"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.
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.
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."
"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.
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.
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.
Direct combat orientated sorcery falls into like, three general categories, usually: You've got area of effect spells like Death of Obsidian Butterflies and Flight of the Brilliant Raptor, you've got survivability and performance boosting spells like Invulnerable Skin of Bronze and Unbreakable Bones of Stone, and you've got "look I've just called up a weird magical weapon", like Wood Dragon's Claw or Unslakable Thirst of the Devil Maw. These aren't like, actual hard categories, but they're based on my observation!
Basically, if you've got a spell that is an attack in of itself, than it is probably doing a different job than just like, stabbing a single person. Your sword is more consistent and reliable, but a good combat spell can take out a bunch of people at once.
Silent Words of Dreams and Nightmares is a lot of fun, though, it was the control spell of the first Exalted character I played. Ambraea, sadly, would not like her very much.
This was everything I hoped for out of the mini adventure!
[X] Silent Words of Dreams and Nightmares
For almost the sole reason that this is how we can stay present and positive in the lives of our mortal friend.
I want to send her pleasant dreams each night, and I like the idea of a communications and debuff as a tool. We have direct damage, and we (will) have a lot of semi enemies were can't move against openly.
For almost the sole reason that this is how we can stay present and positive in the lives of our mortal friend.
I want to send her pleasant dreams each night, and I like the idea of a communications and debuff as a tool. We have direct damage, and we (will) have a lot of semi enemies were can't move against openly.
>our relationship with our childhood handmaiden is becoming estranged because she's afraid of sorcery and magic
>solution: I will use sorcery to haunt her dreams with magic
>but in a nice way
>no way this could possibly go wrong
I mean... I'm not saying this wouldn't be hilarious and arguably in-character for Ambraea to try. But I'm pretty dubious it will have the effect you seem to want.
I suspect people are getting caught up on the Breath spell because it's described as uncommon. We've already got our horde of snakes for engaging with multiple opponents, don't we? It just doesn't seem like a high priority.
Our repertoire of spooky tricks should have more than straightforward combat spells.
The snake summoning is a general purpose familiar spell. It can be used as a mix of defensive/counter offensive anti-army spell, tracking spell, and magical sentry spell.
Medusa breath would count as a AOE mook killer and greater than human foe capture spell.
Dream manipulation gives us communication, manipulation, intimidation, and an avenue of Interrogation. I'm fine with either frankly.
[X] Breath of Wretched Stone
[X] Silent Words of Dreams and Nightmares
I'm seemingly not allowed to post without voting, even tho I already voted. It's annoying. In general, the constant adjustment of internet related media is itself annoying, and I'm really getting tired of suffering through one programmers bright idea or sudden fundamental shift in gameplay on something I'm good at throwing my entire play style off because someone, somewhere, always has something to cry about. SMH.
No big. Thank you. Also quick question, any chance we can pick up where we left off for a short bit with the next update? I'd really appreciate getting to see Sola and Maia join in on teasing L'nessa.
Edit: also, @Gazetteer does Breath of Retched stone count as a Rare spell?
