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The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

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Year 2: Swords and Legacy 01
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    • The Serpent Witch: 20

    Stone Towering Toward the Sky: 16

    Eyes of Black Diamond, Smile of White Fangs: 3

    Swords and Legacy: 17

    Endings and Different Colours: 13

    Metal Honing Stone: 6

    Descending Fire, Realm Year 759

    Four years, four months before the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress.

    "Have you noticed people treating you differently?" you ask.

    L'nessa glances up at you, having been fussing with the fastening on her cloak. It's a gloomy Chanos morning, and the steel grey sky overhead does not promise a warm voyage. "I suppose," she said. "Definitely a few people who seemed less eager to spend time with me — it was nice, having you over the break."

    "Yes," you agree, a little less effusively. You trust L'nessa to know you well enough to not take offense at that. "A lot of servants keep looking at me like I might curse them, or feed them to Verdigris." The snake around your shoulders stirs slightly at her name, and you idly stroke a hand along the scales over her nose.

    L'nessa laughs. "Yes, well, you're a little scary," she says. "It's not necessarily a bad thing! I think you make it work for you, sometimes. And, well, peasants will be a little more superstitious than the rest of us. It's not really their fault."

    You sigh. "I suppose." There hasn't been a major turning point in how things stand with you and Peony in the weeks since your return to Chanos. You'd like to think she's getting more relaxed again, but... well, it will be something to work on when next you see her.

    The two of you are already on the pier, ready to board the familiar ship back to the Isle of Voices, having shared a carriage through Chanos's narrow streets. You're looking forward to it — for all the crushing workload of the previous year, you still have a tremendous amount you want to learn.

    "Hello, Ambraea!" says a voice to your left as you approach the gangplank. The speaker is familiar — as small and devoid of colour as the last time you saw her.

    "Hello, Amiti," you say. "I trust your break was pleasant?"

    "Oh, pleasant enough," Amiti says, narrow shoulders giving a noncommittal sort of shrug. "Quiet, but that was nice, honestly."

    "Did you get much reading done?" L'nessa says, with a tone that tells you she's poking gentle fun of Amiti's hobbies.

    "Oh, yes," Amiti says, "quite a bit of it. We had a bit of a strange problem at one point, but nothing too bad — hardly any deaths. I'll tell you about it later, if I don't forget." With that, she drifts off ahead of you, boarding the ship.

    "Nice girl," L'nessa comments, following close behind you as you step up onto the gangplank. "A little strange, though."

    You can't actually dispute that. There's sufficient distance between you and Amiti that you feel safe replying — she's already become seemingly embroiled in conversation with Ledaal Anay Idelle. "I wasn't sure if she was coming back this year," you admit. You're glad that she has, you find.

    "Well, she did seem quite dedicated to her studies, even if she's not getting any results yet," L'nessa says. "Not all of us can become a proper sorcerer so quickly. Oh, there's poor Maia."

    As you step up onto the deck, you spot Maia's mousey figure standing off by the railing, determinately not talking to anyone. As she spots you, you deliberately make eye contact, as if silently signaling that it's alright for her to approach. She responds to it with visible relief, threading an impressively deft path through the crowd, seemingly unaffected by the rise and fall of the deck underfoot.

    "Maia! Ready for another year?" L'nessa asks, taking the smaller girl by the shoulders.

    A little startled by the sudden show of intimacy, Maia nods. "It's been a long break," she admits.

    "Nothing too bad, I hope," you say.

    Maia fidgets in place and doesn't make eye contact, looking very much as though she wishes she hadn't said anything. "No, nothing... too bad."

    You decide not to pry immediately. "I visited with L'nessa's household," you say, changing the subject. "Eagle Prefecture was lovely."

    "Oh, I've heard that," Maia agrees, plainly relieved. "I've missed you both," she admits.

    "Oh, us too," L'nessa says. "No one back home gets quite as adorably flustered at the drop of a hat."

    Maia going bright red does not do a great deal to immediately prove her wrong. You allow yourself a very small smile — you missed her too.


    You're most of the way into the journey, the smothering fog having closed in around the ship, air and sea churning with unseen horrors that you're only spared due to Instructor First Light speaking the proper incantations into the wind.

    The first years are mostly grouped up together, trying very hard not to look frightened and overwhelmed by it all. You and your yearmates watch them from the lofty vantage point of hardened veterans eying new recruits, and pointedly keep a lid on any similar nervousness you might have. There is still some mixing between the sacrifices and the older students, however.

    Tepet Sola stands beside a boy you don't recognise — he's pale where she's dark, stocky where she's tall, and boyishly plump where she's lean and athletic. Still, the familial connection becomes obvious as you make your way across the deck toward them and catch their conversation:

    "Still no word about Joti, then?" Sola asks her companion.

    "No," the first year boy says, failing to entirely disguise his nerves. He's much younger and more uncertain than you'd ever looked last year, surely. "She's just... gone. Last anyone saw her, she made it all the way to Arjuf, but nothing solid after that."

    "Someone went missing?" you ask, stepping up to them.

    "Oh, hello, Ambraea," Sola says. You both politely ignore the way the boy jumps at the sound of your voice. "My cousin, Tepet Joti — we weren't really close, but I'm almost the same age as her brother, Aresh, so I saw her growing up." She makes an awkward face as she adds, in a lower tone, "Joti's well... leftover child, you know?"

    You grimace in understanding, knowing the term well: A child born too soon after her parents' last due to their carelessness or misfortune, and therefore highly unlikely to Exalt. "Did she just run away, then?"

    "We think so," the boy says, forcing himself to look you in the eye. "Just... no one expected her to be so good at it, you know? Thirteen-year-old mortal girl off on her own for the first time."

    You nod, and there's an awkward, somber moment that passes between the three of you.

    "This is also my cousin, Tepet Lapan," Sola says, breaking the silence "He'll be one of our new sacrifices. Lapan, this is Ambraea." The boy jumps again as she claps a hand on his shoulder. His eyes are incredibly blue, shot through with wisps of grey passing slowly through them. Another Air Aspect — he seems a little slow in parsing the significance of your single name, but you can tell the moment where he realises who you are.

    "A pleasure to meet you!" he says, stumbling over his words.

    "Likewise," you say. Turning back to Sola, you add: "I assume you intend to keep up your. martial studies as well, this year?"

    "I do," Sola says. She's still wearing the sword, after all. "Why do you ask?"

    "Would you like a sparring partner?" you ask, deciding to simply be direct.

    Sola's smile widens. "Well, I wouldn't say no! It'd be more interesting, anyway. Did I manage to convince you of the importance, last year?"

    "You did," you say. Then, after a pause, admit: "... and I may have been made a fool of by V'neef S'thera, over the break."

    Sola lets out a laugh. "Well, there are certainly more embarrassing people to be made a fool of by. I can't promise you'll be up to her standards by year's end, but she's not exactly summoning elementals at age sixteen, is she?"

    "I suppose not," you admit.

    "Is... that the shore?" Lapan asks, sounding very much like he wants it to be, as he watches the vague shape through the fog grow larger.

    "Yes," you say. You can sense the land more and more as you get nearer. "Don't look too relaxed yet — the walk up to the school is the most interesting part."

    Lapan's eyes get a little wider. "Interesting?" he asks, looking between you and Sola.

    "You'll see soon, sacrifice," Sola tells him. It doesn't seem to be a great comfort.


    Year 2: Swords and Legacy
    Goals: Discover a rare spell, acquire more snakes, improve your familiar, begin to cement your reputation.

    (And get better at swords.)


    The room you arrive in is technically not the same dorm room as the previous year, but it might as well be — same tower room with three beds and three matching sets of furniture.

    With a small, fatigued squeak, Maia lets herself fall face first onto her mattress and lays there, unmoving.

    L'nessa laughs, opening up the wardrobe opposite her bed to check on the sets of identical blue and red uniforms hanging there. "We're one of the few sets of three still entirely intact, you know," she comments.

    "I suppose that's true," you say, thinking over the number of students from your year who will not be returning.

    "That just goes to show our collective dedication to excellence," L'nessa decides.

    Maia, who is apparently still conscious, lets out an uncontrollable giggle, muffled by the mattress her face is pressing into. "Ambraea is a little bit of an outlier," she says, lifting her head just enough to speak.

    "I'm sure you two won't be too far behind me," you say, sitting down on your own bed more sedately. Verdigris immediately slides down off your shoulders, and sets about finding a good place for a nest somewhere in the immediate vicinity. The beds are raised in the northern style, so you expect her to end up sleeping in the dark space beneath, like she did at the end of last year.

    L'nessa laughs. "Oh, no pressure at all!" she says.

    You shrug. "Without incentive, how do we excel?"

    "Who said that?" L'nessa asks, recognising a quote when she hears one.

    "My mother," you say.

    L'nessa groans, reaching into her wardrobe for a nightgown. "Well, I can't exactly argue with my esteemed grandmother, can I?"

    This time, Maia's giggle is distinctly nervous, and she pushes herself up to a sitting position. "It's not usually a good idea, anyway." When the two of you glance at her, she turns bright red, and hastily adds: "Well, it's not, is it?"

    You shrug. "Not unless you have a particularly good point to sway her on. Or unless you amuse her, which is not necessarily reliable."

    "I would hope that the Scarlet Empress has better things to do than fret over mild differences of opinion from secondary school students," L'nessa says.

    Which is self-evidently true. You're entirely certain that she has someone reporting to her about your activities, but it's hard to imagine that the Heptagram isn't already playing host to someone on the All-Seeing Eye's payroll who can simply add you to their existing duties. Being watched by people who will report back to your mother is just a fact you've lived with for the past sixteen years.

    "I'm... just going to try to sleep," Maia says.

    Which sounds like such a good idea, you don't take long to follow suit.


    She's simultaneously the best and worst kind of opponent — she's better than you, but by little enough that you can tell precisely what you do wrong every time she beats you. So you can tell that you're learning... but it doesn't mean you're exactly catching up to her in a hurry.

    "You're always a little bit more aggressive than I'd expect from an Earth Aspect," Sola says, slumping down to sit on a flat stone near to your impromptu practice area. It's a rare, halfway decent day, and the two of you aren't going to pass up the opportunity to steal an hour to take advantage of it.

    Sunlight, tired and grey, filters through the gloom overhead, enough to burn off the worst of the mist for once. The cool sea breeze is pleasant enough against your face as you take a seat yourself, lowering yourself to ground at a more dignified rate. Unlike Sola, you're sitting directly on a bed of uneven pebbles, but they're comfortable enough for you. "Well, we do all contain multitudes," you say.

    "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Sola says. "The first thing you learned was to summon a horde of venomous snakes. Those would be damn useful on the right sort of military campaign, you know. Weakening the enemy before they even have a chance to take to the field." She moves to flick a strand of sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. Even in the relative shelter of the boulder behind her, it still blows gently in the phantom breeze that seems to accompany her wherever she goes — Sola is just lucky that she makes the windswept look seem dashing.

    You raise an eyebrow. "True enough," you say, "although it doesn't seem like the most... honourable tactic."

    Sola shrugs. "War is messy. A commander's honour is important, and winning every victory cleanly is an ideal to strive for, but the general who isn't willing to consider all tactics at need serves her house and her empress poorly. Or so my mother has tried to drill into my head. I'm not about to go around acting like a Sesus, but I'm not going to refuse to see the value in something a little distasteful."

    "I like Amiti," you say, holding out a hand for Verdigris to climb back up to her ordinary perch. The snake has gotten very good at not getting too agitated watching you spar. You can hope she's getting better at separating out the nuances of the situation.

    "Well, she does seem harmless enough," Sola admits, with a little bit of reluctance. "They're not all bad, as individuals. Just entirely too slippery as a group." She doesn't waste a lot of time on the notional virtues of House Sesus, however. "When I used to do this with my cousins, we'd make a bit of a game of trading old family stories, and try to all find ones no one else had heard of."

    "That sounds hard, when you're all Tepets," you say.

    "Yes and no," Sola says. She's getting that medicine box out on her lap now. You haven't exactly asked her what the pills are for, but by this point, you can make a fairly decent educated guess. "It's easy to get a repeat, but... well, we've got a lot of history to plumb through for this sort of thing. Easy enough to bring up a particular story about a famous ancestor that no one else had heard of."

    "Are you asking me for one, then?" you ask.

    Sola grins. "Only if you're interested."

    You consider that, and it seems harmless enough, before you both have to hurry back to wash up in time for a practical lesson. You certainly have stories like that on both sides, although your mother was much less inclined to indulge childish whims in this regard. You have as little idea of who her ancestors were during the Shogunate as anyone else does. Prasadi history, on the other hand, is nearly as interesting as early Realm history, and is far less likely to have been something Sola's heard before.

    Article:
    So, first vote of year two — this one lets me establish the story we'll be focusing on here for this, and gives an opportunity to flesh out certain things about Ambraea's family history.

    [ ] A story of the conquest of Prasad and the breaking of a god

    [ ] A story about a young Exalt and an Anathema who tried to ensnare him

    [ ] A story about a Pure monk and a fair folk prince
     
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    Vote closed, Year 2 01
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Gazetteer on Mar 25, 2022 at 12:25 AM, finished with 28 posts and 27 votes.
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    • Year 2: Swords and Legacy 02
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    • A story of the conquest of Prasad and the breaking of a god: 12

    A story about a young Exalt and an Anathema who tried to ensnare him: 10

    A story about a Pure monk and a fair folk prince: 5

    "It's an old story," Sola says, after a moment's thought.

    "Well, we have a few minutes," you say, enjoying the fleeting sun and the good weather.

    "Alright, then," Sola says. Taking a long swallow of water, she hands the flask over to you. You take it gratefully. "This was at the end of the Spring Storm Rebellions, at the start of the Third Epoch. The final straggler of the rebel leaders was Erel Ukara, the Storm General himself. The Mantis Shogun finally shattered his armies and slew his hordes of spirits, but he managed to flee to the Isle of Voices ahead of being captured. She caught up with him in the year of the Bronze Dolphin, coming personally with what was left of her fleet."

    "What happened then?" you ask, at least mildly interested. You know the broad strokes of Shogunate history, of course -- but you can't claim to know the intimate details of every war fought over its existence. You're not a Tepet, after all.

    "Well, Ukara challenged the Shogun to a duel, and she agreed," Sola said, eyes dancing a little at this part. "He was a master swordsman as well as a great sorcerer, but she accepted -- he'd killed two of her daughters during the last battle, and she wanted personal satisfaction. They say that the two of them were so evenly matched, that the fight lasted for five days and five nights, and in the end, when the Shogun finally stabbed him through the heart, the islet they were fighting on had been shattered to pieces."

    With a finger, you gently stroke the scales over Verdigris's nose. Her forked tongue brushes over your skin. "Five days," you say, faintly amused. One for every Immaculate Dragon. "How auspicious."

    "It's a story!" Sola says, glaring you into silence. "Anyway, the shogun wanted to honour her fallen enemy, for his skill and his bravery and to mark an end to this long period of war that all the Shogunate had suffered through. But the ship she'd come to the archipelago on was small, so she interred his body in a cavern, along with his effects, and Storm's Eye, his sword. She declared that she would tell only Gens Erel where it was, and that it had been cursed to prevent anyone else from tampering with it."

    "And she drowned in a storm on the way home?" you guess, tone deadpan.

    "No!" Sola says, annoyed. "She was assassinated three days later, when she made port. Which triggered the Fourth War of Succession, of course, which just so happened to very nearly wipe Gens Erel out completely."

    "What makes this a family story, then?" you ask.

    "Only three Erel scions survived," Sola explains. "Two married into Gens Ferem. The third one, though, married into Gens Olvar, who are some of our ancestors. It all ties together, you see!"

    You can't help but give a little laugh. "And I'm descended from the Mantis Shogun," you say. "Oh, don't roll your eyes, I'm not even joking -- Burano was her great, great, great granddaughter."

    Sola, if anything, seems delighted by this. "So I suppose you're fated to defeat me... one of these days." She ducks, laughing, as you throw the empty flask at her head.

    Once she retrieves it, you regain your composure. "Well, it's my turn then, I suppose. How much do you know about the conquest of Prasad?"

    "Not much," Sola admits, clearly interested. "House Burano and Ophris took their legions on a long campaign, went rogue, and carved out their own little kingdom."

    "More or less," you say, privately reflecting on how insulting most Prasadi would find that characterisation. "This comes from a text that my father gave me as a child -- it's a story about Burano Fareena, who was Burano's youngest daughter, and my ancestor on Father's side."

    "Alright, then," Sola says.

    It's been years since you last read that book, but you'd poured over it often enough as a young girl to have large parts of it memorised. "When Clans Burano and Ophris finally found a path through the Summer Mountains, they stood with the whole of the Southeast laid out before them. A land of great beauty and indescribable bounty: verdant grassland, lush forests, whole mountains of jade and lesser minerals, and above all, the vast, gleaming sapphire expanse of the Dreaming Sea. They understood in their very souls that this was a land truly sacred to the Dragons. It was their solemn, spiritual duty to bring their truth to its people, profaned as it was by misguided mortal princes and wicked fair folk and unchecked Anathema."

    "I bet that mountain of jade caught their eye a bit too," Sola says, only grinning as you give her a level sort of look. Her revenge for your commentary earlier.

    "At any rate," you say, "the legions of the Dragon Clans met the armies of Prasad. The Prasadis of the day knew not the true joys of the Perfected Hierarchy, instead being ruled over by a god-blooded priest caste and the gods they descended from. Both were ill prepared for such a force led by the Dragons' own Chosen. City after city fell along the main trade road, until the Dragon Clans arrived at Kamthahar itself — capital of Prasad then as well as now — and laid siege to the city."

    You recall, briefly, your father's stories of the city of his birth, with its high towers and lush gardens, the Most Pristine Sanctuary of the Spirit at its centre. You'd like to see it, someday. "The fighting dragged on for long weeks, the defence led by the half-god children of the war god Prikata Fang-Fall, priest generals blessed with his power. At long last, in their desperation they called upon their divine father himself, and the god took to the field personally, striking down General Burano Lemera himself.

    "It was then that her niece, my ancestor, Burano Fareena took up the fallen general's spear and challenged the god: 'Stand before me if you dare, you wayward spirit who would trespass on earthly affairs and spill the blood of the righteous. Face me, and know the Dragons' Pure designs for the world. I will drive each of their lessons into you until you learn their wisdom, or perish.'"

    This, you notice, has Sola's attention, no jokes or cynicism. You suppose she's already shown you that she has a taste for these sorts of theatrics. "Prikata laughed, and fell upon her with fangs of dripping crimson against her lance of shining jadesteel. Farika fought like Mela herself — her every blow was a gale and a lightning strike in one. Her every parry shook the walls of the city with peals of rolling thunder. The war god fought her for a day and a night, all his might and his cunning failing against the armour of her wrathful conviction. And as the sun flooded the battlefield with light once more, Fareena brought the very sky down upon him, pinning him fast to the ground, a handbreadth from death. His progeny threw down their weapons in surrender at the sight of Prikata laid so low, and the gods of Prasad began to understand the folly of their actions as the rightness of the Perfected Hierarchy came into their hearts. On behalf of his court, the wounded god begged to be taught how he could find his place within it.

    "As the city surrendered in the wake of the gods' defeat, the Dragon Clans recognised that, while not truly enlightened, the people of Prasad were more virtuous than most. They already attempted to order their society in a natural hierarchy, each caste keeping to their own people and tending to their own tasks for the greater whole. It would not be so difficult, it was decided, to make them understand the truth of the cycle of reincarnation. The surrendering gods and priest kings were made to see the error of their ways, and allowed to retain their spiritual authority, becoming the ancestors of Clan Akatha, and leaving earthly rule to the Dragon-Blooded of Clans Burano and Ophris, themselves mighty gods in human form."

    Sola's expression at that is everything you'd hoped it would be. "I'll bet the monks loved that book." she says.

    "Well, I was instructed not to let them see it," you admit. "I'm sure mother knew, but she didn't intercede — so long as I received a proper Immaculate education as she commanded, it was not unacceptable for me to learn a little of my father's heretical faith. Do you find it so unappealing, the thought of being worshiped as an earthly divinity?"

    Sola's eyes widen, and she opens her mouth, presumably to give a rebuttal as a good Immaculate girl should, before she frowns. "You're making fun of me," she says.

    "Not unduly," you tell her.

    Sola laughs at that, pulling herself to her feet. "Well, you've definitely won," she says, offering you her hand. "I would enjoy reading a more... grounded accounting of that campaign, at some point. I'm sure we have something at home." You accept it, letting her help you up as Verdigris finds a more secure spot across your shoulders.

    It's at this point that you realise that you have an observer. A familiar, androgynous figure steps out of the rocky hillside, emerging as if from water. "I hope I'm not interrupting," says Diamond-Cut-Perfection.

    Before you can say a word, Sola has lunged for her real sword, swept it up and out of its sheath, and leveled it at Perfection's throat. "Identify yourself, spirit," she demands.

    Perfection smiles, displaying wide, innocent eyes, and putting their hands up in mock surrender. "Oh, please, I'm a friend. There's no need to threaten violence, O mighty Exalted warrior. Ambraea, introduce us!"

    You give Perfection an unimpressed look, strongly suspecting they startled Sola on purpose. "This is Diamond-Cut-Perfection, Lesser Elemental Dragon of Earth and my extra-curricular mentor. Diamond-Cut-Perfection, you are currently being threatened by Tepet Usala Sola, Chosen of Mela."

    Sola gives a very slight start at this news, but manages to remain calm as she slowly slides the sword back into its sheath. "I see," she says, not taking her eyes off of the shapeshifting dragon. You have just definitively put Perfection into the category of beings that one does not make into an enemy without significantly more force to bring to bear than two young and inadequately armed Dragon-Blooded.

    "Delighted to meet you," Perfection says, giving Sola a dazzling smile.

    "I assume this is about something," you say.

    "Can I not simply talk to my favourite young sorcerer?" Perfection asks. When you continue to give them a flat look, they laugh. "Oh, very well. I have a mutually beneficial proposition."

    "Which you're choosing to deliver in person, in front of my classmate?" You ask. Verdigris coils a little tighter around your neck, anxious at the larger elemental's presence.

    "Well! It concerns her as well."

    Sola blinks, taken aback, but curious. "It... Does?"

    Perfection smiles a little wider. "Well, I couldn't help but overhear—" You make a slight scoffing noise. "Well, I couldn't help but overhear your fascinating story, and I thought to myself: Diamond-Cut-Perfection, don't you know of a cave like that?"

    "... A cave like what?" Sola's eyes are already wide with subtle excitement as she asks, however.

    "A cave, hidden by magic, holding the entombed corpse of a dead Dragon-Blood and his earthly possessions," Perfection says.

    "And you just happen to know of this place?" you ask.

    "I just happen to know most things about this misty little archipelago," Perfection says, waving that off. "I was the very ground between all your feet for long, dull centuries. And a cave warded with powerful magic against incursion by my elemental servants sticks out in my memory."

    This all makes sense. Still, you cross your arms over your chest. "And you didn't seek out a way into it before now?"

    Perfection sighs dramatically, leaning back against the rock behind them. "Such a suspicious mind, Ambraea: Don't worry, it's attractive, in a woman of action. Previously, you'll note I did not have either a supposed descendant of the entombed Dragon-Blood on-hand, along with a pupil who owes me a favour. The Earth is patient, but it does move eventually."

    Despite yourself, despite the fact that you know they're bragging about themself, you can't help but find that description flattering. You glance at Sola.

    "We can trust the spirit?" Sola asks you, voice quiet.

    "If it involves our bargain, I cannot imagine they would deceive me deliberately," you say. Then frown. "At least, not lethally so. Truly, no one else on these islands knows about the cave?"

    "As far as I know," Perfection says. "Trust me: It's not particularly accessible, even at the best of times."

    "Is it underwater?" you guess, heart sinking.

    "At high tide, and not much better at low," they agree, voice pleasant. "Just one of the many hidden little nooks and crannies out here. There's something I want from that place — I don't much care about the corpse itself or the sword or whatever other affects you see fit to claim, as long as I have that. Oh, don't give me that expression — it's not tombrobbing if the place was only ever intended to be temporary until the family could take custody of things."

    You glance at Sola, gauging how she feels about this, but she looks, if anything reasonably excited about the prospect.

    "You owe me for that first lesson either way," Perfection says. "Why not pay that off in a way that benefits you anyway? Obviously I can't be much involved myself — I have been permitted to keep up our bargain, but the friendly staff of the Heptagram have been most discouraging about further direct interference in student affairs or 'clawing after power' on this island."

    You give a very slight sigh. "We'll see, then."


    "You're going to go cave diving off the shore of the island?" Maia asks. You can hear how big her eyes are without actually turning around to look.

    "It's in an isolated cove," you tell her. "The island's outer spiritual defences shouldn't be a problem."

    "Well, yes, but drowning might be, for you!" Maia says, not unreasonably.

    "This is not an insurmountable problem," you say. You and Sola are Exalts, and you're already a true sorcerer.

    "It would be easier with my help, though, wouldn't it?"

    You turn to face her then. Maia is leaning over a workbench, one finger trailing just above the surface of the liquid in the bowl in front of her. In place of a stir stick, the concoction is swirling around in a perfect spiral under her direction, components combining and darkening smoothly. "It probably would," you admit. All else aside, having a Water Aspect along is obviously useful in this enterprise. "Are you offering?"

    "Well..." Maia doesn't quite look you in the eye, but there's an oddly determined set to her mousey features. "Well, yes," she says.

    "Thank you." Before you can see her reaction, you kneel down to arrange the last of the sticks of incense, carefully ringing the tree in front of you, a towering plant growth that takes up most of the tower room you're in. The air is filled with the pleasant, verdant scent of a forest in full summer splendor, and you can't entirely suppress an urge at the back of your head to curl up at the base of the tree and take a well-deserved nap. The fact that it's festooned with paper warding seals and restraining talisman's puts the lie to the already unlikely possibility of it being an ordinary plant, and serves as a very good reason why you should not be taking naps anywhere in its vicinity.

    You're very careful and deliberate as you take a candle and slowly light the incense, moving stick by stick, whispering words of calming as you go. Finished, you step back to let Maia retrace your steps, carefully pouring the contents of her bowl over the tree's roots. It gives a disconcerting groan of appreciation, a sound that audibly sets your teeth to vibrating.

    Still, this is one of the simpler spirits to placate, hence why the two of you are doing this alone. It almost makes you feel bad for the sacrifices, scurrying around the school in their large groups, keeping cantankerous old elementals from doing anything too annoying. You and Maia both got through it, though — surely they can as well.

    "Is L'nessa still in the library tower?" Maia asks, already turning to tidy up. Doing that sort of chore yourselves had been a strange sort of novelty, at first — now you both barely consider it. The Heptagram's invisible servants would take care of most things, but a wise sorcerer does not leave even the remnants of her workings laying around where anyone can blunder into them.

    "Yes," you say. "Amiti agreed to re-explain some of those details about the elemental cycle to her, in exchange for some help with practical technique."

    Maia makes a small, tentative frown. "Is Amiti still..."

    "Yes," you say, instinctively knowing what she's getting at. Amiti can regurgitate theory with a truly impressive degree of recall. Actually using any of it is another matter.

    "Right," Maia says, narrow shoulders slumping a little in sympathy. She steals a glance up at you, hesitating for a long moment before she asks what she's thinking. "Do... you and Sola know what you're going to do? About that cave? Aside from me helping, now that I offered to help. Not that you were counting on that!"

    You don't visibly react to her outburst, even if it is almost distractingly endearing. Having put the last of the components away in a cupboard, you kneel down to scoop up Verdigris where she'd been waiting in the corner. The snake wastes no time in twining around your arm. "We've had some ideas," you admit.

    Article:
    What is Ambraea's immediate course of action regarding the cave? Sola will make her own preparations for this as well.

    [ ] Ask instructor Cynis Bashura for advice

    Bashura is aware of your situation with Diamond-Cut Perfection, and seems to be willing to leave you to it, within reason. She's a famously seasoned adventurer, and is likely to have advice for you, if you can convince her to part with it.

    [ ] Ask L'nessa's adoptive cousin, V'neef Darting Fish, for advice

    One of the older students, who you met over the summer. He seems well versed in nautical magic, and so may be able to help you brave some of the more natural dangers ahead of you. You don't know him well, but he seemed friendly enough, and your connection to L'nessa gives him a reason to stay that way.

    [ ] Ask guest instructor Sai for advice

    Sai is an elusive guest instructor and an expert on ghosts and shadowlands. She might have some words of advice when it comes to entering such an impromptu tomb as what you're considering. You scarcely know where to look to find her, but Sesus Amiti seems to have been able to consistently do so, from the extremely morbid things she's been gushing about.
     
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    • Year 2: Swords and Legacy 03
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    • Ask Instructor Cynis Bashura for advice: 11

    Ask Guest-Instructor Sai for advice: 10

    Ask V'neef Darting Fish for advice: 3

    You're in the middle of mentally rehearsing what you're going to say to your instructor when a familiar stack of books comes around a blind corner, and knocks right into you.

    Amiti gives a squeak of alarm as she begins to lose her balance, unable to budge you along the stone floor underfoot despite the speed at which she'd been travelling. You shoot a hand out to grab her by one narrow shoulder, steadying her before she can topple over entirely. For a moment, you're supporting her whole body weight with that one arm, while she struggles to right herself again.

    "One day, you're going to run into something worse than me," you tell her, trying to sound stern.

    "Oh, hello Ambraea!" Amiti says, peering at you behind her stack of books. "And, don't worry, I already have. I think the book at the top is going to slide off, could you fix it?"

    You do as she asks, nudging a particularly tired, battered looking journal back into place. On impulse, you flip the cover open to read the title, written down the page in old fashioned Realm characters:

    Being the Journal of Manosque Malachite, Beloved of Sextes Jylis, and an Account of His Travels Through the Underworld and the Courts of Ghost Lords Most Terrible

    "This can't be an original," you say, frowning at the book. House Manosque had been stricken from the rolls of the Great Houses and exterminated down to the last more than five hundred years ago.

    "Oh, I think it's a copy," Amiti agrees. "Still, it was a nightmare to find, even with Instructor Sai's help. This might contain the only first hand account of soulforging we have in the whole school! It's a frustrating oversight, don't you think?"

    You don't actually know what, specifically, soulforging is, but the ways of ghosts and the unspeakable practices they carry out is hardly your area of focus — souls are meant to return to the Cycle of Reincarnation when they die, not linger on in violation of the Perfected Hierarchy, after all. You'd heard it suggested that it may be one of the reasons Dragon-Blooded Essence lacked much of an affinity for the foul magic of the Underworld. "I can't say I'm familiar," you admit.

    "Oh! It's fascinating," Amiti says, her wide eyes looking far away. Then she comes back to herself and adds a little self consciously:"... And horrible, of course. But still, very interesting, in an academic sense. I could lend—" she gasps suddenly, a look of panic seizing her small frame. "Very nice talking to you, thank you for your help, I really must be going! Look at the time!"

    You watch her hurry off on unknowable Amiti errands. As usual, you're slightly concerned, but... well, surely whatever she's studying isn't going to cause too much trouble. Whatever that strange instructor was telling her.

    You continue the climb up to Instructor Bashura's chambers — this is usually the time of day that she was free, and relatively open to entertaining the out-of-lesson questions of students. The main difference between student dorm room levels and where you currently are is that this curving tower hallway has a great deal fewer doors. Instructor's quarters, perhaps obviously, are much more spacious and private than what you and your classmates enjoy.

    You find the door with Cynis Bashura's name on the plate, and give it a respectful knock. There's a pause, before a voice calls from the other side: "Come in, then."

    You open the door and step inside a room crowded full of the souvenirs of an uncommonly adventurous life.

    An eclectic array of artwork and trophies from every Direction adorns the walls; sacred masks and carved bone idols, shields and ceremonial weaponry. A large painting of a city on the slopes of an icy mountain takes up most of one wall, and another is guarded by a startlingly lifelike taxidermied tiger.

    Bashura herself sits in a chair that seems to have been fashioned from the skull of a truly massive tyrant lizard, the upper portion tipped up and lined with cushioned leather to serve as a back, the jaw split to make the arms against which the instructor now lounges.

    "Ambraea," she says, in the process of filling the bowl of her pipe with tobacco and whatever else it is that Cynises casually smoked in the middle of the day. With one easy motion you've already seen from her numerous times, she uses a finger to light it with a tiny spark of flame. "Why do I feel as though this isn't going to just be about your regular studies?"

    You're not sure why she'd have that accurate a read on the situation, but here you are. "Age's hard-won wisdom, ma'am?"

    She actually laughs at that, the smoke from her pipe mingling with the thin trickle of smoke from her Aspect markings. "A less generous soul would take that the wrong way," she says, leaning forward in the chair. "Now, pour me a cup of that rice wine, and tell me what it is you need."

    You follow her instructions, moving over to the nearby table, where an absurdly opulent rice wine flask sits beside a waiting cup. The porcelain of the flask is glazed in what you recognise as red jade, floral patterns creeping up its surface. You reach for it gingerly, but it seems to be only faintly warm on the outside, for all that the liquor it contains is visibly steaming, magically heated from the inside out by the enchanted jade.

    You can't help but think that this is exactly the sort of thing you'd expect a Cynis to have onhand. Sure enough, as you fill the matching cup, you catch a glimpse of her family's chainlink mon at the bottom of the flask. The smell is admittedly delicious. "I was hoping for advice on investigating a partially-submerged cavern," you say. "Which may be magically guarded. As an intellectual exercise, of course."

    "Of course," Bashura echoes, tone dry. She accepts the cup gratefully, however. "That overgrown pile of rocks put you up to this?"

    That could only mean Diamond-Cut Perfection. Who had, in point of fact, put you up to this. Even as you open your mouth to say something, though, she's speaking again:

    "About seventy years ago, I went on a bit of a journey to Lathe, looking for a younger cousin of mine. Things went... a little awry, in the way good travel always does." You follow her gaze as it flicks around the room, seeming to alight on several items in particular — a wickedly hooked sword hanging on one wall stands out, as do a collection of demonic looking idols carved from shining volcano glass. "The point is, I found myself on an island north of the Spine Peninsula. The Meiyu there did a brisk enough trade with the Baihu city states, because of the very pretty sort of stone that they could collect from the seafloor around their island. The island's not there anymore — do you know why?"

    "It was conquered by its neighbours?" you guess. From you historical education, such was often the fate of small nations with valuables to offer, but not enough other resources or bodies to defend them. And not all of them were lucky enough to be taken into the protective embrace of the Realm, where the violence of the conquest could at least be followed up by relative safety and prosperity.

    Bashura takes a drink, her eyes far away. "No," she says. "The island isn't there anymore. It's not deserted or conquered. Those pretty stones turned out to have been scales shed by a very strange variety of elemental, one that had been sleeping quietly beneath the island for generations — some variety of giant, earthen komodo dragon. When it woke up and discovered that they were no longer where it had left them, it was quite unreasonably displeased. I was on the far side of the island, asleep when this happened, and had enough time to grab the boy I'd spent the night with and the nearest ship captain I could find, and get them both off shore ahead of the whole thing crumbling into the sea. The water flooding into the caverns beneath that island sucked everything down — it was over in minutes." Her mouth curves down in distaste. "I hope that lizard couldn't breathe underwater anymore than the people could, but I wouldn't count on it."

    She takes in a mouthful of smoke as she returns her gaze to you. The look is momentarily a little uncomfortably intense and searching — Fire Aspects can have that effect. "Earth elementals like to call themselves calm, patient, staid compared to the other elements. That's true, broadly, up to a point. In my experience, they're also grasping, arrogant, entitled. An Earth elemental denied what it thinks it is owed by right can be profoundly dangerous, and profoundly selfish."

    A large part of you wants to bristle at this — Earth is your own element, after all, and you can't help but resent this characterisation of the living embodiments of it. On your shoulder, Verdigris rears up to glare at Bashura, tail wrapping lightly around your neck in suppressed agitation. You vaguely wonder if she's taking the comment even more personally than you are, being an Earth elemental herself. "I understand, Instructor Bashura," you manage. You can accept this warning at face value, at least, although you don't think Perfection is liable to outright sink the island anytime soon. They've been quite straightforward with you, so far. Annoying, but straight forward. "Thank you for your advice on this matter."

    Bashura laughs again — you wish she'd stop doing that. "As unasked for as it was," she says. "Fine, then. Your cave problems." She sets her cup down on the bony arm of her chair, and leans forward, eyes fixed on Verdigris. "'A Bestiary of Mountain, Sky, Field, Flame, and Sea, she says.

    You blink slowly, your hand reaching up to stroke Verdigris's head, as you don't think she likes the attention from Bashura. "I'm sorry, ma'am?"

    "Originally by Arjuf Caril," she says. "The last section is the one relevant to your needs. You'll want the updated version by Mnemon Lyria. Iselsi Ozra's earlier translation is not really worth the paper it's printed on."

    "A.. book?" you guess. "About elemental varieties?"

    "No points for stating the obvious, Ambraea," Bashura says. "You've shown an aptitude already — it's time to branch out. There are several creatures in that text that could address the first part of your problem. I do not need to know the specifics of what you're doing... so long as you provide me a report on your choice, the logic behind it, and how you might improve your summoning technique in the future. This should be within the means of any second year student who has already initiated into the Emerald Circle. Or, I suppose you could just try holding your breath."

    This last is not entirely a joke — you're an Earth Aspect, after all, and such things are well within the grasp of many Dragon-Blooded — but you know there's a correct answer to this. "I have not perfected my breathing techniques to that degree, ma'am," you say, heart sinking at the thought of how she had not given a length that the report has to be. It's an ominous sign, when you're expected to suss out that sort of detail yourself.

    Still, perhaps this is what you should have expected, coming to an instructor with this sort of problem: Homework. It's not as though making a more serious study of elemental summoning is going to hurt your education. It's probably going to be a genuine pain to find that book, however.

    Article:
    Ambraea has been pushed toward researching an obscure text full of elementals, for the purposes of summoning something useful for getting you and others into a sea cave. It will hopefully also prove useful in overcoming the dangers further into the cave itself. The elemental needing to operate and be helpful within relatively tight confines rules out several varieties of water elemental that are otherwise popular to summon.

    What will Ambraea settle on?

    [ ] A crystalline eel
    Nearly invisible underwater, crystalline eels are glass eels the length of a woman's arms outstretched. Possessing of a nervous, paranoid disposition, they are nonetheless employed by underwater spirits to carry messages and make deliveries due to their great speed, elusiveness in the water, and uncanny capability to carry many things without any visible limbs to do so. One should be able to haul both you and Sola through the cavern quickly enough, and also hold any interesting items you find for you. Easily spooked in tense situations.

    [ ] A watermason
    Watermasons are very large, blue-shelled crabs boasting an extra set of claws. They get their names from their tendency to build vast edifices and buildings out of air bubbles. They are sometimes employed by other underwater spirits to construct surreal palaces and temples, but they are better known for their habit of 'rescuing' drowning sailors in order to press gang them into serving as their assistants. It is your hope that you can task one with creating a breathable path through the cavern. They are highly cantankerous while working.

    [ ] An undertow
    Undertows are invisible and nearly intangible, made from pure, shapeless water. They are famous primarily for possessing the twin talents of hoarding secrets and drowning people. It is your hope that, with careful instruction, the latter talent can be used to not drown people. They are famously shy and easily distractible.
     
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    • Year 2: Swords and Legacy 04
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    • Watermason: 16

    Crystalline eel: 12

    An undertow: 3

    You navigate the cramped tower room, curving rows of books rising from floor to ceiling, lining the walls and forming narrow aisles to work your way through. Enchanted lamps provide a soft glow unlikely to strain eyes or damage pages. The air is filled with the earthy scent of aged paper and parchment. In short, you can't help but feel this is the sort of place that Amiti spends much of her spare time.

    Finding the column you're looking for, you push the ladder anchored to the shelves along their length and make the climb to the volume you've come here for. Mnemon Lyria's translation of A Bestiary of Mountain, Sky, Field, Flame, and Sea is a weighty book, this particular copy bound in worn leather. You stick it under one arm and climb down the ladder — a low, almost imperceptible hiss from Verdigris is the first warning you get of there being anything wrong.

    When you still have one foot left on the ladder, a hand lashes out, quick as lightning, and snatches up the book, its owner darting back before you can reach for her. You fix the girl in question a hard look. "Simendor Deiza. Wasting your time with childish pranks now, I see."

    She actually has the audacity to laugh, ticking a strand of iridescent hair behind one ear, as if to get a better look at the book she's taken from you. "Studying elementals!" she says. "A little more steady and reliable than demons, but without quite so much bite. That seems like it suits you."

    You narrow your eyes, taking a step closer to her. "You don't know me, Simendor."

    "And you seem quite happy keeping it that way, don't you?" Deiza says, immovable in the face of your approach.

    Why in the name of the Dragons shouldn't you be? "You make enemies for little purpose. Give me the book."

    "Well," says Deiza, "if you'll hold on a moment—" She flinches back as Verdigris lunges forward from your shoulder, striking in the blink of an eye. Deiza herself is unharmed, however — the snake has seized the book from the other girl's hand, and holds it out to you.

    You accept the book, both dry and undamaged by the bronze serpent's mouth. "Elementals have enough bite for my purposes, it would seem," you say, firmly tucking the book under your arm and brushing past her.

    Unseen by you, as you leave the room, Deiza leans back against a bookshelf, letting out a short, huffy sigh. "And here I was just wanting to talk," she says.


    "I'm glad we left when we did — I certainly don't want to still be out here after dark," you say, looking up at the smothering fog overhead.

    "No arguments here," says Sola.

    You're standing on the shoreline, looking down at a small, sheltered cove. It's too filled with rocks, and the rocky shore too steep, for it to be any use as a place to moor a boat, but it does have a sea cave. "It's going to be a bit of a climb up and down," you note, looking into the dark, choppy waters below. Just barely visible above the water line, the dark expanse of the cave yawns on the far side.

    Maia considers this, looking down at the near 90-degree cliff face, rough granite plunging down several metres above the water. "It shouldn't be a problem," she decides. Despite her words, she's bouncing up and down slightly on the balls of her feet in an expression of nervous energy. She hasn't made any effort to remove her clothes or even her shoes ahead of what she's planning on doing.

    "Don't actually go inside on your own," Sola cautions. "We're not actually going to be able to back you up without some preparation."

    "I'll be fine!" Maia says. Then, before anyone can talk her out of it, she leaps off the edge of the small cliff, twisting in midair to make a flawless three-point landing on top of the water below. She straightens up, standing on the sea as easily as she had on land — even the rough surf seems to calm beneath her, so as not to disturb her passage, or spray up into her face unduly. "See?" she calls, already walking toward the cave.

    As you and Sola watch, Maia bends down to peer into the space between the cave mouth and the water, frowning. "I can't see anything like this," she says. "Give me a moment."

    "What are you going to do?" you call.

    "I'm going to take a better look!" With that, she straightens, and then sinks smoothly down into the water. She's gone from sight almost immediately.

    "I hope this crab of yours helps," Sola says. "I don't fancy going into that without some kind of protection. And if we wait too long, we'll be looking at ways to deal with the freezing water as well as trying to breathe in it."

    "Does the cold actually bother you?" you ask Sola, eyes still fixed on the water. She's an Air Aspect, after all.

    "It does when I'm in the water," she says.

    "It will work." You sound confident, and you force yourself to feel confident as well. Verdigris tightens a little around your neck, but not enough to choke — like she's trying to pass as a scaly collar.

    "I've been researching hungry ghosts and other tomb guardians," Sola says. In contrast to you, she's looking up into the slate grey sky, which is very nearly the same colour as the clammy mist lingering around the cove. Like she thinks Maia going into the water is a pot, and it will boil faster if she's not looking right at it.

    "Good," you say.

    To your relief, Maia chooses this moment to reemerge, popping back up out of the water like a cork to grab directly onto the cliff face. "I think it makes a turn a ways in!" she says, already scrambling back up the rough stone with practiced agility. "We should try to bring a light, I think! I have a bad feeling about that place."

    "Seems a little obvious, but it's good to think about," you say.

    Despite your earlier worries, Maia free climbs her way back up to the top of the cliff without evident difficulty, as dry now as before she went into the water. As she sits down on a nearby rock to catch her breath, you find yourself wondering who taught her to scale a sheer surface like that. "Do you still have time?" she asks you. "It took longer to get out here than we expected."

    "We should," you say. Kneeling down on the granite underfoot, you find a relatively flat looking spot, and proceed to run your hand over it slowly. Wherever your hand touches, the rough stone smooths out, as if you're working clay. Taking her cue, Sola fishes around in her bag for a piece of chalk, then kneels down beside you, and begins to painstakingly draw the circle you're going to need. The outer perimeter comes first. "Which way is North?" Sola asks, as she begins to work on the interior.

    "Behind Maia," you say. You can feel the faint tug of the Pole of Earth if you concentrate, now that your mind has been properly opened to such things. It's not as convenient or as accurate as a proper five-needled compass, but it works at this distance, knowing enough about the local geography. Sola nods before carrying on.

    When the two of you stand and take a step back the better part of an hour later, you have a basic elemental summoning circle, straight out of an instructional text. You reach into your own bag, drawing out the stone you've been saving for this — a small, cut amethyst. Running your fingers over the facets one last time, you lean over the circle again, and place the gem into its dead centre. At your urging, the amethyst sinks into the stone with some resistance, until it's finally fully entombed, not a trace of purple crystal left. You take a moment to whisper a word or two to Diamond-Cut Perfection. Although the dragon is probably aware of all this, they don't directly say anything. You nonetheless feel a rush of sorcerous Essence well up from the act, enfusing you and your summoning circle. It's time to get to work.

    "I'll bring you some food later," Maia says whispering to avoid breaking your concentration. Having stayed this long to watch the initial work, now she's clearly making to head back in the direction of the school. L'nessa has already promised you all that she'll share her notes for the lecture on magical fertility you're all missing, which Sola seems to feel particularly guilty about skipping out on. Maia hesitates, shoots Sola a questioning look, clearly asking if she's coming, too. Sola shakes her head, unsheathes her sword, and kneels on the stone with the naked blade across her lap, eyes closed in meditation.

    You'd told them that Verdigris would be enough protection at this hour even with your attention focused on the ritual, but evidently Sola disagrees.

    Slowly, starting on the northern side, you begin to walk clockwise around the circle, speaking an incantation as you go that describes the creature you're calling up, a thing of tidal pools and seabeds, a builder of temporary wonders whose work is never truly complete, each footfall timed with a word, each breath carefully measured, making yourself a conduit for the power coursing up out of the ground.

    When you've finally completed five hundred full circuits, you continue onward until you reach the circle's easternmost face, allowing you to look out toward the West, and the far-distant Pole of Water. The power you've gathered and concentrated here begins to pull in the elemental power around it, drawing on Dragon Lines of water from deep beneath the sea, drawing in the fog from all directions, and the spray from the waves below. Streamers of water droplets coalesce within the circle, shapeless at first. The water gives way before your focused will, however, condensing first into a vague shape. Then into a bright blue carapace, eight spindly legs and four more ending in claws, blank, staring eyes on stalks. For just a moment, the spell wavers, and you half worry that it's going to fail. But you grit your teeth and force the last of the spirit's Essence to stabilise.

    For a few long seconds, you're left staring at a crab so big that it stands as high as your waist, and it's left staring up at you. Then you speak again: "Watermason: Do you understand me?"

    Its mouthparts move speculatively, before it whispers, in a distinctly feminine voice, for some reason speaking Low Realm: "... Aye, mistress." There's precious little glimmer of intelligence in its crustacean eyes, but you hadn't expected there to be — a relatively minor elemental, newly created, barely more than a function and a nature bundled up with some elemental power. More humanlike intelligence could come later, you know, if it manages to develop an identity of its own. That, however, is a concern for later.

    The watermason spots Sola, who has opened her eyes to look at it. Seeing her sword, the crab raises its claws at her in a threatening posture. "No," you say, voice sharp. The claws immediately go down. "You are not to attack anyone without prior permission from me. Is that understood?"

    The crab actually dips what you might absurdly interpret as a curtsy. "Aye, mistress," it says again. Although it still looks at Sola with some degree of suspicion.

    You point down at the water. "You see this cove? Good. I want you to go into this cove — not into the cave. You are to hide underwater in this cove and not come out unless I give you other orders. Am I understood?"

    There is a fractional delay, before the crab intones "Aye, mistress" again, and begins to skuttle down toward the cove. You and Sola watch it sink beneath the water with a sort of weary satisfaction.

    "Wow, it's bigger than I thought it would be." Both you and Sola jump at Maia's voice, turning to glare at her. Maia cringes. "Sorry," she said, "I didn't want to startle the elemental, so I... was quiet."

    "Quiet, she calls it," Sola complains. "You were dead silent. Is that food?"

    "Oh, yes, it is!" Maia holds out the basket she's been carrying toward the two of you. "Since we're all done for today... I suppose you'll be eating it on the way back, though."

    You look at the two servings of rice and meat she's brought you, and instantly, you realise how ravenous and exhausted you are. In that instant, Maia resembles a small, mousey sort of goddess. "You're forgiven," you tell her, snatching up your bowl with all the poise you can muster. A proper, general purpose summoning is much harder than calling up a host of bronze serpents, it turns out — the benefit of having a specific spell for the latter.

    Maia flashes you a smile, and then moves to efficiently clear away the chalk summoning circle before you leave.

    "It's probably too late in the day to practice with the crab just yet," Sola says, after carefully swallowing a mouthful of rice. "But, we should figure that out at least once, before we go in for real."

    "Agreed," you say. The plain food is deliciously bland, just then. "Let's just get in before the sun starts to go down."

    Article:
    When it is finally time to attempt the delve Ambraea, Sola, and Maia are going to undertake, there will be challenges that Ambraea cannot anticipate. What sort of trial does Ambraea, personally, face?

    [ ] A test of her knowledge

    [ ] A test of her might

    [ ] A test of her bonds to others
     
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    • Year 2: Swords and Legacy 05
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    • A test of Ambraea's bonds: 17

    A test of Ambraea's might: 5

    A test of Ambraea's knowledge: 2

    "How long do you need me to wait out here?" L'nessa asks. Her frown always reminds you of a cloud spoiling a sunny day. Not that today is particularly sunny — it's as overcast as ever, mist hanging all over the Isle of Voices. The weather hasn't made that sharp turn toward winter yet, but it is certainly beginning to threaten to do so.

    "An hour," Sola says.

    "If Maia or the elemental don't come back and tell you we're fine by then, go get help," you say.

    "So, what, I'll just stay up here and worry until then?" L'nessa asks.

    "Unless you've taught yourself to summon an Infallible Messenger when we weren't looking," you say, injecting a sliver of levity into your voice.

    L'nessa sighs, daintily setting herself down on the smoothed out patch of rock that had once held your summoning circle, gathering her cloak around herself against the clammy chill. She's brought a book, you notice — there's no excuse not to at least spend this hour productively. "Please come back out of there," she says. "I don't want to be the one to have to explain to my venerable grandmother why it is that my dear aunt wandered off alone and got eaten by a haunted cave."

    Sola laughs at that. By contrast, Maia gives a pronounced wince at the thought.

    "We don't know that it's actually haunted," you tell Maia, trying to reassure her as best you can.

    Maia looks startled. "What? Oh, the cave. Yes. I'm trying not to worry about that!" she says, flashing you a nervous sort of grin. She glances over your shoulder to the cove, seemingly as dark and empty as ever. "We should get started, right?"

    "We should," Sola says. She's wearing her sword as always, doing the same sort of stretches that she does before a sparring session.

    You run your hand over the grip of your sabre — the real thing, this time, not simply a practice sword. Verdigris peeks lazily out of your sleeve, having wound herself around your arm beneath your tunic. "We should," you agree.

    You stride over to the cliff's edge. "Watermason?" you ask, keeping your voice calm and commanding, despite the pounding in your heart.

    The crab surfaces a moment later, blue eyestalks looking up at you from beneath the waves. "Need somethin' done, mistress?" it says, its dialect still borderline impenetrable.

    "Why does it speak like that?" L'nessa asks, frowning.

    "It's a worker," you say, having done a little more research on the subject. It had been bothering you too. "They always adopt a base version of whatever language their summoner speaks." You fix your attention back on the crab. "We would like to go into the tunnel now," you say.

    The water mason blinks first one eye then the next. "Aye," it says, sinking back under the water. At first there's nothing for long enough that you consider calling the crab back up. Then, the water roils, an invisible structure seeming to rise up to the edge of the cliff. Quickly enough, you're looking at what can only be described as a staircase formed of pure water, leading down into the cove.

    You don't allow yourself more than a second's hesitation before you step off the edge of the cliff, landing on the top-most stair as steadily as you can. It bears your weight, thankfully, but it feels decidedly strange. You try not to stare too hard at it as you climb your way down, the light turning even more dim and scant as you enter the strange passageway that takes you under the water itself.

    The 'fortress' is, in truth, merely a sort of rounded chamber at the very bottom of the cove, the pebbly seabed crunching dryly underfoot. You watch fish dart past the transparent walls, as well as strange, more worrisome shapes further out past the mouth of the cove. The air here is entirely breathable, although it has a decidedly briny tang.

    The watermason, despite being a crab, somehow conveys a sense of mistrust aimed at Sola and Maia coming down behind you. "You will not harm my companions," you instruct the crab. "You will treat them with as much hospitality as you would me. Do you understand?"

    The watermason shuffles back and forth on its many legs, one eye fixed unkindly on Maia, who makes a point of edging behind you. "Aye, mistress."

    "We're sure this is stable?" Sola asks, looking up at the metres of water overhead. She winces as the watermason lets out a threatening hiss at the disparagement of its handiwork.

    "Yes," you say, despite the misgivings you yourself feel. Intellectually, you know that the structure is unlikely to collapse without the elemental's direct intervention.

    "I think it's beautiful," Maia says, peering at the walls. "It's like a new way to look at the sea."

    "Well, not all of us are blessed by Daana'd," Sola says. "We should keep going. The cave can't be worse than this."

    "Can you take us into the cavern?" you ask the watermason. It dips its whole body forward in a parody of a bow, and scuttles toward the far edge of the room. As it reaches the wall there, it sticks all four pincers through it out into the water beyond, and begins to furiously churn them, somehow shaping the water as it goes, drawing it back to form an arched corridor tall enough that not even you or Sola have to stoop. Breathable air comes from somewhere, seemingly pulled out of the water itself. You all follow along behind the crab as it continues its odd, back and forth progress, the gravel now slick and wet underfoot.

    As you near the mouth of the cavern itself, Sola reaches into a pouch on her belt, bringing out what looks like a large, clear crystal. She gives it a shake — nothing happens until she's slapped it against her open palm several times, at which point it flickers into a surprisingly bright light. You and Maia both look away, your eyes dazzled by its brilliance.

    "Wow, that's more intense than I expected down here." Sola grins at you, once you can actually see it. "It's a sunlight-stealing stone. You leave it out in the sun, and it, uh..."

    "Steals sunlight?" you guess, your voice just the slightest bit dry.

    "Yeah, that," Sola agrees. As you enter into the cave, her light quickly becomes the only thing to see by, casting crazed shadows on the walls through the water. Things are silent except for the shuffling of your feet, the stirring of the sea, and the watermason's constant, off-tune humming. You decide not to force it to stop — it's doing good work for you, after all.

    The cave takes a sharp turn to the side, taking you further under the island, the walls narrowing and the floor beginning to slope up toward the craggy ceiling, necessitating the crab to work a little harder to extend the corridor of breathable air. Until, finally, your head is above the surface, emerging through a similar hole in the water to the one you came in through. You watch the watermason clamber up the slope ahead of you, visibly fatigued.

    The space you're all in is tall enough to stand in, although you and Sola have to duck under low hanging stalactites. There's a certain claustrophobia to the underground space that you don't particularly mind, but you have a feeling that Sola likes it even less than she did standing underwater.

    "There's writing here," Maia says, pointing to a nearby wall. There are Realm characters there, incredibly ornate and archaic, in the style of the high Shogunate, carved into the very stone.

    "This path is barred to those not of Gens Erel, by writ of her eminence, the great Mantis Shogun, as set down by her own hand. Walk it at your peril." There is a note of excitement in Sola's voice as she reads this — you are absolutely in the right place, now.

    "Be careful," you caution the other two, "this is where it will get dangerous, if it's going to." Your voices echo strangely here, too loud, distorted by the shape of the cavern.

    "Am I ever not careful?" Sola asks.

    "No one," you say, "who has to ask that question actually believes the answer is 'no'."

    Sola laughs, although it's short — the atmosphere of the cave does not encourage levity.

    Fortunately, the slope levels off before too long, and the cave widens again. It's only a matter of minutes before you reach what is undeniably a doorway, set into a wall that shows evidence of stonework, if not quite mundane stonework. The interior beyond is dark in a way that seems to swallow even Sola's miniature sun.

    "I'll go in first," Sola says. "I have the light, after all."

    It's hard to argue with that, as much as you want to. She goes in, shining the light overhead, you and Maia close behind her, trailed by the crab. Nothing seems to go wrong at first when Sola steps through the doorway. It's only when Maia follows her that things start to take a turn.

    The doorway is, in truth, a short hallway several paces long. Almost as soon as Maia sets foot beneath it, you sense something shift in the stone, a slight shudder that you know means nothing good: the rock slab making up the ceiling of the tomb's entrance is beginning to descend, closing it off. It would have been very easy for you to take a step back to clear the doorway, leaving your friends trapped in whatever ancient, makeshift tomb you've found. At least until help arrived however much later. That isn't what you do, however:

    "Maia, run!" you say, your voice an outright order.

    She starts forward like you've just slapped her across the face, but she also does as she's told, running ahead and out of the doorway that you're entirely certain is about to come down. Taking a deep breath, you set your feet in a wide, stable stance, and reach up to catch the ceiling. When the stone lands on top of your waiting hands, you breathe deep, filling your body with Earth Essence, willing yourself to become as the stone pillar.

    "Ambraea!" Maia whirls as if to help you, somehow, but she and Sola are interrupted as a presence makes itself known within the chamber she and Sola are standing in:

    "So," says a voice like a rusty blade scaping along slate, "at long last, someone has arrived to relieve my vigil."

    In the centre of the room, bones are laid out on a stone. They're adorned in armour, with a large daiklave plunged up to the hilt into the stone at their feet. Around them, in this cold and crude chamber, are a few other stone containers, old enough to have faced the many lonely centuries since the body was first put here. That isn't all, though — a figure has come into focus above the bones, the transparent shape of a man adorned in jade armour, his hair worn in an old-fashioned Shogunate style, the phantom twin of the entombed daiklave sheathed at his side. But his eyes blaze an angry red, and when he speaks, his mouth is filled with razor-pointed teeth. A hungry ghost — such spirits are general unintelligent or even bestial — this one, plainly, is neither of those things.

    "Who among you claims to possess the blood of Gens Erel?" the ghost says, looking at the three of you with its alien eyes.

    "I do!" Sola says, but she accompanies this by drawing her sword, crossing the distance between her and the spirit in a blink, and plunging the blade into its chest. Nothing happens — the sword passes through its body as though through thin air. Visible or not, the spirit is not of the material world. Sola lets out a huff of frustration.

    The ghost seems unbothered by this. "Very well," it says. "My murderer felt that blood alone was sufficient — I, however, disagree."

    You're not in danger of being crushed by the stone overhead, but the downward pressure stops you from going anywhere in a hurry. There's a further rumble beneath your feet. Through the stone, there's something scrabbling below. Verdigris, hissing her distress, slithers out from under your clothes and onto the ground, taking up an arching guard stance ahead of you. To your slight startlement, the watermason begins to spin braces out of bubbles and Water Essence, further preventing the ceiling from falling as it wants.

    "What do you want?" Sola asks, pointing her useless sword at the hungry ghost. There is a trick to striking spirits even when they're not fully solid, of course, but evidently, Sola hasn't learned it yet.

    "I want you to prove yourself worthy of the weapon of a true war sorcerer," the ghost says. "Answer my questions and then swear to lay my body properly to rest, and you and your companions shall leave with what you seek."

    "And if I don't?" Sola asks.

    "Well, then you won't leave." The ghost is still grinning, but it's a truly savage expression, no humour in it at all. The rumbling is louder now, accompanied by a strange, metallic clicking. The others obviously hear as well — Maia begins looking for its source frantically.

    "Do as it says," you tell Sola, your voice thick with exertion, "it's what we came for anyway."

    "Fine," Sola says, her frustration obvious, although not quite aimed at you. "Ask your questions."

    The ghost doesn't hesitate before it begins: "What, according to the great savant Arjuf Nowa, are the five principle considerations of battlefield sorcery?"

    Your heart sinks. How are you to be expected to know the specific writings of a long dead scholar, quite possibly lost to history? Fortunately, it isn't you who is being tasked with answering. Sola speaks immediately, almost without hesitation, launching into an explanation she's clearly memorised: "One: That the battlefield sorcer is a blade that cuts two ways, placed at her own allies' throats even as she is wielded against the—"

    Your attention soon wanders from Sola, however — you've found the source of the strange sounds. Around the edge of the room, you now see a series of narrow slots set into the floor. Shapes move within, gleaming darkly in the light from Sola's crystal, which stil burns brightly where it was discarded on the floor. Verdigris lets out a low, warning hiss, brass fangs bared and ready to strike.

    Sola has noticed as well. "... that above all, she must be herself a soldier, not merely a worker of sorcery. What is that?"

    "The caretakers of this tomb," the ghost says. "I can call them off, of course. After my questions. You've done well, so far."

    "Can anyone hurt this ghost?" Sola demands, looking at the two of us.

    Maia shakes her head.

    "I... could," you say, obviously in no position to do so.

    Sola takes in a deep, calming breath, her hand still gripping her sword. "Fine." She says. "Next question?"

    "What are Fortuitous River's Four-Score Most Indispensable Demonic Servants For the Waging of War?" the ghost asks, naming yet another obscure Shogunal text. It's still asking the right person: Sola, speaking even quicker now, begins to list off demons, struggling only a little to remember them all.

    From out of the slots in the walls, the creatures you've been seeing signs of pour forth: Gigantic ants, each the size of a dog, their exoskeletons made of a dark, metallic material, their pincers dripping silvery poison. They pay Sola no mind at all, giving her a wide berth. You and Maia, on the other hand, are in no such lucky position. Mercury ants: A type of Earth elemental infamous for a toxic bite highly similar to acute quicksilver poisoning.

    If circumstances had been slightly different -- if you'd had the use of your hands, say -- this would have been a prime opportunity to try your luck at calling up a horde of snakes. As it is, however, you're left to act out your role as living support pillar, assisted by the watermason, while Verdigris hisses protectively at the nearest of the ants.

    Maia takes all this in, eyes wide and startled, posture hunched in on herself with surprise, looking from Sola and the ghost, to you and the ants. You're entirely aware of exactly how easy it would be for her to extricate herself from this -- she's small and fast enough to dart through the ants, squeeze past you and your own elementals, and make good her escape through the flooded cavern beyond. The risk here is greater than anything the Heptagram exposes students to deliberately, after all; this is a genuinely lethal situation.

    As her dark gaze meets yours, however, you see something hard and determined settle over her, an expression she's never shown you before. As the lead ant advances on you, pincers dripping quicksilver, Maia gives a flick of her wrist, and a knife sprouts from one of its compound eyes. It chitters and spasms, but not for long: In a blur of dark motion, Maia has crossed the distance, one foot lashing out to drive the dagger up to the hilt into the ant's head, good steel piercing its metallic exoskeleton only through the power of sheer Exalted speed and strength. It collapses fully to the floor.

    "Sorry!" Maia says to you, before reaching out to your belt, and drawing your sabre in her now empty right hand. The left already has another dagger in it. Without further comment, she falls upon the other mercury ants that are still pouring through the crack in the wall. She's a darting, weaving thing of blades and killing precision, her anima beginning to roil around her like a blue-black, biting mist.

    You catch sight of Sola, still in the process of rattling off demons and practically vibrating with her desire to join the fight. You know her well enough to understand how little she appreciates having to look on while friends are in danger. "... Tomescu, and Erymanthoi," she finishes. "Is that enough?"

    The ghost smiles that sharp-toothed smile. "Explain, in your own words, the primary sorcerous qualities of moonsilver."

    Swallowing a scream of frustration, Sola forces herself to concentrate. "Moonsilver is imbued with magical properties of change and adaptation—"

    "Maia, look out!" you shout.

    Coming at her from behind, a mercury ant lunges at Maia. Its pincers snap closed right where her waist had been moments before as she flips up through the air. She lands directly on its back, your sabre driving hard into the joint between its head and thorax with a metal-on-metal screech — it doesn't quite decapitate the ant, but it's a near thing. When the next one surges up its comrade's spasming body toward her, her offhand dagger catches its pincer, forcing it up and away from her, and letting her plunge the sabre straight down into its mouth.

    She's not handling herself the way you or Sola would; there's no evidence that she's been trained with duels against other swordswomen in mind. Every blow Maia strikes is intended to cripple or kill; she stabs out eyes, cuts off antena, and takes insectoid legs off at the joint. Every dodge flows immediately into another brutal attack. It's genuinely captivating to watch, but you know that the Essence reserves of a young Dragon-Blood can only be stretched so far; she can't keep this up forever.

    "... widely known for its use in witchcraft and other forbidden or suspect rituals, most famously those of the Lunar Anathema!" Sola glares at the ghost. "Is that all?"

    One of the ants gets a little too close to you — Verdigris lashes out, her fangs sinking into its carapace, pumping in her own venom. The ant struggles, its limbs seizing up long enough for Maia to hook a leg underneath it, flip it onto its back, and skewer its abdomen with the sabre, throwing her entire modest body weight into it.

    "All but the test of blood," the ghost says. "Hold out your hand."

    Sola does as it asks, holding out the hand that doesn't hold onto her sword. The ghost reaches out to grip her arm, and brings its needle teeth down near her wrist. It's at this point that Sola's sword comes up in a perfect, one-handed arc, its edge glowing red with Fire Essence, and cuts off the ghost's head at the neck. "I was waiting for you to go solid!" she says, wrenching her hand away from the ghost's decapitated body, her wrist still bleeding.

    The ghost's head begins to laugh from its place on the floor, teeth wet with Sola's blood. "The blood runs true in deed as well as in taste," it says. "Put your ancestor to rest, child. And carry his blade into battle again."

    Everything stops, then — the ants cease what they were doing, alarm and confusion telegraphing out from them, before they all begin to retreat back the way they'd come, some dragging their wounded. You feel the stone you've been keeping up stop pressing down on you, whatever magic that had caused this effect vanishing. And both the ghost and its head simply melt away into a trickle of foul-smelling water. Everything is quiet for a long moment, all of you standing a little stunned.

    Then Maia sinks down to the floor, leaning back on one trembling arm. Her face is flushed with exertion and relief despite the intimidating cast her anima lends her, and the ragged grin she shoots you is intensely endearing. "I hope I didn't ruin the edge on your sword," she says.

    You actually laugh at that, staggering into the room. Your arms feel like they've been holding up a mountain. "I'll have it sharpened," you say, dismissing this. "Are you both alright?"

    "Perfectly," Sola says, her own cut obviously too shallow to count, in her mind. She grimaces at the two of you. "This isn't exactly how I wish this had gone."

    "A skill-testing quiz isn't Tepet Usala Sola's idea of heroism?" you ask Sola, kneeling down to examine Maia. She has a cut along one leg, presumably from an ant's pincer — hopefully the dose of venom won't be enough to cause much of a problem for an Exalt. The mist that is her anima parts around you harmlessly, although both Verdigris and the watermason shrink back from it.

    Sola laughs. "No, decidedly not."

    "I'll be fine," Maia says. "Just... tired." She shakes her head, trying to will her energy to return. "Shallow cut, bleeding freely — it didn't manage to get a grip. Slashing wounds are a poor venom delivery vector. I'll be up in a minute." She says this with such a confident familiarity that you decide not to contradict her.

    There's a sound of metal sliding against stone behind you. You turn to find Sola drawing out the daiklave from the slab it's been entombed in. To your surprise, its straight, practically-shaped blade is made of bright orichalcum, its golden surface reflecting sunlight even here, so far underground. A broad, flat disc is built into the flat of the blade just above the hilt, with a single, many-faceted ruby set into it, the gem catching the light in strange ways you can't quite place at the moment. The blade itself has clearly been shattered and repaired at some point in the distant past — veins of sky blue jadesteel run between the shards of orichalcum to make the weapon whole again, practically thrumming with ineffable charge under Sola's touch. An Anathemic weapon broken, reclaimed, and remade by the heroes of the Dragon-Blooded Shogunate in centuries past.

    "Well," she says, grinning, "could have gone worse, right?"

    Despite everything, you're forced to laugh.


    "Who taught you to fight like that?"

    Maia starts in surprise at Sola's question. You're already most of the way back to the watermason's hold, you in front, with Sola bringing up the rear. Maia does you both the credit of not saying 'like what'. "... My uncle, mainly," she says. "He was a scalelord with the Water Fleet."

    "And the Navy trains marine officers who fight like that?" Sola seems skeptical, but not entirely disbelieving.

    Maia shrugs. "All kinds of things need doing, overseas. The details aren't... Polite conversation."

    This is fairly plausible — the westward conquests carried out by the Imperial Navy's Water Fleet have been notoriously bloody, and you're certain there is definitely a use for people with Maia's skillset.

    "Erona Maia, you contain depths," Sola says.

    "Water usually does," Maia says, giggling at her own joke half from sheer exhaustion.

    The topic is driven from your mind for the time being at the sight of your way back to the surface. When you emerge back up into the grey light of day, you're only mildly surprised to find that L'nessa isn't alone.

    "... And what did she do then?" L'nessa asks, still perched on her rock. The way she's leaning forward speaks to more than just academic interest.

    "Oh, barely stayed to talk," says Diamond-Cut Perfection, still in human shape, smiling that sly, dazzling smile. "But, the Versino's students were considerably more buttoned down than the Heptagram's, I find. Run by monks, you know." They notice you pulling yourself up over the lip of the cliff first, rising to their feet to offer you a hand.

    After a moment, you accept. Their skin is cool and flawless, and you hastily let go as soon as you're standing. Maia has scrambled up the cliff almost as effortlessly as she did the first time, and helps Sola up.

    "Oh, good!" L'nessa says, relief obvious, getting to her feet as well. "Are you alright? Maia's glowing." Maia is still faintly outlined in the blue-black light, less visible in the sunlight, but not gone yet.

    "We're fine," Maia says. "Just a few elementals and a ghost."

    "More than a few," Sola admits. "But it's fine now — we'll be able to have the body brought up and cremated properly without anyone getting eaten."

    "If you say so," L'nessa says, looking a little dubious at the cuts she and Maia have taken.

    "Come to see whether or not we lived?" you ask Perfection.

    "Oh, come now. I had every confidence in three young Exalted heroes prevailing against such odds." Your failure to smile back at them does little to dim their enthusiasm.

    "Did you know about the mercury ants?" You ask, a suspicion forming.

    Perfection shrugs. "I may have had an inkling that Earth elementals were being bound here, long-term... And might become free to join my court should that binding be satisfied. Oh, don't look so dour! You've succeeded! Your friend has a very nice new sword! And I am once again in your debt. What more could you ask for?"

    "For me not to come back to find you flirting with my friends," you say.

    L'nessa makes a choking sound. Perfection only laughs.

    Article:
    Diamond-Cut-Perfection will teach you a spell in return for this latest service:

    [ ] Breath of Wretched Stone

    The caster whispers an incantation describing the Pole of Earth, a mass of raw Earth Essence building inside her. Then she exhales it as an expanding cloud of clinging, off-white vapour. Those caught in the cloud are petrified. Weaker victims of this spell die this way, rendered into disturbingly lifelike statues, although those with more power or of particularly strong will can fight their way free sooner or later. A combat-orientated spell that is uncommon in the contemporary Realm.

    [ ] Sculpted Seafoam Eidolon

    The sorcerer is able to spin illusions from water and aqueous reflection, creating a lifelike replica of a person, animal, or object. The resulting simulacrum can move and make noise as directed by the sorcerer, and can be very difficult to tell apart from the real thing. Useful for deception and distraction.

    [ ] Silent Words of Dreams and Nightmares

    Looking into a reflective surface, the sorcerer is able to use a sympathetic token taken from a target in order to afflict them with dreams of her choosing when next they sleep. These can be pleasant or nightmarish, but the sorcerer is able to embed messages and manipulations into them. A new sympathetic token — a small possession, lock of hair etc. — from a specific target must be used each time this spell is cast on them. Useful for deniable influence or vengeance.

    Ambraea has gained a connection with House Tepet.

    There will be a summer interlude vote soon, I just want to give this vote room to breathe first.
     
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