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

[GreggHL]

Kiddo remembers the flash of gold between Leaping Sky and May Blossom, and then there were some sort of sparkles and a white space. Now he stands in a forest. The stone walls are nowhere to be seen. Trees are all around him, enclosing him. There is distant music, flutes and chimes of forest gods, watching.

He turns to the sound of ruffling leaves and he sees a fox, sitting on her haunches. She is sleek, fluffy, silver and black. Far too calm for a wild animal.

Kiddo takes a deep breath.

"Oh boy," he says, "I know who you think I am-"

He can't say the rest. His throat fills with blood. The moment the words leave his mouth, the eight silver claws pierce through him and the last thing he sees through the wild silver and black hair are eyes filled with more than just rage.

Before she tears him in two.

Vertically.

Fog and haze escaping her blood covered lips, she stares at the gore, at the parts.

"You look the same. You smell the same."

She runs her tongue along her lips. "You taste the same. I watched you die."

She is gone, in between tick and tock.

Ghost pops into existence. Light plays over the mess, and Kiddo sits back up with a gasp. "Okay. What was that? Who was that?"

"That was the Lunar who killed me." Kiddo braces a hand against his knee, climbing to his feet.

"That's obvious, she just killed you, yes."

"No. I mean, she's the Lunar who killed Iselsei Takkun."

Kiddo waits. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets a dome of shimmering violet drape over him and ghost. He looks to the right, and the fox is back, pawing at the Ward of Dawn. Unable to pierce it.

"I don't want to fight you," he says.

The fox draws back her snout in a snarl. Then further back, revealing bone and moonsilver and black. The fox darts back into the forest.

"I hope she left I hope she left I hope she left-"

It moves too fast for them to make it out completely, but a fist or a club slams into the Ward hard enough for the entire dome to ripple. Only after images are left, of something large, with many legs and multi-faceted eyes.

Kiddo's hand twitches. A flamepiece appears, drawn from his inventory, and with a flickery of violet along his eyes the Ward vanishes. A twitch of his lips, something crossing his face, and he can see the motion, he can hear her. But does nothing.

The flash of silver, and the meat and bone collapse to the forest floor with a spray of blood. After a long moment, Ghost pops back into existence. She is right behind him.

"Bring him back," she says.

The plates space out along the eye and Ghost darts away, hovering what it hopes is a safe distance. "Okay, you need to calm down. And I know in all of history telling angry people to calm down has not actually gotten angry people to actually calm down, but you really need to-"

She swipes and Ghost vanishes, the silver claws passing through air. The sphere reappears the moment after.

"Calm down!"

"You brought him back, and I killed him. It took me years." She swipes again, and it passes through. "Bring him back."

She swings again. Ghost vanishes, and this time the claw clips them, tearing off one of their plates.

"Damn it, can everyone wing me in Subspace? Alright, fine! You want to get nuts? Okay!"

The eye glows. An occult mudra forms in front of it, wrapping around Ghost. As they told Kiddo, he had been initiated into Weaving by their friends, the Pattern Spiders.

What they didn't tell Kiddo was that they had been initiated rather far.

So when the light clears, what was a ball-sized artifact that could fit in the size of the Lunar's hand is now a twenty foot tall metal giant, steam coursing from its vents, a single eye shining from the head, and fists glowing with Light.

"Let's get nuts."

 

[GreggHL]

The Dragonblooded matriarch has the Dawn Caste eating out of the palm of her hand, and Turncloak slaps his knees, standing up when he realizes he's not going to get a good old First Age bloodbath out of this. "Alright, we're on the clock. We need to get the Artifact and get it back to Heaven."

He disappears his thermos back into his robes, adjusts his glasses, and makes himself imposing. Star is still eating dirt. Horizons has already wandered into the city. Five is sitting on a tree stump.

"Anyone see Kiddo?" the Abyssal asks.

Five shrugs.

Turncloak closes his eyes behind his shades, wondering if he can somehow reach out to his squiggly Lunar mate from across Creation to get competent help. "Right, someone needs to wake up Star before I have to, because I'll leave marks."

As if summoned by Turncloak's willingness to inflict violence on his coworkers and more importantly his work-wife, the Zenith walks over to Star. He kneels down, touches three points on her shoulders, and then chops her on the back of her neck.

Star shoots up to standing.

"I'm okay!" she squeals and giggles.

Turncloak stares at her.

"Really."

Star gives two thumbs up. She remains standing.

"Alright," the Abyssal says, "Get to the Cup, grab it, get back here. We apparently have half of the Exalted in Creation in these two cities, so it'll be safe if anything shows up."

Turncloak's Caste Mark appears, dripping blood, and he tosses Star a copper coin. "Coin of Distant Vision. If shit shows up, I'll get to your location as backup. Five, go ask Ebeli for one of her Wasps, get on high, and shoot anything that looks like it's from Hell and not working for her."

Star gives a thumbs up, and vanishes. She appears first atop the battlements, and then vanishes once more.

Everything becomes a blur- though this time without the belt, without the bruising, she strides across Creation like it were a breeze, like everything were a single, perfect point from one place to another. The stone walls become trees become mountains becomes an empty field where there was never anything at all, much less a wondrous city of heroism.

Coming to a stop at the shore of the mirror lake, she holds the coin up so Turncloak can see, scanning over the waters, the green fields, the trees, the landship.

"Uh."

An immense ship, made of black wood and blue glass, carving through the soil like it was water. It is definitely magic- least of all because it is a landship, but also because of the Old Realm carved into its bow, which is glowing green. All Sidereals have some level of Occult education, so they are all trained to recognize when something's been sent from Malfeas.

"Right," Star says, "Kimbery Deva. Castration Pirates would want that."

The Lintha. One normally does not see them this far into the East, but one does not usually see a Deva of the Sea that Marches Against the Flame transformed into an Artifact Cup either, so this day is just filled with exceptions. She snaps out her fans, humming a sailing tune, and waits as the boat comes to a halt.

"Bit far from Bluehaven, aren't we?" she sing-songs.

Someone steps onto the bow. But not someone blue skinned, sharp eared, and completely lacking in testicles.

Rather, it is a man in black leather armor, a tan and red cloak falling around him, and a helm concealing his face save for crystal blue eyes. The helm slopes to the sides, bells hanging from the horns, and his gauntlets shimmer with green fire.

Crossed swords burn upon his brow. A Caste Mark.

"Huh."

Star gives a polite wave. "Hey, so you're a new Exalt? I know Lytek, so he'd be happy to hear about this."

The man steps off the bow and floats in the air, radiating emerald light.

"I am the Seeker of Power, Chosen of Malfeas. Surrender the Cup to me, or Die."

 

[dlwj2000]

Well I am always glad to see someone who follows the Inigo Montoya school of introductions.

 

[GreggHL]

He is dead, and he is no stranger to this. But death is usually a nothingness. A lack.

He dies.

He waits.

He is reborn.

But this time, he is aware. He opens his eyes and he finds himself aloft, and he sees

Sees

He doesn't know how to describe it

He sees a tree

A tree made of silver wings

Unfurling, untwirling, unraveling, unmaking, unwinding

He sees everything

He sees all of it

He sees the absolute truth and that there is no meaning or order or purpose to it

.

.

.

.

.

He refuses

That small ember inside him.

He roars.

He sees the before time and He sketches the stars and worlds and the black between. The pseudophotons and impossible math.

He roars. His ember becomes flame.

To burn away the howling storm and establish, if not order, then something else. A peace he can live with.

There is meaning in his roar.

His word becomes meaning in the emptiness, and in the absence, in the emptiness, it sees him.

From the meaningless, a gardener sees him and approaches. A hand press against his.

His nest of colliding Essence will never be the same.

For there is meaning in his roar.





Between the Destroyer and between the Lunar, there is a glimmer, and that glimmer becomes Light. It forms first into a simple thing, an artifice. A flamepiece, but not the one he would usually carry. One white and silver, as if made out of silver and white leaves and ivory, and fitted perfectly to his hand. And then, the rest of him forms.

His simple leathers are gleaming silver and white plate. His cloak replaced for a mantle of white hanging from his waist. His collar high on his neck, the helm open and hanging over his shoulders. He glows, like a Celestial at full Anima, illuminating the gloom of the forest, and he takes a deep breath before staring down the fox.

"Iselsei Takkun is dead. He deserved to die. All I am is his face. If you need to keep killing that to ease your pain, fine."

The helm shifts, rises, and locks around his head, a solid silver and white helm concealing his face as a mask of white. He snaps out his free hand, and with the sound of a hammer ringing upon an anvil, it fills with a maul of sunflame.

"But I'm going to make you work for it."

 

[Max]

like a Celestial at full Anime

Click to shrink...

So DBZ or HxH?

 

[Thine Spree]

Hoooooo boy Kiddo is back and in full Titan Regalia! Time to show this Luna what one of the Gardeners favoured is capable of (Or not, but I have a feeling it will be a fun one either way)

 

[aledeth]

Has there ever been an actual breakdown of who Iselsei Takkun was and what he did to deserve death (and having his soul bound)?

 

[GreggHL]

Has there ever been an actual breakdown of who Iselsei Takkun was and what he did to deserve death (and having his soul bound)?

Click to shrink...

The best way to put it is that he was responsible for a Full Moon Caste Lunar exalting. Which meant someone had to survive impossible odds that no one could survive, that left horrible, lasting trauma.

 

[GreggHL]

Ebeli has pulled out a milk crate filled with bottles of blue glass, handing them out to Horizons, Turncloak, and Faded Lotus before she sits down at the round table in the administrative building. Turncloak pops open the bottle and takes a sip. A feeling of satisfaction washes over him- the feeling of watching a man he dislikes walking down a hallway, only for a door to open in his face.

"Semtex," he says, "Hellbeer?"

"I routinely summon demons carrying crates of Semtex," Ebeli explains, "I keep stockpiles, and in exchange, they get to stay someplace where they don't have to worry about being stabbed by a hurricane."

Horizons chugs his beer, letting the feeling of sweet schadenfreude wash over him. "So you're here for an artifact," Faded Lotus says, "What artifact?"

"Classified," Turncloak responds, "Eclipse Oath. If you have an Eclipse here, we can take a new Oath and read you in."

Ebeli sighs. "We don't. We don't have an Eclipse. We never had an Eclipse."

Turncloak screws his face up, and takes another drag of the liquid satisfaction. "How does your Circle function?"

Ebeli shrugs with a mumble. Behind Turncloak there is motion and a plate full of dumplings is placed in front of him, and then in front of everyone else. "Thank you, Mitiera," Ebeli says with a smile.

The Abyssal looks up. A woman with purple skin, a partially pulled back hood, long hair disappearing into it, and a face of his distant memories of his lost mother. He looks upon her with his sorcerous sight, and then immediately turns it off.

He knows this woman can destroy him, and he sits up straight, pulling his elbows off the table.

"Mitiera is the City Mother of Ardurgia," Faded Lotus explains, sitting straight up, "Any questions about the history of the city, you can direct to her. Most of the history is easy to find with a trip to the underworld, though. We've only been here for a few years."

Turncloak stares at Faded Lotus and nibbles on his dumpling, dabbing his mouth with the napkin Shit they're good. "There's a giant dome at the center of your city," the Abyssal says, "What is that?"

"Classified," Faded Lotus says, "We can read you in if you can provide an Eclipse Caste."

Turncloak idly wonders the consequences of tearing this man in two. Vertically.

For a brief moment, he attunes his vision back to the Coin he leant Star. Then he scowls, and nods. "My associate is currently engaged with an Infernal. Gentlemen, ladies, if you will excuse me."

His Caste Mark glows, Essence warping around him, and in a brief burst of Unlight he vanishes.

Painting the entire room in blood. Ebeli gags, coughing it out. Mitiera simply snaps her fingers, and the mops float out of the closet. Horizons simply continues drinking.





The blue eyes. The blue eyes is the giveaway. Star snaps her fingers. "Right. You're Angry Vaal, aren't you? The one who got snapped up by Malfeas? So that makes you, what? Exalted for three weeks? Four weeks? Buddy, I've been doing this for years-"

A Sidereal should know better than to tempt fate, for Fate was as a concept written by the Ebon Dragon so people could fuck themselves over.

But the Anima display the Seeker gives off, the pillar of Emerald Flame, marks his power. Marks significant power. Star would blame it on recovering from moving Rioghad fifty miles, and moves her ass before he comes down where she was standing foot first and making a glowing crater, running across the lake, grabbing the Cup with a tied up prayer strip, and skidding to a stop on the other side.

"What in the world is that thing!" she yells, pointing behind the Seeker.

He does not turn. More fool him, when on high, atop the wasp watching overhead, Five opens fire at maximum power and blasts clean through the Lintha ship. Clapping her feet together, Star gets out a brief "Meep Meep!" before vanishing in the direction of Ardurgia.

With an explosion of blood and Unlight, Turncloak arrives on the scene. Shaking out his robes, he stares at the Infernal, craning his neck from side to side.

"So how's Malfeas?"

"The Crippled Imperator has found a kindred soul in me," the Seeker says, "Good. You are the First Abyssal. Many speak of your skill. Of your power."

A quick glance with his Sorcerer's Sight confirms that yes, this armored up twatwaffle is remarkably powerful. Fifth Circle of Enlightenment and everything. Despite only being around for four, maybe five weeks. But time tends to be malleable in the Demon City, and the Yozi have a lot of power to spare.

"I appreciate the eagerness, and I am sure Lytek will reward me handsomely if I deliver your completely boneless yet still living body to him. Not as a threat, just as a completely honest assurance of how this will go."

The Seeker takes a deep breath. Exhales, ash and dust accompanying the faint ring of his bells.

"I am not here to fight you, First Abyssal. My Master had me convey him to Creation in hopes he would have that chance."

The side of the boat explodes outwards. With his Sorcerer's Sight, Turncloak can see the essence signatures of the Lintha onboard blink out as the shockwave kills them, and the immense presence board the ship emerges.

Emerge in the form of an old man, with skin like polished leather, wrinkled from time and trial.

A long, wispy white beard falls past his waist, his white hair tied into a tight tonsure. His clothes are a simple white martial arts uniform without belt, without rank, and his eyes fiery emeralds.

There is one being that Turncloak fears, and that is the First and Forsaken Lion for very personal reasons. But there are several whom he respects, and this old man is one of them.

Well, not old man.

Third Circle Demon.

Fifteenth Soul of the Demon Emperor.

The Crucible of Brass and Iron.

Suntarankal.

"Well, we're doing this, then," Turncloak mutters, and drops the ends of his seven sectioned staff from his sleeves.

 

[Nealend]

All that's needed now is for someone to break out a warstrider only for Seeker to solo it with his bare fists. Though that's not nearly so impressive in Exalted.

Spoiler: Xenogears spoiler

 

[GreggHL]

Ghost, still in the form of the massive war machine, curls their hands into fists and steps forward to charge the Lunar. To protect their Guardian, their friend, their companion. Charging from the opposite end of the woods comes a giant of wood and leaves and an extremely punch able face, grappling the Destroyer and dragging them both out of the clearing.

"Yeah, okay," Kiddo says, dismissing his flamepiece to his Inventory and gripping the hammer with both hands. The fox blurs and the hammer collides with her claws, flame and silver ringing like bells. She does not burn, but the light reflects on her silver teeth, dripping blood.

He kicks her off, swinging his hammer back, the Lunar flipping back to land in a crouch. Kiddo swings the hammer with one hand, shrinking it into one handed tool before throwing it.

She deflects it off of a moonsilver claw, before he hurls another, and another, she deflects each one. Until the fourth, which is not a hammer, but instead a sphere, glowing brighter and brighter before it explodes in her face. It blinds her, throws up dirt and light and smoke, and Kiddo summons up his warhammer once more.

Before the club hand of the immense Mantis Shrimp swings into him, crushing his chest and hurling him into the trees.

Shrinking back down, her silver hair covering her, the Lunar breathes heavily. Vapor and mist escape her mouth, clawed hands opening and closing.

Until there is a spark, and he launches fist first like a missile, slamming into the silver furred bear that stands where she was, dragging great furrows into the clearing. The milky eyes of the beast are wide, the snout pulled back. But not in anger. Not this time.

Momentum spent, Kiddo pushes off, Arc lightning coursing through his fists. Once more as the woman, she laughs like a fox. Hollow. Sharp. The two circling each other. Smiling, but he can't tell if it reaches her eyes.

"He hid behind an army," she says.

He has an idea what she means by that, but doesn't reply, only matching her movements when she leaps at him, and lets the claw sink into his shoulder as he drives his forehead against hers.

 

[GreggHL]

As a breathtakingly powerful being, it did not take Mitiera very long to clean the room. The City Mother idly hovers her hands above Ebeli's hair, drawing out the last of the blood as the floating wash cloths finish cleaning off the table. Horizons, who was not there when Turncloak vanished in an explosion of blood, simply entered afterwards and helped himself to a Semtex.

"So shouldn't you be there doing whatever you're here to do?" Ebeli asks.

"Nah," Horizons says with a burp, "Once we moved the city, the hard part was done. This is a milk run."

Star appears, holding the cup. She falls to her knees and screams.

"See?" Horizons gestures to her. "Milk run."

Star continues screaming.

"It's a milk run-" Horizon slurs, followed by a belch.

Ebeli stares at the screaming Serenities. "Is…is she alright?"

"Nega-Vaal!" Star screams, "Chosen of Malfeas! Shooting fire and shit! Lintha everywhere!"

Ebeli blinks. "Chosen of Malfeas? How does that even work?"

"Classified," Faded Lotus grunts, "Get us an Eclipse Caste and I could read you in."





Seven, eight months ago. Maybe a few centuries depending on time dilation due to bullshit happening when they snuck past the Seal of Eight Divinities.

The other members of the committee- Chejop, Bannery Bu, his new coworkers. The Alchemical who reminds him far to much of the sister of the name he tossed into the void. They all leave the meeting room in the Violet Bier. He leans against the stone pillar, ready to slink into the shadows and wait for the next call.

"Turncloak. A word."

But he hasn't left. Turncloak raises his head, and see the Sun approach. He straightens up. There is one he fears, few he respects, and even fewer he gives actual deference to. In the handful of times he- an Abyssal- has met the Unconquered Sun, he has yet to figure out where this god slots into.

"Most High." Somehow, when Turncloak says it, it does not sound like an insult. "How may I be of service?"

Despite being twice Turncloak's height, and have twice his number of arms, the Sun does not loom over him or tower over him. "I was curious about that, myself. I wanted you to know I appreciate what you are doing. You're going into the Labyrinth in order to help us save Autochthon."

"He was your ally in the War."

The Sun nods. "I also consider him a friend," the Sun responds, folding two hands behind his back, "You have could have said no. I would have accepted that. What can I give you in return?"

The Sun does not lie. Every Charm that Turncloak can bring to bear to find falsehood, deceit, manipulation, tells him the King of Heaven is absolutely genuine. Behind the shades, behind the shadows that cover them, Turncloak closes his eyes and takes a breath. Long has he resolved that he needs to have priorities. He could ask for it, here and now.

Redemption.

A guide.

A blessing.

But that would be too easy.

"A prayer strip," he says, "Bypasses everything else. Goes directly to you. I burn it, and you look out to Creation to where I am, and you throw your spear and what I'm fighting."

The Sun cocks an eyebrow. "I am supposed to trust your judgement." A statement, not a question.

"There are some things in Creation and the Underworld and Hell I can't kill, but that need to be taken out of the picture. If I can't kill them, and they kill me, we're in a lot of trouble. So yes. I need you to trust my judgement."

The Sun smiles. "Then I shall."





Now.

Turncloak holds up a hand. "A moment, Suntarankal."

He pulls out a decorative piece of paper, a long strip of paper and cloth decorated in gold. Taking out a match, he lights it against his sleeve and burns the prayer strip.

"A prayer?" the demon asks.

"Customs demand as they do," Turncloak responds, idly twirling the ends of his staff, "Now shall we-"

The Demon becomes a blur and Turncloak brings the end of his staff down, feeling the impact of the palm against it even as he moves to the side to avoid the direct strike to the groin. He kicks off and lets the demon pass by, idly twirling the ends of his staff.

Suntarankal strokes his beard. The Seeker looks on impassively.

"Student," the Crucible says, "The girl is yours."

Turncloak grinds his teeth. "Involving her is your mistake."

He does not see the Seeker launch himself in the plume of green fire- nor can he, before the flurry comes from the Old Master and he finds his attention very focused on what is in front of him.

 

[GreggHL]

Five hears the words and makes a meep, urging the Agatae she is on to move its ass. At least until the Agatae flashes green and becomes ash, leaving Five floating in the air for a moment before the Seeker appears above her, grabs her by the arm, and hurls her towards the ground.

Through the remains of the Lintha ship, rolling to a stop on the thankfully soft ground.

"…ow."

She climbs back onto her feet, her foci rising up in defensive formation around her. The Seeker lowers himself on emerald flame, the bells on his horns faintly ringing.

Instinctively, her Foci link up into a seven-point star, rotating forward, and fire. The [GEOMETRIC] scream accompanies the blast, silhouetting the Seeker. He simply swings his fist forward and parts the blast, letting it splinter the remains of the Lintha ship, before stepping through the glow.

She takes a step back, taking a stance. A basic stance, with no Essence involved. Her attempts at learning the martial arts have yet to progress very far.

The Infernal sweeps his hands forward, lowering them to his waist in a simple ready stance. He moves without grace, without fluidity. A simple punch- it seems at first like a weak blow.

At least for a moment.

And then it launches her against a nearby tree, tilting it backwards.

"You are not a martial artist," he says.

She staggers to her feet, winded. The pain in her chest is an indicator. Broken rib, likely more than one. She wipes a hand across her lip, the back of her hand coming away bloody.

"Compared to you, I am not. I am still learning to walk where you can run and jump." Clenching her fists, she moves forward, albeit shakily. "But, such is life."

She makes to throw a punch- and while then jab falls short, the inch-wide adamant Foci sweeping in her fist's wake does not, surging forward to slam into the Seeker's face. A second comes from below, a crystalline uppercut, and a third slams down on his head from above.

But he does not falter. He takes the first blow to the face, the second to his chin, and charges through the third before slamming both fists into her chest and sending her through the tree.

"You restraint yourself. This is a duel, and you refuse to use your power."

Five coughs blood and spits. Shakes the splinters out of her hair.

"My power is nominally lethal. This is not a duel to the death."

The Seeker spreads his arms.

"You are welcome to try."





The Crucible twists and turns through the thrusts of the staff and the afterimages of shadow- Turncloak can see the boundless pools of Essence at the demon's disposal being used to catch his staff, to hold it in place. The look of serene amusement never leaves his face.

Turncloak was insulted. He didn't see a holy spear anywhere yet.

He yanks forward, with a blur of motion from his other hand, and his favorite- and filled- coffee mug explodes over Suntarankal's face.

Suntarankal drops the staff. His face sizzling, his eyes burnt, and Turncloak swings his staff with his forearm in an attempt to turn the demon's kidney into a projectile.

"Gotta fucking do everything by myself," the Abyssal mutters.

He swings again- bare fist this time, channeling his charms, his most vicious ones. He doesn't say it, but he doesn't want to leave the girl alone with the Infernal any longer than he needs to. He needs to end this, right now.

But the old master grabs the fist. Even with the holes currently in his torso, there is no weakness.

"Penalty negators," Suntarankal says, "Let us make this interesting."

The demon becomes a cocoon, and from the cocoon births something terrible. Immense, towering over Turncloak, scales shimmering in the sunlight. Its mighty fins end in razor feathers, its form sleek, deadly, and shimmering with the might of masters.

Its head ends in a thin snout and amber fur, eyes blue emeralds and horns of ivory to its neck.

"Shiiiiit," Turncloak mutters, "I'm…not sure what that does, but it cannot possibly be worth the embarrassment."

That is a lie. A boast. He knows what this is, and he has never faced it before.

The Gazellecarp.





The moonsilver clad fist snaps his head to the side, and he slams his foot down, slams a fist into her gut, grabs her as she bends over and then suplexes her. Both scramble to their feet, and he brings up a disc-shield of violet light to deflect the bear claws before she can swipe his head off.

The bear laughs. It isn't an angry laugh.

"He died cursing that he didn't kill a child."

"This happened to you when you were a kid?" he asks.

The bear becomes a wolf. He jams his forearm into the mouth, feeling the teeth dig into the gauntlets. Rolls back with momentum and kicks her off, swinging back to his feet before the wolve turns back into her.

"His army came for my tribe," she says, "Killed the men. Took the women and children as slaves. I hid under my father's corpse to survive. Survived until I couldn't, and then lived longer. That's when Luna found me."

He nods. He stands up straighter. "Did you ever find them? Your tribe?"

She smiles, and even with the hair covering her, even the wild and shadows, he can see it reaches her eyes.

"Yes. You would have offered to help find them if I didn't. You're not him."

The wind rushes against him. He finds himself outside the forest, standing in tall grass and outside the tall, thick standing trees. Ghost is standing next to him, the warstrider dissolving into motes.

"So what just happened?"

"I had a vision from the Gardener and I found the Lunar. I think we're friends."

"You and the Gardener?"

"Maybe. And me and the Lunar. I think if I wanted to scrap again, she'd be fine with it."

Ghost stares at him for a long moment. "Is it weird I think I made friends with the person who originally killed me?"

"…no," Ghost finally says, "No. No, it's not."

Ghost rises up. Pulses out a ring of Light. "Eyes up, Guardian. I'm reading a Third Circle Demon and a Malfean Exalt. Five's in trouble."

Kiddo grimaces. "You wouldn't happen to know that spell Turncloak uses to teleport place to place, right?"

Ghost floats down. Bobs up and down as a nod. "Less of a splash zone, but I can get us there fast."

"Do it. And aim high, because I have an idea."

 

[GreggHL]

A good distance away from the main gates of Ardurgia, nestled against one of the sturdier walls, a tent pavilion has stood for the past year. It is one of the more visited placed in this former City of the Dead- it has a good view of the Dome, a direct path to the communal bath houses that Ebeli and Arvos commissioned, and the green and purple Realm finery does make it stand out.

V'Neef, First of Her Name, sits at her mahogany table, sipping tea alongside Abeti. Their guest is a woman with hair like woven straw and teeth like polished pearl, and her baby soft skin is definitely not taken from real babies, especially not since the deal she made with Queen Ursal.

"So," Abeti says, tapping her fingers together, "You can just…nudge the narrative along?"

Lady Morgaise laughs, and it is a wonderful laugh that enriches all around her without a doubt.

"It synergizes quite well with the Sidereal narratives. All of them have already agreed to take part in a story, and I sometimes wonder why they don't work with Raksha more often. Though I do understand, as we have a reputation of being monsters who enjoy moist babies who would often taste like veal."

Not that she would know, of course.

"Of course," V'Neef says, "So, you nudged everything along to keep things stable, because otherwise you'd be back to being something that everyone hated."

Morgaise nods, smiling. V'Neef gets it. Gets it good.

"But you didn't nudge the Dawn Caste, Leaping Sky?"

"I can't," Morgaise confesses, "Solar Exalted are too hard to do so unless they agree to play along, and I'm lucky he just wants to help. If we got one of those Dawn Castes who wanted to conquer the world, we'd be in trouble, but thankfully we got the one who likes to help. Honestly, trying to manipulate a Solar Exalted is like playing with Iron."

She shrugs.

"Nobles try it all the time, and it never ends well, they always end up making these ostentatious castles near villages they've been preying on, and then the Solar kicks open the door, beats up the Sword Grace, and is all, 'Die monster! You don't belong in this world!'"

V'Neef sips her tea with a nod. "Had one of those near a Satrapy by Cherak. But it works to bait out the Raksha, because then they always appear and are all, 'It is not by my hand I am once more given flesh!'"

Abeti raises her hand, not far removed from college. "Once more?"

"It's a script," Morgaise confesses.

Abeti nods. "So you wouldn't be able to, say, nudge Prince Arvos…?"

Morgaise shakes her head, sympathetic look and puppy dog eyes on her face. With a puppy on her lap, also giving puppy dog eyes.

"Anyway," V'Neef continues, "What's happening now?"

"Well." Morgaise smiles, clapping her hands together. "Wandering Horizons convinced Ebeli to let him borrow an Agatae, a particularly fast one, because he felt a need to get this job done. They set off…"





The Chimera's Coil is the capstone of an obscure, powerful Celestial Martial Art. Transformative, glorious, dreamlike. The form floats through the air on eight pairs of carp fine, six pairs of twisting horns reshaping like smoke. Every shout from the wondrous creature throws grass and dirt violently and leaves craters, and Turncloak blurs through the destruction.

He's never faced a master of this before. Never faced someone who mastered this art. In this case, his best bet is his Necromancy, but he needs time to do that, and he doesn't have that. All he can do it take the opening to launch his staff at the Gazellecarp- which bounces off of its perfect scales.

An Agatae appears out of nowhere, landing next to the lake where the Cup once sat. Wandering Horizons slides off of it, stumbling a few steps before bending over and expelling the contents of his stomach into the dry lakebed.

It is a magical mix- coffee, Semtex, and what may be a mystery substance, held upon a stick and purchased from a vendor of dubious means from a cart in Yu-Shan on the cheap.

The Gazellecarp stares with two of its eyes. Turncloak watches, still blurring as he avoids its deadly attacks.

The Seeker, holding a bloodied Five by the neck, stares at the Sidereal.

Horizons holds up a hand. "Hold up. Almost…" A hurk as he heaves once again, the mixture becoming some new color, both unholy, holy and mundane at the same time, perfectly mixing materials of Creation, Hell, and Heaven. "Gotta lay off the Semtex."

The Endings stares at the Chimera's Coils, narrowing his eyes. As a Sidereal, he is initiated into all forms of Martial Arts. Narrowing his eyes to the point where he sort of opens his mouth and widens his nostrils, he considers what idiot actually invoked the Chimera's Coils due to how dangerous it is.

Wandering Horizons sighs, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again they glow.

"You stop that."

There is a vorp, a sound like a fart being sucked back in, and the Gazellecarp is gone. Suntarankal drops onto his hands and knees, realizing what has happened. Right as Turncloak runs up and kicks him in the face.

 

[Pyro Hawk]

... So was this Horizons legitimately stopping a Third Circle who was too big for his skills? Or is Horizons about to have a real bad time if Turncloak doesn't manage to get in the way of enough blows?

 

[GreggHL]

... So was this Horizons legitimately stopping a Third Circle who was too big for his skills? Or is Horizons about to have a real bad time if Turncloak doesn't manage to get in the way of enough blows?

Click to shrink...

Do you have any idea the amount of bullshit Sidereal Martial Arts are capable of?

 

[Thine Spree]

Do you have any idea the amount of bullshit Sidereal Martial Arts are capable of?

Click to shrink...

I genuinely think this man's doesn't know the sheer insanity the setting of Exalted just has sitting around for the various PC's to learn (And then bend over backwards and spank like they do the rest of realitys rules) and how frankly broken a very good portion is when used correctly.

 

[GreggHL]

I genuinely think this man's doesn't know the sheer insanity the setting of Exalted just has sitting around for the various PC's to learn (And then bend over backwards and spank like they do the rest of realitys rules) and how frankly broken a very good portion is when used correctly.

Click to shrink...

So.

The first Sidereal Martial Art that Siddies tend to learn during their Skiddie phase is Prismatic Arrangement of Creation, which is saved from completely breaking the game due to the Sidereal's having small mote pools.

Hence why, in one game I was in, a player's Solar learning it completely broke the game.

One of the earliest charms you can learn is called Spell Shattering Palm.

It is a charm that, when activated, turns off a magical effect.

Like, say, a martial arts charm.

Like the Gazellecarp.

This is not the last time Horizons will invoke this charm.

This is not the last time he will invoke this charm as if he was Cosgrove from Freakazoid.

 

[Thine Spree]

It is a charm that, when activated, turns off a magical effect.

Click to shrink...

Ah yes let me cast a cantrip equivalent and just say "No" to any magical effect, God Exalts are broken bullshit even at their lowest 'level'.

 

[Pyro Hawk]

Do you have any idea the amount of bullshit Sidereal Martial Arts are capable of?

Click to shrink...

No, I'm just assuming that there's a difference between 'Sidereal Martial Arts are bullshit' and 'Oh Fuck, so are theirs!'

Maybe not the same degree of bullshit, looking at you goddamn duck punch and assassin tea cup, but still bullshit. Then there's, well, the fact Exalted and more or less anyone with lots of power in the Exalted setting are very good at the "I am undefeatable! Oh no!" trick.

 

[GreggHL]

No, I'm just assuming that there's a difference between 'Sidereal Martial Arts are bullshit' and 'Oh Fuck, so are theirs!'

Maybe not the same degree of bullshit, looking at you goddamn duck punch and assassin tea cup, but still bullshit. Then there's, well, the fact Exalted and more or less anyone with lots of power in the Exalted setting are very good at the "I am undefeatable! Oh no!" trick.

Click to shrink...

The player for Wandering Horizons is very, very good at system mastery.

Scarily so.

There is a running gag that, despite never being an Elder-level, actually being on paper the weakest member of the party, everyone lives in fear of the day that he finally has enough of their bullshit and decides to visit on them fates worse than Death.

Because he has, at the current point in the game, at least three.

 

[GreggHL]

A blast of emerald fire sends Five flying, rolling to a stop. She does not scream, does not whimper. She pulls herself back to her feet, her foci supporting bruised, unsteady limbs. Being made of meat has several disadvantages. Rolling her head, she spits out a wad of blood and an adamant tooth.

"You still live," the Seeker says, the air around his outstretched hand warping and wafting, "Impressive."

"I didn't hear a bell," she seethes.

Ligier's noble flame gathers around his hand once more. But more. Brighter. Fiercer. Beneath the mask, his eyes glow and the Caste Mark shines in time with his burning Anima.

Which is why he does not see the burst of fluid white high above, or hear it over the roaring of his flames.

Which is why he finds his view suddenly, dramatically, interrupted by the full face, white helmet of someone who just appeared in front of him, crackling with unfamiliar electricity. Which gives him a moment to question who this is, what this is, why this is.

Before this man's fist slams into the Seeker's face. It shatters his jaw beneath the mask. His helm and his rage are the only reasons his head remains a solid. The pain, magnificent pain that breaks through his body looses control of the green flame and it explodes, incinerating his right hand up to the elbow.

That is before the impact throws the Seeker off his feet, bouncing him once, twice, three times off the ground before slamming into a so far unmolested tree and knocking it over by the roots.

Ghost appears next to Five, Light forming an aura around her. She feels the pain in her ribs lessen, feels her tooth grow back. "That was a mile up," Ghost says, "Safe to say that was the most Titan shit I've ever seen. If we ever get to Sol, you and Shaxx are going to get along fine."

Five blinks. "Kiddo? Where've you been?"

The helmet parts and retracts. He clenches his fist and forms a greathammer out of sunfire. "Met the Lunar who killed me, got her approval, had a vision of the Gardener. How are you?"

The Seeker climbs to his feet. Kiddo forms a smaller hammer in his free hand and hurls it, slamming into Seeker's face and tossing him onto his back. "We're talking."





Suntarankal bounces once, drags long furrows into the ground, and lands on his feet. He adjusts his beard, running long fingers through it, and balls a fist behind his back before cupping a hand before him in a practiced stance.

"Suntarankal," Horizons says, "You've been fighting Suntarankal. Neat."

Turncloak wipes the blood from his cheek, unsure of who's it is. "Fighting him for way too fucking long. Now that you're here we have a better chance. He's switched over to Infernal Monster Style. Don't let the calm demeanor fool you- he's luring us in."

Horizons nods, cracking his knuckles.

"Keep three to six feet away from him," Turncloak adds, "He has a bank of ten attacks at all time- all killing blows. Aim for knees and elbows. I'll go for the eyes. Once we have him weakened, I grapple him and you go for the killing blow."

Turncloak extends his fighting staves. Horizons extends his hands like an uncoiled snake. Suntarankal smiles.

Then, with a burst of sunlight, Suntarankal explodes. A pillar of sunlight and an afterimage of a spear which soon vanishes, leaving a small circle of golden grass where the demon stood.

The two Exalted are silent for a long moment. Turncloak stands up first, retracting his staves into his sleeves. "Or that," he says, and gives a thumbs up to the Sun, "Much obliged. Took you long enough."





The Seeker rises, climbing with one hand to his feet. Vitriol writes runes on his flesh, fills him with power. Fills him with anger. With purpose. He opens his eyes and he sees the four of them in front of him.

"So, here's what's going to happen," Turncloak says, "My Niece is going to cut off the rest of your limbs, I'm going to yank off your mask and rip out your tongue. In the Underworld, we called this the 'Yodeling Potato' and we used this to teach new Abyssals Medicine Charms."

Five, mostly healed, nods. Her foci rise up, and glow.

"You are formidable," the Seeker says, "Your power is to be respectable. We will meet again."

Around him, grass dies, soil turns bleak and gray, and the walls between worlds turn thin. His Hearthstone, next to his heart, activates. The world around him turns gray, and the metal giant lands in a crouch. An immense, gunmetal and black giant of metal and blasphemy, its face a ricktus mask caught mid roar, and wings a snapshot of a bat's.

It scoops up the Seeker, rotating back into the Endless Desert, and is gone.

"…that was a Hellstrider," Five observes, "That was a Third Circle Hellstrider."

Turncloak glowers. "And now we've got a recurring villain. Just fucking great."

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

(+2 XP)

 

[Max]

JOB DONE

Click to shrink...

You need to understand that every time I see this, that this is what I hear.


View: https://www.youtube.com/embed/bBCB0y9Mgns"

 

[GreggHL]

They were given time before their official debrief. It wasn't every day that the mission involved actual combat, after all. Especially against a Third Circle Demon. Hence, once excused, Five found her way to the Primal Forge.

The Floor is empty. The cleaning drones have finished their work. The air is silent and still, as if in anticipation.

"Grandfather? Are you here?"

A disc of brass and shadow opens on the ground in front of her, matching a ring hovering above, and in the light forms an Encounter Suit. The facet jewel eyes rotate, and the Great Maker makes a motion to greet his granddaughter. Then notices the slight unsteadiness to her stance and the bruises and his grill goes from red to white.

"Names."

There is that distant keening. The faint sound like sirens. "Grandfather. I'm fine. And I need to speak with you, please."

The keening softens. The grill dims to a yellowish orange. His splayed fingers curl into loose fists. "I am listening, Granddaughter. What happened?"

Five sighs. "It was the mission. We encountered an agent of Malfeas- an Infernal, sworn to him, and using his power. He was more powerful than I anticipated, than we anticipated. He was already on his fifth circle of enlightenment, and he had a Hellstrider, crafted from a Third Circle Demon."

A seat rises from the Floor, formed out of its material. She sits, and the seat adjusts to her. "My fight with the Infernal did not go well. I find myself, with my current capabilities, unable to keep up with these escalating threats. So, I need to make a request, from you."

The chair has started heating and massaging. She finds her feet in a freshly assembled medicinal bath. The armrest next to her has a combination of medicine, tea, and cakes.

"You are requesting aid in achieving your Colossus evolution," Autochthon states, "I would be delighted to help."

The Encounter Suit sits, chair legs forming from its bulk. "However. In order to do that, I will require you to do something for me. To be able to help you with this, I need you to go down into Creation, and I need you to find the Jadeborn, and find why I can no longer hear them."





For five days, he traversed the Endless Desert. Bleeding, but refusing to die.

Broken, but continuing on by will and rage.

The vitriol staining his skin gives him power. The anger pumps his heart and gives him life.

The Hellstrider kneels behind him on a nameless street in the Demon City. Around him, demons keep a wide berth- none approach this broken, bleeding Infernal. None approach this creature of rage and fire. The streets are silent, and yet they do not fear death, for he sits on his knees, staring up. Staring past the moving layers of the Demon City. Past layers Profane and Broken.

Past the Green Sun.

The layers align, and deep within the prison of the King, the eyes of the Seeker meet the eyes of the unseen, the humiliated, the broken. The broken jaw of the Seeker does not move but he speaks not in prayer, but in understanding. In anger.

Not fealty.

But recognition.

There is silence in the Demon City, but not because of the Silent Wind.

For the first time since the rebellion of the traitorous gods, he speaks. A staff slams into distant brass, broken flesh and burnt brass moves, and the Imperator, crippled Jouten of Malfeas, speaks.

Doth though desire the power?

Through pain, through agony, through rage, the Seeker meets the gaze of the overthrown King of Kings.

"Yes."

The street, and all upon it, become flame. The layer, and all upon it, become flame. That flame becomes power, and the Seeker inhales.

My fist is the Divine Breath!

Blossom, O fallen seed!

Drink deep of my gifted power!

Herald the return of the Empyrean Chaos!



End Chapter 8

 

[GreggHL]

The Island Fortress of Il-Yeddo stands against the Wyld. Or, at least, it usually does. Since the breakthrough of Jast, most of the wandering Wyld Behemoths get sucked into the Material Processors flanking the head currently off the western shore. The pyramid fortress remains unchanged- it still houses its behemoth Striders, and in the office at its top level, Yekkido Utsubyo, the current alias of the Clay Man, sits at his desk.

He's allowed his beard to grow in fully, so it no longer looks like a chin strap, but the glasses remain. His fingers are tented, hiding his mouth, and he stares ahead, elbows propped up on his mahogany desk, staring across his cavernous office.

It opens from a single point of light- unlike a Gate, which is smooth, magical, forming an arch, this is precise. Mechanical. It forms a triangle, cutting a white hole of absence. He is fully aware of what it is-

A Door. His father's own equivalent of the Gate system, and one which is much more prevalent, and not well known throughout Creation and Heaven, mainly to avoid panic. Especially because only his father controls it. The first through the Door is Five. She has seen better days. She is in a cushy, comfortable chair made out of the material of the Floor, and there are obvious cuts on her lip, swelling on her face, and the remnants of what appear to be two black eyes.

Behind her is an eight-foot-tall Encounter Suit, hands on the back of the chair to push it along.

"Kadamon," Autochthon says, naturally using the Clay Man's true name without any appreciation for cover identities, "You received my message?"

"Like a prophet, receiving a vision from an angry god."

"Excellent. Remember, two weeks."

Autochthon turns and marches back into the Door, which snaps shut behind him. Five raises her shoulders, as if to bury her head in them, and then lets them slump.

"He is over reacting."

"Is he building seven hundred unstoppable superweapons again?"

"…no."

"Then he's not overreacting. Yekkido Reigo, you will tell me what happened. You will tell me, or you will tell your mothers. Your choice."

Five bites her lip, powerless against the use of her full name by one of her parents. Thankfully she was not given a middle name, or she would immediately break.

"I received a visitation from your grandfather while I was in the middle of using the bathroom, telling me you were not to approach the Gate on the next island over for two weeks," he continues, "He hasn't appeared like that to me since he told me to leave the People of Adamant."

"That is a good point." Five clears her throat. Winces. While Ghost was good, not all the damage was healed. "Grandfather has agreed to help me achieve my Colossus Evolution. To do so he requires me to make contact with the Jadeborn."

Her father's eyes narrow. "Colossus evolution."

She shrinks in her seat. Not physically, because of how small she is. "On a recent mission, I engaged in a martial arts duel with a Chosen of Malfeas-"

The chair that her father was sitting in clatters to the floor. He slams his glasses down against the desk hard enough for them to shatter. There is motion from the vents. Locks unlocking. In that moment, she finds herself surrounded by her sisters. All of them. And her brother, who while dusty and haggard, his hair a wild mess, actually looks more upset than her father.

"You did what?" Shou demands.





The Door opens and the Encounter Suit steps out.

"My Granddaughter is on medical leave for the next two weeks. Inform your subordinates. Carry on."

He steps back through the door, which snaps shut. In their seats, overlooking the subtle perfection of the Games of Divinity, the six Incarnae stare. Six, as Luna hides in the shadows beneath her seat, making vaguely distress, chtonic noises. Next to her seat, the Emerald Mother quirks her lip into a small smile.

"At least he's forming intimacies," she says.





The children have left the office to fuss over Five, to get the details, and to suitably admonish her for fist fighting someone using Malfean Charms. The Clay Man has picked his chair back up and sits in it once more, leaning back. Physically, he is fine.

Emotionally, he is exhausted.

So he barely reacts when a Door opens once again. Rather than the Great Maker once more emerging, a Clawstrider with colorful plumage is rudely shoved through with an indignant "Kweh!"





Chapter 9:

Downtime