- Pronouns
- They/He
My current votes are for the front runners. If I retract those and put it towards 3rd place, that would secure the 3 way tie. I'm not gonna do it, but I feel so powerful
To Save Your World, Again [Getimian Exalted]
- Thread starter VagueZ
- Start date
- Fantasy Action
-
- Tags
- exalted (white wolf)
Even if the mortal paper-puppets of the world can be rearranged by a fickle hand, that which makes the world cannot be changed. Those around you changed, the land and air changed, and even the events before you changed, but You do not change. You are already a part of that which makes the world.
[x] You seek out the not-so-tame raksha that taught you sorcery
[x] You seek out the not-so-tame raksha that taught you sorcery
- Location
- italy bologna
[X] You look for your martial arts sifu's dojo
II. At Least Orchid is Still the Same
- Pronouns
- They/Them
One of the worst things you have lost is the network of bound demons and conjured elementals that you had made use of. Having such otherworldly servants help you was always important: an agata could ferry you, a blood ape could fight for you, or an ember sparrow could provide the heat needed to not freeze. None of them seem to exist any longer, which already cuts your effectiveness by half... but is, at least, a relatively solvable problem. If you summoned them once, you can summon them again, once circumstances permit. This is a problem you can leave for later.
In a way that is both a frustration and a relief, leaving Grieve is the most normal things have been for you since you woke up in this world. The guards give a routine once-over on carts or large burdens, just verifying that things seem legit and that any relevant export stamps are properly applied.
Of course, that system was old before you were born, so it's not really too weird to see it still here.
Regardless, you have a reasonably nice outfit, a Grievan look to your features, and bear nothing obvious on your person, so when you stroll out at a casual walking pace, no one even challenges you.
Grieve itself stands at the north-western edge of a peninsula; it holds the (significantly more navigable) southern pass of the two between the Great Western Ocean and the White Sea. This alone is enough to give your home major amounts of wealth and power. However, Grieve also has two major land routes: there's the Black Shale Road heading east, which passes through a terrifying mountain pass before it joins to Gethamane and Whitewall. There's also the Basalt Column Road heading south, which allows relatively quick access between the port of Grieve and ports along the northern edge of the Inland Sea while avoiding the dangerous Mourn Archipelago to the west.
All of this looks roughly like you remember, save for the somewhat lighter traffic. Outside of Grieve's walls, there's a collection of smaller communities that owe fealty to the main city and survive by offering services to travelers, there's various small camps that shift as nomadic tribes migrate close and then move away to be replaced by others, there's the hard-scrabble farms, orchards, and grazing fields that supplement fishers' takes to feed the people... and then, perhaps two miles from the city gate, there is her section.
No one could possibly mistake Ice-Rimed Orchid's freehold for a mundane land. Climbing up a hill to the south-east of Grieve there is a sharp divide. No people, no animals, and no plants save the thinnest of grasses approach within thirty feet of the freehold. Just barely within the freehold, suddenly there is a copse of conifers, thick and green and healthy, crowded impossibly together and each stretching at least sixty feet into the air, towering above any building out here. Thick, thorny vines with no mortal kin climb up the trees and stretch between them, creating a dense tangle that is both wall and maze.
Yes, this is exactly as familiar to you as ever.
There's only one easy entrance to the freehold, and you approach it. As you do, a hobgoblin pulls itself out of the ground. It's built something like a wizened old man, but on a one-third scale, with too-long arms and too many teeth. You don't even blink. This is just like you expected. "My mistress bids welcome to all who wish to visit her," it announces, approximating a bow. "The expected code for guests is written on the woods; I require verbal confirmation that you can read written Skytongue."
"I come as a guest, with all due courtesy for the glory of Ice-Rimed Orchid, and I am able to read written Skytongue." You recite familiar words. If you do not, the hobgoblin will physically try to hold you back until you either leave the freehold or it has the chance to recite the entire list of guest rules. It speaks annoyingly slowly, too. However, since you say as much, it bows again and steps back, before sinking back into the muddy ground it rose up from.
The guest code is written on trees, one rule carved into each tree that stands beside the main path. The rules are ever-shifting, but typically not too onerous. Instead, when Orchid doesn't feel like visitors, it's more common for the whole freehold to be wrapped in layers of impenetrable thorns, an extremely blunt way to prevent any mortal from approaching.
You pass "No guest shall raise hand nor voice to another, save in defensive response", "Guests will bring no cold iron into the freehold", and "Guests will not shroud their left ear with cloth", along with the other normal rules in about a typical place. There's one tree that seems to have no rule on it when it should. You glance back over your shoulder as you pass it. Written on the reverse side of the tree is "No guest shall bring pearl or sapphire into the freehold, save as a gift for Ice-Rimed Orchid". You smile at that one. Apparently, Orchid has found a new style she wants to explore.
Orchid has lived on these lands for longer than there has been a Grieve, and it's always been easier and more valuable to treat with her than to try to fight against her. Disobedient guests are almost always punished in line with the actual level of the offense, so visiting her freehold is an acceptable dare for young children to prove they're not scared, a valuable trading opportunity for merchants of sufficient caliber, a safe place for young lovers to explore each other's bodies where disapproving family can't reach, and (for your specific case) a place where sorcery can be taught.
Once you are past the guest code, the freehold opens up; there are countless paths and branches, clearings of all sorts. Some of them have humans, in others there are panjadrums or hobgoblins or other fae creatures, and in some you can't see anyone at all... at least, at first glance.
You ignore most of them, though you try to keep an eye out for any of Orchid's most notable servants, such as the cataphract Silver Stained Red who defends both her honor and her interests with equal zeal. Seeing none of them, you press on, ducking into a space between thorn-vines which looks too small for a person until you're already committed to squeezing in. This is the way to the private section of the Freehold, so you murmur the pass-phrase as you go along.
This path deposits you right in Orchid's seat of power. Here, the giant trees leave space, and the sun shines brightly down on the clearing all day, regardless of normal lines. Half-forgotten glamours, priceless treasures, the bleached bones of defeated foes, and all manner of forgotten luxuries both mundane and magical surround the edges of the glade.
You take in none of it, for Ice-Rimed Orchid herself rests at the center of it all. She's perched on the back of some mostly-transparent giant wolf, clearly a creature of glamour in the process of being created. She was facing away from you, but as you approach, she leans backwards, her knees still atop its back and her face with its thin elfin features upside-down near the ground. She's grinning at you. Of course she is. She's dressed in furs, like normal, and her midriff and even her navel are scandalously exposed, like normal. Were it not for the pointed ears, the vast depths of experience that can be seen in her eyes, and the fact that she's constantly surrounded by small magical signs, it would be easy to mistake her for a rebellious young adult, only a little younger than you yourself.
Yes, it's a normal and welcoming reunion after the insanity that was Grieve itself. It continues to be this until she speaks.
"Who," asks Ice-Rimed Orchid, "Are you? And how is it you're able to waltz straight through my lands so easily, stranger?"
You're brought up short by this. "Orchid," you say, trying to keep panic from your voice. "It's me. Please don't tell me you can't recognize me without my glasses." You pause, then correct yourself. "Actually, please tell me that's all it is." You know there's a pleading note in your voice.
Orchid unhooks her legs, falls in a heap on her head, and adroitly picks herself up off the ground as if it didn't hurt. It probably didn't. She circles you for a moment, then snaps her fingers and a pair of glasses manifests on your nose: a creation of glamour, not a real object. It's not quite the right design, and you don't need them, so you pick them off. They melt into a rainbow of tiny particles, blown away on the wind. "A fascinating mystery indeed," she says. "You profess to know me. Your weight on the wind is much like my own. Answer me true, or I shall know you as an intruder." Your blood runs cold at that threat. Intruder is the opposite of guest. "What am I to you?"
"Teacher," you say. "You instructed me in sorcery. With that, I--" You bite off mentioning any of your exploits, since she had just told you she doesn't know you. "You opened my mind to sorcery, and I learned much from you."
The fae prince nods, turns her back on you, and takes a few steps away. "You are either truly disconnected from reality, or believe you are telling the truth," she says. You don't untense at all. You know what she's about to say, because you know Orchid. "So prove which one it is. I know already how I would teach sorcery to you. Cast the first spell I taught you, or die where you stand!"
As she whips around, you sense the flows of Essence in the world already warping as her will crashes down, readying herself to negate your expected spell--and she had better be able to negate it. Instinctively, you're reaching out the same way, and shaping the first spell you'd ever learned.
What shaping ritual did Orchid teach you?
Shaping rituals are bonus ways that sorcerers and necromancers can generate and store Will, the resources used for casting spells in Essence. The mechanical effect is a small bonus, but much can be made of seeking to arrange events to give yourself this extra Will. The more difficult or dangerous the task, the more Will it typically grants.
[] Emulation of the Fair Folk
Like a raksha, you feed on the ambient emotional energy of others, with yours feeding your spells. When others experience emotional change without you causing it, you gain bonus Will.
[] Soul-Perfecting Elixir
When you have the opportunity to gather unusual ingredients that can expand your mind (such as those found in a freehold) and distill them into an elixir, you gain bonus Will.
[] Truth through Lies
When you spend stunt dice for instant training or a dramatic edit (ie, when you spin something into conveniently being ready), you gain bonus Will, having lied to reality successfully.
What spell did Orchid teach you first?
Don't think that this answer has to be a combat option. Think of this, instead, as a list of the tools you most instinctively reach for. That can be, but doesn't have to be, straight violence. As a special note, the first AND second choices here will be added to our protagonist's sheet; the highest-placing one is just the one learned first.
[] Beckoning That Which Stirs the Sky
When you call, vast chitinous limbs appear in the sky, weaving weather like spidersilk. You cannot affect major disasters, but you can command normal weather as you please.
[] Evil-Eye Binding
With little more than a glance and the effort needed to crush their resolve, you can make a target unable to communicate about a topic you intend; if they persist, they will be interrupted by vomiting up maggots.
[] Flight of Separation
You explode into a flock of birds, escaping from almost any restraints; you fly swiftly to a point within ten miles and then reform into you. Travel as birds is usually subtle, as well.
[] Flight of the Brilliant Raptor
You conjure an eagle-sized bird of red-and-white jewel flame, a war sorcery suitable for obliterating squads of foes or attacking fortifications. It does not have a 'low' setting.
[] Peacock Shadow Eyes
You overwhelm a person's will with eyes of many-colored flame, forcing them into a trance where they are vulnerable to you instilling new thoughts and beliefs, and leave no memory of your efforts.
[] Wood Dragon's Claw
You shape one your arms into a terrifying melee weapon of living wood, a personal transformation to make you suddenly a terrifying foe up close. And, yet, you bear no obvious weapon...
In a way that is both a frustration and a relief, leaving Grieve is the most normal things have been for you since you woke up in this world. The guards give a routine once-over on carts or large burdens, just verifying that things seem legit and that any relevant export stamps are properly applied.
Of course, that system was old before you were born, so it's not really too weird to see it still here.
Regardless, you have a reasonably nice outfit, a Grievan look to your features, and bear nothing obvious on your person, so when you stroll out at a casual walking pace, no one even challenges you.
Grieve itself stands at the north-western edge of a peninsula; it holds the (significantly more navigable) southern pass of the two between the Great Western Ocean and the White Sea. This alone is enough to give your home major amounts of wealth and power. However, Grieve also has two major land routes: there's the Black Shale Road heading east, which passes through a terrifying mountain pass before it joins to Gethamane and Whitewall. There's also the Basalt Column Road heading south, which allows relatively quick access between the port of Grieve and ports along the northern edge of the Inland Sea while avoiding the dangerous Mourn Archipelago to the west.
All of this looks roughly like you remember, save for the somewhat lighter traffic. Outside of Grieve's walls, there's a collection of smaller communities that owe fealty to the main city and survive by offering services to travelers, there's various small camps that shift as nomadic tribes migrate close and then move away to be replaced by others, there's the hard-scrabble farms, orchards, and grazing fields that supplement fishers' takes to feed the people... and then, perhaps two miles from the city gate, there is her section.
No one could possibly mistake Ice-Rimed Orchid's freehold for a mundane land. Climbing up a hill to the south-east of Grieve there is a sharp divide. No people, no animals, and no plants save the thinnest of grasses approach within thirty feet of the freehold. Just barely within the freehold, suddenly there is a copse of conifers, thick and green and healthy, crowded impossibly together and each stretching at least sixty feet into the air, towering above any building out here. Thick, thorny vines with no mortal kin climb up the trees and stretch between them, creating a dense tangle that is both wall and maze.
Yes, this is exactly as familiar to you as ever.
There's only one easy entrance to the freehold, and you approach it. As you do, a hobgoblin pulls itself out of the ground. It's built something like a wizened old man, but on a one-third scale, with too-long arms and too many teeth. You don't even blink. This is just like you expected. "My mistress bids welcome to all who wish to visit her," it announces, approximating a bow. "The expected code for guests is written on the woods; I require verbal confirmation that you can read written Skytongue."
"I come as a guest, with all due courtesy for the glory of Ice-Rimed Orchid, and I am able to read written Skytongue." You recite familiar words. If you do not, the hobgoblin will physically try to hold you back until you either leave the freehold or it has the chance to recite the entire list of guest rules. It speaks annoyingly slowly, too. However, since you say as much, it bows again and steps back, before sinking back into the muddy ground it rose up from.
The guest code is written on trees, one rule carved into each tree that stands beside the main path. The rules are ever-shifting, but typically not too onerous. Instead, when Orchid doesn't feel like visitors, it's more common for the whole freehold to be wrapped in layers of impenetrable thorns, an extremely blunt way to prevent any mortal from approaching.
You pass "No guest shall raise hand nor voice to another, save in defensive response", "Guests will bring no cold iron into the freehold", and "Guests will not shroud their left ear with cloth", along with the other normal rules in about a typical place. There's one tree that seems to have no rule on it when it should. You glance back over your shoulder as you pass it. Written on the reverse side of the tree is "No guest shall bring pearl or sapphire into the freehold, save as a gift for Ice-Rimed Orchid". You smile at that one. Apparently, Orchid has found a new style she wants to explore.
Orchid has lived on these lands for longer than there has been a Grieve, and it's always been easier and more valuable to treat with her than to try to fight against her. Disobedient guests are almost always punished in line with the actual level of the offense, so visiting her freehold is an acceptable dare for young children to prove they're not scared, a valuable trading opportunity for merchants of sufficient caliber, a safe place for young lovers to explore each other's bodies where disapproving family can't reach, and (for your specific case) a place where sorcery can be taught.
Once you are past the guest code, the freehold opens up; there are countless paths and branches, clearings of all sorts. Some of them have humans, in others there are panjadrums or hobgoblins or other fae creatures, and in some you can't see anyone at all... at least, at first glance.
You ignore most of them, though you try to keep an eye out for any of Orchid's most notable servants, such as the cataphract Silver Stained Red who defends both her honor and her interests with equal zeal. Seeing none of them, you press on, ducking into a space between thorn-vines which looks too small for a person until you're already committed to squeezing in. This is the way to the private section of the Freehold, so you murmur the pass-phrase as you go along.
This path deposits you right in Orchid's seat of power. Here, the giant trees leave space, and the sun shines brightly down on the clearing all day, regardless of normal lines. Half-forgotten glamours, priceless treasures, the bleached bones of defeated foes, and all manner of forgotten luxuries both mundane and magical surround the edges of the glade.
You take in none of it, for Ice-Rimed Orchid herself rests at the center of it all. She's perched on the back of some mostly-transparent giant wolf, clearly a creature of glamour in the process of being created. She was facing away from you, but as you approach, she leans backwards, her knees still atop its back and her face with its thin elfin features upside-down near the ground. She's grinning at you. Of course she is. She's dressed in furs, like normal, and her midriff and even her navel are scandalously exposed, like normal. Were it not for the pointed ears, the vast depths of experience that can be seen in her eyes, and the fact that she's constantly surrounded by small magical signs, it would be easy to mistake her for a rebellious young adult, only a little younger than you yourself.
Yes, it's a normal and welcoming reunion after the insanity that was Grieve itself. It continues to be this until she speaks.
"Who," asks Ice-Rimed Orchid, "Are you? And how is it you're able to waltz straight through my lands so easily, stranger?"
You're brought up short by this. "Orchid," you say, trying to keep panic from your voice. "It's me. Please don't tell me you can't recognize me without my glasses." You pause, then correct yourself. "Actually, please tell me that's all it is." You know there's a pleading note in your voice.
Orchid unhooks her legs, falls in a heap on her head, and adroitly picks herself up off the ground as if it didn't hurt. It probably didn't. She circles you for a moment, then snaps her fingers and a pair of glasses manifests on your nose: a creation of glamour, not a real object. It's not quite the right design, and you don't need them, so you pick them off. They melt into a rainbow of tiny particles, blown away on the wind. "A fascinating mystery indeed," she says. "You profess to know me. Your weight on the wind is much like my own. Answer me true, or I shall know you as an intruder." Your blood runs cold at that threat. Intruder is the opposite of guest. "What am I to you?"
"Teacher," you say. "You instructed me in sorcery. With that, I--" You bite off mentioning any of your exploits, since she had just told you she doesn't know you. "You opened my mind to sorcery, and I learned much from you."
The fae prince nods, turns her back on you, and takes a few steps away. "You are either truly disconnected from reality, or believe you are telling the truth," she says. You don't untense at all. You know what she's about to say, because you know Orchid. "So prove which one it is. I know already how I would teach sorcery to you. Cast the first spell I taught you, or die where you stand!"
As she whips around, you sense the flows of Essence in the world already warping as her will crashes down, readying herself to negate your expected spell--and she had better be able to negate it. Instinctively, you're reaching out the same way, and shaping the first spell you'd ever learned.
What shaping ritual did Orchid teach you?
Shaping rituals are bonus ways that sorcerers and necromancers can generate and store Will, the resources used for casting spells in Essence. The mechanical effect is a small bonus, but much can be made of seeking to arrange events to give yourself this extra Will. The more difficult or dangerous the task, the more Will it typically grants.
[] Emulation of the Fair Folk
Like a raksha, you feed on the ambient emotional energy of others, with yours feeding your spells. When others experience emotional change without you causing it, you gain bonus Will.
[] Soul-Perfecting Elixir
When you have the opportunity to gather unusual ingredients that can expand your mind (such as those found in a freehold) and distill them into an elixir, you gain bonus Will.
[] Truth through Lies
When you spend stunt dice for instant training or a dramatic edit (ie, when you spin something into conveniently being ready), you gain bonus Will, having lied to reality successfully.
What spell did Orchid teach you first?
Don't think that this answer has to be a combat option. Think of this, instead, as a list of the tools you most instinctively reach for. That can be, but doesn't have to be, straight violence. As a special note, the first AND second choices here will be added to our protagonist's sheet; the highest-placing one is just the one learned first.
[] Beckoning That Which Stirs the Sky
When you call, vast chitinous limbs appear in the sky, weaving weather like spidersilk. You cannot affect major disasters, but you can command normal weather as you please.
[] Evil-Eye Binding
With little more than a glance and the effort needed to crush their resolve, you can make a target unable to communicate about a topic you intend; if they persist, they will be interrupted by vomiting up maggots.
[] Flight of Separation
You explode into a flock of birds, escaping from almost any restraints; you fly swiftly to a point within ten miles and then reform into you. Travel as birds is usually subtle, as well.
[] Flight of the Brilliant Raptor
You conjure an eagle-sized bird of red-and-white jewel flame, a war sorcery suitable for obliterating squads of foes or attacking fortifications. It does not have a 'low' setting.
[] Peacock Shadow Eyes
You overwhelm a person's will with eyes of many-colored flame, forcing them into a trance where they are vulnerable to you instilling new thoughts and beliefs, and leave no memory of your efforts.
[] Wood Dragon's Claw
You shape one your arms into a terrifying melee weapon of living wood, a personal transformation to make you suddenly a terrifying foe up close. And, yet, you bear no obvious weapon...
- Location
- New York
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Truth through Lies
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Flight of Separation
[x] Soul-Perfecting Elixir
[x] Beckoning That Which Stirs the Sky
[x] Beckoning That Which Stirs the Sky
Fayhem
Definitely not an escaped SCP
- Location
- At large
- Pronouns
- He/Him
You need to put Xs in these for the vote to be counted.
[X] Truth through Lies
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Peacock Shadow Eyes
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[Y] Die where we stand
I want to see where this goes.
I want to see where this goes.
CedeTheBees
Probably high right now
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Truth through Lies
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Flight of Separation
WhoTheHeckity
But no one ever asks HowTheHeckity
- Location
- Murica 🦅
[X] Truth through Lies
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Truth through Lies
[X] Peacock Shadow Eyes
[X] Peacock Shadow Eyes
- Location
- France
[X] Truth through Lies
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Flight of Separation
- Location
- Washington
[X] Soul-Perfecting Elixir
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Emulation of the Fair Folk
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Wood Dragon's Claw
[X] Flight of Separation
[X] Wood Dragon's Claw
Last edited:
1337Procrast
Fire Emblem Enjoyer
- Location
- Australia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Truth through Lies
[X] Peacock Shadow Eyes
Peacock shadow eyes can give us enchanting iridescence in our eyes. It's necessary.
[X] Peacock Shadow Eyes
Peacock shadow eyes can give us enchanting iridescence in our eyes. It's necessary.