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

[GreggHL]

Normally, Five would be in the Salient to deal with the sort of shennanigans that a Solar Exalted and her Dragonblooded father would end up getting involved in. However, there were more important things to deal with. Five was, in fact, passed out on a couch in her office in the Salient, and hence why she was joining Turncloak, Star, Horizons, and Kiddo in her small form.

Mainly because the five of them were led into the Jade Pleasure Dome once more, and into the white room where the Sun is sitting at his simple desk. Turncloak's neck twitches as he gives the Sun his customary up-not do those he gives a shit about, but then he stops. It wouldn't be right to display that much emotion. But at the same time, he wouldn't want the Sun to think he is giving him the cold shoulder. Which he wouldn't do and he'd fight anyone who would imply otherwise.

He rubs at his temples with both hands, the bracelet on his left wrist shining gold.

"Most High," Five says with a bow, "Thank you for meeting with us."

Star bows, smiling. Horizons waves, sitting in the nothingness, while Sparklemuffin provides a bean bag chair.

Turncloak blinks. He finds himself locked between slugging Horizons for the lack of complete respect shown towards the Most High, King of Heaven, and protecting his comrade from any possible harm that may happen if he possibly offended the Sun. He also finds he wants to chuckle at the indifference, and at the Ghost providing seating, but cannot abide at being seen stooping to laugh at such base humor-

In one swift move he rips off the bracelet. "Nope, fuck that, point made, I'm done."

The Sun nods with a smile.

"Your point is completely and absolutely made," Turncloak repeats.

The Sun extends a hand, palm up. "The Ring, if you will, please?"

Star walks over, taking the white, blue etched ring from her toga and handing it to the Sun. He smiles, holding it between his index finger and thumb. He examines it studiously. Not like a jeweler. More like a traveler, seeing one they had thought lost so long ago.

"When the Exalted decided on the Devas to be destroyed at the end of the War, I understood why they chose Ruvelia and not Ligier. Ligier would raise an army to fight you, but Ruvelia would speak and an army would rise behind her. She was the more dangerous of them."

"That sounds familiar," Star observes.

"That sounds Solar," Horizons finishes.

The Sun nods. "Theion was Kingship incarnate, and as one of his Fetiches, Ruvelia embodied that. As his son, I too share those themes. As do the Solar Exalted, the Shining Kings. She was the part that welcomed the crushed rebellions back into the fold. The part that made them love the Holy Tyrant."

The Sun sips his coffee out of the orichalcum mug. Turncloak walks over, unscrews his thermos, and refills the Incarnae's cup.

"So you got the Ring from Luna, who had been keeping it for hundreds of years. What do you intend to do with it? We all know Malfeas will not rest until he has it."

The five look to each other. Sparklemuffin's plates rotate. Turncloak takes the lead. "In short, we need Ligier to work with Autochthon, and he has one price to do so." He turns to Sparklemuffin. "But I think you'll find the why to be a bit more compelling."

The eye of the ghost shines and projects the image. A simple link of Light, shared between source and receiver. Origin and shard. It forms the image of the great, marred sphere, hanging over the jungle-garden in the Floor of the Primal Forge.

The Sun absently sips his coffee. "The Gardener has returned," he says.

"And she has gotten her ass kicked," Turncloak explains, "She's still injured. The Great Maker needs Ligier's help to fix her."

"My grandfather is very determined to help her," Five adds, "He performed a…procedure, which we are still trying to understand, to call out to the Sisters. The Gardener responded and came to Creation to ask Autochthon for protection."

Turncloak nods, gesturing to his niece. "Having the Gardner, who is behaving really friendly, back at full strength wouldn't be a bad thing. Reason number two, though…" A pause. He thinks, sipping his coffee and collecting his thoughts. "As you are aware, Saturn has declared that some day the Yozi will be freed, as all things end. I am seeking to control this prophecy. Rather than wait for one of their machinations to come to fruition, I wish to rewrite the Surrender Oaths themselves. We have bargaining power. I need Ligier in my pocket to do this."

"And how would you do this?" the Sun asks, "Would you give him the Ring?"

"That would be a terrible idea as the moment he came into contact with the Ring, Malfeas would know where it is and send every demon in Malfeas after it." Turncloak shakes his head. "We're going to turn Ruvelia into a god."

The Sun blinks. He leans back. He makes a motion with his hand, slowly turning it. The Old Realm symbol for 'continue.'

"We've met Mitiera, in Ardurgia," Five explains, "We know that a Deva, even up to a Fetich Soul, can be severed from a Soul Hierarchy and become a god. We can turn Ruvelia into a god, reunite her with Ligier, meet his price, and-"

"Get him on our side." Turncloak gives two thumbs up with a nod. "So…"

The Sun tents two of his hands. You cannot see what he is thinking, you cannot see his reasoning. He is the Sun, and his face is unreadable.

He then tosses Star the Ring.

"You have my approval."

Star pockets the Ring, standing up. "Much appreciated, Most High. But that was easy."

"Most likely you will need the Maidens to reverse the Terminal Sanction on the Ring," the Sun continues, "The ritual to sever a Fetich from the Soul Hierarchy would be a direct Primordial work. A Solar Circle spell."

"We have a Solar Circle Sorcerer in the Salient right now," Five adds, "Currently talking with her father. Aurash will keep her there until we can talk with her."

The Sun smiles. "Then you have my approval. I completely endorse this plan."

 

[bdbooksrule]

Yeah, that would be the kind of plan the unconquered approves of

Edit:
That is to say, ambitious, audacious, reaching for an ideal, and extremely demanding

 

[GreggHL]

"Wait, wait. Hold up." Mnemon Ghennin, least favorite child of the Lady Domine, makes the T-sign with his hands, the Old Realm symbol for back the fuck up. "It's not my fault you Exalted Anathema. If you hadn't done something to attract its attention, you'd be a shoe-in for a proper Dragonblooded Exaltation. Your mom's the highest Breeding woman in Creation, and I'm no slouch."

Ebeli notices there's no heat in his usage of the term 'Anathema.' It's not an insult. Simply a dialect that comes from being raised in the Realm. No accusation or anger, just casual Exaltism, baked in. He's not a true believer.

Probably helps that he travels.

"Mitiera confirmed that the Solar Exaltation burned out the necrotic essence, and then there's my sister."

Stroking his chin, her hairless father knits his bald, shiny brow. Pensive, thinking. "V'Neef mentioned the triplets. Once. Then told me to say they were twins from then on in."

Ebeli sits up. Her staff hovers next to her. In case thwackings are needed.

"Explain."

He shrugs. "What am I supposed to say? We got matched up by the Lineage trackers, they said we'd have a good chance of any kids we had mattering. We spent a few nights together, V'Neef wanted some romance and a proper seduction instead of just wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am and out the door I go."

Ebeli does not shudder, as she is used to such frank talk about her own conception. Usually coming from her mother, but still.

"So I took her to a few dinners, a few gladiatorial shows. I put the polish on the trailing my old teachers gave me." He balls his fist and clears his throat. "We kept at it a few times until she could confirm she was with child, then she went back to her Satrapy and I went backt o mine. She sent me one missive after the birth about the three of you, and that one of you needed to be kept secret, and, well…"

He sighs, sitting back down across from her. "Shit, I'm not gonna lie. I'm still a little sweet on her. V'Neef's something else. Everyone knows that. So I kept the secret."

Ebeli nods. Once more, she resolves that she will have to yell at her mother. "So, what do you want to know about first, the source of the weirdness in the blood or my twin sister."

The taps the lip of an empty wine bottle against his chin. "The weirdness. If it's a problem I need to know. I do wantot know about your sister, but from what I'm hearing she's not a problem. So, priorities."

Ebeli stares, huffs, sighs, and puts it as succinctly as she can. "Our ancestor, twelve generations back, was part of a project by the Mother of Children to create a living being from what was believed at the time to be a Neverborn, That Which Persists."

Ghennin responds in the most sensible fashion.

"I don't like anything that you just said." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Is this related to Ardurgia?"

"Ardurgia was built over her tomb."

Her father groans, rubbing his forehead. "Creation's too big for these many coincidences. You just happened to end up there?"

"Pretty much everyone in my Circle is in some way related to the city. Except Spider, the Dawn Caste. She just saw the open area and decided she's going to make that a stronghold." Ebeli shrugs. "It was built under Calibration rules with the approval of Five Days Darkness. It's outside of Fate. The entire place is a weirdness magnet. Ligier got beckoned into the city three times, twice on the same day. Two of those times by the same person."

Ghennin sits upright. "He went back after, right?"

"The first time."

"He went back after, right?"

There is a knock at the door. Kind of a heavy one. "Is that Ligier?" Ghennin asks. She can't tell if it's fearful or anticipatory.

Ebeli gets up, walks to the door, opens it, and looks at the five people and one naked Exaltation standing behind it. "Hi…?"

"Before you leave," Five says, "We need to ask you for something…"



Chapter 19:

Accidentally-ing the Ebon Dragon

 

[Pyro Hawk]

Accidentally-ing the Ebon Dragon

Click to shrink...

I am not sure if this is All My Yes or Oh Fuck No.

 

[Marika Oniki]

I am not sure if this is All My Yes or Oh Fuck No.

Click to shrink...

As is common with the Ebon Dragon, almost certainly both.

 

[GreggHL]

Ghennin has been led off to be brought to Ardurgia, and Ebeli believes if she stays here long enough in the Salient, she won't walk in on her biological parents having animalistic make-up sex. It's not that it really bothers her- V'Neef is the most Wood Aspected Wood Aspect that ever Wood Aspected, it's just that the noise disturbs her when she tries to study. It's good to throw people she knows her Mother would bang at her- she spent the better part of a year trying to convince Prince Arvos to call her Mommy and that made things awkward until Abeti arrived and V'Neef gave her sister the blessing and they're talking.

"…so we need a Solar Circle Sorcerer," Turncloak continues.

Ebeli nods. "Okay. So, you can meet Ligier's price for working with Autochthon. Meaning-" She raises a finger. "You have Ruvelia. Did you fish her out of the Well of Udr or…?"

Turncloak sucks his teeth. Five rubs the back of her neck.

"Because any Demonologist who doesn't have the blinders on knows the only way Ligier will work with Autochthon again is if he gets reunited with Ruvelia. So how. Fucking how. Last I checked, dead is dead." She points. "Put your hand down, Kiddo. You don't count."

Star waves both hands. "I can answer! At the end of the Primordial War, all hundred Sidereals decided to use the other thing Terminal Sanction does and sealed away several Devas as artifacts!" She reaches into her toga and pulls out the ring. "Say hello to Ruvelia!"

Ebeli's eyebrow twitches. Horizons raises a hand. "One hundred Sidereals decided. I abstained," he adds.

Ebeli walks over to a chaise and sits down. She stares ahead- not as if she is considering, or meditating, just staring. Blankly.

"Anyway," Turncloak says, "We don't want Malfeas to order every demon in Hell to storm Heaven, so we need to sever this ring from the Soul Hierarchy before we ask the Maidens to undo the Terminal Sanction so Ligier and Ruvelia can have an amazing multicolor reunion in the skies above Ardurgia."

"And bang," Star adds.

Ebeli blinks. "You need a spell to sever the connection, right. I'll need three weeks."

"That's be excellent-" Turncloak sputters. "Wait, three weeks? Girl, this is a Solar Circle Spell. Those take months to make!"

The redhead rolls her eyes. "Look, they take months if you're working from first principles. I already have constructed equivalent rituals on the Terrestrial and Celestial Circles. I'm just extending this to a Primordial Soul Hierarchy. It's a matter of severing the connections between parent and child and that's easily scalable to this point."

Turncloak turns, pulls over another chaise, and sits down.

"Hold up, there's a story here."

A trio of oiled up Angloks come in with fresh tea and snacks, spreading them out. "Okay," Ebeli says, "So it started with the Doombaby."

The others pull over chairs to sit down.

 

[GreggHL]

"So, it was a year and a half ago. Faded Lotus had us investigate these dead villages north of Ardurgia, outside of the No-Fate zone, and figure out what was going on. That, and when we started investigating it, That Which Persists woke up and was very angry, so we needed to figure shit out post haste." Ebeli sips her tea. The Chucklefucks listen with rapt attention. "So we manage to track down the entire aura of death to this half a hut in the middle of nowhere, and inside we find a young woman and a baby. A Doombaby."

"The baby was killing those villages?" Sparklemuffin asks.

"It turns out that an Abyssal was going around the Scavenger Lands and getting women pregnant, and since the Neverborn take the creation of new life personally, these babies were basically gigantic Resonance pulsars. They killed everthing around them by just existing, and then themselves." Ebeli mimes the explosions of death with jazz hands. She gets the point across. "Song- the Doombaby- was the exception, as his mother, Jewel, had busted her ass so hard to keep him alive that she exalted as a Night Caste."

"That's horrible," Turncloak says. Balling his fist in front of his face, his brow knit and countenance conflicted. Very vocally he voices horror, because internally, he is reassessing his previous statements about how the new batch of Abyssals had run out of ideas and he's actually impressed. Not necessarily good ideas, but he's actually impressed that they've broken through the bottom of the barrel.

"So we were trying to figure out how to resolve this without killing the baby," Ebeli continues, "When I remember that, back when I was nine and Aunt Mnemon was raising me as a hostage, I saw a ritualistic equation in her drawing room on severing the metaphysical connection between parent and child."

Five raises a hand. "Why would Mnemon have that? Additionally, hostage?"

"House V'Neef was a rising power, it was agreed that there would be an exchange of children so House Mnemon didn't act against House V'Neef," Ebeli says, as if this was the most normal childhood ever, "As for the equation, Dragnblooded can exert supernational influence over their descendants using magic. Aunt Mnemon's always been suspicious of the Empress being up to no good."

She sips her tea again. Notices the slightly tense faces. "I know the Empress is missing. Mum told us after she arrived in Ardurgia."

Everyone relaxes. Star visibly exhales. "Scarlet Whispers is on paid time off," she explains.

"So I sent an Infallible Messenger to Aunt Mnemon, told her I needed to learn the spell to sever a bloodline, she thought she meant myself, I didn't correct her, taught me the spell and, whala!" Again, jazz hands. "Song was now a normal baby, not a Doombaby, and he and Jewel are now living in Ardurgia."

Turncloak coughs, raises a finger. "And the Abyssal?"

"To find out who he was, we used the Shadow Theft spell," Ebeli explains, munching on a cookie, "We kept the shadow. So, when you steal someone's shadow, they gain this compulsion to chase after the shadow. I gave it to Sondok, she put it in Ligier's treasury, he tried to break in, and he got beaten to death by the ten thousand Blood Apes that guard Ligier's treasury."

Turncloak nods, wiping a tear from his eye. "That's beautiful."

"He died like he lived," Five says, "Being beaten to death by demon apes."

Horizons blinks and sits up. "Wait, you were the ones to fix that? Faded Lotus was crowing about how his rainbow fixed that problem without killing any babies. You did that, with a spell?"

"I got praised by Faded Lotus," Ebeli say wth a smile and imperiousness. It runs in the family, after all. "Don't tell me the Sidereals would have actually killed an infant?"

"No," Star says.

"We'd get someone else to do it," Horizons clarifies, "Well, not directly. Usually through an enforced narrative where the hero has to choose between the death of everything they ever loved, and the death of this cursed infant."

The Endings sips his tea. Turncloak gives him an appraising nod.

"Anyway, the Celestial Circle version," the Abyssal asks.

"That was a few months later, during our first visit to Heaven," Ebeli explains, nibbling on a croissant, "See, the entire spell is about severing from source to progeny, correct? So, when I was getting the Soul's Price from Marilaq A'lam, it turned out what she wanted was freedom from the Yozi. So it was a matter of expanding the scope of the spell."

"The former Emissary from Hell," Star says, "She basically serves you?"

"More or less, and my orders are to behave and do what Mitiera asks." Ebeli sips her tea. "So, as we know, the difference between a Deva and a Demon is a Demon is part of a Primordial that accepted the Surrender Oaths. The difference between a Deva, a Demon, and a Spirit is the connections of Source and Progeny. So currently, Marilaq A'lam is a spirit, not a demon. Though she's still a Creature of Darkness because she's on the list."

Ebeli claps her hands. "Anyway! Does that answer the question? I can extend the spell to cover third circle souls and the Fetich, but I'll need a few weeks. I'll let you know when it's ready."

 

[Pyro Hawk]

This is going to go really, really strange. But hey, at least Little Sun (One?) hasn't been pulled into things yet.

 

[GreggHL]

Three weeks to construct a spell. Of course, life doesn't stop just because a Sorcerer was working. You had something else a long time coming. It did not take any convincing to work together on this task, and so-

The world flashes white. The interior of the Vats becomes a blank space.

You all feel the world dipping down, drawn down as you enter the unknown. There is no dissolution of self, no breaking of the sense. All of you appear as normal- Turncloak appears first, as this is his journey. The Sidereals next, as they are used to this. Kiddo and Sparklemuffin stand in the white.

"Reminds me of when we were in the Traveler," Kiddo muses.

He turns and stares at the immense blue octohedron, floating menacingly. "Hey, Five?"

"Ah, excuse me."

The Vessel form shimmers and becomes the five-foot tall, fleshy Five. "Novel," she says, "I should get Husk Sculpting Apparatus installed on my avatars."

Turncloak is less than chatty. He takes a breath and closes his eyes. He hears the screams around him- even in the white, blank space. Even in the emptiness. The Alchemicals explained the process thoroughly- you were going to interact with the first, superficial layer of her mind. The most important thing was to find and interact with the Mindsphere Guardian.

The Guardian, they explained, was someone the subject would trust to keep themselves safe.

The white fills in. A green field with the sun at perpetual twilight. A faint breeze blows through your hair like kind fingertips. You all stand beneath the shade of an elderly tree and resist the urge to lay down beneath it and sleep, never needing to wake up or do anything ever again.

The tree vanishes. A road intersects the field, well trod with wheels and hooves. A man stands on the road, arms out, hands bearing the golden gauntlets, the Smashfists he'd left behind. A man clad in an earthen coat going down to his knees, with a clean white tunic and brown pants. He is handsome, tall. Black hair corded into a long ponytail, eyes bright, skin dark and somehow still sun-kissed, and the Caste mark of the Twilight shines upon his brow.

Five glances between them. Her two Uncles. The man he was, and who he is now, and idly wonders if she will have to intervene.

Memories from before the Last Breath were hazy, disjointed things. Memories of another man, whose body the First Abyssal now walked in. The scent of flowers stunned him. Half remember, like a childhood dream. Then the smell of the old jacket. The oil of his old smashfists. He opens his eyes and stares at himself.

"Sojourn."

"Heaven's Sojourn, Guardian to Meridia's mind." The Solar looks Turncloak up and down. "Judging from this, she's not the only one with issues."

The sarcasm, apparently, was not sourced from the Abyssal Exaltation.

Turncloak bites back the most descriptive curse he can manage. "What's waiting for us here?" It was all familiar, but in a distant way. Even Meridia. Meridia. He knew the name in a distant way. It resonated deep in his mind.

"This level is the village," the Solar says, "It is the most superficial layer of Meridia's memories."

He turns and begins walking, and in the distance there is a village. Surrounded by a circle of walls, cut through by a river. A perfectly functional, idyllic village. One from his most distant, pleasant memories.

"Be on your guard," Turncloak says, "Princess Magnificent knew that the Boss had revived my wife as an Alchemical, and that means she had a spy in the Primal Forge."

The others follow a few paces behind. He grunts and continues. "To clarify, the spy was my wife's ghost. Not by her choice. The Deathlords control ghosts. But there's a good chance that there's still some influence from the Deathlords inside here, so keep a lookout."

Without another word, he, and his echo of happier times, leads them towards the memory of the village he called home.





Thataway likes Creation. That is what this place is called. Like many of their kind, they can get lost, and in getting lost, find their way to the Endless Desert, and then to the Brass City, but Thataway has shown the unique ability to find their way ever forward to other places. Where many of their kind would end up in the Forge, working for the very noble Prince with the magnificent abs, Thataway continued to press on.

Afterall, they wear their name with pride. Ever since they were born, they have searched. The first piece of advice they were given when they asked a Risen which way to look for their companion, their other half.

Thataway.

They have taken it to heart.

Or what is a heart to a Ghost.

The little Ghost with purple accented wedges on their shell found their way to Creation, after many years wandering the Demon City, finding their way out of it- as they continued thataway- and after five days across the Endless Desert- which was not very endless- they found their way to this lovely place where no one's shooting at them with wire rifles.

Days turned to weeks turned to months of wandering. Across burning deserts and green fields and lush wet forests. Thataway wandered but was not lost, because getting lost would send them back to the Endless Desert and back to the Demon City and they knew they were searching. Just like all Ghosts search.

Because Thataway could finally sense it. Finally feel it. After so very long, Thataway knew they were near.

And so, Thataway wandered into the old city, covered in overgrowth of vines and stone, of immense ziggurauts that dotted the skyline, of dim crystals that have not been lit for hundreds of years. They float over bones of both humans and other creatures, floating over feral, long necked raptoks which snap at them before retreating into the nearby woods.

Thataway pauses, and looks up at the ziggaraut at the center of the city.

"Wow that's so much blood."

Because it is. The ziggaraut is covered in blood. Like a blood waterfall. That's so neat.

They float up, drawn to the top. To the pool of blood at the very top of the structure, at the pile of bodies within the very deep pool of blood that flows outwards like an infinity pool. Where most would react with horror- especially those not familiar with the Dragon Kings- Thataway lets their plates spin before floating victory laps around the pool.

"Yes! Yes yes yes! Yes! Oh yes! Oh I wonder what you're like! Let's do this!"

The shell separates, floating out fully, suspended upon the full bubble of Light. It spins, faster and faster, and explodes outwards. Manifesting once more, Thataway floats over the pool, watching, waiting.

Until the Anklok breaks the surface, waist deep in blood, looking upon his hands, then looking upon the Ghost.

"Hi! I'm a Ghost, and I'm your Ghost, and you're a Guardian!"

"The Champion lives once again!"

At the base of the ziggaraut, dozens, hundreds of Ankloks have gathered, all as shirtless and bloody as the newly Risen. They raise their fists, roaring their prayers. "Praise the Sun! Praise the Sun!"

"Praise the Sun!" the newly Risen declares. Before driving his own fist into his chest, tearing out his heart, and incinerating it in a burst of sunflame. Before falling over dead into the pool of blood.

Thataway rotates their shell. "Oh neat! So you're going to be a Warlock!"