "She went to inspect some property to the north," L'nessa says. "She should be back inside the hour."

    "Well, I suppose you'll be graced by my presence a little longer," S'thera says. "Ambraea — Burano Nazat is your father, yes?"

    "Burano Maharan Nazat," you say, trying to make the correction gentle. Your father would not be pleased at the omission of his jati name. "Yes, he's my father."

    "I've heard his swordsmanship is part of what caught the Empress's eye," S'thera says.

    "He is a very accomplished swordsman," you acknowledge.

    "Have you learned anything from him, or have you been too focused on learning to cavort with demons?" she asks.

    Your eyes narrow, not liking that characterisation at all. "He has instructed me in Prasadi saber fighting," you say.

    "Fantastic," S'thera says. "I'm sure there's a more interesting way to pass the time until mother arrives than this, then."

    "Sister..." L'nessa says, voice a little anxious.

    "Oh, I'm not going to hurt her," S'thera says. "I'm just proposing a nice, friendly spar. If that doesn't sound too strenuous, Lady Ambraea? After all this Gateway and feasting and being casually introduced to various young, eligible V'neef men."

    Verdigris lets out a low, unfriendly hiss. "It does not sound too strenuous," you say, keeping your voice as calm as possible, aware that this matters a great deal more than your expression does in this situation.

    "Excellent!" S'thera says. "There's a nice courtyard just over there. I'll wait for you to be ready."


    A short time later, you're dressed for swordplay, Peony walking along behind you with a practice sword held uncertainly in her arms. "Are you quite certain about this, my lady?" she asks you, with what sounds like genuine concern.

    "Is there some reason I shouldn't be?" you ask.

    "Well, lady S'thera has quite a fearsome reputation, doesn't she? And you haven't exactly..." she cuts herself off abruptly. "Apologies, my lady. Forgive me for speaking out of turn."

    "The worst thing she can bruise is my pride, Peony," you say, giving a slight sigh.

    "Also your body," L'nessa says, tone critical as she falls in beside you, leaving the main building and heading back to the garden courtyard. "She is quite good at that."

    "I'm hard to bruise," you promise her, which is true enough.

    "Particularly your head," L'nessa says.

    V'neef S'thera is waiting for you, leaning against the stone arch that serves as an entrance to the courtyard. With her are two unfamiliar Dragon-Blooded, Fire Aspects both. "Here you are!" S'thera says, straightening up from the arch as the three of you enter into easy speaking range. You assume she heard the sound of your footsteps. "These are my companions: Tepet Kedus and V'neef Argan."

    "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Ambraea" Kedus says, giving you a respectful half bow. He's a thin, pleasant-faced young man, his hair and complexion both distinctly red-tinged. Argan follows his lead with the gesture, but stays silent — she's a stocky, powerfully-built woman, her features partially obscured by a mild heat shimmer.

    "Likewise," you say. You shift Verdigris into your arms, and glance over to Peony, who very valiantly does not shrink back in horror, but you can tell she very badly wants to, from the way her tanned complexion has gone ever so slightly paler. Taking pity on her, you look to L'nessa. "Would you hold onto Verdigris for me?" you ask. "She won't hurt you."

    L'nessa herself does not seem particularly eager, but she's at least not actively afraid of Verdigris. She holds out her hands, and at your urging, Verdigris slithers off of your shoulders, down your arm, and then up L'nessa's to hang around her neck. "Stay here," you tell the snake, voice a little stern.

    "Your pet is protective, I take it?" S'thera asks.

    "Yes," you say, accepting the training sword from Peony, who seems a little sick with relief.

    "I'd appreciate not getting bitten in the ankle, although Wood Aspects aren't particularly easy to poison," S'thera says.

    "Verdigris is well behaved," you say. "And... if it's all the same, I don't think you'd enjoy this poison very much." You very much doubt that Verdigris's bite would outright kill an Exalt, but you're not joking when you suggest it would be unpleasant — you've seen the petrified statues she makes of her prey, before she swallows them whole.

    S'thera laughs, leading you into the courtyard. It's a place of shaded stone benches and charming water features — it feels more like a place to relax while writing poetry than one where you'd stage a fight. Arrayed against each other on opposite sides of the courtyard, your misgivings come decidedly home to roost. Blind or not, she moves with the easy grace of one utterly comfortable with a sword in her hand, her posture speaking of an easy confidence that you very much don't feel. It's not the first time you've sparred with an older Exalt, though, and you've already agreed to this. So you follow her lead, taking a position at your own side of the makeshift arena.

    The moment you start, you know two things — you're entirely too rusty, and you'd be severely outmatched regardless. Perhaps predictably, S'thera seems to have no trouble at all knowing precisely where you and your weapon are. She wins the first bout in four moves, bending out of the way of a slash like a willow in a storm before somehow getting her blade up under your guard and levering the weapon out of your hands.

    "Again?" S'thera asks.

    You nod grimly, accepting your retrieved sword from Tepet Kedus, who actually gives you an encouraging smile. "Again."

    You last a little longer on the second and third bouts, even though the third does finally end with you on your back, staring dazedly up at the sky above. For the first time since you left Chanos, you feel a familiar, cold presence stirring in the back of your head, their attention caught by your pain or exertion or both.

    "Are you having a good time on your trip, my lady?" Diamond-Cut Perfection asks, voice sly in your head. Your only reply is a powerful sense of annoyance you shoot back, and of course that only makes them laugh.

    "You have a solid foundation — excellent instruction, I think," S'thera says, offering you a hand. You're not too proud to accept it. "You're letting it go to seed, though. What's the point of being a snake witch or whatever you're going for, if you can't keep your head on your shoulders in a fight?"

    Now she just sounds like a less polite version of Sola. "There hasn't been a lot of room for other pursuits, this first year," you say.

    "Well, something to think about," S'thera says. "Very interesting style, by the way — I would love to have a go against your father."

    "He isn't exactly hard to find," you point out, and Sthera laughs.

    "No, I suppose not!" She says. "Thank you for the match, Aunt. I should really prepare to greet my honoured mother. Take care." And with that, she departs.

    "Delighted to meet you, lady Ambraea. And to see you again, L'nessa," says Kedus, bowing politely before he follows his fiancée.

    "I think I like it better when you call me that," you say to L'nessa, accepting a somewhat agitated Verdigris back from her. She laughs — for all their differences, you can't help but notice it's the same as S'thera's.


    In the end, it's a fairly enjoyable several weeks, and you make some real inroads at building ties to a wealthy and growing Great House, one you'd be able to really leave a mark on. While you can't quite bring yourself to like V'neef as a woman, she has been a perfectly able host, and you think that she at least finds you interesting.

    You have plenty of time to consider the possible future where you put yourself into this family's orbit — marriage to a nice V'neef boy, your household bearing your name, but your children growing up intertwined with their father's house. Men do not hold a great deal of interest for you romantically, but you're perfectly prepared to find a tractable husband to produce heirs with, whatever else might be in your love life on the side.

    It's still six years before graduation, though, and you have a long time to consider your options before your mother starts pressing you to make choices you can't take back. In the more immediate future, there's another year of studies to consider.

    Now that you're a sorcerer proper, you're far from done. But as you continue to branch out in your studies, a goal starts to form in your mind — the kind of sorcerer you're building toward, and the kind of woman you hope to present to the Dynasty at the far end of school. There will be room for course correction, of course, but that will come later.

    Article:
    Ambraea's sorcery will always be tied to Earth and spirits of Earth. What is her immediate area of focus as she hones it? Choose a long-term goal. You may vote for as many as you like, but only the top vote will be picked:

    [ ] [Goal] Eyes of Black Diamond, Smile of White Fangs

    Ambraea has not inherited her mother's legendary charm and charisma, but she is beginning to demonstrate some of the Empress's commanding presence. She can hone this to her advantage, with sorcery intended to beguile and misdirect, becoming a quiet social predator at the edge of high society. This is a skillset that any house or major faction on the Blessed Isle will be able to appreciate, although some more than others.

    Focus: Subterfuge, misdirection, social intimidation, inscrutability

    [ ] [Goal] The Serpent Witch

    Sorcerers are unavoidably social outcasts within the Dynasty, figures of dread and fascination both. One can find a way to work around this, or to use it to their advantage. Ambraea can lean into the uncanny and esoteric aspects of her craft, honing the unique strengths of her sorcerous initiation to become the kind of sorcerer that every Great House both fears and considers indispensable, capable of protecting her allies and bringing woe down upon her enemies.

    Focus: Curses and afflictions, spirits, 🐍snakes 🐍, dread mystery

    [ ] [Goal] Stone Towering Toward the Sky

    The motto of your father's faraway clan is aspirational — one can build for a hundred years and never touch the sky, but even the process of reaching for it is ever worthwhile. Ambraea can build on her natural toughness and stoicism to craft herself into a remote and irreproachable edifice, untouchable on and off the battlefield. Invaluable for any house with even modest military ambitions — which is all of them, although some more than others.

    Focus: Battlefield sorcery, earthen defence, tactics, stoic virtue


    What storyline would you like to follow in your year two? The character named as central will appear very prominently within this storyline, but this doesn't mean you won't see other characters as well. This list will get longer in subsequent years, meaning you may not have time for all options. You may vote for as many as you like, but only the top vote will be picked. This vote is separate from the first:

    [ ] [Storyline] Endings and Different Colours

    You made tentative friends with Sesus Amiti in your first year. A strange girl, morbid and friendly in equal measure, is she really as talentless as she seems? And who is the strange guest instructor who seems to be paying her particular attention?

    Availability: Year two
    Central character: Sesus Amiti

    [ ] [Storyline] Metal Honing Stone

    You have so far not had a great deal of contact with Simendor Deiza, but the cadet house scion has not made a good impression so far. Tensions only increase with further contact, and rivalry cuts both ways. Just what are Deiza's motivations for acting the way she does toward her social betters?

    Availability: Years two or three
    Central character: Simendor Deiza

    [ ] [Storyline] Swords and Legacy

    You and Tepet Usala Sola are both driven to live up to the high standards of powerful and capable mothers. You can forge this into a deeper bond through dangerous misadventure, both growing in the process and finding someone you can rely on.

    Availability: Years two to five
    Central character: Tepet Usala Sola
     
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    Ambraea
    Earth Aspect Dragon-Blood
    Seventh year Heptagram student, age twenty-two

    Competencies: Sorcery, arcane and academic pursuits, elemental lore and mystical rituals, swordplay, endurance, senses, Dynastic education

    Sorcery:
    Initiation level: Emerald Circle
    Initiation: Pact with an Earth Dragon
    Shaping rituals: A gift of gems (wealth sacrificing ritual)
    Spells: Plague of Bronze Serpents (control spell), Summon Elemental, Breath of Wretched Stone, Theft of Memory

    Goals:
    - Emerald Circle Sorcery (initiate before end of first year) COMPLETED IN YEAR 1
    - Discover a rare spell COMPLETED IN YEAR 2
    - A Heart That Hides the Deepest Dark (resolve romantic tension with Maia) COMPLETED IN YEAR 3
    - Get even with Peleps Nalri - NO LONGER RELEVANT AS OF YEAR 5

    - The Serpent Witch (long term growth direction)
    -- More snakes
    -- Upgrade Verdigris
    -- Establish a reputation

    Ties:
    Ties are recorded as mutual connections between Ambraea and other characters, rated from 1 to 5. Ambraea's feelings toward them are listed first, followed by their feelings for her. Interactions can change both the intensity and the nature of a given tie.

    Ambraea's Hearth:

    INTENSITYCHARACTERAMBRAEA'S FEELINGSCHARACTER'S FEELINGS
    5Erona MaiaLove, adorationLove, vicious protectiveness
    4Tepet Usala SolaTrust, loyaltyTrust, gratitude

    Other ties:

    INTENSITYCHARACTERAMBRAEA'S FEELINGSCHARACTER'S FEELINGS
    5The Scarlet EmpressFearful awe, desperation for approval filial devotion???
    5Burano Maharan NazatFamilial affectionFatherly love, pride
    5VerdigrisUncomplicated lovePure devotion
    ?Demure Peony??????
    4Lohna Prince's ScribeLoveComplicated maternal love
    4Sesus AmitiAmused affectionFriendship, trust
    4V'neef L'nessaFriendship, trustFriendship, warmth
    3Diamond-Cut PerfectionWary fascinationAmused interest
    3Simendor DeizilDislikeInscrutable interest
    2Peleps NalriIntense dislikeAnnoyance
    1Mnemon RulinseiUncertaintyDistant empathy
    1ObanMistrust???
    2Sesus KasiFriendly acquaintanceshipFriendly regard
    1Sesus AmbarCautionPolitical interest
    1Sesus VaheloFriendly acquaintanceship, physical attractionInterest
    1Tepet KedusFriendly regardFriendly regard
    1V'neefVeiled dislikeInterest
    2V'neef Darting FishAssistanceshipAssistanceship
    1V'neef S'theraOne-sided rivalryAmusement

    Connections:
    The equivalent of ties, but less personally to represent more diffuse relationships with factions and organisations

    INTENSITYORGANISATIONNATURE
    3Clan BuranoFamilial ties
    3House SesusKeen interest
    3House V'neefKeen interest
    2The HeptagramUnusual student
    2"House Erona"Cold interest
    2The Immaculate OrderApproval
    1House TepetTentative interest

    Scrutiny:
    Similar to connections, but not strictly beneficial, and potentially disadvantageous

    INTENSITYORGANISATIONNATURE
    3House MnemonWatchfulness
    3House PelepsIll-favour
    3The Imperial courtFascination

    Current as of Year 7, update 03
     
    Last edited:
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