Vote closed, Year 3 02
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest
- Thread starter Gazetteer
- Start date
- Fantasy
Art: Young Ambraea/Year 3 Ambraea and Peony, by Kymme
- Location
- The North
Last edited:
Year 3: Metal Honing Stone 03
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Amiti: 25
Maia: 17
Sola: 7
Maia: 17
Sola: 7
Ascending Air, 761
Two years, fifteen months before the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress
There's a light dusting of snow underfoot as you make your way out to the site of V'neef Darting Fish's experiment. It's early enough in the morning that the sun is only just beginning to creep its way up over the horizon, hidden as ever behind the mist. The hour alone would be unpleasant most of the time, but coming right after the five exhausting days of work that are Calibration, it's outright evil. It's also treacherously close to being outside at night, not something you make a habit of, after your ill-advised and extremely fruitful midnight walk back in your first year.
L'nessa brings up the front, her bushy hair tied back for once. A strung bow is slung across her back, along with an ornate quiver stamped with her house's mon. It's a strikingly martial look for her, compared to how she normally conducts herself. Even if you periodically catch glimpses of a small, winged figure peering at you from behind one of the grape bunches in the mon. "Did he have to pick such a cold day?" she asks.
"Oh, is it cold?" Amiti asks. She's declined to wear so much as a cloak over her uniform, unbothered by the early winter's chill. Out of the three of you, she's the only one that hasn't made a point of arming herself. Although she has been fingering her pendant the entire time, and you suspect she's deadly enough, with that.
"Did you notice the snow?" you ask her, keeping a wary eye out, and a hand on the hilt of your saber. There are things on the island who will make a play for a lone younger student; far less for three third years ready for a fight. Still, it's best to present an alert and united front nonetheless.
"Oh, I suppose I did," Amiti admits. Her distraction is at least from a constructive source; she's holding a mirror in her free hand, using it to peer around in all directions as she walks down the path between you and L'nessa. Even if she does have a tendency to fixate on some of the things she catches sight of slightly more than is necessary, you'll at least have much better odds of spotting something invisible than you otherwise would.
"Most of us notice cold weather a little more than you do, Amiti," L'nessa says. Despite her griping, she's carefully watching the path underfoot; you're getting close to the cliffs, and no one wants to veer off track here.
"Well," Amiti reasons, "if the food turns out to be poisoned, somehow, you'll be able to feel better about it." You give a small huff of amusement at that. You're getting better at telling when she's making a joke on purpose.
"My darling nephew is not going to serve us poisoned food," L'nessa says. You're all skipping breakfast, so Darting Fish promised to have scraped up something — it's probably not going to be terribly good eating, but anything is an improvement over L'nessa taking another excuse to show off Food From the Aerial Table again.
L'nessa stiffens, her bow coming down off her back. You take note of the shape coming at you through the fog, even as it resolves itself into something more or less humanoid, until you recognise who it is.
"Well, I hope you're not planning to shoot anyone with that," says Peleps Nalri, stepping out of the fog with her hands up. She must be at least as cold as L'nessa. Still, the rich, warm tones of her skin and the gently waving kelp fronds that wind through her dense curls bring to mind nothing so much as clear seas warmed by the summer sun.
"Goodmorning, Nalri. What are you doing out here on your own?" L'nessa asks, not actually putting the bow back away. There's a note of suspicion in her voice beneath the pleasantries.
"I'm simply enjoying the brisk morning air," she says, smile barely wavering in the face of the two skeptical glances she gets in return. Amiti isn't looking at her; the moment she'd been certain it was just another student, her attention had snapped back to her mirror.
"Of course you are," L'nessa says, smiling back, the gesture veering a little closer to a bearing of teeth than to anything with real warmth.
Nalri seems unphased. "Now, if you'll—"
"First quarter!" Amiti's voice is loud and urgent, her eyes wide at whatever she's seeing reflected. L'nessa doesn't hesitate — she draws an arrow, brings up her bow, and fires at the correct angle. Her arrow streaks over Nalri's shoulder, striking the insubstantial thing that has only just started to wind itself together from the mist. It shrieks and recoils, withdrawing the clawed hand that had been grasping for Nalri's throat from behind. The arrow vanishes with it as it flees back into insubstantiality.
When it becomes obvious that there's not going to be any more trouble, you snap your sabre back into its sheath; you hadn't even had time to draw it all the way out. "Thank you, Amiti!" L'nessa says, all smiles. "I do hope you'll be more careful in the future, Nalri — it would be a shame for such a valued upperclasswoman to be harmed over wanting to take in the morning air."
Mortified, Nalri storms past her, unable to meet her eyes. "Consider the company you keep," she says to you on her way by.
"Thank you, but I think I have considered that quite carefully," you say, not even bothering to smile. You're all silent for a short while, until she's credibly out of earshot.
"Well, that was exciting," Amiti says, briefly raising her pendant to her lips.
"Well-spotted," you tell her. Amiti gives you a tentative sort of smile past her hand — you're not sure she gets a lot of praise, ordinarily.
"What was she doing out here, I wonder?" L'nessa says. "And coming from the direction of Fish's experiment. I don't like that."
"How seriously does she take inter-house politics?" Amiti asks.
"Well," L'nessa says, "her mother commanded an escort flotilla in the Merchant Fleet. So the bad blood between our families may be slightly more than just politics to her. Let's just try to hurry, shall we? Fish said he'd managed to find some help, but I have a bad feeling about this now."
The path takes you through a much narrower stretch, a sheer drop to your left with the sound of crashing waves far below, and a small, stunted stand of trees to your right. You try to keep a weather eye on the path behind you, as well as the dark spaces between the trees. You arrive without further disaster, however.
There's a semicircular clearing up ahead, illuminated by a single magical light resting on a small, wooden table. Two figures lean over it, studying a page laid out on it in the growing light. The first is expected — V'neef Darting Fish is as he was the last time you saw him, offering you a friendly, if nervous smile. Today, his eyes are a deep green-grey, water beneath heavy fog. "Ladies," he says, giving you all a polite bow. He's a lot more keen to observe such niceties here at school than many of your peers — keenly aware of his status as a former patrician, one assumes.
"Hello," says L'nessa, a little tightly when she takes in who his companion is.
"V'neef Darting Fish," you say, likewise looking at the second person in the clearing more than at him.
"Did we know that Deiza was going to be here?" Amiti asks, her head cocked to the side.
Simendor Deiza pushes herself up from the table, grinning. "Oh, probably not," she says. "It was a little bit of a last minute arrangement."
"She half-invited herself," Fish says, looking uncomfortable.
"And where did the other half come from then, I wonder?" Deiza asks. She gives an abbreviated sort of wave in your direction, and tosses off a perfunctory: "V'neef. Sesus. Prasad."
"You're not going to punch her again, are you?" Amiti's voice is strange in your ear, her muttered aside carried on the breeze to reach you alone, silent to anyone else present. She has her pendant up near her mouth again, her hand blocking her lips from view. "I think it would cause problems if you punched her again."
You're torn between scowling, and laughing out loud. You settle for sighing, and reaching up to stroke Verdigris's head where it's poking out from your cloak. — the snake is glaring daggers at Deiza. You offer Amiti a tight shake of the head, and resign yourself to ignoring the unexpected complication as best as you can.
"We found Peleps Nalri prowling around," L'nessa tells Fish. "She was coming from this direction."
"That's... strange," he says. "We didn't see any sign of her, though."
"You should probably give everything another look-over," Deiza says.
"We would have seen if she'd tampered with anything," he says.
"Have you ever seen what one of those things looks like up close?" Deiza asks him. "I have. The last thing you want when you're messing with them is for some bitch with an axe to grind causing you problems."
"She's right," L'nessa allows.
And so, the five of you end up crouched on the ground, going through every component of Darting Fish's experiment. Namely, several live saplings, their trunks each carved with a sign to ward off chimerical guardian beasts, like the ones that nest in the cliffs you're standing on top of.
"It would be more useful if I could use dead wood," Fish admits, "but I want to confirm that they work as consistently as I'd like before moving forward with any changes. The instructors can obviously do something to keep them away from the Heptagram ships, but I don't know if that's inherent to the creation of the beasts here, or if it's even repeatable. There are a few trade routes in the Southwest that I think would benefit from some sort of countermeasure against this kind of creature. It's harder, where they're flesh and blood instead of spirits."
"Our method involves more whips and spells of compulsion," Deiza admits.
"That sounds very messy," Amiti says, looking up from where she's been comparing a sapling against Fish's plans.
"Sure, but it's effective," Deiza says, grinning in a way that makes you angry all over again. Darting Fish keeps shooting you guilty looks — you do best to keep your frustration to yourself.
In the end, you can't find anything obviously wrong. With some misgivings, you decide to carry on with the original experiment.
Darting Fish stands on the edge of the cliff, ending a sequence of Heptagram mudras with the Azure Sign — a stiff wind is summoned from behind him, rolling in to blow away the worst of the mists immediately around you. The cold sea opens up beneath you, lit by the early morning sun. The strange, distorted calls of the guardian beasts wheel around beneath you, their forms subtly wrong, disturbed by the mist's sudden departure.
"They're spelled not to be able to come up to the island proper," Deiza says.
"Well, that's good," Amiti concludes, brightly. She's looking at them a little too intently. "I'd love to have a dead specimen to examine — I'm interested in how the skeleton links up, and I've just learned an excellent spell for cleaning the flesh from bones."
"The school would prefer we not actually harm them unless it's absolutely necessary," Darting Fish says. "Also that we do our best to not make it necessary."
"Fine," Amiti says, sounding resigned. "Retrieving the carcass before the others ate it would be more trouble than it was worth, anyway."
Familiar enough with your task, you move over to the table and pick up one of the saplings. The weight is not insubstantial, between the tree, the pot, and the soil it's growing in, not to mention the length of rope anchored to the pot at several points. You lift it easily enough, though.
"Not that I object as long as I'm not the one doing the grunt work, but wouldn't a spirit have handled this part better?" Deiza asks.
"I don't feel like trusting this to a demon," Fish says. "I know Lady Ambraea, and all of you, will be careful — you're all sorcerers, after all."
"I'm not," Amiti reminds him. This draws a twinge of discomfort from Darting Fish, and a grin of amusement from Deiza.
"You are close enough," L'nessa says, definitively. Amiti looks briefly as though she'd prefer to argue this semantic point, but ultimately swallows her objection.
You position yourself near the edge of the cliff, slowly lowering the potted plant toward the chimeras, their distant, malformed bodies wheeling around below. Amiti and L'nessa peer over the edge, taking meticulous notes, while Darting Fish keeps an eye on the tree, clearly seeing something you don't.
"... I don't like this," Deiza decides, looking down at the chimeras.
"What don't you like?" you ask, through gritted teeth. Verdigris, coiled around your arm beneath your cloak, lets out a quiet hiss at her, agitated by her proximity.
"They're acting strangely," she says.
"Isn't that the point?" you ask, doing your best not to sound irritated just by her proximity.
"Yes! But it's not..." To your startlement, she darts forward, seizing you by the arm. "Let it go!" she says.
You try to physically yank your arm out of her grip without jerking the rope, and Verdigris seems on the point of preparing to strike at her. That's when the first of the chimeras actually lands on the pot... and begins to surge up the rope. It's followed by several of its fellows, the weight you're holding up sharply increasing.
You are an Earth Aspect. As such, you are very difficult to knock down or pull off your feet. But Simendor Deiza is also an Earth Aspect, and these are not exactly ordinary circumstances — the next thing you know, you're toppling over the edge of the cliff, along with Deiza and Verdigris, your friends' grasping hands missing you by scant inches.
The rope slips out of your hand, the pot swinging wildly to smash against the cliffs. You barely notice as the air screams in your ears, the water rushing up toward you. With a heroic effort, you shoot out a hand and grab hold of the cliff face, your fingers dragging furrows in the stone as you slow to a halt.
In that brief moment, you see a body falling past you, and without thinking, you reach out to grab it.
Deiza lets out a strangled sort of sound — you've caught her by her collar from behind, and she's dangling in your grip, her tunic cutting off her airflow. In a moment, she's managed to plant her feet against the cliff face enough to drag in a breath or two, and start cursing. "You couldn't just let it the fuck go when I fucking told you to, could you?"
"I should just let you go right now!" you shout back, absolutely at the edge of your patience. Verdigris is still around your neck, although you can tell that she's terrified, hanging on for dear life.
Trying to reach something approaching the cold calm required, you use the gem hanging around your neck to reach out to Diamond-Cut Perfection. I need help!
They stir at your mental touch. I'm about twenty minutes away from the island.
I don't know if I have twenty minutes!
I've never exactly had reason to learn a teleportation spell! You can feel them coming closer, despite their annoyance, and that is both reassuring and somewhat useless, given the circumstances.
There's a ledge above your head. "Deiza, can you catch hold of that ledge if I throw you?"
"I can't even see it!" she complains, with some justice.
"And I can't climb one-handed!" You look up — you've fallen at an angle, a spur of rock between you and the top of the cliff. You can't see the others. "Can you catch it if I throw you?"
"Fine!" she snaps. "Just do it!"
You take a deep breath, counting down from three out loud. Then you hurl her upward with all your might. You watch Deiza twist around in midair, landing on the ledge with both feet, and wobble dangerously at the edge for a moment before finding her balance. Then she laughs out loud like a lunatic, apparently from sheer relief.
"Are you going to help me up?" you hiss at her, your hand reaching up for the ledge she's standing on.
"No," she says, simply. You believe her for a heart-stopping moment, before she goes down to her knees, seizes you by the arms, and hauls you up after her.
For a stunned, disorientated moment, you both lay there beside one another; the ledge is wide enough for that, and slopes upward. You can hear the raucous, ear-splitting cries of the chimeras still attacking the tree somewhere above. "Weren't they meant to stay away from it?"
"Well, yeah, guess Peleps found a way to fuck with it after all," Deiza says, pulling herself up to her feet. She says a word in Flametongue and makes a sign you remember her using before, and a lethal length of razor-edged, metallic chain appears looped in her hand. "I think we can make it back to somewhere with a clearer shot to the top. This is still your fault."
"My fault?" you demand, scrambling up your feet. You draw your sword — not to run her through with it, as tempted as you are.
"You heard me," Deiza says. She seems intent on leading the way. You're certain that's not the most tactically-sound decision — you're the one with the sword, and Deiza is the one with a throwing weapon, whatever else she can do with that thing. You're also fairly certain that you're just a stronger overall physical combatant than she is.
But do you really want to insist on going first, and have her at your back?
Article: What will you do?
[ ] Let Deiza take the lead
[ ] Take the lead yourself
Last edited:
Vote closed, Year 3 03
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Year 3: Metal Honing Stone 04
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Let Deiza take the lead: 20
Take the lead yourself: 15
Take the lead yourself: 15
You let Deiza go ahead. She seems confident at first, raising her free hand as if to cast something else. She comes up short, though, glancing down at the surf pounding rhythmically at the base of the cliffs, far below. "... Skin of Bronze would not be a good idea," she decides, a little self consciously.
"It would not," you agree. Metal skin is all well and good, until you need to be able to climb, or swim. The spell infers no ability to breathe underwater.
Deiza turns to glare at you, but only jerks back in surprise as a small, glowing figure flits down into view.
It's a tiny winged woman garbed in autumnal leaves, her features startlingly like L'nessa's, this close. "Accept message," you say, slightly relieved.
Her expression beatific, the messenger begins to speak for your ears only, L'nessa's frantic voice completely at odds with the tiny woman's bearing: "Ambraea! Please be alright! I should be able to see and hear you, but I won't be able to reply right away."
"Neither of us were hurt," you say, during the pause she's left for you to reply.
"What is it saying?" Deiza asks.
"That L'nessa can see and hear me, but can't respond," you say.
Deiza seems vaguely offended by this. "I know what an Infallible Messenger is!"
L'nessa's voice has already started again before Deiza can finish: "Just try to get back to the place we lowered the plant down — I know that's near where most of them are, but we have a plan, I think!" The messenger spins itself out of existence in a flash of sweet-smelling Wood Essence.
"They have a plan," you say, the words not sounding any less cryptic than when she'd said them.
"What is the plan, exactly?" Deiza asks.
"She wants us to go in the direction we were already heading in. One moment." You take in a deep breath, tasting the foreign Earth Essence of your pact with Perfection.
"One moment what?" Deiza's eyes narrow, but she recognises that you're casting something quickly enough not to interfere. She still jumps a little when your foot comes down once, twice, three times near a cleft in the stone in front of you.
"Of that," you say, watching the many serpentine bodies boil up out of the stone. "Guard," you instruct them. If bronze snakes could salute, they would have, instead fanning out ahead of you, necessitating Deiza to step quickly aside.
"They'll have heard that!" she says, turning back to face the upward sloping ledge, accompanied by your serpents.
"The help is worth it," you say, voice tight.
To Deiza's credit, she acts quickly enough when the first of the chimeras comes to investigate you, dark and ungainly against the background fog: She hurls her flying guillotine, sending the weapon spinning through the air, where it catches the ungainly form in mid-flight. Too many legs scrabble uselessly as the chain winds around the creature's mid-section, tightening through its own impossible momentum until the monster has been sheared in two. The chain is dripping red when it flies back into Deiza's hand. You suppose the school will just have to consider this as one of those situations where killing the guardian beasts is 'necessary'.
Then there are five more wheeling toward you, beaks screaming and full of teeth. Deiza manages to take another one in mid-flight, but she's not fast enough for all of them — a chimera rakes its claws at her face, before it's set upon by three of your serpents. It carries them down over the side of the cliff with it, their venom already petrifying its distorted flesh.
The monster that comes for you is the size of a large dog — it's not prepared for you to lunge forward to meet it, your sabre cutting deep into its flank. It lashes out at you, but you harden your skin against its claws. There's a nails-on-stone shriek as it shreds your sleeve, but it doesn't do much to your flesh before you can open its throat.
Up ahead of you, Deiza is using her flying guillotine as a whip to fend off the last of the chimeras. She's not as good with it, used like that, you notice. Calmly, you lunge over her shoulder and stab her attacker. It falls to the ledge in front of Deiza, and is immediately finished off by your serpents.
"You're the one who wanted to go first," you're not quite able to keep yourself from saying.
Deiza glares at you, outlined in anima the colour of yellowed ivory, phantasmal spirals of bismuth crystal blooming and dying in the air around her, glittering in the same metallic colours as her hair. "Yes! Thank you for the reminder!" she snaps.
In Deiza's defence, this time the irritability is substantially pain. Her injuries aren't serious for an Exalt and an Earth Aspect, but she's not as durable as you, and those clews hurt. You try to bear that in mind, to swallow your indignation in the name of practicality once again. To stay calm and poised and dignified as a lady should. Instead, you hear yourself saying: "You're wrong about her."
Deiza blinks at you. "About who?"
"About Erona Maia!"
Deiza lets out a small, ragged laugh, which only makes your blood boil more. "Are you fucking kidding?"
"No! Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!" You step closer into her personal space, Verdigris coiled low on your shoulder, her surviving sisters looking on with polished bronze eyes.
"Does it matter right now?" Deiza asks. She's seemingly in disbelief of this entire conversation.
You ignore the question, ploughing on. "Maia is not just some... social climber trying to climb into bed with me! She's a loyal friend who I trust with my life! And I don't just see her as some kind of conquest!"
Deiza musses a hand through her own hair, unknowingly smearing blood in it, muttering something probably-unpleasant in Flametongue. "Do you think I actually give a fuck about your relationship drama? Fuck her or don't or profess your undying love for each other, for all I care! You pissed me off, I just said what I knew would get to you!"
That takes you by surprise enough that you can only stare. "You—"
"It didn't mean anything! It was just words." Deiza whirls away from you, picking up her pace as she clambers up to a higher ledge — it's fortunately not that difficult a climb.
You're trying to decide exactly what to say to that, when you arrive near to your destination. Below, the shattered flower pot lies on its side against the rocks, the sapling utterly torn to pieces by the chimeras. So you make yourself focus back onto more practical matters. "We checked the rune," you say, "how is it doing the opposite of what it's supposed to?"
"At a guess, Peleps might have done something to the chimeras," Deiza says. "Sometimes it's easier to take off the hinges than it is to pick a lock."
"I'm sure I wouldn't know," you say, trying to reclaim at least a bit of your dignity. She has a point, though, although it's more something for you to consider later. Some of the chimeras are already looking up toward you, a hungry gleam in their eye. They can almost certainly smell Deiza's blood already.
The largest part of the flock flies up from the lower cliffs and you tighten your grip on your sword, preparing for a far more desperate fight than before. It's at this point that something up above catches your attention, and you begin to understand the rough shape of L'nessa's plan:
Amiti drifts down toward your ledge, an Arctic wind carrying her gently through what should have been a leg-breaking drop. One hand clasps her soulsteel pendant over her heart, staring with wide eyes at the oncoming flock of chimerical beasts that have begun to take notice of her, her free hand flashing through strangely modified Heptagram mudras. Sickly green light crackles out from the pendant — it filters through her fingers to combine eerily with the pallid blue of her anima, already beginning to wreath her body in clinging wisps of freezing vapour. Just as the monsters converge on her, there's a torturous, ear-splitting scream. You're confused for a moment; it's obviously Amiti's voice, but her mouth is closed.
As an orb of pale light begins to expand out from Amiti's hand, you only belatedly realise that the screaming is coming from her pendant. The first monsters caught up in the expanding orb scream as well, briefly, as numerous tiny, white shapes swarm their bodies. Those a little farther away scream a little longer. The smarter or luckier of the creatures manage to peel away entirely.
Amiti lands gently on the ledge, amid the sad, grizzly remains of the chimeras. In the end, you suppose, she hadn't exactly been lying about having found a good spell for cleaning bones. Even as you and Deiza approach her though, and she flashes you a relieved smile, she's not done — she's casting again:
The pendant's screaming intensifies, and a trickle of red drips out of the fist clenched around the pendant. Black lightning spills out of her free hand, striking the monstrous carcasses all around her feet. They stir to lurching, hideous pseudo-life in time to hurl themselves bodily at their still-living fellows, who are just now back around for another attack. Your remaining bronze serpents — save for Verdigris — help them as best they can. It would be morbidly fascinating to watch, under other circumstances.
"There, that's some breathing room!" Amiti says, sounding a little drained while she undoes the rope she'd had tied to her belt — the other end is back up at the top of the cliffs, and presumably it's how you're going to get back up. She takes in both your and Deiza's appearance, noting the minor injuries. "Are you alright?"
"Fucking marry me," Deiza says, grinning at the necromantic carnage that Amiti has set loose in front of you.
Amiti, if anything, looks even more alarmed by this than she had by the monsters. "No!" she says, after a fractional delay. Then, ignoring the rope and the lengthy climb it represents, she leaps nearly straight up, carried by the same wind she'd come down on, landing on a ledge overhead, and then jumping again to the top of the cliff. You can see L'nessa and Darting Fish looking down anxiously at you.
Laughing, Deiza grabs hold of the rope, and begins to quickly climb it, feet braced against the rock wall. You sheathe your sabre and follow suit. Arrows and bolts of water streak past you, presumably L'nessa and Darting Fish doing their best to make sure that none of the chimeras follows you up.
Still, though, you have to jerk your head hard to the side as a chimera braves the gauntlet to snap at your neck — it hisses its displeasure as Verdigris snaps at it, lurching back in the air enough for Deiza's chain to strike it full in its ugly face.
"We're even!" She shouts down at you. Which you don't dispute under the circumstances, even though you're not really even — you saved her twice down there, after all.
You slam your boot into the head of the next one, and L'nessa manages to put an arrow very neatly through its heart.
Finally, you haul yourself up onto the clifftop, where Deiza has already let herself collapse. "That," L'nessa says, "was absurd." She looks deeply relieved to have you safely back here.
"You have my most sincere apologies!" Darting Fish says, half panicked. "This wasn't meant to be dangerous!"
"Tell that to Nalri," Deiza says, still not getting up.
You begin to stand, but freeze as a shadow falls over you. Looking up, you see the glittering coils of a very large elemental hanging in the air. "I see you didn't need my help after all," they tell you, voice very dry.
"Yes, well-spotted," you agree. You would have expected them to be annoyed with you, having just dropped everything to come back to the island for no reason.
Deiza shoots up to a sitting position, scrambling backwards with wide eyes. Amiti, in the process of offering you a hand up, merely freezes up at the sight of the dragon like a cold, glowing rabbit. L'nessa and Darting Fish's reactions are a little less dramatic, but it takes L'nessa a moment to master herself enough to be polite.
"I am grateful for your concern for my roommate," she says, inclining her head politely, as if to a peer. "You are Diamond-Cut Perfection, I assume?"
"Correct," Perfection says, lowering themself down onto the cliffside. "It is lovely to see you again, Lady L'nessa." The ground shudders a little beneath their weight. They lean their head in closer, one reptilian eye examining you, as if checking for injuries. "Why were you down there in the first place?"
"Well, we weren't taking a walk!" Deiza says, getting up to dust herself off properly.
Fortunately for her, the deep, rumbling scoff she gets in return is at least as amused as it is haughty. "Weren't you? It was hard to tell, from a distance."
"I hope you were not troubled unduly," you say, getting to your feet.
"Bargains go both ways," they say, cryptically. "I hope you don't mind, though — when I get back to that conversation I just put on hold, I will have to tell them that I arrived in time to be useful. They may be annoyed otherwise." When you raise your eyebrows at this, all they'll say is: "Sea gods are as bad as water elementals, sometimes."
Even with Perfection's departure, a sort of stunned silence descends on the group, eventually broken by L'nessa briskly forcing some basic medical attention onto Deiza. In the end, Darting Fish's experiment is obviously ruined, at least for now — he'll try again another time, once he can be certain of what exactly it was Peleps Nalri did.
The chances of actually finding proof of wrongdoing on her part that the school will accept are not good — you may need to take action into your own hands, at some point in the future. She's still got another two years left even after this one.
As for you and Simendor Deiza... some tension was resolved, however strangely. Even if you still aren't, and may never be, friends. Some of her actions are a puzzle, but not every puzzle needs to be solved.
The thing that plays on your mind the most, coming out of all of this, is at once the most difficult and most mundane problem brought to light in your brief ordeal: You are going to need to have a serious talk with Maia.
Article: Emotional honesty and openness are not always easy for you. You're going to need to talk to Maia somehow, though. How do you approach the subject?
[ ] Explain to Maia what exactly Deiza said to make you try and hit her, and try to explain why it upset you
[ ] Tell Maia a story about the first time you kissed a girl, and hopefully lead things around from there
[ ] Try to tell Maia how you felt when she smiled at you after the fight with the mercury ants
Last edited:
Vote closed, Year 3 04
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Year 3: Metal Honing Stone 05
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Explain to Maia what exactly Deiza said to make you try and hit her, and try to explain why it upset you: 21
Try to tell Maia how you felt when she smiled at you after the fight with the mercury ants: 16
Tell Maia a story about the first time you kissed a girl, and hopefully lead things around from there: 5
Try to tell Maia how you felt when she smiled at you after the fight with the mercury ants: 16
Tell Maia a story about the first time you kissed a girl, and hopefully lead things around from there: 5
In a real sense, explaining yourselves is more arduous than the actual fighting had been.
The five of you — Amiti, Darting Fish, Deiza, L'nessa, and yourself — ended up having a long discussion with several staff members where you were asked, in detail, to explain and justify your actions. As with all things at the Heptagram, you're left with the strong impression that this is being used as a learning experience.
Darting Fish, having recruited a number of younger students to assist him with an experiment that had gone disastrously and nearly gotten two of them drowned or eaten, was subjected to the greatest amount of scrutiny. You'd been correct in that your scant evidence that Peleps Nalri had been directly involved had not been enough to sway the school against her, although the way Instructor Zadaki's eyes had narrowed when you brought her up leads you to believe that someone, at least, will be keeping a closer watch on her.
In the end, Darting Fish is tasked with helping to restock the cliff-face's depopulated chimerical guardians, a highly unpleasant task that will also be greatly helpful to his research, if he pursues it diligently. Out of you younger students, the only one who has been tasked with assisting him is Amiti, for the sheer excess of her methods of keeping the guardians off of you and Deiza.
You would have argued that this was unfair, if Amiti herself had seemed to have any interest whatsoever in avoiding this task. She's only barely managing to not look outright delighted at the thought of it.
"We can't let her get away with this," Maia says, later that night.
"I intend to make her regret her actions, at some point in the future," you say.
Maia sits on her bed, hunched in on herself. "You could have been killed. It should be more than just a bit of regret," she says. Despite the vulnerability in her posture, there's something very serious and harsh in her tone. The combination is... distracting.
"Maia, be careful about saying such things," L'nessa says. "She's a Peleps. Please, try to remember your family's debts."
Maia doesn't look up, instead seeming very intent on contemplating the floorboards. "I always do," she says.
L'nessa frowns, pausing where she is. She's been pacing the length of the room this whole time, fretfully shedding a few leaves as she goes. From experience, you can tell when she's on the verge of going from friendly advice to friendly lecture, which will take more time than you'd like. You interrupt:
"Maia, may I speak to you?" you ask. "Alone?"
Maia gives a slight start. "What about?" she asks.
You hesitate, ignoring L'nessa's raised eyebrows. "I will explain in private," you say.
"We're close to lights out," L'nessa says, watching Maia slide off the bed, and back into her boots. Amusement and nervous energy are clearly winning out over L'nessa's earlier concern. You're depressingly certain she has a good idea of what you want to talk to Maia about.
"We'll have time," you say, rising from your desk chair. Silent and confused, Maia follows you out of the dorm, and back into the rapidly emptying halls of the school.
You move quickly, feet almost automatically taking you to a place you know will be quiet at this time of night. Your route goes up a level, and around to the library tower. That familiar quiet atmosphere overtakes you both. You wait until you're a ways in, with no sign of anyone else, before you steel yourself, and turn around.
Alone in the stacks, with Maia staring at you uncertainly, you're uncomfortably aware that this is precisely the sort of secluded place in the library tower that Deiza and Keric had been using for their unorthodox 'language studies'. The silence stretches on for long seconds as everything that you'd prepared to say on the way here seems to evaporate out of your mind. Finally, you just say: "You asked about what Simendor said to me."
"I... did," Maia says, plainly only more confused.
"She implied that I wanted to get you into bed. And that you'd agree to it, because it would be good for your family. That's why I tried to hit her." The words are blunt, abrupt, and Maia takes a second or two to digest them. To your concern, she seems to hunch in on herself slightly, looking a little like you've just slapped her in the face.
You frown. "What's wrong?"
It takes Maia a second or two to find her voice again. When she does, it's very quiet, and very carefully measured. "Nothing. It is... unforgivably crass that Simendor Deiza would imply such a thing about you." Wait, about you? That isn't the part that had made you mad! "If you will excuse me, my lady, I have... tasks to complete." The formality cuts you like a knife, painful enough that you can't immediately respond. Maia gives you a respectful half bow, and turns stiffly on her heel, already beginning to walk away.
You know, instantly, that if you let her get out of sight, you will never find her while she doesn't want to be found. You take two long strides, catch up to her, and physically grab Maia by the wrist, pulling her back around to face you. She looks up at you with plain startlement. "I wasn't angry that she thought I was interested in you!" you say, your voice a frustrated hiss. "I was angry because she was making it sound like you wouldn't want... me, but you'd go along with it anyway!"
Maia continues to stare, genuinely shocked at your outburst. You're aware, suddenly, of how close you're both standing, of her deceptive delicacy. She doesn't pull away, and you don't let go of her arm, despite the sensation of a dagger hilt digging into your palm through her uniform sleeve. "And you think that she's right?"
"I..." frustration wells up in your chest. You're filled with the sudden, intense urge just to pull her close to you and kiss her, to make things as plain as possible as simply as possible. You do lean in closer to her — improperly close — but instead of closing those final inches between you, you whisper: "Just... tell me you want this. Or that you don't." It comes out as a lot closer to a plea than you'd intended.
Maia swallows, opens her mouth, visibly trying to find words that aren't immediately coming to her. Then she puts her free hand behind your neck, leans up, and gives you a quick, darting kiss, lips soft and awkward against your own. "Since a month after I met you," she says, almost too quietly to hear. You can feel her hand, warm and trembling, against your neck. "I hope that answers—"
The rest of her answer is cut off in a sharp gasp you pull her back in for another, far deeper, kiss, keeping your hold on her wrist even as you wrap your free arm around her back. She relaxes into your arms, and it's exactly what you've wanted for over a year.
When you finally break off for air, Maia stays in close against you, her head finding its way to your shoulder. "It was a good answer," you say, smiling with almost undignified relief.
Maia giggles, stifling the noise against your school tunic. You feel a small, metallic snake head against your throat, and realise that Verdigris has slipped out of your sleeve at some point, and is now draped across Maia's narrow shoulders.
"I had to say something, after today," you say, a little quieter.
"Because you nearly died," Maia says, voice cracking a little.
"Because I could have died," you say, the correction gentle. "I do quite well in these situations, I think. And I wasn't stuck holding up the ceiling this time." Even if you had to keep Deiza from going over the cliff instead.
"I'm... really what you thought of first, after all that?" she asks.
Almost literally. "To be fair, I think about you more than you seem to have guessed."
She nods, a shallow movement you feel more than see. Then, reluctantly, she pulls away, and you let her. "We need to get back soon," she says.
She's right, but you're not really worried — you feel better, just now, than you have in a long time. "L'nessa is going to be insufferable about this," you say, turning back the way you came.
Maia laughs again, and falls in beside you.
"What's going to be insufferable," L'nessa says, the next morning, "is sharing a room with you two for the next four and a half years. This is going to be an ongoing thing, yes?"
"It is," you say, trying not to be too annoyed as you begin to address your breakfast.
"Well, good," L'nessa says. "Maia would take that very hard. She's been nursing that infatuation with you since first year, after all."
"How did you know that and I didn't?" you ask.
"Honestly, I ask myself the same question," L'nessa says.
Your glower for her melts into a genuine smile as you see Maia approaching the table from across the room. Her own smile is a little nervous as she slides into the spot beside yours.
"Oh, good, here you are," says L'nessa, wasting no time. "Ground rules!"
"... Ground rules?" Maia asks.
"For you two, while we're all rooming together," L'nessa says, simply. As if this topic isn't even a little mortifying. "I am, of course, thrilled for you both, but I will require some basic consideration and restraint when it comes to..."
You and Maia listen as L'nessa lays out a number of very reasonable and slightly embarrassing requests for the sake of her peace of mind, phrased delicately enough that you could not possibly complain. This doesn't stop Maia's face from growing redder and redder as she goes on.
You're grateful, sometimes, that your complexion doesn't show a blush like that. Not that that would currently be a problem, of course.
As L'nessa winds down, though, you can't help but notice a strange pair of students exchanging tense looking words out in the hallway beyond the meal hall. Sola, her expression serious but calm, is seemingly talking to Simendor Deiza out of earshot of the general breakfast crowd. As you watch, Sola says something that makes Deiza nod once sharply, turn on her heel, and walk away, not even bothering to head in for breakfast.
Sola sighs, walks into the meal hall, and heads straight for your table.
"What was that about?" You ask.
Sola shrugs. "Nothing it would reflect well on me to repeat," she says, with a light sort of tone that tells you this is the most you'll get on this subject.
"Did she ask you to let her see the sword again?" Maia asks. Sola is already wearing the daiklave on her belt at this time of morning, because she always is.
"That, I think, she's given up on," Sola says. Which is almost surprising to you, given House Simendor's slightly unseemly fixation on orichalcum. "Speaking of which, you went out and fought half the cliff guardian flock, and you brought Amiti?"
"The plan involved a great deal more studious note taking and carefully controlled experimentation," you say. "And she acquitted herself quite well, honestly."
"'Oh, I have a great spell for cleaning bones!'" L'nessa's voice takes on a good enough imitation of Amiti's inappropriately cheerful tones that you can't help but smile. Maia is trying very hard not to giggle "Turns out, it cleans bones still attached to living things pretty well too. Rather revolting, if very useful under the circumstances." She's more amused than actually condemning.
"I'd promise to take you to the next disaster, but ideally that's the most excitement we'll have for a good few months," you say to Sola. Who has the gall to look faintly skeptical as she chews a mouthful of breakfast.
"Oh, was it the most excitement you've had lately?" L'nessa asks, voice innocent.
Maia starts to sink down in her seat, face slowly reddening all over again.
"You," you say, completely without heat, "are an evil woman." L'nessa laughs. Unseen beneath the table, your hand brushes against Maia's. Not enough to be unseemly in so public a place. Maia doesn't exactly stop blushing, but she seems a little reassured.
Sola glances between the three of you, eyebrows raised. "Is there something you want to tell me, or are we only communicating in cryptic hints, right now?"
Naturally, the entire school knows inside of a week.
Apart from the ongoing issue of Peleps Nalri, there is only one final incident to put a bow on the whole misadventure. At the time, you don't pay it a great deal of heed.
Days later, you come out of the lecture hall near the rear of the group, only to find Simendor Deiza loitering around the exit. She makes eye contact with you, then glances away. Wordlessly, you continue onward. While you're of course not one to entertain any childish grudges, if she wants to talk to you, she should say so.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mnemon Keric standing beside her, giving her an uncharacteristically forceful sort of glare. Whatever it is she sees in his eyes, Deiza sighs and moves to catch up with you.
"Do you have a moment?" Deiza asks, feigning casualness.
You give her a shallow nod, stepping to the side of the hallway with a dignified sort of air. You look at her expectantly, having no idea what is going to come of this.
Deiza takes in a breath and lets it out, as if steeling herself for something deeply unpleasant. Then she bows — it's shallow, a formal gesture among social equals, but you're too shocked by even this much from her to quibble over familial standing. "Lady Ambraea, allow me to apologise for the insult I offered you earlier this term. It was uncalled for."
You're quiet for a moment. Then, with slightly less than your usual grace, you say: "So, you can act like a Dynast when you want to."
Deiza shoots you an irritated look, immediately dropping the formal tones. "Oh, just accept it or tell me to go away." From over her shoulder, you see Keric wince in a mortified sort of way. This was no doubt his idea.
"Your apology is accepted, Lady Deiza," you tell her, relenting. "We will consider the matter behind us."
"Well, it's good we're doing that," Deiza says. You choose not to read any dryness into her tone.
"Quite," you say, and coolly walk away.
Not every schoolgirl grudge needs to be nursed until it's something worse. You'll have enough to worry about this term... And enough to look forward to, without dragging this on more than it needs to be.
Descending Wood, Realm Year 761
Two years, seven months before the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress
There are always serious considerations for the academic break. As ever, it is your opportunity to make an impression on Dynastic society in between your long months of study. You'd be lying if you said that that's the first thing on your mind now, however.
"I hope that you will call on me at your convenience, as we discussed," you say. Your tone is staid, proper. Not nearly as affectionate as you'd like.
Maia bows. "Your regard humbles me, my lady. I will be certain to do so soon." While not as expensive as what a Dynast could afford, you can't help but think that the cut of her clothes — dark blue and flowing in the Incas style — lend her a more graceful look than the Heptagram's student uniform.
You incline your head graciously. You're in public, at the docks in Chanos, having just disembarked from the ship. You sense many eyes on the two of you, whether incidental or appraising.
You wish you could touch her.
The connection you two formed has deepened over the course of the previous term. However, between your studies and the fact that you both share a room with your niece, it has been a thing of furtive glances and stolen moments, and very little of the sort of privacy you'd like.
As Maia straightens, you catch sight of Demure Peony over her shoulder, standing patiently at a respectable distance. Something about the apprehensive set of Peony's shoulders makes you take a second look, however:
A young man stands beside her, resplendent in the colours of an Imperial messenger, patiently waiting for the Dragon-Blooded to finish talking. A twist of nervousness stirs in the pit of your stomach. "Excuse me," you say to Maia, "but I think that's probably for me." She turns to follow your gaze, but you're already walking over to the messenger.
Peony bows low at your approach, but doesn't speak — the young man is already stepping forward. He bows as well, not a hair out of place or a speck of dirt on his clothing, holding out a sealed letter to you with enough reverence that it might have been made of solid jade. "For the Lady Ambraea, Beloved of Pasiap, by Imperial decree."
You accept the letter wordlessly, spending a few precious seconds to take in the seal — brilliantly red wax, shot through with precious red jade dust. Even hardened, it's warm to the touch. You break it without further hesitation, and read the contents with grave efficiency. When you finish, you go back to the beginning and read it again, frowning thoughtfully.
"I hope it isn't bad news?" Maia asks, choosing her words carefully.
"No," you say, the half-truth coming easily off your tongue. "I have been asked to attend the Imperial Presence, at the Imperial Palace, at my earliest convenience. I could never call this anything but an honour and a privilege."
You regard the messenger coolly, and say: "Thank you. As I will be traveling faster than your reply could, you have carried out your duty. My handmaiden will see your service appropriately complimented." Wearing Imperial colours or not, it's a poor Dynast who can't afford at least a coin for a messenger.
Peony seems to parse at a glance that you'd like a moment's privacy, and skillfully draws the messenger away in order to see to a suitable tip.
"You'll be leaving immediately, then?" Maia asks.
You consider this. 'At your earliest convenience', from your mother, has very little leeway, for someone with access to sorcerous means of travel. "No," you decide. "First thing tomorrow morning. I will need the rest of the day to make arrangements, and then... a good night's sleep."
The need for haste is very good at chasing away any nervousness you might have at the implication you're leaving in the air.
To your great relief, Maia allows herself a slight smile. This time, there's only the faintest trace of colour coming into her face. "I understand," she says.
It's a thought that buoys you onward for the rest of a busy day.
Article: Ambraea has been summoned back to the Imperial City in order to speak to her mother in person, a rare enough occurrence to make this a source of both dread and excitement. It will also be an opportunity to see her father, as well as others who she hasn't seen in three years.
Mundane means would be far too slow to carry her all the way to Scarlet Prefecture and back. Fortunately, Ambraea has other means at her disposal, and is plainly being expected to make use of them. How is Ambraea traveling?
[ ] A favour from Diamond-Cut Perfection
On the metaphorical wings of a lesser elemental dragon, the distance shrinks considerably. Perfection will be available to make the trip, and will be able to get Ambraea and Peony there safely and in a timely manner. Needless to say, this will be an extremely ostentatious method of travel, and Perfection will ask for a reasonable favour in return afterward.
[ ] A favour from V'neef Darting Fish
Ordinarily, it would be slightly outrageous to ask an acquaintance to take you and your handmaiden all the way to Scarlet Prefecture on such short notice. However, Darting Fish owes Ambraea, and would not resent the request, as inconvenient as it might be. Traveling in Darting Fish's small, sorcerously-summoned ship will be far faster than any mundane means of travel and will allow you to arrive relatively quietly, although it will be considerably slower than flying, and leave you open to the vagaries of sea voyages.
[ ] A summoned lesser elemental
Ambraea can simply summon a flying elemental to carry her and Peony. This spirit will be obedient, but newly formed and not particularly intelligent. She will arrive in a timely enough manner, but the creature's unpredictable nature will cause unforeseen problems on the way, and the trip will be less comfortable than what Perfection might offer.
Last edited:
Vote closed, Year 3 05
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Interlude 3: A Mother's Fond Regard 01
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
A favour from Diamond-Cut Perfection: 34
A favour from V'neef Darting Fish: 10
A summoned lesser elemental: 3
A favour from V'neef Darting Fish: 10
A summoned lesser elemental: 3
Maia's presence still carries that heavy, cool quality at the edge of your senses, like the still air before a storm warning of torrential rain. As it happens, however, that is a very nice feeling to get when you're warm and safe in your own bed, sheltered from the weather and the scrutiny of the outside world. For the first time in what already feels like many years, simply letting yourself be close to someone you care about.
When the gentle knock comes on your door in the early hours of the morning, your requested wakeup call, you try to slip out of bed without waking her. You think you've succeeded, until a small hand closes around your wrist. There's no force behind the grip, but it stops you short.
"Were you leaving without saying goodbye?" Maia's face is lit by the dim morning light filtering through your curtains, her eyes dark and drowning-deep as she looks up at you.
"I didn't want to wake you," you say. You settle yourself back down, sitting on the edge of the bed. She draws in closer to you.
"You're not that stealthy, Ambraea." A smile tugs at her lips. It's endearing, even if it's really not fair to compare you against her standards of what constitutes stealthy. Absurdly, Maia had had five hidden daggers and a set of lockpicks in her clothes last night, now left piled on your bedroom floor — you'd both laughed over it, even if you have to wonder if she ever really feels comfortable without such precautions.
You put a hand under Maia's chin, drawing her up into a firm, almost fierce kiss. She returns it with unresisting enthusiasm. "I'm going to miss you," you tell her.
"I will too." She flings her arms around you, giving you a brief, tight hug. "Don't forget about me while you're in the capital?" It's a joke, but at the same time, it isn't.
"You are a much less forgettable person than you seem to think," you say as she lets go, voice affectionately dry.
As expected, a small amount of relief creeps into her posture. Maia's insecurities are unavoidable, sometimes. You don't mind assuaging them. "I mean what I said before, though," she says. "I won't be jealous, or anything, if there's someone else while you're in the capital. Just as long as I'm still... special, when you see me again. I don't want to be too clingy."
"I like it when you're a little clingy," you say. She's making it very hard not to want to just get back into bed with her, for all that you don't have the time. Surely a few more minutes can't hurt, though. "I admit, I've barely thought about what I'll do with myself in the Imperial City after my audience."
Maia examines your face closely, and gives a small frown. "You're nervous about this, aren't you?"
It would be very easy to just say yes. But if you can't be entirely honest here with her, where could you ever be? You glance away from her, studying the pattern of sunlight on the brightly patterned carpet. Then, fighting not to swallow the words, you make yourself say: "I'm... afraid."
"Of seeing your mother?" It's not really a question that this is what you meant, but she seems to know you need the prompting. You feel her arms slip around you again — this time, she sits up straighter, and draws you in. It's a startling feeling to be the one being held like this. You don't pull away.
"I am happy she's sending for me," you say, truthfully. "But, yes. She's..." Infamously capricious — you won't say that even to Maia. "... unpredictable. I never know what she wants from me."
"You're the best in our year," Maia says. You feel the whisper of her gentle voice against your skin as she presses her face into your hair. "Won't she be pleased by that?"
"Hopefully. Probably." You take in a slow, steadying breath, trying to regain your equilibrium, as nice as it would be to keep letting the fault lines show. "You don't talk about your family very much," you add, without really thinking. The same family that had clearly raised her to be someone's terrible sorcerer-assassin. Such things are both alarming and noteworthy in an individual sense, but far from unheard of in the Dynasty, and Maia's family has a patron Great House.
"That would take longer than we have right now," Maia admits. The way she's holding you, you still can't see her face. "You'll have to ask me another time."
The reminder of your time limit makes you understand that if you don't get up now, you might not get up anytime soon. You gently push yourself back up, and out of Maia's arms. "I'll see you again near the end of summer," you say.
Maia nods. Her mood has definitely fallen, presumably because of the farewell. "Good luck on your journey," she says. "I hope— Wait!" This last word is accompanied by her diving half off the bed to snatch something up from the floor, holding it out to you hilt first.
"A knife?" you ask, examining it with a perplexed air. The blade is both slender and flat, designed to be easily concealed. You don't test the edge — you know how Maia keeps any blade she carries.
"Well, it's, um... my favourite knife!" she says, face colouring. "This would be a great time to have some kind of meaningful piece of jewelry I could give you and say, 'wear this over your heart', but, uh... this is what I have onhand."
You look up from the little knife and smile. "I'll be sure to wear this over my heart, then," you say.
Interlude 03: A Mother's Fond Regard
You feel the little sheathed blade against your skin, hanging from the same chain as Diamond-Cut Perfection's scale does, tucked safely under your clothes. Through the carriage window, you watch the outskirts of Chanos give way to farmland and stretches of rugged, scrubby hill country. The mountains loom large and picturesque behind it all, the Imperial Mountain stabbing upward into the slate grey sky.
After leaving Maia, you'd hurriedly washed, gotten dressed without assistance, and allowed Peony to braid your hair with the efficiency that no one else had ever quite been able to match. Breakfast had been similarly rushed. For all your dallying in the bedroom, no one will have cause to believe you were anything but prompt in departing.
"When I told you you didn't have to come with me, I meant it," you say, voice quiet.
Across from you, Peony starts out of whatever private thoughts she's using to try and soothe her obvious nerves. "I... yes, my lady," she says.
"It isn't entirely fair for me to expose you to powerful spirits like them, beyond what can't be helped." Peony is your servant and has a responsibility to you, obviously, but a Dragon-Blood does likewise have a responsibility not to be reckless about the spiritual health and wellbeing of mortals under her care. Serving a sorcerer is always going to toe the line in that regard, but that's different from expecting Peony to make a long, two-way trip in the company of a lesser elemental dragon. Verdigris, curled up in your lap, doesn't count nearly so much, you'd like to think.
As far as more practical matters are concerned, Peony is obviously a little bit terrified at the prospect.
She shifts uncomfortably, almost looking you in the eye. "I... will manage, my lady. You'll be there, after all. And it wouldn't do for you to arrive in the Imperial City with no one to attend you." The impropriety of arriving via lesser elemental dragon would rather eclipse this, but you don't interrupt. "And, it has been several years since I have last seen my mother as well." She adds this second point tentatively, like she's uncertain of how it should be received.
"Well, you'll get the chance soon, then," you say. For all that you wanted to offer Peony the option to back out, you can't say that you're not relieved at her coming with you. "I've missed your mother as well."
"I'm sure she will be proud to see how you've grown, my lady," Peony says.
You raise your eyebrows. "Just proud of me?"
Peony doesn't answer, but she does give a small smile.
The road marker is a carved stone pillar at a crossroads, indicating how far to Chanos and several outlying settlements. A small Immaculate shrine is set back a ways from the road, one of many in the countryside this close to the prefectural capital.
Today there are only two figures in sight. One of them, you're here to meet. The other, you're apparently going to have to deal with.
"I will ask again, spirit," the woman is saying, choosing her words carefully, "would you be so kind as to explain your business here today?"
"And I will answer again," says Diamond-Cut Perfection, "I'm waiting on a friend. Nothing sinister or untoward. And, look, here she is!"
The dragon is in their human shape, lounging on the base of the road marker, looking a little incongruous in their spotless finery. The woman standing over them is a mortal, but one dressed in the robes and trappings of an Immaculate monk. When she sees you emerging from your carriage, she is both startled and relieved. Even mortal monks receive special training to prepare them to deal with the supernatural, but if she has any inkling of what Perfection is, she knows full well that they're far above her pay grade.
"Good morning, Sister," you say, approaching the two of them. Behind you, Peony and the driver see to the small amount of luggage you intend to bring with you. "I hope that my friend is not causing any undue trouble?"
The monk gives you a respectful bow. "They alarmed some of the local farmers when they flew in," she says. "I have been trying to ask after the reason for their presence here unannounced."
"And, I told you, I was waiting for a friend," Perfection says. They twine a finger through their white-blonde hair, their smile as flawless as it is insufferable. "Hello, Ambraea. You look lovely this morning."
You're wearing your black and gold jacket over practical travel clothes, your sabre belted on at your waist. It has a new sheathe — a birthday present sent to you from your father, adorned with a quotation from the Immaculate Texts praising Pasiap's resilience in face of adversity, as well as an intricate pattern of triangles meant to put one in mind of mountains. Verdigris is currently out of sight beneath your jacket, but you're quite certain that lovely is perhaps overstating things, going by the monk's reaction. You think she might recognise your name.
"Diamond-Cut Perfection," you say, sparing them a nod. Looking back to the monk, you continue: "I must shortly depart for Scarlet Prefecture, by Imperial request. My friend has offered to take me there far more swiftly than I would be able to travel otherwise. Please, convey my apologies to your superiors. I take it they have already been informed?"
"Yes, my lady," the monk says. If nothing else, she can be pleased that the dragon will be leaving soon. "I had sent word ahead to Smile-of-Hesiesh Temple. I am certain someone more... Equipped to handle a being of your 'friend's' stature will be arriving shortly." Meaning, someone Exalted, and likely more than one. There's no open reproof in her words, given your relative statuses, but you hear it nonetheless. The Immaculate Order takes a dim view of sorcerers who allow summoned spirits to wander freely, where they might injure or corrupt ordinary people. That this is not quite what your relationship with Perfection is makes the impression all the more galling, but you're not about to get into the finer points.
"And thank goodness you're here to smooth this all over. And to think, when we first met, you asked why I wanted to make a pact with you in particular." The scale around your neck goes subtly colder as Perfection's voice speaks in your head. They sound so pleased with themself that you briefly entertain the fantasy of telling the monk that they're a dangerous criminal.
"As I have said, please convey my apologies. Should your superiors wish to discuss the matter with me upon my return, I will be happy to assuage their concerns. But for now, I must depart as swiftly as possible. I trust you have no objections?" You're being more respectful than you technically need to while speaking to a mortal monk, but you don't have any desire to make a habit of antagonising representatives of the Immaculate Order. The woman is only doing her duty, after all, and quite bravely, considering what manner of spirit she's been stalling.
"No, my lady," the monk says. "May the Dragons guide you on your journey." She bows again, retreating to a safe distance.
"Well, that's taken care of," Perfection says. "Which one is coming with us?"
You follow their gaze, seeing Peony standing by the carriage holding both your bags, the driver attempting to calm down a pair of horses made nervous by Perfection's presence. Peony interprets your look as a signal for her to approach. She does an admirable job of keeping her earlier nerves hidden, although you're willing to bet that her heart is still hammering.
"This is my mentor, Diamond-Cut Perfection, Lesser Elemental Dragon of Earth," you explain to her. Peony takes her cue perfectly, setting the bags down and bowing deeply. "This is my handmaiden, Demure Peony," you tell Perfection. "She will be accompanying us, as discussed."
"Charmed," Perfection says. "Now, I gather that we're in a hurry." They take a few steps away, and in a crystalline flash, they're in their draconic shape, glittering in a thousand different shades. This startles all three mortals, to say nothing of the horses. Perfection deigns to lower their coils to the ground with a mildly earth-shaking thud.
You note a decorative chain around their serpentine throat, each metallic link larger than most humans could comfortably carry.
"Hence the rope you asked for," you say, having expected something like this.
"Well," Perfection says, "if it's beneath your dignity, I could always just carry the carriage the entire way."
Tempting, but you can well imagine the roof tearing away at an inopportune time. You, with the help of a slightly pale looking Peony, set about climbing up onto Perfection's back and securing yourselves to the chain with a length of sturdy rope. You make sure that Peony is in front of you, holding onto the luggage, so you can put a practical arm around her.
She seems on the verge of protesting that, but falls silent when you tell her: "Propriety matters less to me than having to explain to Lohna that you fell to your death off of the back of a dragon, Peony."
"... yes, my lady," she says.
"And, remember, where would I be without your singular grace and dedication?"
"At this moment, my lady, I couldn't possibly tell you."
Almost sooner than you expect, Perfection pushes themself back up into the air, and all three of you are flying.
It is not a fun journey for Peony. While you are in somewhat of a better position to enjoy the stunning views and novel speed that this mode of transportation affords, you do have to admit that it's far from the most relaxing trip you've ever taken.
While you travel, the wind is cold and sharp as a knife, and howls so loudly that it's a struggle for you and Peony to say anything to each other without literally shouting in one another's ear, and you're forced to speak to Perfection exclusively through your scale. Verdigris burrows into your jacket and refuses to come out, disliking being so far above the ground.
During the day, Perfection flies over snow-capped mountain peaks and secluded valleys, cutting their way across the North-Eastern Blessed Isle at a diagonal that only sometimes intersects with roads far below. The miles eat away shockingly fast below you — over the course of mere hours, you make a journey that would have taken weeks by conventional travel.
You spend nights at a series of settlements ranging from mountain hamlets to small towns. In every case, your arrival is heralded by equal parts fear and awe, the local residents wasting no time in insisting you take whatever the best accommodations they have available. Peony emerges from these flights unsteady on her feet and slightly chilled, but you made sure she was at least dressed for the trip. Her initial fear gives way to a sort of grim determination as the days go by. She's as studiously polite to Perfection as you'd expect, but avoids inappropriate familiarity with the spirit.
For your part, you and Perfection end up conducting lengthy, mental discussions about sorcery, spirits, and other arcane matters. That these conversations are productive matters a little bit less to you than the helpful distraction from your mounting nerves.
Shockingly fast, the mountains give way to foothills, and then to plains, and then you're flying over the Imperial River Basin, following the river's course toward the sea. The Basin is the most heavily populated region of the Blessed Isle — where before there had been tracts of scarcely inhabited wilderness beneath you, now you see city after city, town after town, farmland stretching on and on to feed them all.
It's late morning when you finally arrive, less than a week after you set out, a pace which Perfection smugly describes as "leisurely". The Imperial City seems strangely small on the horizon at first, but rapidly grows to a size that better fits your memory. And as you make your final approach, you see the city spread out from above, spires and domes and mile upon mile of sprawl radiating out from walls that have never once been breached. Even this high up, you can pick out familiar sights: The multi-coloured domes of the Palace of the Deliberative gleam in the sun, each a breathtaking masterwork. You pick out plazas and avenues you've been borne through, each lined with splendor hard won from every Direction -- temples to defeated gods, captured monuments turned into trophies of conquest, the shattered remnants of manses and palaces rendered into paving stones at your mother's command. And there, shining like a jewel at the city's heart behind high walls and gates gleaming with jade, is the Imperial Palace -- the truest home you've ever known.
Although...
"Something wrong?" Perfection asks, their thoughts somehow carrying the feeling of a grin.
Of course there's nothing wrong. You're looking down at the greatest city in all Creation from a vantage that few have ever gotten to see. It's merely... different, from how you normally see it.
"Oh, I see!" they say. "You don't normally see those parts, do you?"
Admittedly, you do not -- the Imperial City's great buildings and major streets are cleverly arranged to present a view worthy of the Realm's crowning glory to those of means. From above, though, you can see what had always been hidden from you, even from the highest towers of the Palace: Thousands upon thousands of homes crammed in amidst factories, workshops, slaughterhouses, and all the other small and petty drudgeries that make a city run. Teaming masses of peasant laborers and beasts of burden and slaves throng in those narrow streets, making up the lion's share of the more than a million souls living within the Imperial City's protection.
It isn't really discomfort you're feeling. Just surprise. Inside your coat, Verdigris stirs, nuzzling a scaly head against you. You ignore Perfection's laughter in your head, and try to join Peony in simply taking in the view.
Not wanting to find out exactly what supernatural defences the walls have against aerial assault, you don't land in the city proper. Instead, Perfection sets down in the middle of a broad avenue half an hour out from the nearest gate. It's a neighbourhood for relatively well-off peasants: artisans and businesswomen and other such folk settle their families here, where their money stretches farther than it would within the walls. You're surrounded by comfortably modest looking homes, many with quaint little gardens all the more charming for their simplicity. Anyone out on the street immediately runs for cover as Perfection lands — this gives you and Peony time to climb down with your things before anyone immediately bothers you. Peony has the air of a woman who has weathered a tribulation and isn't certain how she emerged unscathed on the other side.
"Believe it or not, I have things of my own to attend to," Perfection tells you, "and it doesn't involve answering a thousand suspicious questions from humans who watch my every move."
"Yes, that's probably for the best," you agree. "Thank you for your assistance." You incline your head at an appropriate angle.
'I've always wanted to see this part of the Isle," Perfection says, flicking their tail as if the whole business was just a whim. "I'll be in touch — I have a task for you while we're both here, I think." Then they're winging up and away in a rush of wind and a riot of gems gleaming in the sun.
And so it was that when the group of distinctly nervous Black Helms come to investigate the reports of a dragon setting down in the suburbs, the only one they find is you.
"Excellent timing," you tell the officer, as if your presence here is entirely normal and expected, "I have urgent business at the Palace, and require proper transportation. I trust you will see it arranged?"
Your mother's presence has always been overwhelming, the sheer weight of her attention like a vast bonfire — the palace itself often felt a little like that to you, whether or not she was in it at any given time. Like the very architecture of the place had taken on some of her essential being. Now, far more attuned to the mystical energies of the world than you had been when you last walked these halls, you recognise that this was never your imagination. Her sorcery permeates every part of the vast building, the power of it a constant background hum.
"Our revered Empress has of course been notified of your arrival, lady Ambraea," the well-dressed mortal woman tells you. Her tone is deferential but confident. As a deputy to the Keeper of the First Imperial Seal. "She will send for you at her convenience, but I shouldn't expect that to be before tomorrow."
You don't resent that — it gives you a chance to be clean, rested, and fed by the time you face your mother. "Of course," you say, "I am happy to await her pleasure."
You follow the deputy down a hallway that you know of old, one wall made up of high archways leading out to a vast and splendid courtyard garden. This time of year, it's host to a riot of flowers from across Creation, brightly coloured birds singing in the branches of ornamental trees.
As you pass one such arch, you briefly eye one of its large, marble pillars, and have to refrain from rubbing at your nose in a distant memory of pain. From her place beside and slightly behind you, Peony follows your gaze. The trace of a smile on her lips is so faint that no one could have credibly chided her for it.
There's an itch at the back of your neck intruding on your sense of childhood nostalgia. You eye one of the archways up ahead critically. On a hunch, you let your fingers brush along a massive vase of polished silver as you're led past it, putting a thread of Air into it as you go. In the distorted reflection, you can now see a figure standing in the archway, tireless and intangible, inhuman eyes tracking you all as you pass.
You take your hand away from the vase, and pointedly don't look at the arch again. You'd always known, abstractly, that more than the Silent Legion guards this place. Reasonably, this changes nothing.
You leave the courtyard behind, following the deputy down a route you could have walked in your sleep, through the grand corridor adorned with Zephyrite wall hangings, up the flight of red marble stairs, and finally coming to a halt at a particular door on the landing above. The deputy bows. "Your rooms have of course been prepared, my lady, and a meal will be delivered shortly. Do you require anything else?"
"No, thank you," you tell her, nodding in acknowledgement, "You have been most helpful. I'm sure you have many duties to attend to."
"Very well," the deputy says, seeming to approve this answer. "I wish you a good day, my lady." With that, she strides purposefully away with the air of a woman already mentally readjusting her day's schedule down to the minute.
You take a moment to take a deep breath and let it out again, savouring the moment of relative solitude. "Well, welcome home, I suppose," you tell Peony, reaching to open the door to your private chambers. As a child of the Scarlet Empress, you have your own dedicated suite of rooms here, maintained in your absence in anticipation of your eventual return. Whether that be after a month or a decade.
The foyer is exactly as you remembered it. You step through onto an intricately patterned carpet, the space decorated with antique mahogany furniture. Prasadi artwork on the walls, gifted to you very belatedly by your paternal grandmother to mark your Exaltation, aniconic designs in a style both exotic and striking to Realm sensibilities. Also familiar is the servant woman standing here waiting for you, carefully putting some finishing touches on an arrangement of fresh flowers sitting on a table. As you enter the room, she turns around, smiles respectfully, and bows very low. "My lady Ambraea," she says.
Lohna's hair is darker than Peony's, and closer to a kelp green than Peony's seafoam blue, but she has the same dense curls, the same narrow frame, and the same warm, brown complexion. Her dress is simple, but clean, cut to plainly expose the brand burned onto her neck — the version of the Imperial household's mon used to mark your mother's personal property. You'd had many nannies and tutors over the course of your childhood, but Lohna had been among the most consistently present. She'd nursed you as an infant, helped teach you to walk, and to speak your first words. She'd been the one you would always run to with scraped knees or hurt feelings, a sternly kind presence, affectionate in the way a servant is permitted to be.
She's older than you remembered, for all that you only saw her three years ago, with grey in her hair and lines on her face you're sure weren't there before. For a moment, you're filled with the childish urge to hug her. You don't, of course. "Hello, Lohna," you say, smiling. "It's good to see you."
This acknowledgement gives her permission to straighten, relax. "And you as well, my lady," she says. "I am happy to see that Chanos has agreed with you so well. I trust my daughter has been taking good care of you?"
"As always," you say.
"I do my best," Peony says. There's a subtle loosening of her posture here — you can tell she's already glad she came with you, however much she hated the journey.
"You look healthy enough," Lohna decides, plainly satisfied. "I was worried; I don't trust Northern food."
"We didn't exactly go to Whitewall, mother," Peony says, but she's smiling.
"The food in Chanos is perfectly adequate," you say. You won't complain about the school food, but you pointedly do not include it in that assessment.
"I'm sure you're right," Lohna agrees, without giving the impression that she's sure of anything of the sort. You're fairly certain that she's never been North of Pangu Prefecture, just across the Imperial River, and possibly never will. "I'm sure you'll both enjoy a change of pace, regardless. I hope the journey wasn't too difficult — I've heard rumours about you flying in on a dragon, but I'm sure that can't be true."
You open your mouth, but you're cut off by a knock at the door. Instantly, both Lohna and Peony straighten up to a more formal posture. At a glance from you, Peony moves over to the door, and opens it. You smile again at the sight of the man on the other side. "Father," you say. "This is sooner than I'd expected to see you."
"I suppose it would be," he says, lightly. He glances at Lohna and Peony, then back to you.
"If you would give us the room?" you say to the servants. You know they'll be grateful for the chance to speak to one another alone as well. They both bow, and retreat in the direction of Peony's bedroom, leaving you alone with your father.
He closes the door behind him, and to your startlement, moves to clasp you by the shoulders. "Look at you," he says, smiling down at you, "I barely recognise that girl I sent away."
"I'm sure the sword helps," you say. You don't pull away from him.
He laughs. Burano Maharan Nazat, Imperial consort, is a tall, broad-shouldered man with your complexion and dark eyes, dressed in court robes of a rich green. The grey in his hair looks like a sign of old age, at a glance, but as always, closer inspection reveals something closer to a granite pattern. "I'm pleased to see you wearing it," he says. "I suppose a sorcerer does still find need for such mundane matters."
You give a small laugh at that. "I should introduce you to Tepet Usala Sola, someday. I think you'd like her. She's half responsible for me keeping up with my practice."
"And I would hope that a sense of duty and dedication are the other half," he says, releasing you, "and not that V'neef woman putting you on your back in a practice bout?"
"I was hoping that you hadn't heard of that."
"Please," Nazat says, wandering over to one of your cabinets to look for something to drink, "I keep an ear out for news of you. And it's really nothing to be ashamed of, losing to a swordswoman like V'neef S'thera at age sixteen. I haven't met her, but her reputation speaks for itself."
"So I understand," you say. You don't voice the snide remark that comes to mind, about S'thera's 'reputation' being as much for putting women on their backs in another way as it was for swordswomanship. It would make you seem like a sore loser, after all. And you're here talking to your father.
Nazat produces a bottle of very expensive looking wine, and two cups, and sits down at a nearby table. The seal stamped onto the bottle is from a minor lineage of Wood Aspect vintners, and costs so much that you strongly suspect he planted this in your rooms ahead of time. Even after so long as an Imperial consort, there are signs of his homeland's faith, if you look for them. He avoids food and drink prepared by mortals wherever practical.
You unbuckle your sword, setting it on an ornate stand meant for that purpose, and shrug out of your jacket, leaving it hanging on a hook by the door. Then you follow his lead and take a seat across from him. Despite the carriage ride up to the palace, it feels like days since you've just had a chance to sit down. "I don't suppose you know what this is about?" you ask, trying to keep your voice casual.
From the cryptic sort of look he gives you, you're not sure you succeed. "I know as much as you do," he says. "She keeps her own council, as ever. Does a mother need a reason to seek such a meeting with her own daughter?"
In your experience, yes. "It was just... very sudden," you say. He pours you a cup, and you take a moment to savour the smell — floral and complex.
"She won't call for you before tomorrow morning," he says, with more surety than the woman who'd escorted you here. "The Empress is in meetings for the rest of the afternoon. And for the past month she's been spending her evenings with her latest plaything." There's no venom or resentment behind the words; jealousy is neither a trait your mother appreciates in her consorts, nor one that is particularly likely to survive more than two decades in her household.
You let out a deep breath, and take a grateful sip of the wine. It's heavenly. When Verdigris pokes her head out of your shirt sleeve, you let her take an exploratory sip. She's been hiding wrapped around your arm all day. "This is Verdigris," you tell your father, when you catch him staring. "She's a sign of my particular approach to sorcery."
Nazat masters whatever discomfort this might bring. "She seems like a well-mannered enough snake."
"She is," you say. Unless you get angry, but there's no reason to mention that. A moment or two passes in companionable silence, the three of you enjoying the wine.
At length, however, Nazat speaks to you: "I don't promise that I'll follow most of it — I had a cousin who attended the Mandir of Sixfold Insight, and half the things he talked about afterward went entirely over my head. But I would not mind hearing what your time at school has been like."
"I write letters," you tell him.
"You write letters like you're dictating a shopping list," Nazat says, faintly amused, "it reminds me of your grandmother. Please, indulge me."
"As you wish, then," you say. And so you tell him about your year, the wine and the quiet comfort of his company helping to ease your anxieties about tomorrow. Between this and Lohna, you're finally, truly able to feel like you're home, at least for a little while.
You only wish your meeting with your other parent could go this smoothly.
Article: You will shortly have a private audience with your mother, the Scarlet Empress. Ostensibly, this is a mother-daughter interview, her taking an hour out of her busy schedule to discuss your academic progress and other such matters, as well as to dispense advice or instructions or corrections to your behaviour. This is not uncommon for a Dynastic mother, particularly with a secondary-school-aged child she has not seen in several years. It is never that simple with her.
The Empress will give you something you do not want, which will cause you pain. Because she cares.
However, you will at least come away from this scene with something more unambiguously beneficial to you, as little comfort as it will be in the moment. What is it? You may choose as many options as you like, but only the option with the most votes will win.
[ ] [Empress] Advice on binding and treating with spirits
The Empress has encountered more great spirits than you have years. Even her passing insights are invaluable.
[ ] [Empress] Advice on the advancement of your spellwork
You are inclined to take any direct guidance from the person who first inspired you to become a sorcerer very seriously, and you would be foolish not to.
[ ] [Empress] A small gift of great value to you
A lesser artifact — little more than a trinket for the wealthiest woman on Creation, but she understands its use to you.
After your meeting with the Empress, you will still have some weeks to spend in the Palace and the wider Imperial City. Who are your most memorable encounters? You may vote for as many options as you like, but only the two options with the most votes will win.
[ ] [Social] Ledaal Anay
Demon Fang Anay, legendary Wyld Hunt shikari and mother of your classmate, Ledaal Anay Idelle. You are not close to Idelle, but Anay manages to save you a great deal of trouble.
[ ] [Social] Mnemon Rulinsei
Mnemon Rulinsei is both your elder sister and your adoptive niece, an Imperial daughter who aligned herself with one of her siblings for her own protection. Her position offers you unique insights.
[ ] [Social] Sesus Kasi
A student at the Spiral Academy on her own academic break, and the twin sister of your schoolmate, Sesus Amiti, despite their stark differences. Oddly enough, books are involved with this encounter as well.
[ ] [Social] Tepet Usala
It isn't so strange to encounter great figures in the Realm when you're staying in the Imperial Palace, but the Matriarch of House Tepet is still a memorable acquaintance to make. The mother of your schoolmate, Tepet Usala Sola. Usala is a busy woman, but you briefly catch her interest.
[ ] [Social] V'neef S'thera
A blind swordmaster who is both your niece, and the elder sister of your schoolmate, V'neef L'nessa. The last time you made her acquaintance, she destroyed you in a series of practice duels. Will you do any better this time?
Vote closed, Interlude 3 01
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her