To the Letter, Or, The Sidereals Deal with an Outside of Context Problem (Exalted/Destiny)

[GreggHL]

You knew Scarlet Whispers. You've worked with her plenty of times. Star accidentally brought her to Heaven in the first place when she off-hand mentioned to Little Beam that she was worried about the overworked Eclipse that worked for the Perfect of Paragon. Five worked with her on one of her first missions with the group, upon which she got Lani. Turncloak respected the Eclipse, especially the sheer amount of shit she's had to deal with. Kiddo knew her as someone who was capable, respectable, and reliable.

The four of you stand around the table- Turncloak was not present, for today he had business in the Primal Forge. Business long since due. Though he would agree that the Perfect of Paragon was an odious piece of human garbage, but he felt that about everyone save for a handful. The others felt that way about him due to his treatment of Scarlet Whispers. All of them had no issue with denying him his prize.

On the other hand, Wandering Horizons, upon hearing what the mission entailed, and who it entailed, smiled.

"So, Heaven is giving us permission to deal with the Perfect of Paragon?"

In the map room of Nasri's boat, the Chucklefucks stand around the unfurled map of the South. Scarlet Whispers sits in a comfy canvas chair, mimosa in hand, while she tries to read Horizon's face. She is not sure if she should be frightened at the curious glee she sees on it.

"Yes," Nasri confirms.

Horizons giggles, waggling his fingers. His giggle becomes a laugh, which becomes a full-on cackle. His mouth fully open, teeth on display, eyes filled with absolute glee. The cackle is wild. Mad. The laughter of a man who has gone through insanity and come out into metastability. Of a man who understands the fel truths of the world and binds them to his bidding.

Of a man who has decided to do something.

The room goes quiet enough for a pin to drop.

Scarlet Whispers sips her drink. Five has her Foci in a defensive formation in front of her. Kiddo stares, quietly. Star has her fans out, staring at her partner. But not out of concern. She tilts her head one way, then the other, trying to figure out which maniacal laugh this is. Then nods, and snaps her fingers.

"Is this the Idea?"

Horizons snaps his fingers, pointing to Star.

"It's the Idea! Five, you've got Part C."

Five blinks, then nods. "Understood. I'll get in touch with my contacts in Jarrish."

Kiddo slowly raises a hand. "What's the Idea?"

Star snaps her fans closed and vanishes them up her sleeves. "Watch and learn, Young Guardian. You're about to see some shit."





Chapter 11:

Overly Elaborate Methods of Neutralization

 

[GreggHL]

Star walks back into her Manse, kicking off her shoes and taking an offered long stemmed glass from her waiting butler. Draining the glass, she tossing it over her shoulder and continues walking, cracking her knuckles above her head.

"I need an easel, paints, and some laaaaarge boards."

The gods in her Manse swirl through the walls and get to work.

More than anything, Star is a painter. She is an artist. Prior to partnering up with Wandering Horizons, she did commissions for the gods, and she will say with confidence she is damned good at what she does.

Within hours, she has the poster ready, and overlooking the transcendent Silk of the Loom, the presents the rolled up masterpiece to the Pattern Spiders, who click their mandibles in appreciation. They gather around the balcony she stands on, chittering away, mollified and flattered by the motivational poster.

"So," one says, "What do you want in return?"

"The Sloped Floor Curse on this individual," she says, handing a slip of paper to the spider, "We'll take it from there."





Wandering Horizons walks out of the Gate in the far West, steps on the boat, and rides it over the waters to the the edge of the world. Thankfully, this is the western-most Gate, so it's only a couple of hours ride.

The water gets spongy and starts making suggestive noises, so he folds the sails, walks to the edge, and takes out the envelope.

He spent some time making sure all the forms were properly filled out and all the stamps were used correctly. The seal is fresh and the wax is the correct flavor, and he bends over to hold the envelope out.

Out of the gooey, bouncy liquid, a hand clad in cleanest sammite emerges, holding a sword. He shakes his head. The hand tosses the sword aside and takes the envelope, descending into the Wyld.

Wandering Horizons gives two thumbs up and turns the boat around.





The Island Fortress of Il-Yeddo withdraws into the distance. Wind whipping through their hair, Five stands on the bow of the brass barge, next to Scarlet Whispers. They approach the pointy head that easily dwarfs them, if not the pyramid they came from.

"So that's an Alchemical?" the Eclipse asks.

"It is Jast," Five explains, "We helped make sure it was the first Breakthrough several months back. I keep regular contact with the Alchemical Assembly in Jast, and consider one of them, Inquisitive Smiling Shell, a friend."

Scarlet nods. "So…are you going to get that big?"

Five shrugs. "I am constructed differently from most Alchemicals. My understanding is, as a Metropolis, Jast is over one thousand years old. As one of the earliest Metropoli, she is actually almost four thousand years old."

"That's almost as old as Autochthon's exodus from Creation."

Again, Five nods. The wind lets her dress billow. Scarlet Whispers pulls her light jacket just a bit tighter. "The Alchemical Jast is built around was based on Jarrish, one of the Eight Heroes who lead Grandfather's cult. They have a…view of the relationship between her and Grandfather that I do not fully agree with."

Scarlet thinks that over for a moment, thinking on what she has seen between Five and the Great Maker. Sucking her teeth, she nods. "Right. That's gotta be rough."

She pats Five's shoulder. No one needs to see an entire culture mythologizing an epic romance between their founder and one's grandfather. Given what she knows about the Autochthonians, and their tendency to go all in, she can only imagine how awkward that makes things.

"We are approaching the Breakthrough," Five says, "I am activating the lure for Part C."

A focal rises, keeping in speed and time with the barge. It shines, but rather than a beam of pure force, it shines a harmless laser. A red laser. The mouth of the immense Exalted head opens, distorts and distends, and Scarlet's eyes go wide when she sees what emerges.

At the front of the barge, a compartment opens and from the hold, Kiddo aims the Behemoth Attunement Restraint.

"Crikey," he muses, "That's a beaut!"

 

[GreggHL]

The Perfect of Paragon is a man with perfect, bronzed skin, a perfect build, wonderful flowing hair, and a destiny to be a Solar Exalted. Or as he tells himself. Inside his fabulously appointed war tent somewhere outside of his city, he stares at the map of the South.

The Yozi have told him where the Orb of Peace and Harmony is. Their champion, the Infernal, appeared to him in person, floating before his Hellstrider before the Paragon's private balcony. Malfeas himself had declared this his destiny.

The Orb was close. He knew this. It was his destiny.

The Perfect stares at the map, and carefully picks up the little horse figurine that represents him and moves it. Maybe to the left? Or the right? He looks around, making sure he is alone.

"I can't read," he whispers.





Atop a plateau overlooking the war camp, you sit on canvas chairs. "So," Scarlet Whispers says, "They've been moving back and forth between the same ten miles for the last week. Why, exactly?"

Next to her, eating from a bowl of popcorn, Star gives the Eclipse a thumbs up. "Sloped floor curse. Basically, whenever you need to read a map, or direct troops, or give orders, think of it like rolling tiny little dice. The Perfect has a lot of dice, which means he's really skilled because he's lived a long time and he's learned a lot."

Scarlet nods. "I follow."

"I just changed the face it'd have to land on. Made it a smidge harder. Takes effect every day the first time he looks at a map."

Scarlet's jaw drops. "He's never without a map."

Star nods quickly, grinning from ear to ear.

"How long does it last?" Scarlet asks.

"Two thousand years."

The Eclipse squees.





Six fingers make six whistling sounds on six half full glasses of water. The Perfect of Paragon looks up from his map to stare at the six children with knife ears and puppy dog eyes standing across the table from him, all playing their cups.

"What'cha doin'?" they ask as a discordiant chorus.

The Perfect opens his mouth. Closes it. "What."

Then they have puppy dog ears and knife eyes and he ducks under the table to narrowly avoid being stabbed.





"And that's the Conning Chaos Technique, right on time," Horizons says with what almost sounds like a giggle. They can hear the screams from the war camp. Tents toppled over by suddenly appearing unicorns that immediately start calling soldiers dirty dirty boys. Star scaped owls that begin pecking at ankles. Trapaizing knife eared fucks that skip through fields of flowers.

Stumbling soldiers crashing through vegetable stands, and the knife eared bastards smacking them with sticks for destroying their cabbages. At ends of the camp, Tyrant Lizard sing jaunty songs about the tiny, tiny size of the Perfect of Paragon's genitals.

Star passes the popcorn and Star takes a handful, eyes wide with wonder.

"What did you do?" she asks, voice faint as a tiny child's whisper.

"I sold the Perfect's destiny to the Wyld," Horizons responds, lighting a cigar and taking a puff, "In return, they graciously returned to me sixteen square miles of Creation just off the shore of Il-Yeddo. Might be a nice retirement home. Used to be a fortress."

"Is it permanent?" Five asks, leaning in from her canvas chair.

"Just a month. A month where they've got him for playtime." Horizon waggles his eyebrows.

Five isn't sure how to interpret that. She decides not to, and pushes it from her mind. Kiddo stands up, climbing out of his canvas chair, and pulls from Elsewhere the Behemoth Attunement Restraint. He walks over and hands it to Scarlet Whispers.

She looks between them, teary eyed. Star reaches out and rubs her shoulder. "Happy birthday, girl."

"Oh, you guys." The Eclipse stands, brings up the device, and with a loud, brassy chunk sends the sphere flying.

The sphere, of brass and ivory, flies through the air with grace, with accuracy. With trajectory locked on to the war camp. The seals upon it begin to unwind, loosening. Unfurling. Bringing to light the shape within. The creature captured within.

The Perfect charges out of his war tent, scrambling on all fours and ducking beneath a flurry of knife eyes. Screaming for help, for explanations.

Before a set of toe beans connected with a fluffy and sassy foot crushes his tent.

The Perfect looks up. Scrambling to his feet, he looks up, backing away and craning his neck. At the furry, fluffy leg, connecting to the squishy and adorbs body. To the mischevious eyes and the cute little nose, the asshole grin, and the clouds gathering around its fluffy and cutesy wittle ears.

The Primordial Behemoth.

Cataclysm.​

"Mew."





Ghost appears above Kiddo's shoulder, watching with the rest of you as the mountain kitteh swats aside the war tents with the same grace and care it would everything on a shelf that could hold it.

"Where did you even find that?"

"It was in a puzzle dungeon in the Pole of Crystal," Five says, smiling. It was fun, watching the sort of misery spiral they could condemn someone who hurt their friend to.

"Your grandfather's mind is a magical place."

No one voices disagreement.

 

[Thine Spree]

Oh lord, this entire segment has had me locked in endless giggles/chuckles, it's amazingly great bravo to you my good sir!

 

[GreggHL]

Oh lord, this entire segment has had me locked in endless giggles/chuckles, it's amazingly great bravo to you my good sir!

Click to shrink...

When my players explained to me what exactly they had done to the Perfect, I went silent for several moments and felt as if I was in mortal danger.

I also understood that they knew how Sidereals worked on a masterful level and realized this was the greatest game I had ever run.

 

[Thine Spree]

Your players have devious devious minds to have thought up such an amazingly entertaining chain of events.

 

[nathanwe]

The image of the behemoth is a link to discord that has now expired.

 

[GreggHL]

The image of the behemoth is a link to discord that has now expired.

Click to shrink...

There we go.

Gaze once more upon the Cataclysm.

 

[GreggHL]

A mesa overlooks the smoke of the distant camp, a hundred miles away. Before the entrance, there stands an Anklok. Like all of his species, he is tall, with broad shoulders and golden-brown scales. Two horns curve around his head, his snout a pointed, sharp beak. His crimson robe falls to his knees, azure prayer beads hanging loose around his neck.

In a flash of flame, a spear as tall as he appears in his hand, made of crystal and vine. Which is sensible, from the five people who appear directly in front of him.

Behind him, the vines covering the entrance are entirely too orderly to be natural- forming handholds and handles. Easily to follow paths around the mountains above if one had the upper body strength.

Star and Scarlet whispers wave and honk, speaking in High Holy Speech.

The Anklok scrunches his nose and honks back. Scarlet Whispers scratches the ground with her foot and bows, honking in response. Star honks, rubbing the back of her neck, pointing to the vines behind them leading to the ground below, and then at her own thin arms.

Horizons looks at his two co-workers honking and scratching, and wishes he brought along one of those recording crystals. Mainly for blackmail. Five reaches into her cache egg and offers him a sandwich, which he accepts.

"And the others speak Old Realm?" the Anklok asks.

In Old Realm, which everyone can understand.

"The Exalted have come for the Artifact," the brick shithouse of a Dragon King states, "I understand. We have heard rumors that the Yozi come to claim it. We have watched it for millenia, and are prepared to give it to the Chosen."

Star smiles and curtsies. "I am Star of the Shifting Skies. With me are Five, Wandering Horizons, Scarlet Whispers, and Kiddo."

"I am Garr, Guardian of Artifacts, as I have been since the War for Heaven." He taps his spear on the ground. Behind him, the vines locking the door unravel and the door grinds open. "You should follow me."

They hear the screams approaching and turn. Flailing through the air is a man, bloodied and battered, slamming into the ground and rolling to a groaning, misterable stop. Clad in a familiar cloak and clothes, holding a scepter which he uses to push himself up to standing.

His heavy gaze centers on Scarlet Whispers, who idly unsheathes her twin short swords and twirls them.

"Hi there," she says, "Little late to tell you, but I quit."

The Perfect of Paragon rises up and points his scepter at the Eclipse. "Choke on your own tongue," he commands, voice filled with venom and authority.

Star leans in, patting Scarlet on the shoulder. "So, hey buddy. Right after my boyfriend rescued her from your little Nexus wannabe fantasy, he called in a favor and had his dad remove the mark thing you use."

Kiddo idly forms a maul made out of sunfire, palming it in his hand. Wandering Horizons nibbles on his sandwich. Five lets her Foci float up in a threatening display, like a peacock.

"Do you know who I am," the tyrant demands.

"You're the man who's about to be stomped on by five Celestial Exalts," Five responds, the foci all faintly glowing, "We also know you are a petty tyrant with a magic stick."

"Not a euphemism for your penis, by the way," Star adds.

The tyrant, the dictator, the envious mortal who has long coveted the power of the Exalted, grinds his teeth. Leaning on the Scepter, his greatest tool, his eyes burn in their sockets. He straightens up, stares them down, and speaks a single word.

"Yes."

It is a moment of confusion from them. What he meant in response to.

Clarity comes from the emerald fire and the shattering of azure glass. Clarity comes in the form of the extending, unfurling wings of the Hellstrider. Gunmetal gray and floating in the air, its arms extended and palms ignited with the light of the Green Sun.

"So be it," the Seeker of Power declares.

The Perfect ignites with Ligier's flame.

"My fist is the Divine Breath!

Blossom, O fallen seed!

Drink deep of this gifted power!

Herald the return of the Empyrean Chaos!"

 

[nathanwe]

Don't infernal exaltations generate a cocoon thing and so can't be used as a mid-battle power up? Or am I misunderstanding and the perfect of paragon didn't just exalt as an infernal.

 

[GreggHL]

Upon entering the Primal Forge- through the ductwork, as it needed to be stated that it is insultingly easy to enter one of the most dangerous places in all existence- Turncloak found himself himself in front of a dozen bipedal, mechanical creatures with flared heads and a single, glowing eye. They raise and lower an arm with some sort of glowing device attached to it, turn, and march off. Turncloak is more curious than anything, and decides not to destroy them with their bare hands.

His sight shifts to supernal, the range of his eyes extending to miles. Groups of the constructs patrol the Floor. Some accompanied by ones with sharper heads with horns. Some accompanied by flying drones. They seem to blink, in and out of existence. Not immaterial- teleportation. He makes it a point to analyze the spell.

"Hey, Boss? What are those?"

There is a hrm coming from on high. The floor next to Turncloak glows in a white circle, and an Encounter Suit appears.

"I have no knowledge of creating those. Logos?"

In the distance, an eye the size of the Blessed Isle opens.

"They are semi-autonamous constructs, designated Goblins. Their purpose is to maintain the security of the Primal Forge. Their primary focus is maintaining location and quarantine of experiments that are not confined to a single location."

Turncloak strokes his beard, idly glancing at Autochthon. The Encounter Suit rotates one facet eye, staring at the marching, patrolling automatons.

"Why bipedal?" Turncloak asks, "Thought the Boss likes Spiders."

"The Great Maker currently favors humanity."

The Encounter Suit nods, puffing out steam from his grill. "Yes. Innovative. I approve. Carry on, Logos."

The Eye closes in the distance. The Encounter Suit slumps over, the lights dimming, and a path lights up to lead to a glowing rail. He begins walking, idly watching the constructs as they work, as some of them vanish, replaced by others.

"Boss, there's no chance that Logos is bullshitting you, is there?"

A voice on high pshaws. Logos is incapable of deceiving me, Turncloak. And before you assume, I do not mean this as an overestimation of loyalty. He is the first sentient being I created. He is to Gods what Kadamon is to humanity. He was built to maintain the Primal Forge, and was built to be unable to act against its interests.

Awful polite for him to be saying this where Logos can hear, Turncloak muses. He walks over to the rail, steps onto it, and launches himself into a space between worlds, where he passes between dreams and reality. Where he beholds a truth, long since hidden.

"For fuck's sake, it's that easy?"

Turncloak grumps, walking out the other end of the rail and into the Vat complex. The white walls surround them, and inside, only a single Vat is present. In front of it is an encounter suit, fused to a stump and with four legs on one side maintaining the dials and switches of the cylinder. It turns its head, rotating three facet eyes.

"The Alchemical vessel is fully prepared. The ghost is here?"

Turncloak reaches into his cloak, pulling out the copper coin, and hands it to the Great Maker. It sinks into the palm. Two vials emerge from the other side- one fills with mud, necrotic and black. The other with something faint, transparent.

"Excellent. I am inserting the soul now."

The hand narrows. Brass folds back into an adamant and starmetal needle, and the Great Maker inserts it into one of the slots, near the head. Inside the vat, the transparent, almost liquid flows through a white and into the suspended, motionless form.

Eyes flicker open. The same eyes he remembers. They go wide and her mouth opens in a scream. Her eyes roll up, close, and she hangs listlessly in the nutrient suspension.

"Talk to me, Boss." Turncloak's fists clench. His knuckles go white.

"She is catatonic. The Alchemical Exaltation requires a heroic soul, and her soul is not yet heroic." The Encounter Suit turns to him, sprouding a pair of spindly legs. "I have alerted Runel, my Compassion and the Divine Minister which overseas the Alchemical Exaltation. Additionally, I have alerted Kadmek, my Divine Minister who specializes in psyche and dreams. They shall aid in resolving this situation."

Turncloak nods, slowly.

"Right. Got it. Understood. Do you need me to kill anything?"

"The Seeker of Power has engaged the others. I will open a Door for you now."

Turncloak cracks his knuckles. His smile is almost feral.

"I'd like that very much."

 

[GreggHL]

The Perfect of Paragon erupts into flame, and even a cursory study of the Yozi and their tricks tells you what this is. The Endowment of Infernal Glory- the creation of an Akuma. An empowered servant of the Yozi, a predecessor to the Infernals. The powers of Hell, and sharpened to a knife in their hands.

Horizons finishes shoving the last of his sandwich, licks his fingers, wipes them off his pants, and steps forward.

He reaches out, tangling his fingers on the invisible strings surrounding the Perfect of Paragon- everything he is, was, will be. The simple truths that make one what they are. A simple plucking that he knows the exact location of that allows him to ring a discordiant tune.

In simpler terms, Wandering Horizons steals this man's name, and the plume of flame surrounds him instead, leaping from the tan skinned tyrant like it were hopping into the pool on a hot summer day, which is every day in the South. It should, in seconds, turn his skin inside out.

The operative word being should. Instead, he simply raises a finger.

"You cut that out."

The flame disperses, and the nameless tyrant collapses to the ground, screaming into the dirt. Screams which are silences when Scarlet Whispers runs up and kicks him in the face.

Emerald fire surrounds the gauntlets of the Hellstrider, the eyes glowing solid blue. "Looks like he's aiming for round 2," Kiddo calls out, violet energy surrounding his other hand and forming into a disc, "Ghost, could use the giant robot right about-"

Five narrows her eyes. The foci arrange themselves into a larger diamond, and shine a red laser light directly at the Hellstrider. It is a bright red light- but not a damaging laser. Not a violent laser. A targeting laser of some sort. A bright, shining targeting laser bright enough to be seen even during the day.

"You are paying far too much attention to us," Five states, "Your lack of situational awareness may prove to be cataclysmic."

The shadow falls over the Hellstrider. It turns, looking up. The question on the Seeker's lip dies.

"Mew!"

Just as the Paw comes down, smashing into the Hellstrider, into the cliffside, and into the ground several hundred feet below.

The immense, happy face of the Cataclysm leans down to play with its new toy, swatting at it like the rage filled prey that it is. Five reaches into her cache egg and takes out her canteen, taking a long sip.

"That was vindicating."

Star gives her a high five.

"Yeah, but now I feel superfluous," the Serentieis says with a shrug, "But, guess it kinda looks that way when you have a mountain straddling cat to solve your problems."

Behind them, a point of light opens into a pyramidon Door, and out of which strides Death. The First Abyssal, Chosen of the Void, stalks through the opening in Creation. His hands become wicked bony claws, his mirrored shades reflecting all before him…and he stops. Blinks.

Some quiet part of his brain, the part that is also still recovering from the tortures of the Neverborn- that is to say, the sane part- asks why these things were always happening around his team.

Turncloak stops, and in a tone that is equal parts irritation and genuine curiosity asks, "What in the fuck is going on?"

The Hellstrider rises into the air, and manages to get some distance before the Kittek grabs it with both paws, dragging it down once more.

"The Seeker was not paying attention," Five says with a satisfied smile.

Turncloak walks up next to her, stroking his chin. "That cat's really enthralled with that asshole."

They watch, heads panning left and right as the cat batted around its new toy, hundreds of yards at a time. Ghost floats over, along with Kiddo.

"We feel wholly unnecessary."

Turncloak gives the naked Exaltation a sad nod. "It was implied that I'd get to hurt something."

Five shrugs. "As much as I enjoy putting my abilities to good use, I like being unnecessary."

Wandering Horizons just shrugs off the lingering effects of the invitation to incomparable power, limitless wealth, and a casual back hatch installed directly into his soul. Then his ear twitches. As it stands, Sidereal charms that detect Essence are based around hearing- around music, listening to the strings and sounds of Essence as they play. He hears something new. Something odd.

"So I'm not sure what's going on," Turncloak continues, "Beautiful that it is, but the Great Maker requested we attempt to bring that asshole over there alive." He thumbs in the direction of the cat and the Hellstrider, turning to it. Turning to hear the hissing.

Not a pleased hissing.

Before them, the Cataclysm rises.

Not rising as in stretching out.

Rising as in being lifted. Not by its own power. Nothing is holding it- but you see the Hellstrider beneath it. One arm extended upwards, and changed.

Its back pauldrons unfurled, its wings sectioned and burning emerald flame. Its richtus grin and animated, angry maw. Its eyes miniature suns of emerald hate.

Inside it, the Seeker hangs, a marionette, bleeding vitriol, his eyes burning emerald stars, his mouth filled with brass teeth. His hands no longer his own. His soul no longer his own. His existence no longer his own.

What they see, what they sense through their Charms is that it is no mere Hellstrider anymore. It is channeling- from outside of Creation. Something bigger. Greater. Vast and powerful and angry. What Sorcerous Sight tells them is thus.

King of Kings.

The Demon Emperor.

Malfeas.

"Take it back."

And the King of the Yozi hurls the Cataclysm at them.

 

[GreggHL]

Kiddo releases the maul and snaps out both hands, a dome of Voidlight surrounding them all. It strains, digging into the cliffside, but the behemoth rolls over it and off of it, over the mountain and falling in the distance with an annoyed mewl.

"Well shit," Turncloak mutters, "Looks like it's hazard pay time."

He takes a quick, split second. Analyzes the situation. "Alright, what we're going to do-"

Star moves with frightening speed, trailed by two prayer strips she just set on fire. She closes the gap between herself and the Demon Emperor instantly, driving her fist into his jaw, clotheslines him in the neck, kicks him in the groin, and stomps on his toe for good measure.

"GO AND LEAVE THIS PLACE, NEVER TO RETURN!" the Serenities roars.

Turncloak isn't even mad. He would've done the same thing.

Sadly, it did jack and shit. The brass giant glows iridescent, an aura of emerald flame that nearly blinds them. His rage grows, builds, for the rage of the King is known and feared.

KNEEL

It is not spoken. It is understood. It is a command, woven into the universe. It rings in their souls, and each and every one of you that is present- as Star was actually deep in the mountain, having accompanied Garr to get the artifact- recognize the voice of your King and his Command. Scarlet Whispers- too focused on dragging the nameless tyrant behind some sturdy looking rocks, manages a grunt and a middle finger.

Ghost glows brightly, Light shielding them and Kiddo against the reality buckling order. "Not happening!"

Kiddo feels his knees buckle, but digs his heels in. It would be easy to obey. Like it would have been easy to stay dead. He slams his fist down, and upon the ground rises a banner, blank and blinding white, suffusing the ground around them with Light.

Wandering Horizons clears his throat. Already cloaked in starlight, he raises a finger. "Technically, your rule don't extend past your current above, having ceded all rights and rulership within the bounds of the area designated in Line 37, subsection R of page 427 of the Document formalizing the Surrender of the Beings now known as the Yozi after cessation of hostilities. In fact, you are currently in flagrant violation of Clause 82 on page 2652 of subsection G of said document-"

Five's response comes in the form of a [GEOMETRIC] scream and a blast of pink light that blasts Malfeas with a thunder crack. The air burns, the beam so dense and hot one could walk on it if they could survive the contact. The jaw widens, the eeys brightened with agony and sheer, incandescent rage. It blasts out the back, narrowly missing the cockpit, screaming into the sky, and fizzling against the height of the of the skydome.

Turncloak gives his niece a thumbs up.

"Okay. Hold him off for about a minute."

"Gladly," Five states, her foci reconfiguring for a second blast.

The First Abyssal steps back, arms out, before bringing his hands inward. Eyes narrowing behind his mirrored shades, he does something stupid. The Elder Abyssal whispers the black chants and begins forming a Necromantic Spell.

Five has rarely had cause for firing off a full powered blast of her Array. Every time she has done so has ended a fight, and the other side did not walk away. But the hole is still there, bleeding vitriol, and the Demon Emperor's gaze falls upon her. He speaks a word, a secret name lost to time. Clasping palms together, he draws them apart and a sphere within gathers emerald flame.

Kiddo runs towards them, shield of violet light forming on his arm, spreading around them once more. Five's eyes go wide, recognizing the name from her own studies, and recognizing the spell for its destructive intent. Wandering Horizons snaps a hand out and takes hold of the invisible threads of Essence in the air to yank down, pulling them taut as the stars of his crown surge with light.

But his will struggles with the will of the Demon Emperor, and Malfeas is will manifest.

The Endings scowls, reaching deep down into that little part of his soul that hates actually trying. Nudging it once, poking it again, and finally giving it a swift kick in the ass, before pulling hard, his grunt becoming a roar.

The sphere flickers, sputters, shatters. The brass visage twists in rage. The eyes of the Demon Emperor go wide, shards of burning essence blowing up in his face.

Followed by a second blast from Five's array, the girl already glowing with the glass facet light of her Anima. The Demon Emperor swings his fist into the blast, parting it with his knife hand, and stares down at her.

"You have impressed me."

Which is all the time Turncloak needs. Her laughs, blood leaking from his caste mark, from his eyes, from his ears and his mouth. He spats out a wad of dark red, and raises his hands.

Everything stops. Everything seems to hold its breath, even the air itself.

Between his hands hangs the streamers of unlight and nothingness, and Turncloak smiles with bloody teeth.

"Once King, once Theion, once Empyrean Chaos." Turncloak's voice is quiet. Hard to hear, even in the stillness, even in the wake. "Your sovereignty is not recognized here. The only authority here is the Void."

He spreads his hands. Behind the brass giant, it opens. As if great hands tore reality between here and it. The raging maw of nothingness, the very pit at the bottom of existence. The Mouth of Oblivion for a brief, terrible moment, is revealed, and its truths are spoken and torn into the avatar of the Crippled Tyrant.

For that moment, and for every moment afterwards forevermore, Malfeas experiences mortality. He screams, for he knows not what this is. He breaks, for he has no words. The wings of emerald flame sharpen like knives, and he drops, onto his feet, but does not kneel and towers over the Exalted, even as he struggles with the newfound knowledge.

Which is all the opening Kiddo needs to launch himself, sheathed in electricity, fist first into Malfeas' face.

 

[GreggHL]

The Demon Emperor stumbles but he does not fall. Wrestling with the new concept, the new truth within him, he does not fall. The sunfire hammer swings into the side of his skull but he does not fall, leaving great furrows in the stone and dirt. For death is a concept- a concept he knows applied to others, never to himself, never understood before now.

Quickly, too quickly, he does. The madness takes hold once more and the flame burns within, the purity of his madnessrage forcing it back and swinging a cold metal fist into this curious being before him and yet feeling…something when he feels the bones in the torso shatter against his hand. Horror when the Exalted- when Kiddo, as one of these foes calls him- flies through a boulder. Relief when Ghost washes over him with familiar Essence.

The mind of Malfeas is the mind of the King and Malfeas recognizes the Essence of a lost subject whose existence has faded to myth. He feels joy that they still live. Rage that their Essence is wielded against them. Wonder of where they have been since that timeless aeon.

The mind of Malfeas hardens and sharpens to knifepoint. He is brass and power. He is will. He shall accept this concept- this understanding of Death. He shall keep it, treasured and new and wet, within him. He shall use it to become a greater King, for a King must understand all things, even the end of them.

He shall treasure this moment when the Void was open to him and mortality was made manifest. But first, these Exalted struggle against him, and he must kill them to a man.





The King of Kings raises a hand. It bleeds viridian, and burns with flame. His eyes burn as miniature stars and his wings number ten, each a forbidden name. Battered, bleeding, he stands unbroken, for the will of Malfeas is will itself.

"My heart! My Prince! To my aid, you are summoned! Hear me, my rebellious star! Your King commands you!"

The green flame that burns within his hand ignites and before you all burns an emerald star. Within it you see a figure and all of you- all of you- know what it is.

Who it is.

You know because you all have some rudimentary education on the who's who of Hell. On the great masters and noble figures. Of the posters on the wall of every thirsty demonologist.

With a burst of green flame, does he appear. Three arms spread out, one extended above and holding the most sublime sword in all existence. Amber cape over his shoulders, amber hair perfectly wavy. Emerald eyes open and look upon you.

And narrow.

Ligier Shin Giri Malfeas looks from one side, then to the other. His face twists in visible confusion. He turns around and stares at the wounded Hellstrider-cum-Malfeas, and then back at the Exalted.

"Well."

The door behind you kicks open but Star certainly wasn't there, and was in fact still in the depths of the mountain with Garr, doing warm up stretches and activating every charm she knew from Prismatic Arrangement of Creation.

The triumphant grin Turncloak had regarding hitting Malfeas with that spell is gone. His shades reflect the twin burning pyres and he considers options. Today the bullshit was running high and deep. He opens his mouth to make as polite a greeting as possible.

"Prince Ligier. This is unexpected." Somehow, Five is quicker on the draw, curtsying before the Fetich of Malfeas.

With a magnificent flourish, Ligier sheathes his sword. "Truly unexpected, I must admit. To find Malfeas, somehow manifest in Creation, fighting Celestial Exalted, and losing. And not even a Grand Celestial Circle at that."

He turns to the avatar of his King, two arms folded, stroking his chin with one of his other hands.

"This is embarrassing. You're embarrassing. You know that, right?"

 

[GreggHL]

Turncloak barely decides that now is not the time to heckle. Kiddo pulls himself up. Five has her foci rearrange themselves in a screen in front of her.

"A Sidereal, the First Abyssal- which I must admit is impressive on its own- one of the Gardener's chosen, and…ah, yes. The blueprints. I remember those." Ligier nods. "A motley crew. Normally I wouldn't even bother with this sort of arrangement, but I am bound to obey the King when I am so called forth."

Five gives a tiny, tiny wave, as she is very small and blushing at this amazing abs and magnificence. She understands demonologists, to an extent.

"You know about the blueprints?" she stammers.

"Of course! Their creator has long been the sole being I consider my superior in the ways of craftsmanship, if inferior in ways of aesthetic!"

"Ligier, stop bantering!"

A faint scream from behind a high rock behind them, followed by Scarlet Whispers once more kicking the nameless tyrant in the face to knock him unconscious. The top of the rock sheers off, shattering, the Eclipse dragging her former boss to better cover. Malfeas turns to the Exalted before him and screams, and his scream is a killing word.

It cracks bone and bleeds them from their ears. Kiddo forms the banner in his hand once more and drives it into the ground, surrounding them, suffusing them in Light. It starts as a simple glow, it becomes a bonfire. Reaching past his Fetich, the Demon Emperor swings a fist towards the Guardian.

Glowing violet, summoning the shield upon his arm, Kiddo rushes forward and slams into the gauntlet. Despite the might of Malfeas, despite the will of the King of Kings, he finds this one will not break. Kiddo meets the gaze of Hell Itself and does not falter. The Light gives him strength.

"Ligier! Kill them all!"

"As you say," Ligier says with a sigh, "As long as you remain here, in Creation, I am bound to obey your command."

The Green Sun sweeps back his cloak and rises into the air, his arms separating into a mandala and his form silhouetted in emerald flame.

They take the hint. All seven foci open fire on the giant, lasers converging to punch another hole through him. Turncloak sweeps forward icy tendrils of Void, freezing the giant's joints. Sweeping aside the fist, Kiddo launches himself through the air and swings the sunfire maul into Malfeas' eye, driving it to the handle before the Tyrant grabs him and slams him into the ground.

Ghost watches. They have seconds. Ghost can sense Star rushing towards the doors. They can see Horizons approaching, between tick and tock. They can weight options- to cast sorcery, to use that powered armor spell, anything. But all of those are time they do not have.

Except.

Except he does have something.

Something he's kept in the Inventory. Something which no one asked to return, but that's really because the owner is forgetful and lacks foresight.

The shell around Ghost vanishes. Plates of worked brass manifest, summoned from the Inventory. Forming into a sphere that rotates in and out of three-dimensional space, an Orb often mistaken for an Eye. Light surges through Ghost, through the artifice. Twisting their mind, pushing them higher and higher to shout through the Eye-

"Get on your KNEES."

The air, the world, the mythos around Malfeas crystallizes like quartz. He is the mightiest of the Yozi. But this power is Primordial.

The face of the Demon Emperor twists with fathomless rage, and he falls to one knee. Dropping his hands, staring at Ghost with a gaze of pure, unbridled hate. Just long enough for the doors to kick open and Star to charge out, covered in stars and gold.

"Okay!" she shouts, "Now I'm ready! You take high, I take low! Let's do this!"

Horizons blinks out of existence and appears before the Demon Emperor. Five strikes- a simple martial arts technique he'd learned. One he hadn't used yet because he hadn't the opportunity, but now was as good a time as any. The Hellstrider shakes, shimmering, before Horizons follows it with an uppercut which turns the head into a cloud.

Star appears behind the Emperor. Her halo of blue manifests and she screams, spinning like a top. Like a top that could part seas. Before all the momentum is brought into a kick to the Tyrant's crotch plate. She spins into a backflip, the Conclusion Pursuing Approach transferring all that ridiculous, stupid amount of force directly into the core of the demonic avatar.

This was going to sting.

Almost as much as the fact that it was done by a pair of Sidereals.

From the space where the neck once was, the Seeker of Power- burnt, battered, bruised, and unconscious, launches. Followed by two brass, veiny spheres. Which all crash to a stop at Five and Turncloak's feet.

Ligier dismisses the flame surrounding him and lands, as the brass giant collapses behind him. "Good show. Good show. Unorthodox, I shall admit, but I do admire the audacity of it."

Behind him, Star high fives Horizons with a cheer. At Ligier's feet, the dirt becomes gray and silver, swirling around him.

"Well, I must go," the First Among Equals says, "Do send me a missive if you plan to visit the Demon City. I will put you under the aegis of my protection." He smiles, one hand on the hilt of his sword. "I imagine you will need it."

The Cecelyne Sands surround him, and he is gone. His last words echo on the wind, asking what exactly Malfeas was doing in Creation in the first place.

Ghost dismisses the Eye of Autochthon, re-donning their typical Shell, and floats over to heal Kiddo. Five and Turncloak stare at the unconscious Infernal and the two spheres, and the First Abyssal shifts his weight back and forth on each foot, side to side. He screws his face, as if trying to contain something, trying to mask something poorly. The moment the last of the sand vanishes, her whirls to Horizons and Star and high fives them both.

"That was AWESOME!"

 

[Ardenzian]

"That was AWESOME!"

Click to shrink...

Agreed, shit's definitely a Raid Boss

 

[GreggHL]

Agreed, shit's definitely a Raid Boss

Click to shrink...

Malfeas falls into the category of 'JRPG final boss' and 'Raid boss' for several reasons, least of all being the Old Testament God with the serial numbers filed off.

 

[Ardenzian]

Malfeas falls into the category of 'JRPG final boss' and 'Raid boss' for several reasons, least of all being the Old Testament God with the serial numbers filed off.

Click to shrink...

Only hsitty art of thye chapter is that we didn't turn Malfeas into a gun

 

[GreggHL]

=======JOB DONE=======

(+2 XP)

A brass waldo with a velvet glove emerged from a Door to retrieve the unconscious Seeker, with the promise of a particularly uncomfortable experience once the Great Maker got his hands on the Infernal. Considering they got the killing blows, you decided the Sidereals would keep the spheres- they would be excellent paperweights.

When you returned to Heaven via the Calibration Gate, you returned to a crowd. Word had spread, especially when they saw the ruined Hellstrider the Lions were dragging through. It was a mix of elation, celebration, and subdued terror.

Which lead to the four of you escorted on dragon boat in the gold lane, and the boat speeding to the immense dome at the center of Heaven.

The Jade Pleasure Dome, which you had only seen from a distance. The hub around which all of Heaven exists. Which all existence was made. Up close, you can appreciate the sheer size of the structure.

Five miles wide, surrounded by supplicants and suckups. You cannot see the skydome beyond it.

The five of you- six if you include Ghost- are escorted through one of the immense arches of the Jade Pleasure Dome-

And into a white, featureless space.

White, featurless. It has gravity, it has air. It is an absence. A blank slate.

The glance around. Star disquieted, confused. Horizons quiet, hands folded behind him. Turncloak mentally compares it to the prison of the Shining Answer. Ghost scans the world around them, while Kiddo bends down and passes his hand beneath his feet. Five idly puffs out her thrusters, yet does not rise.

"Hello?" she asks.

"Autochthon calls it the Perfect State. From it, he created the Games of Divinity. I don't know why he left some of it, but I use it to meet with people when I am unable to leave the Jade Pleasure Dome."

You all turn to the voice. He stands far taller than you. Perfect in every way. Two arms folded behind him, two arms folded in front of him, smiling warmly.

"I also tend to use it as my office," the Unconquered Sun adds.

Star immediately falls to one knee. "Glory to the Most High." She bows her head.

Five bows respectfully and does the same. Turncloak grimaces, and respectfully nods. "Ignis Divine," he speaks. A subtle tightening of muscle along his jaw.

Horizons finally legs his knees buckle and falls back, floating in the Perfect State. "Needs furniture." Ghost floats over, forming a bag filled with beads. Whether or not they stole it from Star's manse is left unsaid.

"So." The King of Heaven cracks his knuckles. "You have fought, and defeated, Malfeas. A feat so rare I can count the number of Exalted who have accomplished this on maybe two hands. More likely one."

Star raises her head, stands up, and assumes her most professional posture. "Most High, we were only doing our job. We did this because it had to be done."

"We also didn't want to die," Horizons weakly adds.

The Sun shakes his head. He smiles. "Your job was to retrieve the artifact. You could have grabbed it and run, and let the situation play out for others to take care of. No one would have blamed you. Instead, you fought, and you won."

He makes a gesture. In the Perfect State, chairs appear beneath them all. All supremely comfortable.

"And as a result? Malfeas has been humbled. You captured one of the Infernals. This Reclamation has been given a bloody nose. You have exceeded every expectation I, the Maidens, or the Great Maker could have placed upon you. Let's talk rewards."

From the faint bounciness in his step, to the smile, you can all tell the Sun is in a good mood. Possibly the best mood he's been in this entire age.

Five shifts in her seat, vaguely uncomfortable. "I have no metric by which to measure the appropriate reward to ask for from you. I do not wish to insult you by asking for too much or too little."

The Sun nods. "Of course. Allow me to give an example of what I would offer."

He extends a hand, palm face down. From it flows Essence, perfect and gold, and it flows into a hologlyphic structure. A fortress- of towers of breathtaking beauty, walls of perfectly cut stone. An estate of unbreaking stone and shining gold, with draconic highlights and shaped like a prayer wheel to the Sun.

"A reward I can offer- Stewardship of the Salient. It was the headquarters of myself and the Incarnae during the War. We moved it, brick by brick, into Heaven afterwards. While the law states that any of my Chosen may reside in it, it has many secrets and gifts for the chosen of the other Incarnae. And, considering the reality-fraying nature of the war, for the Exalted who had yet to exist."

He snaps his fingers on another hand. Within each of your hands there appears a prayer strip.

"As for an alternative, I offer you a choice of your own. Stewardship of the Salient, or a reward of your choice. Take your time to decide, write your decision upon the prayer strip, and burn it. They are sanctified to go directly to me-"

The chair tips over and Five stands up, offering the prayer strip back.

"If you believe I am amongst those suitable to hold stewardship over the Salient, then I believe it is both my pleasure and my duty to accept this gift, as well as the responsibilities that come with it!"

She is still very, very young.



End Chapter 11

 

[GreggHL]

The Bell is rung. Standing in the entranceway, holding her bag filled with books, guilds, pamphlets, and metal tablets, Five watches the floors part- so perfect is their construction she would have had to expend effort to see the parts in their tile. They open into the secret lairs below, and from them do they launch like missiles.

Oiled, beefy missiles.

Wearing naught but the frilled skirts of their maid uniforms, flying through the air with arms akimbo. Perfect formation like birds.

Oiled, beefy birds.

They land in crouches, arms out, stand up, and flex their arms above their heads in a picturesque pose. Standing still like pulsating statues. Essence coagulates in Old Realm symbols around them, praising the Unconquered Sun. Solidified Prayer and sunlight haze which does nothing to distract the imagery before her of the assembled staff.

Oiled, beefy staff.

Bronze scales and the horned heads identify them as Ankloks. Which makes sense on a logical level, as this is the Salient of the Unconquered Sun and it makes sense the Maids would be the most Zealous of the Dragon Kings. But nothing in Five's brain is operating on a logical level right now.

"Our Glorious Steward," the Ankloks declare at once, in perfect, bass harmony, "We welcome your orders! Command us!"

Five is very young, and realizes taking the Stewardship of the Salient was the best decision she has ever maid. Made.



Chapter 12:

Outside of Fate Problems



The Skydome of Heaven serves as a dome, and is a function of the great Games of Divinity. It serves many purposes, but primarily to inform the Celestial City of the current state of the Games and which Incarnae is currently in the lead, who is losing, and who is currently engaged. All of these are matters of great import for Heaven, for it provides among other things the illusion that the Great Maker has not returned, and that Luna is not right behind them.

However, the Skydome is a display, and as such it can be used to display more than just the state of the Games.

It is a peaceful day in Heaven, and the Sun is high in the Sky.

Beneath the Sun appears a message.

TIME TO ARDURGIA AUDIT:

133:00:00:00

The number begins ticking down seconds.

The traffic of Heaven briefly pauses. The message hangs heavy in the air. On a street outside the Forbidding Manse of Ivory, Chejop Kejak grunts, grabs his chest, and collapses to the ground. The foot traffic walks around him, paying no mind, until the gasps reach a fever pitch.

The gods part and a woman with white hair, clad in purple with a terrible sword by her side walks through. She stares at the Sidereal and nudges him with her foot.

"Grow up," Saturn says, "You're not dead yet."

Chejop sighs, picks himself up, and sheepishly follows the Maiden of Endings as she walks off.

The number hangs on the Skydome, with the simple and dreadful indication of what it means.

Five thousand years of backlogged paperwork.

 

[GreggHL]

It was earlier in the day, and Five took a dragon boat in the quicksilver lane to the Salient of the Unconquered Sun. Prior to today, she had visited the Bureau of Heaven for guides to the Salient, as well as filling her increasingly large collection of notebooks with notes she could find about its history, known procedures, and incidents she could get from the Celestial Lions- the law enforcement of Heaven.

Many of those incidents apparently involved Luna and the Charioteer of the Daystar. Who, according to the records she could find, was the previous Steward thirty years ago. Prior to today, she has also not returned to Il-Yeddo to inform her father, mothers, or siblings as to the momentous responsibility she has undertaken, as Five believes she will once more be called before the Chamber of Ree on charges of being a dumbass.

The dragon boat comes up to the docks, and Five appreciates two things. First, the Salient is much bigger in person.

Second, the Charioteer, who was dismissed as Steward after a particularly extended brawl with Luna destroyed the main decorative fountain in the front courtyard, is waiting for her. Five steps off the boat, holding her bookbag filled with guides, tablets, and scrolls, and wills her gossamer dress to have ruffles so it looks more formal and fancy, and realizes she comes up maybe to the navel of this very tall, gold skinned woman with the very low cut tunic that goes down to her navel.

"Yekkido Reigo, Blessed of Kadmek and Daughter of Kadamon," the very tall woman says, "I am Nysala, Captain of the Daystar."

Five smiles. She is young and eager, and she bows respectfully. "I am honored to meet you. The Sun has entrusted me with the Stewardship of the Salient, and I hope to prove worthy of this task and responsibility."

Nysala stares down at her, face almost expressionless, save for the complete lack of being impressed at all. It is almost as if there is a message, written upon her cleavage in sunfire, that questions why this task was not given to a Solar Exalted.

"I understand you are usually accompanied by an Abyssal, a Chosen of Endings, a Chosen of Serenity, and if I am understanding this correctly, a Chosen of the Gardener? Are they present?"

From a shrubbery off the side, there is motion, rustling. Ghost rises out, floating and buoyed by Light. "Hi. Kiddo couldn't make it- he's visiting the Forge today. I'm here representing the rest of the Chucklefucks."

Nysala blinks. She stares at the naked Exaltation. Cocks an eyebrow and asks, "…the Chucklefucks?"

"We voted on a name for our group. Turncloak suggested it. Star suggested the Besties, Horizons suggested the Survivors. Turncloak, Kiddo, and Horizons voted for it."

"I was not notified of this vote," Five states.

"Turncloak said that, as you are not yet an adult, you are not legally allowed to vote."

Five stares at Ghost, sighs, and accepts the judgement. "Very well," Nysala says, and turns on her heel to walk towards the immense doors, "This way, Steward. Keep up."

Five walks along, Ghost floating above her shoulder. Their plates rotate, eye darting side to side. "I can't help but notice that this is beautiful, but the walls are also well placed. This entranceway is highly defensible."

Nysala allows herself a small smile. "That is correct. This is a Fortress, but it is the Fortress of the Sun. It serves in all things, even comfort and aesthetics."

She leads you through the tall archway- which you notice has strategic holes for crossbows or essence cannons- and into the foyer. Nysala steps to the side, and next to her is a bell with a rope. "The Salient is fully staffed with one hundred Ankloks, who serve as the most Zealous and Devoted officiants to the Unconquered Sun who have ever lived. Their life and breath is to serve him, and they maintain his home in his glory."

She rings the bell, and Five witnesses glory. An awakening. A wonder. Before her, ninety-nine oiled up, beefy Ankloks in maid skirts flex, and every stretching of their rippling, quivering muscles distorts the world with Essence and sends off another prayer to the Ignis Divine. Her eyes wide, her mouth open, she stares, transfixed, and recognizes that this is the greatest thing that has ever happened to her.

She shall never leave this place.

She shall never leave this spot.

She shall never leave this moment.

At least, until a jet stream of water comes out of fucking nowhere and begins hosing down the servants. Walking in, an Anklok in a full maid uniform, a golden crown upon their horns, and a water tank straped to their back sprays down the Ankloks with a wide, high pressure spray. The wand is magical and wondrous, and necessary as the oil runs down the inclined floor into the cisterns beneath.

"That's enough of that," the Anklok says, "You all have work to do. Everyone bow!"

The ninety-nine beefy boys fall to one knee, bowing their heads. The fully dressed Anklok turns to Five, sighs, and curtsies.

"Apologies, Steward. I am Aurash, Head Maid of the Salient of the Unconquered Sun. I apologize for the shameful display of my subordinates."

"I don't think it was shameful at all and I appreciate their devotion to the Sun," Five rambles.

Aurash stares at her for a moment. They slide their thumb over the wand, which ceases humming. "I have been briefed on your arrival, Steward. I assure you were are fully staffed, and fully stocked, and the fountain is fully repaired and functional."

She meets Nysala's gaze. The two exchange a look. The Charioteer nods, once, and turns to walk out.

"What was that?" Five asks.

"Will you get into fist fights with Luna over the right to seduce the Unconquered Sun while maintaining this Salient?" Aurash questions.

Five blinks. "No, that is not on my list of priorities."

"Then we shall get along fine." The Anklok gestures down the now dry and empty hallway. "Come, let me give you the tour."

 

[GreggHL]

The God of Panicked Screaming screams in a panicked manner as he is lowered slowly into the Clawstrider Enclosure. The screams become louder, more shrill, even as the slow kwehs of the closing in predators become louder and louder.

Beneath the sun and the timer to the Audit, Noedumari and Kiddo sit at a table beneath a tree balcony at the best date spot in Yu Shan and the God of Storage blisses out.

"So, this is what you spent your favor from the Sun on?" she asks.

"I mean, 'Tell the Celestial Lions Autochthon's back, there are gods working in their Forge, and any prayer they're receiving isn't tax fraud' is a big favor." He grins, cocking his head and nodding. "But yes, that is what I asked him to do."

She leans forward, elbows propped on the table, propping her chin on her folded hands. "Is that a 'Guardian' thing or a 'Kiddo' thing?"

He shrugs, as the God of Panicked Screaming announces the Clawstriders have their foot. "Ghost tells me the Guardian Creed is 'Devotion, Something Something, Death', but I'm going to say this is more me being a good boyfriend."

She nods. "Agreed!"

The God of Panicked Screaming screams that the Clawstriders have cut out the back of their knees. The waiter, who is in costume with brilliant plumage, comes by with their drinks. Noedumari hands him a gold coin with a grin. "So how are the refugees?" Kiddo asks.

"I feel like I've hit a jackpot with them. They don't make weird demands, build their things in Storage, and Logos is fine with them." A brief scream followed by many kwehs. "Weirdly enough, I've never met the Great Maker. Which I don't mind, because I'm a god and I'm inherently terrified of him. But still."

"He strikes me as a really indulgent grandfather."

Noedumari blinks. She stares at him for a very, very long moment.

"I think you need to explain that to me."

 

[GreggHL]

Wandering off from the otherwise fascinating conversation between Five and Aurash, Ghost floats through the vast corridors of the Salient. They pass a bronzed, stuffed and mounted Tyrant Lizard set up in a display case, passing powered down automatons with kite shields and spears. Ghost takes moments to admire the defensible hallways and the tasteful carpet- taking pictures for notes. It is both defensible and pleasing.

"So, if I were a hidden vault filled with weaponry, where would I be?"

Guardians and Ghosts complement each other. They develop together- Ghost had met some pairs before ending up in Creation and saw how they worked. A particularly powerful, megalomaniacal Warlock and his Ghost who was his voice of reason. Heroic daredevil and a Ghost who was the common sense.

Ghost considers that, because Kiddo is who he is, Ghost is the one who has developed the kleptomaniac tendencies one would normally see amongst the Guardians. It is fascinating, really. Ghost would rationalize it as keeping his partner well armed and well supplied.

But on the other hand, Ghost likes getting stuff.

The little Exaltation floats along, down another corridor. The plates rotate and they give off a happy hum, floating up to a nondescript wall. "Sealed, are we? Well, let's just see about that."

In Light there is Mercy. In Light there is also Lockpicking. A beam of pure Light lances out, into the wall, the plates around Ghost spreading, rotating. The wall vanishes. A plate of polished gold parts, large teeth- vault teeth- dragging apart. Behind it, an adamant window slides to the side.

"Oh my. Jackpot."

"Ghost."

Plates rotate and Ghost turns to a Foci that is right behind them. Followed by Five placing her hand atop Ghost and rotating them to face her. She has a plate in front of her and brings it, and the Old Realm script on it, up to Ghost's view.

"Rule 3, Subsection 5 of the Salient. The Vaults are considered the shared property of the Chosen of that type. That Vault is a Lunar Vault. You are allowed access to the Garden-Variety Exalted Vaults."

Ghost is silent for long moments. "Did…did you just make that up?"

"Yes and we're keeping it."

Garden-Variety Exaltation. The sad part is that far too many Guardians would go for that designation. Far too many. Especially Kiddo. "Okay, but what if there are no Vaults for…for Garden-Variety Exalted?"

Five narrows her eyes. "Well maybe they should've fought in the Primordial War."

Beside them, the Vault closes, the wall re-appearing. Ghost does not mention the amount of actual time travel that happens in the mythos he is native to, and that there is a non-zero chance that Kiddo will, at some point, fight in the Primordial War.

"Anyway, how is the tour?"

They walk off- well, she walks, Ghost floats- together. "There are nine wings total- the four cardinal directions, and four named after the phases of the Sun. Each wing is capable of housing a significant amount of people, or one very important person desiring the apex of comfort and secrecy. I've already had Aurash switch the notification system to stone tablets to keep it off the books from the bureaucracy."

Ghost bobs up and down in a nod.

"So that other lady, Nysala. She was removed as Steward for fighting Luna?"

"She was removed for brawling with Luna. This is the Salient of the Sun, Ghost. The offense was that the fight was a street brawl and had no class." Five sighs, looking straight ahead. As if into the future she has chosen. "If you're going to fight the Argent Maiden in the personal home of the Unconquered Sun, you're supposed to oil up and wrestle her."

 

[paradoxdragon]

Ah Guardians and their tendency to turn their enemies into weapons. I wonder whether Ghost would learn Crafting just to turn more enemies into gear

 

[Marika Oniki]

I'm suspicious of that Head Maid. While Oryx is far from his sisters' level of guile and subterfuge generally, it also feels like it would be a WILD coincidence for a named character to just *happen* to have Oryx's original name.