Yawning Abyss, Soaring Shrike [Exalted]

[VagueZ]

[] "In."

"In," you say, suppressing your concern. The feel of the room changes almost instantly around you. The others, even Ari, had been unsure. Until just now, you were an uncertainty, a cipher, too valuable not to risk, but still a risk. Now, you're a co-conspirator.

Nine Leagues Strides laughs and throws the stripped-bare bone at Ari, who plucks it cleanly from the air and sets it daintily with his. "This one's much better than that time you dragged home that Earth Aspect thief."

Ari groans at the reminder. "Are you ever going to let me live her down?"

"Not until you replace my cargo preservation spindle." You're left to wonder afresh at the Lunars you've met. When you were offered your Exaltation, it was at the behest and through the machinations of a Deathlord. You'd long since established that Lunars weren't the same faction of Anathema, but you can't discern any particular patron guiding them as a whole. If anything, they seem to act as individuals, stand-alone princes, sometimes even with subordinate Dragon-Bloods that they treat as individuals: allies or enemies or something more complex. It's... strange. You still can't yet square things up. It's like you're missing a vital clue to understanding them.

Nonetheless, you buckle down and get to work. Together, you and Nine Leagues Strides sketch out the Despot's complex, meshing together what you saw as a worker and she saw as a guest, transforming it into a floorplan to operate on, with relevant details and steps of the plan to go through. It's not always easy; the vault you hadn't really paid much attention to, but you review your memory for details until you hit the point where you just genuinely aren't sure.

At that point, Ari steps up. "I can help you recall," he says.

"How?" you ask, looking up fro the papers to him.

"Look into my eyes." You do. They're... entrancing. Huge and clear and strong and... You almost instinctively throw off the influence they're casting on you. "Don't be afraid," he murmurs. "It's only to enhance your memory." This time, as your gaze finds his, you force yourself to relax more than you normally ever would, letting him weave a net of words and hypnotic looks. As you stare deep into his eyes, you see reflected the events of the previous night. "After the guests left the room, you were with the yasal crystal. You are there. Tell us who was with you when it was time to move it." You do, watching as you go. with Ari's help, you step back through the walk to the vault, and recall as you looked over its worked-in wards and the details of its locks. You are vaguely aware of Nine Leagues Strides transferring everything you say and mime to paper.

Some completely indeterminate time later, Ari blinks, and you collapse backwards, feeling like you just woke from a restful sleep. You shake your head to clear it, and glance around. Nine Leagues Strides has familiar-looking arcane symbols scrawled on paper in front of her, and looks satisfied. "It's a quantity over quality set-up," she says. "To be expected of someone who isn't a sorcerer himself. It looks imposing, but it's nothing I can't bypass, 'specially with a leg up like this. You're a handy man, Reddy. Now the remaining question is how we carry the crystal itself out."

You frown. "Can you just put it Elsewhere?" She has the ability to pull things from that non-place, like when she manifested celebratory alcohol to drink in the desert. Logically, she has to have some ability to put things there to being with.

She pauses, and gives you an exasperated look. "Reddy, do you know what happens when you put a yasal crystal containing a powerful dematerialized demon into Elsewhere?"

Your frown deepens. "No?"

"Neither do I. We're not doing that."

"It's not the worst burden," Soot Column Ascending adds, in his first addition for a while. "I estimate its weight at between two hundred and two-twenty pounds. If we can get it to the street without pursuit, it could be lashed to a camel, but could still have to outrun or otherwise deal with any quick reaction that is keener than we want them to be."

"Right. Camel I can supply, of course." Nine Leagues Strides seems relatively content with being demoted to beast of burden at the apex of the plan. "I'll run off with it, and then you, Reddy, can come find us when you've got the rest of your trap in order."

You all review it one more time. Just before midnight, three of the four of you will slip in while Soot Column creates a distraction. You'll make your way deep into the vault building, overpower the guards without killing them, breach the sorcerous wards and pull out the crystal, then carry it outside, where there will be room for Nine Leagues Strides to take her spirit shape. The Lunar faction can vanish into the desert and you, unrecognized, can keep things spinning here until you can finish the rest of the preparations you need.

It has a lot of uncertainties, but hopefully the Despot is good to his word and this will work like you all want. You're at least relatively comfortable trusting Nine Leagues Strides to stick to her word, even once she has the crystal in safety. It is simply, flatly, not her style to betray faith like that. Besides, she already knows you are willing to make an enemy of a Deathlord and plan to take the fight to her. It'd be borrowing trouble to double-cross anyone who reacts like that.

Unfortunately, your part of the job does require you to keep your day job dancing. You have to break out of the early morning circle of schemers to show up and conjure water for the Despot. You're assigned to the same mostly-empty reservoir you saw on your first day on the job. You don't waste much time today, just draining all the sorcerous power you can in a relatively quick series of torrents, the water level of the vast subterranean pool by now starting to show its increase and rising very visibly with the additions of you and other sorcerers.

After work, you pause and consider. You can wrap yourself in an obscuring shroud of anima (it's not something you've done before, but it is something you can instinctively understand), which will hide your appearance, but it can't do much if you show up with a one-of-a-kind magical weapon in hand. That's the sort of thing that even an investigator who doesn't want to bestir herself will find impossible to ignore. You drop by your apartment to leave Blizzard's Scourge behind, in a space where it wouldn't easily be found even if someone did break it, then you sneak out. Now you have neighbors who can attest you went straight home after work, and the most obvious way of identifying you is safely out of sight.

That done, you head back to Nine Leagues Stride's house. This time, it's Ari who answers the door and lets you in. The place is noticeably quieter and more still than it had been. You look around its empty corners. "Where's the others?" you ask him.

"Preparing," Ari tells you. He hops up on the counter that's against one wall, where there's space for drinks and refreshments to be stored. Naturally, he's barefoot and on all fours, using his tail to balance as he leans over everything from an angle it was never really meant to be used. "Can I get you anything to drink? I don't want to get out anything alcoholic, not that she's had a chance to stock up, but we've got some teas or just water."

"I'm okay for now," you decide.

Ari shrugs, turning back to you while still on all fours on the counter. It allows him to look at you from eye level while still being folded up like he likes. "Nine Leagues Strides is seeing to some of her contacts here, to be sure that the Despot does get his under-the-table deal from here. It'll probably take a bit, since obviously she's going to be setting it up to minimize his ability to double-cross us, much as we don't think what's going on. There are still ostensible negotiations going on, to Soot Column Ascending is at that. Believe me, he's got the patience to make that drag out uselessly long." Ari gives you a big grin.

You consider the ifrit's sense of time. "I do believe that," you agree. He could probably drag things out for a month if he could do it for two minutes.

"Does mean that it's just the two of use and we have a little time," Ari adds. "We've done all the planning we can and I don't think I've got any other preparations I can do right now."

You nod. "I'm prepared, too. I did want to be sure that we didn't miss anything, but we all have our own roles. I've done what I can to keep myself safe once we're done."

Ari's long, tufted ears twitch. He pounces off the counter and slinks upright next to you. "Well," he says, his manner changing from businesslike to rather decidedly not in an instant. "If that's the case, do you want me to show you the beds here? They're quite soft. Big enough for two. We do have time, and no one to distract us..." He's purring. He hasn't quite touched you yet, giving you the chance to respond, first.

Oh. This is going to end up awkward, either way. He's not really offering anything more than a tumble right now. It might even be his way of unwinding before doing something risky.

[] Let him show you.
[] Keep some distance.

 

[VagueZ]

[] Let him show you.

"Well," you say, gravely, trying to look like you're weighing a serious concern, "I suppose it depends on--"

Your body language betrays you. Before you can finish the teasing thought, you feel Ari's warm touch as his hands slip behind your head, and he interrupts you with a fierce kiss.

You return it, wrapping your own arms around him. You're not about to let him take the lead.

It takes a while for you to get to the bed, in the end. Ari is far more human than not, where it counts. It's been entirely too long since you were able to forget about your problems, enjoy a moment with someone who genuinely likes you--Dragons only know why--and just be able to unwind.

Once you're both pleasantly worn out, the two of you doze lightly together, you enjoying the feeling of gentle warmth as he nestles up against you, while he seems to find even the unnatural chill that pervades you to be a welcome respite from the endless heat of Gem.

You find yourself roused first, mind alert again even as Ari continues to snore gently in the crook of your arm. You contemplate the ceiling for a while. You actually do feel better, now. You're on the way to putting together something that's... good. You might be Anathema and consorting with other Anathema, but you're using that to turn something that could have been directed against the Realm into something that will instead be used to strike down an enemy of all Creation. Even your Whispers haven't actively been a problem for a little bit: they're not driven by any active, intelligent force, or at least you don't think they are, which means that being focused on destroying something is working to keep them quiescent for the moment. They barely seem to know or mind if it's a Deathlord or the Empress's throne that you want undone. Perhaps you can find some peace and some good way to be if this can be kept up.

It's a good dream.

From the main room, on the other side of the closed bedroom door, you hear the front door open and Nine Leagues Stride's purposeful, long gait. "Well," you mumble. "I suppose we should get dressed and--" You glance down.

You look into your own face, sleeping peacefully and with tufted caracal ears.

"GAH!" It's an instant, automatic reaction. You shove the unexpected doppelganger away from you as hard as you can, scrambling away. The Lunar wakes, falling out of bed one way, squawking with surprise, and you tumble out the other side, coming up with a defensive pose as you do. 'You' stand up on the other side of the bed, looking startled, blanket clutched all the way up to the neck for modesty. "You damn Face Stealer!" you shout at it.

Your features melt into Ari's more delicate ones as he cringes back. "I wasn't... going to do anything with it," he tries. You scoop your shoe off the floor and hurl it at his head as hard as you can, which is pretty hard given your throwing arm. He ducks it. It puts a small hole in the wall. He tosses it back to you more gently. "And I didn't steal it. You still have it."

It's an effort of will for you not to throw it at him a second time. "That's not the point!" More than two decades of Immaculate upbringing bubble up. There's a thousand things to say, and you only have one mouth to say them. "You didn't even ask," is the first one to make it out.

The bedroom door bursts open, revealing Nine Leagues Strides with her moonsilver longfang in hand, ready to fight whatever foe her fellow Lunar is facing. There's a moment of three-way pausing as you and Ari adjust to her presence, and she figures out what must have happened for you two to be in dishabille and shouting at each other. "Kiddo, out," she orders with thumb hooked over her shoulder. 'Kiddo' seems to be Ari, so he obediently grabs his clothing and sheepishly leaves. Nine Leagues Strides turns to you, having the decency to look you square in the eyes instead of lower. "We'll talk again when you're back together, too, Reddy."

* * *​

There are three tea saucers on the low table. Only Nine Leagues Strides has touched hers. Ari's not even looking at you, but that's okay, because you're not looking at him, either. You sit on opposite sides of the table, with Nine Leagues Strides taking one of the spots to the side: your left, Ari's right.

It's been a quiet few minutes.

Eventually, Nine Leagues Strides finishes savoring her tea. It wasn't a quick process. She would take a small sip, wait for a few seconds, then take another. It wasn't a consistent process. Sometimes the sips would come faster or slower. When the tea is gone, she speaks. "I'm not happy," she says.

Ari speaks up first. "I'm sorry," he begins. "I was just--"

"I don't care." The No Moon cuts him off. "Ari, you know better than to make a mess of things just because of your hormones and impulses. Do the job first, and then have your fun." Her attention turns to you. "And you, Vessel." It's the first time she's used your name, or title, or whatever it counts as. "I don't know your full deal. That's between you and Ari. I don't care. But you're not in the Realm any longer. Stop trying to act like you're in the Imperial City. I know what you've been told, but we aren't mindless monsters. We are the Chosen of the Changing Lady, champions who answer to no one but our own better natures."

She sets down the cup on the saucer, equidistant between the two untouched drinks. "Now, this is the only question I do care about right now. Are you still good to go tonight?" She looks at you.

You look back with Dynastic imperturbability, honed by generations of Peleps matriarchs. "I already said that I was a part of this."

She nods. "Kiddo?"

Ari nods, too, a little unhappily, you see from the corner of your eye. "I really am sorry. I just didn't think--"

Nine Leagues Strides claps once, a ringing noise that cuts him off. "No. Tonight, we are professionals. You two can have your drama meltdown, or make-up sex or whatever you want, once I'm out of here and with the yasal crystal secured. Not before!"

He subsides into quiet. You reach for your tea, keeping your features schooled into calm. It's quiet again.

It's a long, quiet time before Soot Column Ascending returns, and longer still before night falls.

* * *​

Eventually, it's time to hit the field. Everyone has their own task, and their own way to go about it. You burn Essence into your anima, enhancing your stealth and letting it bleed into your anima. You check a mirror to confirm that you're disguised, finding your face and body obscured by shadows that make your features impossible to discern. You're surrounded by spectral images of grasping, clutching skeletons: your anima imagery, it seems. You haven't seen it before, and can't normally. It's not something you get to see, as it's emanating from you and anyway it would be a distraction.

Both the Lunars shapeshift into different people. Ari looks incredibly generic, now: he's a plain-looking, older man of about fifty, weathered by sun and labor. You could see passing him in a vineyard or coming out of a mine and not thinking twice about it. Well, you still see his cat ears and tail, but those are magically hard for most people to see. Nine Leagues Strides takes the shape of a short, young woman, with just enough ice in her coloration and appearance that you imagine she took this shape from a Dragon-Blood. You study her new cheekbones, chin, and nose as you check the mirror for your own appearance. They... might actually have come from someone from House Peleps, some distant but traceable relative of yours.

You're not calmed by this thought. Most Lunars, at least according to what you've been taught, take faces by killing the owner, not seduction like with Ari.

Soot Column Ascending is the first to leave, of course. His part here is the simplest, after a fashion. He found a textile warehouse, and he's going to set fire to it. A fire in a very flammable building full of expensive materials is exactly the sort of thing that would get Gem's fire-fighters out in full force, trying to smother the blaze with sand so they don't have to waste precious water. It's primarily a distraction, and if you're lucky it can even hurt people's night vision: they stare at the fire, losing their adaptation to the dark, but it won't cast enough light for them to see an older man, a young woman, and a shadow wreathed in skeletons in the dark corners of the place.

The first part of the plan goes off smoothly. You three slide into a quiet balcony to lurk on until the ifrit's distraction goes off. A night guard at whoever's mansion it is almost come up on you, but Nine Leagues Strides hears him come and gestures for Ari to take care of it. Ari slips into the guard's route and then returns to you two. "He's sleeping it off," he says, quietly. "He'll wake in the morning, and I left evidence of a devious Anathema having ambushed him, so his employers will know he wasn't just sleeping on the job." That's a very weird amount of care to give someone who's an inconvenience to you, but you suppose it doesn't hurt to do so.

As you expect it to, the fire goes up a little before midnight, the fire elemental uniquely suited to setting a blaze that will behave as you all need it to. Shouts and bells of alarm and the scurry of activity begin before you can even see the first orange glow. Fire is a threat to everyone; even in exceedingly mercenary Gem, people will band together to fight a fire, since if they don't, there's every possibility that it will spread to their own property.

It's your opening. This one of the Despot's vault-buildings is protected only by mortal guards on the outside. As soon as the maximum confusion and distraction is provided, pulling some of the people and all of the attention away, you strike. Here, it does make sense not to kill anyone, as the Despot would be upset that Nine Leagues Strides was hurting people in his direct employ, and she seemingly hasn't paid for it. True loyalty costs a pretty coin, indeed, after all.

The mortal guards that you ambush, two of them, don't even have a chance to notice anything is amiss. They're too busy craning their necks to goggle at the fire a couple streets away. They are violently subdued in an instant. Ari slips the keys off of them that will get you inside the building: they have to have that to check in and out, as well as to relieve themselves, but their keys won't get you all the way into the vault, which will be protected by something more potent than a couple of fighting men with swords.

It's sort of disconcerting, watching Ari operate like this. You've seen him move like his current looks suggest, sort of creaky and weathered, but he can also move with his usual deftness and grace, as he's doing now. It's at odds with his looks, and it sort of bothers you, watching him operating smoothly while looking like he's beaten down by decades of rough toil. You shake your head to clear it. The door pops open, and all three of you slide in.

What complicates your plan from here? Choose one.
[] The interior guards are more potent than expected.
[] There's a familiar face you have to bowl over.
[] The wards take longer to break than you allowed for.
[] A third party shows their face and has to be addressed.
[] It's not as easy to get clear as you had hoped.

But there's two things that are going to complicate things, and the other is going to be a surprise. Which one definitely doesn't happen?
[] The interior guards are no match for you.
[] No one familiar is there.
[] The wards are as simple as Nine Leagues Strides expected.
[] No third parties stumble in.
[] It's just as easy to get clear as you'd hoped.

Pick one that does happen, and one that doesn't. I will pick a complement for it from the other three.

 

[VagueZ]

[] A third party shows their face and has to be addressed.
[] It's just as easy to get clear as you'd hoped.

Some time ago...
This is simply not fair, Deled thinks to himself. Any heretic in the world that wants to betray the Immaculate Dragons seems to have no trouble pulling dark power out of thin air, but when one faithful son needs to take a single fell bargain for necessities, it's all but impossible.

Pelps Deled, Water Aspect Dragon-Blood and the Realm's Pinnacle of the Wyld Hunt, stands alone in a raksha's court. The fae noble is reclining on a pile of furs propped against the side of a spider-lion the size of an elephant. He's been sitting there quietly for a couple of minutes, not yet responding.

Deled has been reduced to this. Stabbed in the back by an Anathema who has stolen the face of an extended family member and attacked from the front by a beast with more brute strength than any Dragon-Blood, he lost his arm, and has been trying to find a replacement that will let him fight. Which brings him here, to the court of Spinner-of-Wonder, who is coyly considering Deled's latest entirely-too-generous offer in exchange for a gossamer arm that can't even stand the touch of cold iron.

However, before negotiations continue, there is an interruption. There's clamor at the entrance to the mostly-illusory palace that Spinner-of-Wonder claims as his own. Spinner sits up straight, the hookah he had been enjoying flickering and turning into a spear, instead. Deled turns to face that direction, too, to find a strange sight.

An albino woman on a strange, white mount rides in. A couple of hobgoblins try to bar her way, but she doesn't even respond to their words. She just puts the butt of her long, black scabbard into them, staving their foreheads in with one touch each, apparently without even thinking about it.

"What's the meaning of this?" The raksha noble demands.

The interloper barely gives him a look before she finds Peleps Deled, instead. "Hey," she says, by way of greeting. "People were saying there was a Wyld Hunt guy out here. That's you, right? Can I get you to help me find an Anathema I need to kill?"

The woman in white hops off her steed, clutching her weapon tight to her chest as if it were a precious thing she is afraid will be taken from her. Belatedly, Deled realizes her mount is no living creature. It is an animate skeleton with a saddle put on it to make it more comfortable to ride and, incongruously, what looks like luggage wedged into its ribcage.

The atmosphere in the raksha's court changes. "You think you can ignore me?" Spinner-of-Wonder gets to his feet, casually flourishing his spear in a complex pattern as he steps down from his dais, and the monstrous Wyld creature behind him heaves itself to its eight terrible, clawed feet. "You aren't the first hopped-up human hero to think me me an easy mark. Let me show you what the last Exalt discovered in his last moments."

Deled stands where he is, torn between his desire to step in between a presumed human and a fae monster on one end, and his own need for the fae on the other. For just a moment, he hesitates, for all that he knows he will throw himself in the way in a moment further. However, before he can take more than a single step forward, he is brought up short.

The woman turns towards the angered raksha lord, a black brand appearing on her forehead: the symbol of the Forsaken, those terrible warrior-generals of the Anathema. "Fuck off," she replies, simply.

With a world-shaking roar, the lion-spider attacks, leaping high in the air and aiming to crash down on the Forsaken with claws fit to disembowel a bear on any hit.

There is a terrible, wet ripping noise, all the worse for being so quiet compared to the roar. The creature collapses to the ground, inches short of her, its head and a foot or two of its torso torn apart vertically.

But that had been just a distraction. The raksha darted behind her while his pet served to hold her attention in a very dramatic fashion, and now he races in to skewer her before she realizes there's more than one threat.

Despite Spinner-of-Wonder's swiftness and silence, something seems to have given him away. An instant before the spearhead hits the woman in white, she blurs into motion.

Deled's eyes find her, just beyond Spinner. The fae man staggers, his spear having hit nothing, and she looks entirely unconcerned, her blade still sheathed. Or, no, sheathed again.

Blood seeps from Spinner's neck. Entirely around his neck. For a moment, Deled thinks she has shorn his head clean off, but the truth is harder to believe: in that brief instant, she had carefully cut a perfect circle, taking the weak spot from every angle before he could even realize she had struck, deep enough to cut the skin but not enough to kill.

It is impossible. No one is that fast, that precise. Spinner-of-Wonder chokes for a moment, then collapses to his knees, trying to staunch the flow of slightly iridescent blood with his hands. "You... I'll tell Queen Elegance about this!" His willingness to cross blades with her is gone.

The albino turns and takes two barefoot steps back towards him. She hooks the end of her scabbard under his chin to force him to look up at her. "Go ahead," she says, softly. "Go to your leader and confess you were defeated utterly. Tell her it was the Clochard of the Vermilion Trail. Or don't. Now, fuck off."

She lets his chin drop and turns her back, the raksha forgotten. She approaches Deled with a smile on her face. "So, anyway," the Clochard continues, as if the interruption had never happened, "There's this Anathema I've been assigned to kill. Named Vessel of the Mourning's Light Unyielding. Tall, pale, has a magic boomerang and used to be in charge of a place called the Lap."

Deled frowns at the black mark on her forehead. "You're Anathema, too, though."

The Clochard rolls her eyes. "Yes, I noticed. I'll kill you after him if you want, but can we target my guy first?"

Things click in Deled's head. Danaa'd truly hasn't forgotten him. Unbelievably, this woman is trying to target the same monster he must get his revenge on. The Dragons have given him his chance. "On one condition," he says. He gestures to his missing arm. "Find me a replacement. A real replacement, and I will as quickly and efficiently as possible help you kill this Anathema you seek."

Her hands clutch her black blade more closely as she considers this. "I'll need to talk to my boss, but I think we can do that. Good to do business with ya." Her smile broadens.

* * *​

Here and now
There is a buzzing noise in the air. The three of you look up as a little messenger-sprite comes in to try to perch on your shoulder.

"I didn't know you knew any fairies," Nine Leagues Strides says, watching it.

"I didn't know that, either." The softly glowing creature alights, and considers you, apparently satisfied that it has reached its target.

"I bear a message from Understanding Auris, contracted through my mistress." That must be the raksha up the street, you realize: the Immaculate Temple that Understanding Auris oversees is within a stone's throw (at least, for someone with your throwing arm) of that place. "She says, 'Amphora, a warning. There was a Water Aspect shikari with a golden arm and a tall albino who arrived in town looking for someone of your description.' Message ends." The sprite discorporates entirely, turning into a multi-colored fog that fades in a few seconds as minuscule wind currents blow it away.

You frown and look at Ari. "Could that be Peleps Deled?"

"Who's that?"

It takes a moment to process. Of course Ari wouldn't know his name. Although you fought together with Ari against him, to Ari Deled was only a random foe, one of countless seemingly interchangeable Immaculate monks. "The monk we fought together. We cut his arm off. He must have found a replacement, somehow."

"Oh, him. Right. I'm more worried about the other one." Ari instinctively covers one of his eyes in a protective gesture. "That deathknight who almost cut my eye out was a tall albino."

"...Why would a devout Immaculate monk team up with a deathknight?"

"You're a devout Immaculate, and you've teamed up with two Lunars."

You hesitate. What the hell are you doing out here? "That's different," you reply, as you try to figure out how.

"I already regret asking the both of you to come along," Nine Leagues Strides growls. "Now come on."

The interior of the treasure-house is quiet, and rather dark, though Nine Leagues Strides lights up her caste mark, the empty circle on her forehead throwing silvery illumination far enough to see. "The hall's actually wider and easier than I was afraid of," she adds, confident. "We shouldn't have to haul the crystal all the way out. I can go camel here and just run. If the Despot's as good as his word as far as not putting pursuit to me, we're basically home free."

It's good someone's feeling good about things.

You hush up and the No Moon extinguishes her light as you come upon a little guard station. In the light of a sickly green glowstone, two guards engage in that classic of pass times: gambling. It's a dice game of some description, and from beyond the circle of their light you see the two of them both scowling intently as they stare at seemingly uncooperative dice. Nine Leagues Strides gestures for you to take care of this. You are, after all, probably the stealthiest one.

You don't recognize the game. It's not just dice--there's tokens of various descriptions, too, meaning that it's a little more elaborate than just a roll and the immediate gain or loss of money. Befitting the inner line of defense, these two aren't just mortal. One of them has some magical jade that seems to be integrated into his neck. You have no idea what it does, exactly. The stockier one moves in the familiar steadiness of Five-Dragon Style, which means he's a supernatural martial artist.

Neither one of those is in your league. They don't even see your shadow-form in the emerald-tinged darkness of their room until you're on top of them. You seize them both by the back of their collars and slam their foreheads together with ringing force, then smash both of them against their table, tokens and dice bouncing away as the table cracks.

Stunned, they can't put up any real resistance. You keep the both of them off-balance and hurting, unable to resist or call out until the Lunars rejoin you, and with your help Nine Leagues Strides efficiently gags them and trusses them up. No killing or maiming the Despot's guards, after all.

She puts the two of them against one wall, where they might be moderately more comfortable until someone comes to set them loose or they manage to wiggle their way to freedom.

The two of you rejoin Ari, who is looking down three different hallways of sealed vaults. "I wonder what other treasures the Despot's got squirreled away down here?"

"Not a good time to go off-script, kiddo," Nine Leagues Strides says, her stolen Dragon-Blood face cuffing the back of his old-man head in a somewhat familiar sort of way.

"I know, I know." He ruefully rubs the back of his head.

The three of you make your way to the crystal's vault, the same path you took in putting it away. You locate the same specific vault with its heavy, solid doors and sorcerous locks and protection. Nine Leagues Strides approaches it confidently. Her forearms and Caste mark give off a glow as she begins channeling the Essence of the world to try to and bypass the wards. "Hm!" She cocks an eyebrow at it. "That's interesting." It's definitely not the good sort of interesting. "This has three layers of wards to bypass, and the third wasn't obvious until I got to this part. I guess the Despot actually didn't skimp. It'll take a bit to get through this."

Ari goes over to her, his own Caste mark glowing a silver crescent moon as he takes up the task alongside her, merging their sorcerous trickery in a fashion that looks practiced. As before, Ari ends up in his true form: his sorcery is based on truth, and thus can't be used outside of his real shape. The cute shape that--you cut the thought off. Their discussion turns technical almost immediately, as they work on slipping through the wards together.

You take up a lookout position, partway up the hall from them, still wreathed in obscuring shadows that hide your face. Behind you, Ari suggests the possibility of just opening a hole large enough to slip a small animal form through, and Nine Leagues Strides shoots it down by pointing out the need to get the crystal out.

After a few minutes, you hear voices. Not from the Lunars: the other direction. Two voices, too calm to be the guards having freed themselves. You practically subvocalize at your partners in crime a quick warning, speaking so quietly you can't even hear it yourself: company.

Ari and Nine Leagues Strides hush up, going to expressive body language to communicate, instead. What do we do? I want my prize; you handle it. But we were almost through!

You give them updates as you hear it: two intruders, probably one man and one woman by the voices. Discussing their luck in getting this far with no difficulty. Questioning where their prize is kept. You can confirm it's Deled's voice.

At the confirmation, Ari sort of cringes down. It's your mess, go clean it up. Nine Leagues Strides makes her point clearly with the use of a very precise hand gesture.

The Changing Moon looks to you, sighing deeply but silently. He gestures to give you two options. One is just jumping out and attacking them together. The other... I can distract them, if you prefer. He looks worried but confident: the distraction will work, but it may be hard on him.

[] Let Ari distract them.
[] Fight them with Ari
- Use Air Dragon Style
- Use sorcery

Right now, you are concealed in the shroud of your Day Caste anima, hiding your features. Air Dragon Style will make your identity clear, even if your face is obscured. Sorcery will hide who you are more, but will definitely make more of a mess.

Either way, it's thanks to having connected with Understanding Auris that you have the initial warning and now the drop on your pursuit.

 

[VagueZ]

[] Fight them with Ari
- [] Use sorcery

After a moment's thought, you gesture with a nod. Ari understands it, and steps up next to you. "We'll hit them with sorcery," you murmur quietly. "Sweep them away and give Nine Leagues Strides the opening she needs."

Ari nods, glancing at you as you begin to summon up the flames of change to impose your will on the world. "Are you using water?" he asks. Of course he hasn't had a chance to see your sorcery in action, you remind yourself. You nod to confirm it.

With his more practiced sorcery, Ari spins a lance of ice as you're conjuring the water, holding the oversized spear in his hands for a moment as you finish your work.

You step around a corner right as your sorcery comes together. Down the hallway, you have half a heartbeat to notice that, yes, it is indeed Peleps Deled at the other end of it. He looks much like you recall, save that his right arm is now a more-than-gold, fully life-like construction that can only be orichalcum. Behind him, a tall albino woman in a bright white shift clutches a dark sheath for a sword two-thirds as long as she is tall.

Before anyone can react, you slam the heel of your foot against the stone floor. It ripples and cracks as an instant deluge roars out, going from bone-dry to a mighty river in an eyeblink.

Deled may be a Water Aspect, able to swim and breathe underwater like a fish, but a fish can't swim up a mighty waterfall, which is about what this is. A wall of water blocks your sight of them.

That's when Ari comes in, hurling his lance into the flow. Its chill is immediate and all-pervasive as it hits, overwhelming the baked-in heat of the South and your general insensitivity to cold.

Bulky, spiky chunks of ice are added to the flow, the better to batter aside the two you're targeting.

It seems like overkill, to create a river of freezing rapids in a hallway just to take down two people, but these are Exalts. Not only is it not overkill, but it's not going to be anything like enough.

"We need to get out of here," Ari shouts, over the roaring flow. He's right. This is a treasure house. The Despot isn't so foolish as to have a dozen exits, so you do need to get past Deled and the deathknight to escape.

You nod. "How much more time does Nine Leagues Strides need?"

As if in answer, a laughing camel bounds between the two of you, laughing in a very human and familiar voice.The huge yasal crystal is lashed to its back. Somehow. She must have tied it to her body in a human shape, exactly tight enough to fit perfectly when she took her spirit shape. That's the only way you can imagine that working. Lunars are strange beings, indeed.

"Come on," she encourages, and leaps into the river, letting it carry her. You glance at Ari. Ari's form ripples and shifts, becoming his bland 'old man' shape again. He shrugs and jumps in as well.

It's that or stay here. You do the same.

The river is shockingly cold even though the ice has all swept far past already. It's swifter than you expected and beats against you steadily. It's all you can do to keep from being rammed against walls or hammered down and drowned against the floor. After a dizzying, wild moment that could have been anything from three seconds to a couple minutes, the flood finally bursts out through the only available outlet: the door you all entered through, spreading out in an instant, temporary delta. Here, the flow is weak enough for all the Exalts to stand up, ignoring the water soaking them. You all find your feet as the ankle-deep water, much less powerful at this point, tugs at your feet.

Nine Leagues Strides heaves herself up to all fours, crystal still firmly attached to her back. Camels look rather silly wet, you decide. "Have fun, boys," she calls, and takes off down the street towards Gem's outer districts at a camel's ridiculous equivalent of a gallop.

That leaves four of you. Deled, the deathknight, Ari, and yourself. And... other people. There's water in the streets. Even with the recent rains, this is Gem. People are already turning up, apparently from nowhere, with bottles, urns, vases, skins, and anything else that may help scoop up the wealth pouring out into the street.

One of them is a woman filling a couple of bottles with a determined look on her face. She pays you all no mind, and ends up too close to the deathknight. The unfortunate woman screams as a series of small cuts appear over both wrists and her heart, apparently from nowhere. Dropping her bottles, the unfortunate scoots away from the armed woman, with her eyes wide and water forgotten.

"Give us space," the deathknight commands to the area at large in a resounding voice. She never took her eyes off of you and Ari.

"Is that... him?" Peleps Deled is staring at you in fascinated horror. From outside, you show only shadows and skeletons, after all, and he has never seen that before.

"Dunno," the albino says with a shrug. "Abyssal, for sure. Could be one of the Lion's. We got in a tangle with them a bit back. Corpse'll tell us for sure."

She takes a couple steps forward, shaking her head to clear water from it as she does. Deled, even more at home with water, stalks next to her. His jade razorclaws glint evilly in the dimness of the night.

Ari, to your right, is already spinning another sorcerous spell. Deal with Nine Leagues Strides or not, it can't be too much longer before the local enforcers show up in strength, too, which means that either this will be settled quickly... or it probably won't be settled tonight.

Pick two:

[] You leave your pursuers no trail to follow.
By using sorcery while your form is cloaked by Essence, there is nothing for them to follow up with. Not immediately, at least.

[] Your group escapes without serious injury.

[] You strike a significant blow against the attackers.

[] The Despot's treasures (and people) are close enough to untouched that he doesn't angrily seek you out.

[] No one else you know gets pulled into events.


Things may... slow down a little right now. I'm working very long and draining hours at work; summer is a challenging time for my job, and this is the first year I've gotten into a leadership/planning role, and naturally the pandemic is complicating things beyond normal. Please be patient through the summer; the pace shall pick up afterwards.

 

[VagueZ]

[] Your group escapes without serious injury.
[] The Despot's treasures (and people) are close enough to untouched that he doesn't angrily seek you out.

You let your control spell spill into the water around you, stirring up a distracting surge and flow in the standing water. It's not enough to even knock either of your foes down, but it is enough to let Ari, standing behind you, finish his spell.

A glowing streak shoots past your ear, and as it passes you the conjured raptor spreads wings of flame. It's the same spell Nine Leagues Strides used to fight the fae before. The difference between a trained Exalt and a hobgoblin, though, is the difference between Heaven and the base earth. This is the third sorcerous spell hurled at these two in short order, and they aren't much the worse for it.

Unsurprisingly, he hurls it at the foe he sees as the worse threat--the albino. The night briefly lights up, brighter than the distant fire the ifrit set, as the magical firebird closes in on her. You flinch away, reflex and Exalt-eyes protecting you from dazzling. You flick back to her as the light fades.

She's unhurt, but she was driven back half a step, nearly knocked over in your waves. Her naked blade is in one hand, wobbling slightly skyward in the aftermath of her deflection. "Whoo! Spells are still weird to handle." She steadies her hand, and comparatively slowly slides it back into its scabbard, giving you your first chance to actually see something lower than the handle.

The gently curved, single-edged blade has a slight, two-tone pattern of mixed materials. The core of the blade is the darker-than-midnight glint of soulsteel in low light, but the edge could be mistaken for mundane were it not for the slight violet glint to it. Even sharper and harder than soulsteel, the edge is starmetal. You're struck, though, by the simplicity of the weapon. Traditionally, a magical weapon is a unique creation forged out of some confluence of factors. They are large to contain their power. They are oddly shaped by conventional standards to direct their inner nature. They are decorated and beautiful to show what they are, to commemorate their history, and because it does not harm their utility. Even her scabbard has slashes of red jade to accent it.

This blade, however, is an unadorned edge two-thirds as long as its wielder is tall, and nothing else. It tells you nothing of its nature save sword.

Now, her forehead opens, the eight-pronged star of the Forsaken standing out as a black brand, the edges seeping blood.

You take all of that in as you're already turning to flee. If you were here to try to fight these two, this would have been the best chance to hit them hard, while they were off balance and not expecting you to try to close, but that's not what you're here for. It is a bad coincidence that you have to deal with them, and the most important thing for you is getting away.

You feel a tiny weight settling in at the back of your collar. "Run," squeaks a half-familiar voice. Ari is a bat now. "I'll watch behind you." You obey. You were planning to, anyway.

Your first choice of path is blocked off as the guards you disabled earlier stagger out of the Despot's treasure house. The Five-Dragon Stylist and the man with jade in his neck stagger out of the entrance, drenched and shivering, but at least not dead from your and Ari's sorcery. They see you and your pursuers, and shout. You turn to run down a different street.

The streets are only getting more crowded, as fires and free water and the general hubbub of unsleeping people attract others. You run with the steady gait of an Exalt, a sprint that you can keep up for longer than a mortal. People mostly get out of your way, and the rest you can weave around. After a wild minute of running, Ari squeaks out "I don't see the deathknight. Just the water guy."

Just as you start to think that that might be a good thing, a huge white apparition explodes out of an alley ahead of you. You lose your footing as you slide to a halt, scrabbling on cobblestones as you fall and immediately lever yourself back up to your feet.

You look up, into the grinning face of the deathknight, held high over Gem's streets as the mount she's on rears back on its back legs. It's a skeleton. She's riding a beast of animate bone, a horse with no flesh. Its front hooves paw at the air as its skull twists this way and that, empty eyesockets seeking you in turn. She's laughing. There's fresh blood streaked on the ribs and legs of the undead horse, but not a drop on her. Her sword is out and bare, but you're out of range, you think, and over short distances a human can outpace a horse. Hopefully that will hold true even for this abomination. "After them, Bony Pony! Let's show that lackey of the Lion who's got the best Deathlord." Bony Pony? She's still laughing.

Peleps Deled is still behind you, and now she's cut you off. You rush for one of the spiraling entrances down to Gem's below-ground levels, where the buildings and streets merge into old mine shafts and simply continue. It's the one direction still open, and you hope that the ceiling will be low enough to inconvenience her.

There's people in the way. You shove the first one aside. Not hard enough. He suffers a hideous slash across his gut from the deathknight. You shove the mother clutching her daughter close harder, praying that the Dragons understand why you did. The ramp down is there. You bounce off the walls four times, angling deeper each time, as a faster alternative to following the curve of the walls.

Now you're on a lower street, and you have just a moment to try to break their pursuit. If you're too obvious, they have an immediate trail to follow. If you're too cautious, they'll catch up, and you're a shadow wreathed in skeletons if anyone looks too closely to begin with.

You pick a half-familiar route and rush off as best you can, shoving past confused people who have murmured conversations together and mill about, some with weapons held listlessly and others in night clothes. None of them know what's going on; they're just all going to their first inclination, whether that's curiosity or a readiness to defend themselves. You aren't much better right now; all you have in mind is running somewhere where other powerful figures will interrupt the fight. Whether they're with the Despot or not, interrupting this chase is to your benefit. No one else wants to kill you out of hand.

There's a clatter behind you. "She's still chasing us," Ari squawks. "She's... she's hanging underneath her horse's belly to avoid banging her head on the ceiling." The disbelief in his voice would be amusing in other circumstances.

Still, you are gaining, by the sound of clamor behind you slowly fading away. They are still inconvenienced by this underground walkway, and the fact that people mill about in your wake after being surprised by your appearance, impeding pursuit more than you.

That's when you unexpectedly see familiar faces. You're too close to your own place, as the area you know best and thus the best place to lose your pursuers in. Dub-dubs doesn't live far from you. You see the perpetually-sleepy Water Aspect in the street, with Flawed Topaz the fae-blood next to them.

On seeing you, the dark figure cloaked with clutching skeletons rushing up the street, the Dragon-Blood's eyes get very wide. They scuttle for cover, while Topaz unsheathes a delicate-looking thrusting sword and stands in front of them.

There's no time to stop, and less time to explain. You twist your course as far as you can from them in the narrow corridor of the subterranean street. It slows you down. You hear your pursuers get closer.

"Now's your chance," Ari comes. "They're distracted by the woman with the sword." That's all you need to hear. You let yourself 'vanish' as you tuck and roll into a gutter barely tall enough to accommodate your prone form. That's the secret to Gem that your pursuers haven't had a chance to learn yet: it's not just exposed streets and one underground roadway. There's layers upon layers of subterranean streets built into the old mines. A gutter like the one you're now bending all your effort into making inconspicuous allows air to get down to make the lower levels breathable, and lets effluvia dribble down, too, to keep the more desirable upper levels cleaner. They're ubiquitous, but honestly hard to notice until you know to look for them.

You latch on to the edge with unyielding fingers to keep yourself from falling down to the next layer and twist until you can peek back out: you need to see to gather intelligence, and you're afraid that the fall would make more noise than your disappearing act.

You see Flawed Topaz, who had been perfectly willing to confront the monster you looked on sight, turn her attention to the next set of monsters. She darts forward, rapier in a raised and ready position near her eyes.

You see the undead steed, with the deathknight peeking out from its belly with naked blade in hand and her feet laced together above its back to hold her in place. She's grinning. "Seek, Throatfinder."

Flawed Topaz's thrust is the sort warriors strive for, something where her weapon is ready and positioned to defend her even as it makes an offensive motion. It doesn't matter. Throatfinder lands a storm of blows. Liver, kidneys, thigh, eyes: there's a splash of blood, and then the horse bowls over her. You think it only stepped on her once.

"Topaz!" Dub-dubs pulls themself together and darts to her. You can hear the raw horror in their voice.

The deathknight stops her steed and brings it around, looking down a series of tunnels you didn't take but could have. "Where'd my prey go?" She asks Dub-dubs, who responds with only a sob. "Eh," she adds with no concern in her voice. "Suit yourself."

Throatfinder swings again, this time with a ringing clash. The weapon is stopped by Peleps Deled. He lowers his right arm, where the orichalcum shows a discolored streak where her soulsteel weapon failed to hurt. "No, Clochard," he tells her, with as much raw hate in his voice as you ever heard aimed at you. "You will not kill Dragon-Bloods in our hunt. I'm not a savage, and I know you don't need to."

Clochard drops off the horse's belly and stands up, her weapon again sheathed and clutched in both arms. "When did you learn to stop even a moderate attack of mine?" She asks, seemingly genuinely curious.

"Arete has an affinity for truth." That must be the name of his arm. "Of course it will help me uphold the Dragons' will."

"Whatever." She shrugs, and looks again down the paths you could have gone, not looking down far enough to see the magically inconspicuous gutter. She scuffs a bare foot on the cobblestones. Her ankle is only just barely out of arm's reach. "Where'd they get to?"

"I think they gave us the slip, thanks to your need to double back unnecessarily." Deled's jaw sets as he considers this. "Do you really think that that Anathema was with the Lion? There were also Lunars back there, even if I never got a clear look at either of them."

"Yeah. I know the Lion's been tryin' to get Lunars to help. He needs 'em to give him a--oh, never mind. You don't care about that. I hadn't heard he's gotten any bites, but I think that was the confirmation."

Distant shouts echo in, distorted by the tunnels, but clear enough: Gem's security forces are coming in, complete with their own real champions, enough to challenge even something such as these two. "We're going to have to leave," Deled says, ignoring Clochard. He spits the admission; he doesn't want to give up the chase. "You really stirred up the hornet's nest, and you're not going to exactly be inconspicuous now."

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Let's go. Heel, Bony Pony." They disappear.

That leaves you and Ari with Dub-dubs and Topaz. The fae-blood croaks something. She's not dead, then. "Your eyes..." The Exalt whispers it. You can't see her face as they cradle her head, but it's clear from Dub-Dubs' face that it isn't good.

Bat-Ari crawls from your shoulder out to the street proper. "You still look like a nightmare," he tells you. "Go hide somewhere until your anima dies down, then go to ground."

"What are you going to do?"

The bat gestures with one wing at Flawed Topaz and the rest of the bloody trail left by the pursuit. "What I can. I'm a healer as well as a teacher. I'm better than anything else these poor people are going to have to work with." He turns back into his human form, and you hear him saying something gentle to Dub-dubs as he approaches. He apparently has no fear of Gem's security finding him out.

You let yourself drop, falling one more layer into Gem's rancid underbelly.

* * *​

As much as it may not feel it, you've genuinely won something this night. Nine Leagues Strides has the yasal crystal. That's half the plan. The fetich soul it contains should have the raw might to challenge even a Deathlord. You still need the rest: Nine Leagues Strides won't let you use it if it's not meeting her need to overawe the Lap and the Realm, so you need something to draw the Waif out, something to force her to come to you on your own terms. The city is in an uproar, after a fire, a break-in, and a bloody chase through its streets, but there's no evidence that Amphora, the reliable water-conjuring sorcerer, was involved in any of it.

The Shrike makes nothing any easier, either, as the circling bringer of death serves as an ongoing threat. For a little bit, you're keeping your head down, letting attention go from you. It may not be notable to the world at large, but what do you do that sticks out to you?

[] You meet with Understanding Auris and thank her for her warning.
[] You meet with Dub-dubs and Flawed Topaz, who ended up hurt.
[] Before Solace leaves town, you meet with her and catch her up.

After a couple of days of laying low, what happens next?

[] You've had a flash of insight on what the Shrike is searching for. You need to follow that up.
[] Crowson is still flashily dominating the gladiatorial circuits. You confront the deathknight.
[] You finally end up face-to-face with a Sidereal, once you realize what she is.

Votes counted separately.

 

[VagueZ]

[] You meet with Dub-dubs and Flawed Topaz, who ended up hurt.
[] You've had a flash of insight on what the Shrike is searching for. You need to follow that up.

You knock on the apartment door and wait a moment for Dub-dubs to open it. The bags under their eyes are more pronounced than ever. "Something for Topaz," you say, handing them a small woven basket.

Dub-dubs takes it and gestures for you to come in. They take a look at what you've put together: a selection of snacks and meals, things that can be eaten just out of the package, plus a few other sundry useful things.

"Topaz, Amphora brought you some things," Dub-dubs calls out.

"Set it on the counter, then," floats out of the back in the fae-blooded woman's voice. "Unless there's something crunchy. Then bring that here." Her voice seems normal, at least.

Dub-dubs complies, selecting a little earthenware jar filled with nuts from among what you'd brought, and leads you into Flawed Topaz's bedroom.

She's sitting up in bed, with a few bandages on her extremities that you can see and a silk cloth worn like a blindfold. "Toss it here," she commands. Dub-dubs hesitates, then lobs it as gently as they can directly at her ready hands.

Despite the care, it bounces off her fingertips, then her forehead. "Ow," she says, mildly, catching it out of the air before it lands anywhere else. She holds it up to her blindfold for a moment, then takes off the wax adhesive holding the cheesecloth in place and has a few nuts.

"How do you feel?" You ask. It's a stupid question, but you have to start somewhere.

"Like I got turned into cutlets and then stepped on." She shrugs. "I don't have quite the magic Exalt healing that you two do, but it's still way better than the average woman." She pours more nuts into her mouth and keeps talking with her mouth full. "No eyes, though."

You wince internally, and Dub-dubs does so externally.

You haven't run into Ari since you two parted ways, but stories of the angel of healing still hit the streets. He didn't work any outright miracles, but a lot of people will benefit a great deal from his triage efforts. You waited for your anima to die down again so you looked like yourself instead of a dark shape covered in grasping skeletons, then went back to your own place.

Of Deled and Clochard, nothing solid is heard. They've vanished. You can reconstruct vaguely what happened: Deled must have tracked you going south by just following stories of travelers matching your description. He almost certainly didn't--and doesn't--know that you're in Gem, but there's not many other places this far South; it's a matter of time to establish no one with your description has been seen leaving and to quarter the area until you're run down. It's basic Wyld Hunt methodology. However, he's not here officially and with local acceptance, so he can't be too blatant after stirring up a hornet's nest like the albino's bloody trail did. You have some time.

"I'm sorry," Dub-dubs says, breaking your review. Their voice cracks with genuine contrition. "I'm supposed to be the Dragon-Blood. If I'd only--"

"Eh, shut up. You've beaten yourself up enough, and you've been repeating that since about ten minutes after the fight." Topaz shrugs. "We've known each other how long? I know you. Besides, it's not so bad." She turns her face directly to you, tapping her temple and giving you a conspiratorial grin. "I can see your dubious expression, you know. One of dad's gifts is a sort of Essence sight. Everything looks like goddamn flowers and it's easier to see you and your skycutter than something like this non-magical jar." She waves it for emphasis. "But I'll adjust. Don't just sit there and look at me with pity. You're not to blame." There's the edge of a lie in there, for all that she mostly believes it and will probably come to more honestly believe it.

It's easy to tell yourself that you couldn't have changed things, that neither Dub-dubs nor Topaz could have recognized you, and in fact didn't. If you had tried to fight there, they wouldn't have known you from the actual threat, and the fight was so fast, and you couldn't have won it. None of it totally sits right with you.

Dub-dubs sighs. "Still, I wish you had been there instead of me, Amphora. You seem like a warrior. Me, I'm not. Not any more."

You cock your head interrogatively at them. It's the best either of you can come up with to not talk about Topaz, who has been clear that she would rather you not. Dub-dubs nods, takes a steadying breath, and beings. "I was actually born out on the Dreaming Sea," they tell you. That's interesting: the Dreaming Sea is far to the east, essentially separating Creation's East and South and extending outward to the Wyld itself. Topaz listens in. It's clear she's heard the story before, but she's still game to hear it once more. "I was a scavenger lord there. A good one! One of the best! The Dreaming Sea isn't completely real, and all sorts of ruins of ancient places can be found by someone with enough nerve and piloting skill: Shogunate ruins, older and odder things yet, even some places and artifacts that seem to be from nothing remotely human. But... one day I was out in my little ship, and a Wyld storm blew up, and I saw something I can't explain." They rub their eyes. "Something in the storm. Something vast, and ancient, and alien to anything I've ever heard of. I was... captivated. Horrified. Just completely lost in it for I don't know how long. When the storm blew out and I recovered a bit, well." They smile, small and sad. "The ship was gone, along with my crew. I was hundreds of miles away, near Gem. And the mere sight of it opened my mind to sorcery. I've settled down here, ever since, never able to get that out of my mind. Especially when I see something too violent or inhuman. Or when I sleep."

So that's why Dub-dubs is one of the rare Exalts willing to sit calmly and seek peace, why they couldn't fight when they and Topaz saw you and your pursuit coming, and why Dub-dubs always looks sleep deprived despite the dreamcatchers in their place.

"You know, I remember back forty years or so, when Gem was very stable," Dub-dubs continues, in a much more normal voice. "Used to be that everyone was on the same side: their own side, trying to grab as much wealth as possible, but with an understanding of the system. We knew better than to tick off the Realm, since they feed us. The nomad tribes, whether let by fae or Lunars or just human tradition, limited themselves to just cautious trade. No whispers of horrible things in the mines. No Shrike shooting everything. No bloody horrors stalking the streets. What's the world come to?" They shrug.

You don't answer. You don't think that an Anathema who fled from his responsibilities to his House and to the Realm is worthy to answer that question.

"How's the water contracts going?" Topaz asks.

Business. That you can discuss. "About as expected," you say. "The Despot's still building back up reserves, so he's buying out every spell offered, but the rain and then the water spill means there's no immediate pressure. We'll be happy to have you back with us, but no one's going more thirsty than normal."

Topaz nods. "I'll be good to go tomorrow, I think. That's what I told one of the Despot's functionaries when she checked on me earlier. It'll take a bit before I'm used to just Essence sight, but in the meantime I'm mostly healed up on everything else, and I can still summon water while very sore if someone points me at the reservoir to fill."

Talk goes on a little while longer, mostly about work or just sort of nothing, before you make an excuse and leave.

If only Topaz hadn't been so brave and willing to defend Dub-dubs, she wouldn't have suffered this.

* * *​

A few more days pass. The Shrike buzzes the city low one day, its starmetal wings briefly shading the streets as it flaps past, the wind of its passage kicking up columns of dust. It sparks talk, but that curiously human ability to find absolutely anything mundane, given enough exposure, is in full force.

Yes, the Shrike is haunting the city. Yes, there was a mysterious bloody fight on the street. Yes, the water supply seems tenuous. Yes, there is a lurking presence in the mines, which refuses to either show up or go away. But bread needs to be baked, shirts need to be mended, camels need to be sold, gems need to be cut, and mercenary chapters need their silver.

Life is, if not normal, at least somewhat abnormal in a familiar way, and that's very much the same thing. Life goes on, changed but undaunted, in the firm conviction that someone is Doing Something about all of it, and that this will wrap up very soon.

There is one element, however, that no one else is actually equipped to handle, and you only realized an important part of it when talking to Dub-dubs and Topaz. The sympathy visit ended up telling you something special, that you hadn't quite put together before. Except for you, perhaps the only people in town who might be able to grasp the necessary insight to make something of it are Ari and Twine, and Twine is looking in the wrong direction and Ari probably doesn't know to ask the question yet.

Thus it is that, as life begins to feel almost normal in Gem, you purchase a little glowstone, something only half the size of your pinky finger, and head down into the mines.

The exact dividing line between "active mine" and "subterranean city street" is somewhat arbitrary, so it's not hard to head down into a bit of exploratory drilling that had proved a wash, somewhere near where recent complaints have put the lurking presence in the darkness, but somewhere where you should be alone.

The tunnels aren't very high. You have to stoop to avoid smashing your head into the low braces used to hold up the ceiling. You listen and watch as you go along, checking in case any squatters or illegal miners or the like are in the area. Nothing.

You're deep enough, far enough, and the enfolding stone is thick enough that nothing can be sensed. There's just a cramped corridor, a tiny circle of light, and... not much else. You step lightly, one silent shadow among many, through the warren until you find a slightly larger chamber, one where perhaps they found a useful lode or where shafts just happened to come together. It's smaller than your apartment, but it's a place where five different tunnels run off into the black distance.

You stand up straight, this being the first room for perhaps a mile of walking where you can, and crack your neck, the tiny noise echoing like a thunderclap in the otherwise unbroken quiet.

Then, you find a rock, and sit down. You sit facing a wall and place your glowstone between your ankles. Your knees are almost up against the stone face of the wall, your eyes are fixed dead ahead, not able to see any of the five corridors even as peripheral vision. Then, you wait, straining your eyes and ears.

It comes.

Some twenty minutes later, perhaps a little more, your vigil is interrupted as it comes. You know now what the miners and the Despot's soldiers meant, when they described it.

It isn't like the child's fear of the hungry ghost lurking under the drawers, or perhaps it is. While the child's bone-deep certainty is a flight of imagination, this certainty is one of training and honed senses. That impossibly slight non-variation in the background noise isn't an absence: it is the padded footfalls of some beast. Its eyes play over you. For a minute, perhaps two, it considers your back. Then, it pads away again.

You don't move.

After some little time, it comes back. It pads closer this time. Its eyes bore into the back of your neck. You don't quite hear a subliminal whuff noise as it clears its airway. In the quietness, you discern its soundless sniffing, as it takes your scent and measure. It comes closer. You can feel just the barest suggestion of a hot presence behind you. Your imagination fills in the details that the perfect absence in your senses suggests the outline of: some hunting beast, a creature with padded paws but great claws, something of gristle and sinew and ready violence. It considers you from within arm's reach. All you'd need to do is sweep your arm behind your back, and you'd hit it.

You don't move.

It leaves again, and comes back a few minutes later. This time, it isn't the subtle thing in the shadows, nor the curious beast investigating the unfamiliar visitor. This time, it is less concealed. It has grown hungry since you first found each other, an apex predator seeking the warm meat in its domain. There--that sound was certainly a thing, the touch of a claw on stone. Silently, so silently, huge jaws slide open, lips peeling back to reveal an array of teeth suitable to mangling your flesh. The tongue is right there, only just barely not licking the back of your neck, pulling back ever so slightly as the hair there stands on end, just the fraction of an inch needed to not give away a betraying touch.

Its great head turns sideways, its top and bottom jaw encircling your head, teeth nearly at your temples. All you need to do to confirm it, all you need to do to see it, to touch it, to scare it away, is just... anything. Flinch away from its crushing bite that's closing on you, even just twitch your eyes. The tiniest, tiniest flick of your eyes and you could see the inside of its mouth as it closes in...

...but you don't move.

There is a change. A voice, something speaking in unaccented Flametongue, in the most normal voice imaginable. It's not old or young or male or female. "Worthy hunter," it says. This time there's no room for doubt. It's a normal conversational volume. It's just a curious question. "Will you not join the chase?"

You still don't turn around. If you do, you have a feeling that this thing, this strange dogged presence that keeps eluding pursuit, will vanish for good. You do, however, join the conversation. "I want to know more of you, not to run after you."

"Hm. An unusual request." You get the feeling of it sitting down behind you, something like a pet dog settling down for the night. "I am unused to answering questions. What is it you seek?"

"Confirmation, first." You take a steadying breath. This was the leap of logic you suddenly made: the Shrike's confused, persistent hunt for something it can't locate. Anyone from mortals to Dragon-Blooded hunting for something in the mines that they know is there, but which can't be pinned down. The connection: something that can easily be chased, but cannot be caught. It was always the same thing. You just had to find some way to communicate with it, and every attempt to run it to ground had always ended in... nothing. "You're what the Shrike is hunting, right?"

"Shrike. That would be that aerial hunter, the automaton?" You nod without turning. "Yes. Once my closed-in burrow was open, I sought worthy hunters, and it was an excellent one. Simple, nothing like the Green Sun, perhaps, but subtle and swift. I haven't had such sport since time out of mind!"

You try to piece all this together. "You... want to be hunted?" It seems to be the goal, but you feel like you must be missing something. "Who are you? What are you? Some sort of spirit?"

"Hm. An even more challenging question. I was made by--ah. I do not believe this tongue has a word for it. And I am no spirit. I am older than the very concept of godhood. In a time before, my creators sought to be entertained. They created me, the Original Fox that your nobles' hunts emulate. A being to ever lurk in the corners and provide a hunt. That is what I am."

It's not unusual for weird spirits to claim an antiquity they don't possess, but...you can use this, you think. "So you're trying to get the Shrike to keep chasing you?"

"Yes." The Original Fox doesn't offer anything beyond that.

"Could I convince you to lead the Shrike on a chase somewhere else?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Why not? Is there something about Gem that makes you want to play your hide-and-seek game here?"

"No." There is a moment. "I might be willing to, then." Well, that was easier than you were afraid of.

You have the start to a plan beginning to come together, now that you know what it is that's holding onto the Shrike. "Now I have to ask: why did the Shrike actually shoot at you once, then?"

"I did not know how sensitive its ears and whiskers were. I couldn't risk it not chasing me."

So it was more blatant than normal, just to be sure. But clearly either the Original Fox was able to get clear of the attack or--horrifying thought--it walked away afterwards. "I see," you say, working this together. "Can I ask you to go to a particular point and show yourself enough for it to attack you again?"

"You may. If it pleases me, I shall comply." It stirs again, getting itself to its feet. You still can't actually sense it, but you are recognizing its presence in its shaped absence now that you've had time to calibrate against it. And yet, for all that your instincts tell you that you could whip around and see it for true, there's another part of your mind that tells you that you would fail just as much as anyone else who has hunted it. "You will be here, at this same place, in precisely one day to the minute, and I will listen. Once. We shall see what I think of it then. I crave sport, hunter. If you disappoint me, I will never be snared by you again."

The sense of its presence vanishes. The cavern is empty. Now you do take your glowstone, and turn around. Which tunnel did the Original Fox take? Did it take any of them? All of them?

You leave, the same way you came in. You have precisely one day, not a single moment over twenty-five hours, to make a case to the unseen thing.

All that you need is the next piece of your plan.

[] You'll take this to Twine
Twine, you believe, has a connection to the Lonely Waif. You can make use of that, leaving a trail that the Deathlord feels she must follow by demonstrating a control over the Shrike. This gives you the most control over your plan, but entails the greatest personal risk.

[] You'll involve Solace
You might just be able to catch her before she goes back to the Lap. You can bring her into your confidence and get the Fox to go with her. That will call the Shrike in turn, which will pull the Waif's focus as well. Nine Leagues Strides won't like this.

[] Revenge for Flawed Topaz
If you reveal to Dub-dubs and Flawed Topaz that the attackers were after you (without revealing you were that dark shape they saw), you can try to get them on board with drawing the hunters into a trap. Let Deled and Clochard burn in the fury of the Shrike's main weapon.

[] Write-in
You have one chance and one chance only to convince the Original Fox that you are someone to listen to. If it likes your plan, you can summon the Shrike to attack something. What? Why? Who else do you involve in your plan?

 

[VagueZ]

[] Revenge for Flawed Topaz

A plan coalesces. It has more moving parts than you'd like, but it is the chance to do something good, even if it's just destroying people who deserve it. It also helps that if it works, it will keep you from having to look over your shoulder all the time. You'll try it. Before you go to sleep that night, you hunt. You let the little predators of Gem try to attack a tempting target, so you can suck blood and power and be sure your reserves of strength are at their absolute maximum.

At work the next day, you end up paired with Flawed Topaz, again just filling the vast reservoir the Shrike emptied. The water level is coming back up, for all that even the powerful rivers generated by your sorcery do not appreciably raise its level over the course of a day.

You're not sure how the Despot decides which sorcerers go where. You think it might be intentionally random, to keep people like you from developing too much of a routine. You are here for the Despot's coin, in theory, so it makes some sense to make sure you understand you serve at his pleasure.

Topaz at least looks somewhat recovered. Her color is better, and if she's unsteady on her feet and hesitant about her steps, she at least can walk unaided without running into walls or tripping over every bit of uneven ground she crosses.

She still has the silk blindfold tied over where her eyes had been. It's a simple, plain thing, far less decorated than the rest of her colorful outfit.

It's also the first time you've seen her water-conjuring. You don't recognize the spell she's using: it creates a thick, rainbow-hued mist, from which condenses a driving, if very localized, rain.

It's in a pause between sorceries, sitting near each other on the lip surrounding the pool, that you broach the subject. "I think I know who the attackers were, the one who took your eyes."

"Really?" A lifetime of habit dies hard: she turns her head as if to look at you. "Why do you know them?"

"They're after me, if they're who I think they are."

"And why are they after you?" There's an edge of something a little sharper than annoyance in her tone.

"Well, one of them is after me because he thinks I want to tear down the whole Realm, and the other because she thinks I don't."

"Really." Topaz turns her head back forward, no longer facing you as you look over the dark waters below. "Fine. Whatever. Why tell me?"

"Because I had been hoping that they'd leave me be and not hurt people, but since they aren't, I'm going to crush them utterly." The Despot's workers aren't close enough to overhear, and are too bored with the sorcery they see every day to pay attention, anyway. "Since that attack, I've been working on a plan. But in order to make this work, I'll need a bit of subterfuge. You'd be a big help. So will Dub-dubs."

A hungry smile appears on Topaz's elfin face. "I like this plan. Tell me about it."

* * *​

You know how Wyld Hunts work. Dynasts of the Realm are taught it almost from birth, and the Realm has long had standing agreements with regional powers it hasn't overwhelmed to mutually extend such hunts, and the general understanding and structure extends even beyond that. When Anathema appear, the righteous Dragon-Bloods will band together, link up with any Immaculate elements in the area for information and support, and ride out to hunt them down, before they become a massive problem. Such proper Hunts are hard to organize out in the deep Threshold, beyond the Realm, and harder still in this new world where the Empress is not holding the Realm together personally.

However, your second cousin Peleps Deled is nothing if not a hardline traditionalist, even if his support for this hunt is a deathknight. You already know he followed the template here: he went to Understanding Auris for information on you. Even if Deled and Clochard are laying low, doubtless he is keeping an eye on the Temple and any Dragon-Blooded who visit it. That's just what a Wyld Hunt does.

Thus, you have a way to lure them out, once. Get a clearly trustworthy sources like Dub-dubs the Dragon-Blood to report Anathema in the area, and ensure it gets back to Deled. Just to be safe, Auris needs to be prepped to play her part before Dub-dubs shows up. The whole exercise will be worse than useless if she tries to be helpful. She already ignored the rules once to pass a warning on to you. That's where Topaz comes in: tell Auris what you need, ensure that she's willing to play along, before Dub-dubs shows up, just so Dub-dubs' story can be consistent from their entry.

After work, the two of you get Dub-dubs. Unsurprisingly, they are willing to play their part, too, once you get past the awkward explanation of the fact that you are being hunted for, very clearly, no good reason at all. The fact that you're a friend, and that Deled and Clochard left both a personal mark and a wider bloody trail behind them certainly helps make you convincing.

Dub-dubs is clearly no fighter, but they are an obvious Dragon-Blood, so when they come in and report a figure matching your description and the suspicion that you're Anathema, as well as the fact that you're on a butte outside Gem, the hunters will come for you.

This is where you need the rest of your plan to work. The pieces are there, so long as you've read the Original Fox right. The timing is going to be the hardest part: if you time this wrong in one direction, you're going to be painfully killed by this Wyld Hunt. If you time it wrong the other, there's going to be a very dramatic light show that doesn't do what you need and things can get significantly worse from there, depending. Luckily, Exalts tend to be swift and decisive. You can use that.

* * *​

You send Dub-dubs and Topaz on their way, along with a measured delay to let the rest of this set up. Then, you go down into the mines again. It's time.

You find your rock, down there in the dim depths, and focus again on the wall. The strange, fully-sensed non-presence of the Original Fox materializes behind you. "A butte, today. You can follow me there," you tell the complete empty darkness around you.

Why would I? occurs to you, and could almost be your own thought.

"There will be two other Exalts there. I will be fighting them. They will be honing their senses to track me, so they will be very easily induced to hunt for you, too, to avoid ambush."

The presence might have nodded, and then you are alone again.

* * *​

You sit alone. You chose this butte after asking around a bit. It's useless, a lump of high sediment with no plausible valuable or useful gems or metals, no water source, and not the right soil composition to let anything grow beyond a handful of low bushes and scraggly brown grasses, clinging tenaciously to the rocks, some of which are man-height or taller.

A steady, cool breeze blows out of the north. It feels like a good omen. You sit on your shins, quietly meditating, Blizzard's Scourge resting on your knees. A little hopping rodent bounces across the sand and dust, pausing a moment in your shadow, where it is cooler. You think it might be a jerboa.

You hear a tiny noise, like a dragonfly buzzing its wings, and a familiar-looking little sprite flits up to you. It lands on your shoulder. "I bear a message from Welcome Wellspring, contracted through my mistress. 'Amphora, they're coming. They tried to get me to come, but I didn't.' Message ends." Like with the last one of these you'd met, it turns into a varicolored cloud of Wyld energy once it has delivered its message to you, which blows away on the wind.

You raise your head and scan the sky, very carefully. You can see a buzzard or two, somewhere in the distance, and a handful of what's probably pigeons. The Five-Metal Shrike is nowhere to be seen. Good. It would be... frustrating if it appeared just a little too early.

You look down at the jerboa, washing its face with quick movements. It isn't scared of you while you keep presence in check with meditation like this. Still, you flap a hand at it a couple of times. "Shoo, shoo. This isn't a good place to sit." It tilts its head at you and then hops away.

You take Blizzard's Scourge in one hand and stand up, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. The hearthstone on your necklace pulses in time. You don't even think about the hearthstone much, not any more. It was a gift from the Lonely Waif, something to stir the winds around you and make you more convincing as an Air Aspect. Letting breath and air swirl together as one, you execute a quick kata that's become almost instinctive over the last few weeks, and enter Air Dragon Form.

A few steps puts Gem in view, through the haze of smoke and aerial grime that it puts out, and lets you see anyone who would approach. You stand sentinel.

You think there might be a speck on the horizon when the two come close enough for you to resolve them. You don't look at it to confirm; that might give the game away. Clochard is riding on her undead mount, comparatively slowly to let Deled's long strides keep pace. They come up the winding trail to the top of the butte. You don't move, so they don't hurry. Eventually, you all come close enough to begin to see anything more than the barest details.

"No closer," you call, as soon as they're within literal shouting distance. "We can talk from here."

Raw hate twists Deled's features into something only barely human. "Talk, cousin? With you?" You're genuinely surprised he didn't just attack immediately. He's probably savoring the anticipation.

The deathknight, however, looked around the area and then back at you. "You look about right. You're Vessel, right?" She gives you a bright smile, as one might when meeting someone you expect to be a friend.

You nod. "I am. I suppose I should introduce myself properly." You look more at Deled. "My title is Vessel of the Mourning's Light Unyielding. I am a Wretched Anathema, but I have set myself to the destruction of the Deathlord known as the Lonely Waif of Cooling Embers." Talk is good. Any talk, any syllable. Moments where you're talking instead of fighting is more time for the Shrike to get here, more moments where you aren't going to be overwhelmed. You aren't going to be able to overcome these two by force of arms. You don't know if you could take on either one alone. Even if they aren't fighting as a team, there's definitely no way you could win against them together.

Clochard leaps down from Bony Pony, bare feet kicking up a little cloud of dust. She clutches her black blade tight across her white-garbed chest, and smiles back, practically dancing with elation. "Ooh, decisive. I like that. My title is the Clochard of the Vermilion Trail, loyal Dusk caste deathknight, the greatest warrior of all servants of the Lonely Waif, and loyal to she who Chose me. She said I get to kill ya. The sword's called Throatfinder. I named it myself." There's just a little flash of red gums between her smiling teeth and her white skin. She nudges Deled with her foot. "Introduce yourself, silly."

Deled starts at the touch. "Peleps Deled, Pinnacle of the Wyld Hunt." It's said with a surly disbelief that he's expected to go along with it. That shorter speech is actually more dangerous, now.

"Now, though, I gotta ask." The Clochard spins gracefully on one heel, taking in the space around her, white hair floating with the motion. "What are we doing here? I think ya lured us here, yeah?"

"I called you out here to crush you both. You're my enemies, and you hurt someone I like. So I'm going to take my payback."

"You and what army?" The deathknight phrases it as a serious, real question. She expects there to be an actual answer if you're saying that in a sober tone and putting your life on the line the way you are. "Far as I can see, we're basically alone here."

You nod. "I have all the back-up I need already." You raise Blizzard's Scourge high, the jade catching the afternoon sun.

"Enough of this farce," Deled growls as he drops low into the Water Dragon Form stance, his clawed hands raising. The black jade claws, one on his fleshy arm and the other on the orichalcum, point straight at your heart.

"Yeah," the Clochard agrees, dropping into her own ready stance, Throadfinder lowered to her left hip while her right hand hovers half an inch or so away from its grip. "After all, since you don't--HAH!" She spins in place and the air behind her is rent with a storm of slashes. Divots are torn in the dusty ground, and a rock face some twenty feet from her is deeply scored.

She attacked nothing. She pauses, cocking her head. "Clochard, what are you doing?" Deled doesn't take his eyes off of you.

"There was--huuuunh." She looks around a bit. "There was somethin'."

"Stop playing around," the Immaculate growls. "Danaa'd, grant me strength."

He attacks. Benthic depths surround him, an aura of water. He skates forward, carried by the unstoppable force of a tsunami.

You are not the foe he's fought before. It's time to demonstrate that. You have been studying the Air Dragon Style scrolls you carried with you to Gem, internalizing its advantages and movements. Perhaps you aren't really an Air Aspect, but today... you can be close enough. "Mela, speed my steps," you say, a common counterpoint to Deled's prayer.

You summon the winds around your leg and drop an axe kick straight to the ground. Dust clouds instantly billow up in the howling gust, and you spring away on a hard-to-predict angle, disappearing into the raised dust.

Perhaps you can't win, but you know how not to lose. Air Dragon is a style that meshes well with stealth and with ranged attacks. Keep disengaging, keep sniping... and hope that the rest of this goes well.

Deled pauses his charge, hesitating. A hood of water like a cobra's cowl turns with his head. He doesn't pause long, knowing better than to let you maneuver for advantage. You hurl Blizzard's Scourge to your right, letting it carve out the shape of a large oval where he shouldn't be able to find you by either where it came from nor where it goes.

He hears it coming, and arches his back impossibly far to let it pass above him, just above his chest. It only works due to the water aura, which catches and drags at the skycutter, giving him the all-important last half-inch he needs. He darts in the direction it goes, loses it in the dust clouds, and doesn't see it twist in the air and come back to you.

Dust. The centerpiece of your plan is dust. You're a silent shadow when you try: the concealment of hanging clouds of dust will give you cover to draw this out, and serves... one more necessary purpose.

Your instincts jangle warning of a beast behind you, of something mid-pounce to bear you to the ground. "Not a good time, Fox," you hiss under your breath, your senses straining to keep a hold of the Clochard's and Deled's locations with the distraction. The threat vanishes with no sense of apology.

Deled is easy to track, for now: his water melds with dust in the air and falls from his anima to the ground as mud. The water keeps coming, and will continue to keep coming until his anima fades or he has no strength left. The mud trail helps keep an eye on him, but the more he moves around and keeps crossing his own trail, the less useful that will be.

The Clochard is easier, after a fashion. She won't stop chuckling under her breath, a sound you can follow. On the other hand, she is unbelievably quick, darting from place to place with a speed that defies following it with your eyes, and you get the sense she's searching for you as carefully as she can, under all her laughter.

They just both need to be sure that you're still in the dust cloud with them, and not look outside it. You hear a "Hah!" of Deled striking out, somewhere well away from you, followed by "Where are you?" The Fox must be having a blast.

The Clochard's attention goes towards his voice, assuming that you must have been somewhere there. You attack from behind and to her left as she focuses there, hurling Blizzard's Scourge low, to cut her off at the knees. There is the ringing of steel-on-steel, and the skycutter is deflected away just before it can hit her. It flies skyward before seeking to return to your hand.

Through instinct, a flash of motion, or simple luck, the Clochard nearly finds you. She is suddenly close to you, closer than even she seems to have expected, and you're close to her right shoulder.

Acting on pure reflex, you save your life by latching onto her right forearm with your hand, preventing her from drawing the sword.

She's no one-trick warrior, though. No sooner is her draw interrupted than she's already changing her approach, looking to engage on another level: she's shifting her weight and seeking to kick at your practically intertwined feet, ready to drive heel or toe into your ankle, your knee.

You kick hard, pushing down on her where you've grabbed her, launching yourself into the air above her. For an instant, your faces are only a few inches apart, her feet planted on the ground and your feet seeking an impossible purchase against the dust twelve feet up. Blizzard's Scourge is suddenly there, and it falls into one hand even as the Clochard coils herself up and explodes outward in the sort of full-body stroke which makes Single Point stylists so fearsome, every muscle in her body bent to overcoming your resisting hand.

You can't stop the instant stroke, but you have an invincible weapon of your own. You interpose the skycutter in a parry, and again the two weapons ring against each other. The force of it sends you skyward, but keeps the cutting edge away from your body. At least, the first one. A second, a third, a fourth: the Clochard's blows can't be literally simultaneous, because there's only one sword blade, but it certainly feels it. You pirouette in the air and the second strikes only dust and empty sky. The third opens a cut along your shoulder and propels you further. The fourth doesn't reach you because you've been flung too far away.

For a moment, you're above the dust clouds, and risk a glance around. A shadow moves in front of the sun. This is working, if you just don't die in the meantime.

You hurl Blizzard's Scourge earthward, a zig-zagging scythe that will criss-cross the field and keep your foes distracted while you shove yourself in a new direction with the force of your throw, to land not quite where they will expect.

Still, Deled is there. As you land on all fours, he's on top of you, a flood compressed into human skin. Black jade claws bite through your funeral clothes and dig into flesh, stopping only against rib bone. You saw it coming and your arm is coming around in a chop even as his blow is landing. Your sweeping chop breaks his nose--you feel it give--and imparts sideways momentum, diverting the unstoppable flow of a Water Dragon master just enough off course that he surges past you.

You straighten up, seize Blizzard's Scourge as it sails past, and exhale sharply, commanding a burst of wind. Another layer of dust is blown into the air, obscuring you as you back off. You listen to them talk through the dust you can't see through.

"Didja get 'im?" The Clochard sounds like she's enjoying the sport. "I tagged 'im once."

"A solid hit, but not crippling," Deled reports, trying to be clear through the difficulty of his nose.

"Looks like he got ya back. Nose looks awful."

"I noticed, thank you. Shouldn't you be trying to kill him?"

"It's a matter of time, now," she reports. "Even if he stops his bleeding so we can't just track him, he has injuries. Throatseeker unerringly finds weak spots, so he's just more and more vulnerable to me the more we fight, even if he's somehow still feelin' his best." She pauses. "What's the... other thing?"

"I don't know," Deled reports. "I keep--gah." You hear jade claws swung through nothing. "What is that? It's gotta be something."

"Yeah. Hmmm..." The deathknight trails off on an almost musical musing. "Gotta say, no idea. It doesn't seem to have done anythin', but he seems to think he can take us because of it. Why?"

"He overestimates his stealth." You start to feel the firm tread as the two Exalts begin to seek you again, moving vaguely in your direction while keeping their options open. "He's trying to hide in the dust clouds while we get distracted, hoping to rip us to pieces from range. It's not going to work."

"Sure ain't," the Clochard agrees.

Unfortunately, they're correct. In close combat, you aren't at your best, and they are too good at forcing this to be a close combat. You'd hoped to be able to drag this out longer, but they're too experienced, too powerful... you can't drag this out too much longer. You look upward. A new star is being born in the afternoon sky. Perhaps you don't need to.

* * *​

"I can't believe it!" Twine furiously slips lens after lens into place, scribbling down notes and observations with the other hand with the sort of wild, shorthand abandon that she'll pay for later, when she has to figure out what she meant when writing it down. "This is great!"

She has every piece of her instrumentation out, set up, and pointed in the same direction, gathering every piece of data she can.

For the first time since she came to Gem, she has a chance for real observations. Not the sort of fleeting glimpse and distant observation she'd had to get by before. Today, the Five-Metal Shrike isn't soaring past. It's come relatively close to the city, then slowed. It's considering a lump of rock outside the city.

Twine throws one notebook aside, filled, and starts a new one. "These Essence signatures--they're stronger!" She's talking to herself with the wild gusto of someone who usually has only herself for company. "It must be drawing more power. It's not just flying in cruise mode. What else would it be drawing power for? Unless it has more systems that I don't know about, I know only one thing it could be sucking up that much sheer energy to do."

She grins. "It's only a matter of time." She pauses her note-taking to look at the artificial bird the size of a medium fishing boat that's hovering in the air on beating wings of starmetal. "Even if it takes me a week to do the calculations, I have you now. Your bases are mine." Her grin is avarice made manifest.

* * *​

Artificial mind-analogue elements consider. The Five-Metal Shrike is unaware of its own name, unaware of the passage of millennia, and barely awake enough to know of its own existence.

Simple circuits flash through command hierarchies. Location of being associated with the great enemies of the gods: confirmed. Any artifacts that must not be damaged by order of the Deliberative: none located. Collateral damage possibilities: three, all Exalt. Dutifully, the three are in turn run through a database of important personages who had been part of or in good graces with the Second Deliberative the last time its libraries were updated. No matches.

Usage of the Godspear is thus authorized, per standing directives. Surging energy created and focused through the absolute pinnacle of First Age Twilight caste genius is pulled from hidden bases, cohering into the most powerful aerial weapon ever crafted. Few things short of the Realm Defense Grid, the ultimate sword of Creation itself that the Empress had tamed, could even begin to compare.

The Shrike has no ability to comprehend if its attack was overkill or unlikely to be effective. It just has a target, and it has authorization from its long-dead creators to attack.

* * *​

You pitch your voice to echo off of rocks, disguising your exact location. "Cousin, do you know why the Wyld Hunt always seeks to kill Anathema when they first Exalt?"

For half a second, Deled pauses, trying to localize the sound, before he continues forward. "You're lost to evil powers, and need to be kept away from the good people of the world?" Both of you ignore the Clochard's snickering.

"That's part of it," you agree. "But have you not heard of the terrible powers Anathema wield?"

"I've heard. I've faced it. I've triumphed. You will fall, too."

"You've never faced Anathema like me before. Cousin Deled, the reason the Wyld Hunt wants to hunt and slay new Anathema is the longer we have to grow, the more power we can bend to our will. And I, ah, I had a leg up from the very start. I was trained to be a ready Dragon-Blood, the same as you."

"Come on, then," Deled growls. "Show me what you have. Then die. Because it's never going to be enough."

He sees you, then. For a moment, the illumination above you reaches a point where it pierces through the clouds of dust you have so industriously raised. He sees you, and you can see, too, that his gaze is drawn upwards beyond you. "It is enough," you say, as he takes a moment to register what it is. "I am Vessel, born and raised Peleps, and I will never be overpowered again. Mela, speed my steps."

You turn and sprint. You sprint for your life, for that is exactly what is at stake. Every bit of speed you can wring from the wind, you do, rushing to get clear.

Because the Five-Metal Shrike is overhead, its weapon is charged, and it's ready to fire.

You hurl yourself off the butte's top, kick three times off its slope as you fall, and land on a single cactus spine, which bends a quarter of an inch before you spring off and hit the ground.

The world turns white. You squeeze your eyes shut as a giant's oven cracks open behind you, heat and pressure and howling fury roaring past. You tuck and roll, covering your ears from the end-of-the-world sound, suffering lacerations of your flesh as shrapnel tears at you. The thunder rolls on, and on, and on.

A second or an hour later, it's over. You get unsteadily to your feet, wobble in place, and turn around.

What had been a butte is now a glowing crater, superheated rock casting an eerie light into the sky. You approach its edge, looking carefully for any sign of another survivor, trying not to breathe in too much of the pulverized rock that floats in the air.

You look down. There is a black blade with a starmetal edge, rammed nine inches into the stone wall, holding its purchase there some six inches below the rim. The red-lit white form of the Clochard is hanging from the blade by one hand, her feet slipping on the scree. She tried to run up the slope, having somehow survived the initial blast, and nearly succeeded. But she didn't. Her feet can find no purchase on the loose and half-melted rock, and her other hand holds Throatfinder's scabbard.

Of Deled, there is no sign at all.

Another layer of rock slides out from under her foot, slipping down into the lava below. Even at this distance, it still feels like you're inches from a roaring bonfire, the heat a physical thing. The Clochard looks up at you. "Help me up," she commands, before her awareness catches up to the fact that you did this to her intentionally. "Please," she follows up, a whisper. "Please. I don't want to die here. Anythin'."

[] Help her up.
[] Push her down.

 

[VagueZ]

[] Push her down.

You look down at her, considering. You remove the hand you hadn't even quite realized you'd been holding to your shoulder to help staunch the injury she gave you with Throatfinder. It comes away slick with blood, a literal handful.

You squat on the edge of the pit, holding your hand just above hers, and pour. Your blood flows over her hand. There's a moment as she doesn't quite get it, then you see her eyes widen. She drops the scabbard in her other hand and tries to grab a hold of her hilt with both hands. The new hand slips, blood lubricating it until she can't hold on. Desperately, she shifts the first hand, but now blood gets in under her palm. "No. No, no, nonono!"

She could have sprung up, jumped off her own sword blade, and bounced out of the pit, you're sure, if she just hadn't taken a landscape-obliterating blast. Unfortunately for her, she did. She has no recourse.

Her grip gives way, and she falls, her scream turning wordless. You watch the lava to be sure there's no extra last trick. The Clochard's end is, at least, mercifully swift. Not even a deathknight can survive being immersed in molten rock. Once you are convinced she is dead, you focus on Throatfinder.

Whatever else it is, Throatfinder is an extremely valuable relic and a peerless weapon. You aren't just going to leave it be for some random scavenger lord to make her fortune on. Carefully, you prise it out of the rock face it's been jammed into, and haul it up. It's a delicate piece of balancing: you are not attuned to Throatfinder, so it fights you, an awkward and unwieldy thing that is heavier than it looks and keeps trying to twist in your hands to cut your hands.

There's no real rush, though. You're alone here, right now, and even the swiftest of people from Gem, whether they are gawkers, would-be heroes, or anxious to turn a profit, won't be here for at least fifteen or twenty minutes yet. You take your time, and claim Throatfinder.

The soulsteel hums almost subliminally once you retrieve it. The soulsteel feels... right, in a way that even Blizzard's Scourge never did. You'd always heard that the Solar Anathema favored orichalcum above all other magical materials, but perhaps deathknights have a preference for soulsteel.

You lack any sort of sheath to carry it in, so you sling Throatfinder over your shoulder, instead. By now, the first wave of people coming to investigate are starting to be visible in the distance, but you don't feel like dealing with them.

After all, assuming that the Fox continues to cooperate, you now have an utterly unique military advantage that is very probably the most important single development since the Empress herself tamed the Realm Defense Grid almost eight centuries ago and founded the Realm. It's best not to flaunt that until you're ready to.

Your anima is a flaring black aura after that fight, enough though it hasn't quite burst into full iconic horror. Still, you can hide surprisingly well with it like this. You wait under a rock until it gutters out, then make your way back to town, unmolested.

* * *​

The Lonely Waif has her routines. Ghosts, even the almost indescribably mighty titans of undead power that are the Deathlords, have a hard time not falling into familiar routines and long-standing habits, punctuated by moments of crazed effort when something rouses their passions: curiosity, anger, desire, whatever it may be.

The Waif never fought the instinct to have a daily routine. Even in life, she had lived much the same. Now her routines are different, of course: contacting and dealing with the vassals who serve her, expanding her own library with newly-collected works and penning her own new tomes, crafting new spells or artifacts, tracking down certain astrological signs in the Underworld's false stars, and more.

One of her daily stops through the twisting, intentionally-baffling halls of the Last Redoubt of Knowing is the all-but-invincible vault where she keeps a small handful of treasures beyond any possible price: they look something like a monarch's coffin, each unique. They are called Monstrances of Celestial Portion, and each hold a single spark of Exaltation a prisoner here when the Exaltation has no living host. She can take one of these out and send it to find someone, as she has done almost a dozen times over the five years she has had these.

Today, there is a new amber spark visible within one of them: one of those she has Exalted has died, and the Exaltation has come back to its home. This was expected, of course. Though she didn't know the day it would happen, she has kept her eye out. Now that it has, the Waif pulls one of her accounting-books from Elsewhere, letting it manifest in her hands now that she has need of it.

She is halfway through the new entry on the flame-resistant pages before it dawns on her what she is marking down. The Waif has only ever possessed the spark of a single Dusk caste Exaltation. Frowning, she looks up, already annoyed at her mistake.

It is no mistake.

There is a frozen moment as she tries to deal with this unexpected fact. Reality stubbornly refuses to correct itself, regardless of her attention. When she is able to, the Waif calmly finishes her entry, lets the book vanish into the non-space of Elsewhere again, and leaves the vault. Once its door closes behind her, five locks of completely independent design sealing it against any possible intruder, only then does the Waif vent her fury. Her eyes go wide and her lips peel back in a rictus, showing teeth. Her fist slams into the hall's opposite wall so hard that a chandelier made mostly of glowstones and polished obsidian falls from the ceiling, rocky shrapnel spreading in a great fan across the floor. She takes no notice. "Damn it, Clochard, how? How did you even get yourself killed? The world exists just to spite me, doesn't it?"

Nothing answers her, which is for the best, given she would have obliterated any servant-ghost that had happened to catch her eye in that incandescent instant. The Waif pulls herself together, her lips gradually untwisting and her posture straightening back up. "Fine. Something else, then."

* * *​

Dub-dubs and Flawed Topaz are waiting for you as you return to Understanding Auris' Immaculate Temple. It's late enough in the day that lessons are over, so the last of the children there for school are gone before you return.

Dub-dubs hurries over to you as you darken the doorway, concern evident on their soft features. "Amphora, you're hurt," they say. "Let me--" They're fishing for medical implements and various self-collected healing herbs from interior pockets before you're even all the way in.

You let them, though most of your focus is on the now-carefully-wrapped-up sword you're carrying in one hand. Flawed Topaz looks at it, through the silk covering where her eyes had been. "Aren't you worried to be carrying something like that around where anyone can see it?"

It takes you a moment to parse this. "Topaz, it's actually wrapped up very thoroughly.'

For a moment, she doesn't understand, either. "Damn." She retreats into herself a bit. Dub-dubs isn't able to take up the conversational slack: they're focused entirely on your injuries, gentle but firm hands cleaning the lacerations you'd taken from jade claws and soulsteel blade.

"I had a bad feeling about those two from when they first came here," Understanding Auris says. The god-blood looks down, too. "But I didn't know they were going to do this. It's over?"

You nod. "They're both gone."

"How?" It's a simple question from Flawed Topaz, craving a little more closure than just seeing the weapon that was used against her.

Briefly, you consider lying, but there's not much point, here. They know where you had them send your pursuers, since you asked it, and no one is going to miss exactly where the Shrike attacked. "I hit them with the Shrike. I knew exactly one place and time where it was going to strike, and lured them there." The fae-blood leans back in the pew she's sitting in, and gives a satisfied sigh. She's heard what she needed to.

Dub-dubs shudders from just to your left. They let go of you to do it, and then return to efficiently bind up your shoulder again as soon as the motion passes. The good doctor can't let their own instincts jostle their patient. "I can't say I'm sorry you did that, but I think that's completely enough detail for me."

"Who were they?" Auris asks, using this as a way to distract Dub-dubs from what would otherwise be more nightmares for the Water caste should Dub-dubs keep dwelling on it.

"Well, one was a distant relation to me who... decided I was a monster based on someone he saw me with." Technically, that's true. "The other was a deathknight."

Dub-dubs flinches again. Auris' eyes go wide. It's easy to see why: that is exactly the sort of thing that Dub-dubs took a peaceful life in Gem to avoid, and Auris knows exactly why Immaculates normally know better than to deal with such dark powers. If there was any possible doubt as to if they'd done the right thing, it is very efficiently erased by the confirmation that Deled had been dealing with one of the darkest figures of the Underworld.

It's probably for the best that you don't complicate things by explaining yourself.

"What are you going to do with that thing?" Topaz inclines her head to indicate Throatfinder.

"I hadn't decided yet."

"Well, I'd rather not see it again after today," she says.

"Agreed." Dub-dubs is equally fervent in their sharp nod, even though they technically haven't seen it today. They finish their work and step back, considering your body. Their medical attention was welcome. Your arm can already move more freely after treatment and being carefully bound up with healing herbs to encourage the flesh to restore itself, and your chest feels better, too. Not bad for about fifteen minutes' work.

"I can arrange that." Keeping them away from a concerning artifact you aren't really well-suited to use yourself doesn't seem hard.

"Well, all things considered, I think I'm going to celebrate by getting black-out drunk tonight and do something I'll regret once I wake up in the morning. You in, Dub-dubs?" Topaz looks at them.

They smile back at her. "Like normal, I'll have one or two drinks and be ready to hold your hair back out of the way."

"Good plan. Priest-lady, you in? I bet we can find you someone cute, whatever way you swing."

Auris starts in surprise. One of the downsides of a shaved head is that it's harder to disguise her expression when she is thrown. "I'll stay here. What you're proposing would... fall outside my monastic vows."

"As my dad would say, bo-ring. Amphora?"

You shake your head. "Tonight I have something that I don't think will wait. I'll take a sandstorm-check, if you don't mind, though." In areas of Creation where rain is bad weather and sandstorms are less common, it would be called a raincheck.

"Oh, poo. Still, thank you. I really owe you one." Both Topaz and Dub-dubs give you hugs before they leave, which is a little awkward. Dynasts don't hug, as a rule.

* * *​

Night falls. You're back in your own apartment, considering a small mirror in near-darkness. You can't be sure it will be tonight, but you do rather expect that the Deathlord will be in contact at some point.

You doubt she has any direct ability to track you--your assumption is that Clochard sought out Deled to have someone handle that. You don't know how often, or even how, Clochard was supposed to check in. But, eventually, the Waif will discover her fate, and likely will--

Ah.

There's blood dripping from the top of the glass, from nowhere. The Waif can communicate with people she knows, through her necromantic spells. She's used this before, while you were in the Lap, so it makes sense that she'd rely on it again now. The blood starts to pool in spots on the mirror, forming words.

Let's talk

You smile, tightly. You've scored a telling blow. So long as she is willing to keep the necromancy going, the two of you can talk by writing on your respective mirrors with blood, and she has no way to track you through it or she would have tried this earlier.

[] Say nothing--just shut her down.
[] Threaten her to put more pressure on her to make a mistake--but you have to tip your hand to do it.
[] Fish for information you'll need later, but she learns something, too.

 

[VagueZ]

I'm sorry this took a long time. Things just got out of hand at work and I didn't have the focus to work on this for a few weeks. I think this is over now; even the things that were part of my duties at the end of our fiscal year with the end of September are concluded, so I don't anticipate as many six day weeks. Fingers crossed.

* * *​

[] Fish for information you'll need later, but she learns something, too.

You extend your canine teeth, and snip the tiniest little injury in your pointer finger. You write small and flowing on your mirror, something to make your primary school teachers pleased with your neatness. I agree. It sinks into the glass and vanishes.

You're pretending. She's pretending. Both of you know both of you know that. But both of you have reason to play along: if one of you breaks character, the other can just... shut down. You are instead both going to be fishing for information while giving away as little as possible. The game is afoot.

You are going to be matching wits with a Deathlord. Immaculate tales have little to say about them, save the fact that they're the enemies of all that live, and that they have subjugated nearly all of the Underworld between them. The Waif is no mere ghost, not even just a ghost of matchless power. She's the lynchpin of a massive Underworld organization, with all the intelligence and insight that any ruler has to have in order to keep her realm together in the face of powerful and motivated competition. We've gotten off on the wrong foot, you and I.

We have.

Where do you think we went wrong?

I like to have complete information before I act.

I apologize for that. It seems I have misjudged you.

It's nothing that can't be corrected. You have to say something like that. It's just how this dance has to go for now. This is the almost, but not quite, meaningless bit where you go through expectations while trying hard not to let slip anything you don't want to.

We'll see what we can do going forward. Where are you located?

The South.

I do have one deathknight active there, and a few active projects. One? You frown at the bloody text. You are pretty sure on Crowson and Twine both being deathknights. Is she lying, or is one not hers? There is no time to puzzle that out, because she is still sending her message. I had two, but it seems the Clochard of the Vermilion Trail has passed on. Do you know anything about that?

You have a chance to pivot to an aggressive follow-up, outright threatening the Deathlord, but... to do that would spoil the rules of the game. More importantly, what it would do is require you to tip your hand, to say what happened to her, in at least some allusion. You decide to be unhelpful, instead, telling her that she is not going to get the details from you. I'm afraid she was overmatched and passed away.

That is unfortunate. She was both competent and loyal.

We lead bloody lives.

You certainly do. You had meant to include her, but the Waif is refusing to let herself be lumped in with her deathknights. Speaking of which, I should warn you. This message is long enough that it requires more than one mirror-ful sending from the Waif, the first part melting away before the second continues it. My servants have had skirmishes of late with servants of the First and Forsaken Lion, another Deathlord. You should be aware that they are not likely to make fine distinctions before they attack.

You have to turn that one over a few times. The Waif is telling you that the Lion's people will kill you on sight, obviously. There's implications: she can protect you if you want, mutually supporting each other in the face of another threat, perhaps without any other agreement. It's also a trick, since if you start probing for where and how the Lion is active, it can reveal something about where you are. You respond with the only safe thing you can think of. Thanks for the warning.

What sort of projects are you working on?

You feel yourself starting to sweat. If you give the Waif too much, she wins the chance to identify you and can run you down in her own time. If you give her too little, she'll cut you off and you won't learn what you need. What can you tantalize her with? I have been studying magic and certain relics of ancient times.

I would be interested in corresponding with you on that. If you can confirm some of my own findings, I would be willing to reward you for that. Before you can respond, she adds an additional message: If you can bring me something new, I will lavishly reward you.

You can feel a tug on your mind as you read this: the Deathlord is putting more than mere words into this, leveraging her influence to try to convince you. It's no compulsion, and it doesn't even try to undermine your obvious caution about exposing yourself to her. She just is stressing her desire to learn.

You grew up a Dynast. Even before you Exalted, your family taught you how to recognize, resist, and make use of such tricks, from the humdrum daily use of an unnaturally silver tongue by Dragon-Blooded who want a deal or a political advantage to the mind-twisting horrors of Lunar Anathema sowing chaos and blasphemy. You're equipped to make the call, and you do, carefully turning this over to ensure that it aligns with your plans and doesn't just seem 'reasonable'. Once you are sure, you carefully sketch out your reply. I think I have something that you will be excited by. Give me a week to make it presentable.

I will be in contact.

And, with that, the mirror's bloody writing fades. No sign is left of the blood you dripped into it, nor of the blood which manifested at the Waif's will. For a long, silent moment, you stare blankly into its depths, turning everything over in your mind as you strive to ensure that you haven't given anything away that you don't need to. You have learned at least a couple of items, and secured a new path for something further.

"Is this where you live?"

The bland voice shakes you out of your quiet contemplation. "Why are you here?" You don't turn around. You're proud that there's no quaver in your voice.

The Original Fox has to take a moment. "I grow bored with only mortal hunters. They are not very stimulating."

"And I'm not hunting you at all."

"That is... novel."

Something ticks over in your head. "These are the first conversations you've had?"

"Yes."

"How did you learn Flametongue?"

"I listened to what my hunters said to each other. It is valuable in escaping clever snares."

That makes a weird sort of sense for a thing that wants to always very closely escape being caught. "Can you read?"

"No."

The Original Fox is oddly free of guile in its conversation. That is simply not what it does. You thus reasonably trust it when it says things. "Curious. You are interesting to me. I would like to get to know more about you." That's a sort of a chase, the thing the Fox wants to be involved in. "I also may have reason to want to call the Shrike, now and then. Would you be willing to participate in those?"

"If I do not have something better to do." That's a step up from 'if it pleases me'. The Fox must have enjoyed itself in the fight with Deled and the Clochard. "I'll drop in now and then." You didn't feel when the Fox came in, but you sense its disappearance.

It didn't ask for permission. It didn't announce its coming. It didn't announce when it left.

Do you have a supernatural pet cat now?

* * *​

Elsewhere, the Lonely Waif considers her reflection in the mirror in front of her. It's a large mirror, one that stretches floor to ceiling across an entire wall, making the tidy shelves of ancient writings behind her look twice as massive a collection. She taps her teeth with a fingernail as she considers, and thinks aloud to herself. "No location information to go on. Clearly ran into the Clochard. Wish I'd had her report her specific movements, but she was hopeless with directions without help, anyway. No chance she left a ghost. Abyssals never do. Hm..."

She picks up the moonsilver-and-soulsteel calligraphy brush that she had left on a stand nearby, checks to be sure there's no remaining blood on it even though she crafted it never to stain, and the fell violet glow of necromancy suffuses it again. She has one more spell to cast today.

* * *​

The next day, you're not quite able to weasel out again. Dub-dubs and Flawed Topaz are downright anxious to pay you back for fighting their fight and avenging the faeblood's eyes. The fact that they know you had some self-interest in that fight doesn't really seem to be a concern of theirs.

By the curious alchemy of this sort of situation, this somehow turns into Dub-dubs being the one who's paying for everything tonight, while Topaz picks where you're going.

Naturally, she picks a reasonably high-end parlor, one of the ones run directly by House Sahlak, not a cheap franchisee allowed to operate if they pay the noble House's fees that are definitely not just protection money. Elegantly abstract art decorates the walls, and discreet workers in diaphanous, skin-showing outfits flit from guest to guest, taking orders, passing messages, and delivering goods. There's even live music, in the form of a purple-eyed singer who is singing love songs on stage. She has an amazing voice; it takes a little bit before you realize that she is singing acapella, not with music backing her up.

The parlor serves alcohol, mild psychedelics and hallucinogenics, a few familiar and unfamiliar things to smoke, and a selection of dream opals. The last are rare outside of Gem; you know of the magical stones that retain an imprint of a sleeper's dreams and allow another to experience them, but you've never tried one.

It doesn't take long for Topaz to, somehow, connect with a couple, seemingly merchant travelers. Before you've even completely taken in the establishment as a whole, she's already challenged them to some sort of nightmare-experiencing contest and all three of them are clutching dream opals from the parlor's less savory shelf and trying not to show weakness first.

You and Dub-dubs end up watching this, enjoying their increasingly-strained attempts to act normal while all three clearly begin to really feel their nightmares.

Dub-dubs, meanwhile, just has two or three shots of something strongly alcoholic and smelling of spices, then ends up leaning on your shoulder. You glance at them now and then, but they seem to just be enjoying the peace. You catch them brushing at a little handheld dreamcatcher once, then a few minutes later you realize that they're dozing.

For all that Dub-dubs perpetually seems sleepy and sleep-deprived, all at the same time, this is the first time you've ever seen the Water Aspect actually sleeping. They look relatively peaceful. You keep an eye out in case they start drooling on your shoulder.

You're still only halfway into your first drink, and a more pleasant dream opal than Topaz's sits next to it, yet untouched. You aren't really able to unwind, you're finding. The last time you let your guard down for a bit, a Lunar stole your shape. That shouldn't happen here, but it's a hard thing to come back from.

It's doing you some good, anyway, being here. Just the general air of enjoyment and the good-looking men and women who ensure everything is working the way it should soothes something.

It's thus almost a surprise when someone joins you at your low table, politely tucking her feet underneath her as she kneels there, the same posture as you.

It's the singer, you realize, her piercing violet eyes finding yours. No one else in the establishment seems to think this is odd. Nor do they find odd that she

is armed.

She's armed, she has two white jade devil casters, how did you not notice before? You start to stiffen up, but she holds up a placating hand. "Relax. I'm just trying to talk. You're a hard man to run down, Triumvir Peleps."

You shift slightly, not waking Dub-dubs but still ready to jump to violence if you need to. "Triumvir Peleps is dead. I usually go by 'Amphora', these days, Ephrei."

She cocks an eyebrow at you. "Hm, not bad. Usually people aren't ready to turn back my 'mysterious woman who knows too much' routine on me." Ephrei isn't thrown. "Must've been Solace. I've been trying to get in touch with you almost since Calibration. You successfully eluded my son, Syzygy." That was the name of the gladiator who had fought Crowson. "Do you know what I am?"

"Sidereal." You don't need to give away anything more for her to know that you are in command of the relevant information.

"Correct. I am Ephrei Dikej, Sidereal Exalt, Chosen of Saturn. I believe you are a deathknight that turned against your Deathlord. Is that fair?"

You wobble your free hand, the one that Dub-dubs isn't leaning on. "I think she'd quibble about the title. But you're otherwise correct. I don't know how you're making sure we're not interrupted, but I hope you'll forgive me not flaring my caste mark on my brow right now to prove it. How can I help you?"

"We're on the same side," Ephrei responds.

"Are we?" You raise an eyebrow. She hasn't even convinced you that you have a shared enemy, much less that you're on the same side.

You get back a knowing smile, annoyingly enough. "Aren't we?" She turns the question around adroitly enough, having a ready answer. "We Sidereals find value in upholding Dragon-Blooded sovereignty and Immaculate doctrine in Creation."

"Could be, then," you agree. "Why have you spent weeks trying to hunt me down and hoping your son could find me?"

"The Lonely Waif of Cooling Embers," she responds. "She won a victory at Calibration."

This is news to you. "I rather thought she got her tail kicked, by how Ari described it."

"'Ari'," Ephrei considers the name. "Ah, the Lunar we had a truce with. No, she launched a three-headed attack, and one of them landed a body blow. You saw the attempt to undermine the South's geomancy--that failed, thanks to Solace and no thanks to you." She gives you a roll of her eyes. "Second, she tried to convert a wide swathe of the countryside into a new shadowland, giving her a beachhead in Creation and starve out everywhere the Lap feeds. We directly challenged that, and by weight of numbers we unwove her necromancy. Third, she engaged us, and slew two Sidereals and badly injured others. That's the victory."

You wait for a moment, in case she is going to explain. "Two casualties is a victory for her?"

Ephrei grimaces. "Right. We--Sidereals, that is--are called the 'Five Score Fellowship." You do the math. That's only a hundred people. "Two deaths leaves us shorthanded for years while their replacements grow up."

You don't know exactly how being a Sidereal works, but that's still understandable. The Realm has tens of thousands of Dragon-Blooded, and desperately could use three times as many.

"So that brings you to me."

"That brings me to you," Ephrei agrees. "No artifice, no tricks. We're looking to find a good way to strike back at her. We are not anxious for the Deathlords as a whole to get emboldened about moving on Creation. We especially don't want them to start acting while so many of the Dragon-Blooded and other Realm forces are involved in the civil war on the Blessed Isle."

That's a spot of some soreness and hurt for you. Your House--House Peleps--is one of the Realm's great ones, and doubtless your family desperately need all the Exalted help they can get, whatever else is happening.

But you can't go there. You're Anathema. Both the pro and anti Mnemon forces would certainly set aside their differences to kill you if you showed up. You barely get to hear the slightest rumors about it, and don't know how credible any of them are.

You hide that as well as you can. "How is the war progressing?" It's in as casual a tone as you can manage.

"Badly." Ephrei doesn't mince words. "Vast amounts of blood have been spilled, and nothing has been settled. This is not something the Five Score Fellowship has been able to affect meaningfully, but we're trying, as much as we can. Hence the need to bloody the Waif's nose, at the least, for her actions over Calibration. Amphora, if you have anything that can help... please." She spreads her hands, an open invitation.

Of course she'd come to you here, when you're alone and with Dub-dubs sleeping on your shoulder. Shoot. While you were distracted with the Sidereal, they've drooled on you. You start wiping that up with a napkin to give yourself a moment to think. "What could you even do with it, if there was something?" You put enough deniable frustration in your tone to hide whether you have a lead or not.

She replies promptly and precisely. "Commit several elder Exalts, at a minimum. Sidereals have many talented crafters to draw on, too, should some creation be necessary to pen her in, and perhaps more forces besides could be mobilized." That's a major commitment. Ari said that Sidereals are mostly based in Heaven. That's the celestial city of Yu-Shan, a land where many gods reside, and very few humans. Immaculates rarely have much to say about it that you've ever heard, since that sounds exactly like the proper distinction, where the spirits and gods of the world keep strongly out of human affairs except where Immaculate monks mediate the connection. You can't help but think that getting a little help from Heaven would be theologically acceptable if you're using it to fight a Deathlord.

The problem is Sidereal. She's said she's an ally. She's willing to give you a look back into Dynastic life that you haven't had since you left the Lap. But she's a Sidereal. Both Ari and the Waif have warned you about Sidereals, Lunar and Deathlord alike agreeing that they are not to be trusted.

If you start to bring her in, Nine Leagues Strides is going to be upset with you. Getting a Sidereal faction involved with this demonstration strike will not help it go like she wants. You know that with a gut-deep certainty. Of course, right now you're not happy with the Lunars in your life, either.

You have to consider what you're going to prioritize.

[] Tell Ephrei about the Waif only. She may glean some intelligence from it, but no real advantage, and cannot easily fit into your plan to take the Waif down.

[] Bring Ephrei in on the plan. She can help supply the power she's talking about as another jaw to the trap, something to ensure that the Waif is actually overwhelmed.

 

[VagueZ]

[] Tell Ephrei about the Waif only. She may glean some intelligence from it, but no real advantage, and cannot easily fit into your plan to take the Waif down.

"I don't know exactly how much help I can be," you say, deflectingly. "So far as I know, no Deathlord has ever been destroyed, and, believe it or not, giving me a step-by-step account of how to defeat her wasn't one of the first things that she gave me."

Ephrei shrugs. "We will take what we can get."

You nod, and give her the overview. Some of it is things she clearly already knows, but she doesn't interrupt you or hurry you. After all, there's no telling when something you think is mutual review will reveal an unexpected nugget of intelligence. The Waif has clearly been seeking various great works, singular tools like nothing else in the world, something to give herself an advantage that is unmatched in the Age of Sorrows.

Ephrei asks a few clarifying questions, enough that you have to stop and check with her. "I'm trying to verify something," she admits. "The Prioress of the Bloody Sands--it's a new name, one only a few years old, so we think that that's a new title for an existing Deathlord. I'm one of the majority who think that it's most likely Eye and Seven Despairs, but the second leading theory is that it's the Lonely Waif."

You have to consider. "She has only spoken to me of things that directly affect me. I don't get the impression that she's the sort to hide behind fake identities. It's still possible, but she's never indicated anything of the sort. The only time she's mentioned another Deathlord at all was to complain about the Lion."

For the first time, Ephrei cracks what looks like a genuine smile. "I am not surprised. No one in the Underworld who isn't directly reporting to the Lion likes him. Easy to see why--he's running something of a military junta, with ambitions to expand his Underworld empire. He even seems to have another Deathlord under his thumb already."

"He does?" You only know the one Deathlord, but you just about can't imagine the Waif accepting a lord over her, regardless of the situation.

"You would be amazed at the sheer amount of detailed, reliable, and complete information that absolutely does not come out of the Underworld to make its way to Heaven," Ephrei says, dryly. "But, yes, we're confident on this piece of intelligence. It's one known as the Black Heron or one of about half a dozen lengthy titles that start with 'Princess Magnificent'." With the air quotes Ephrei makes, she isn't pretending to hide her feelings on this. "Doubtless there's more to their story."

You shrug. "Probably," you agree. Not your concern.

"All in all, however, a disappointment." You cock your head at this. Ephrei waves your attention off: she was mostly talking to herself. "You have given me many useful things, but I was hoping for the mythical enchanted arrow that would settle the whole affair at once. Not unexpected not to find it, but still disappointing on some level."

"I'm just a single Anathema," you say. "What could I actually accomplish?"

"Don't underestimate the value of power at a point," Ephrei replies, evenly. "Finding the right spot to put your thumb on the scale is the very heart and soul of what the Five Score Fellowship does." She stands as she says it, dusting herself off.

"And, having said that, you're just going to leave a deathknight behind as you leave, then?" Part of saying that is just to point out that you are alert to that, to disincline her from trying. "Leave me be and not try to finish me off?"

"Of course not." There's a rueful smile on the Sidereal's face. "I would love if you were the worst sort of threat I had to deal with, and thus could justify it, but you don't seem to be directly our enemy... and we know from bitter experience that deathknights take a lot of killing to go down." She gives you a small, ironic salute and turns away.

She walks out the club's front door.

The noise of the club spills back into your consciousness. No one seems to have noted Ephrei's presence. She was just there when she needed to be, and now she's gone, and no one is aware of her leaving.

It's eerie. Or, well, it would be a lot eerier without Dub-dubs snoring lightly on your shoulder. They've drooled a bit while you were distracted. With the arm they're not sleeping on, you scoop up a napkin and dab your funeral whites clean again. It's a good thing you're involved with the sorcerers; they are expected to be a little weird and they tolerate that sort of weirdness in each other, so the fact that you're always dressed like a mourner (or cadaver) isn't too strange, comparatively.

There's a strangled gasp from the next table over, where one of Flawed Topaz's new companions reaches a breaking point, and almost throws the nightmare dream opal away from himself.

You glance around one more time, taking in the atmosphere, admiring the bodies on display, and shift a little to let Dub-dubs rest more comfortably on you. You're here, and there's probably no more interruptions to come. You might as well enjoy the time. You reach for your dream opal.

* * *​

It's full dark by the time you all leave. Dub-dubs eventually woke up, and a triumphant Flawed Topaz rejoined you both. A reasonably good time was had by all, and the general spirit of shared amity did help you, in the end.

It was hard on Flawed Topaz, however: she's out cold. Dub-dubs carries her with Exalted strength and a certain easy familiarity, leading the way home through the old mining tunnels that make up Gem's underground portion of its city. It clearly isn't the first time she's ended up overdoing things and ended up carried home by the Water Aspect. You'd almost swear there's a slight tinge of 'responsible parent' in Dub-dubs' expression. Probably your imagination. "I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening," Dub-dubs says to you.

You smile back. "I think I did," you say.

You get a fuller smile back: still sleepy, but slightly triumphant, at the same time. "I think that's the first time I've seen you give a smile that uncomplicated and happy, Amphora."

You're briefly taken aback. "Surely it isn't."

"I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You didn't. Just... I suppose it's been a strange few weeks for me."

"Of course. We all have our reasons. No one comes to Gem unless they're greedy or have quite a story." Something in their tone says Dub-dubs isn't putting you in the former category. You, of course, recall Dub-dubs telling you about being a scavenger lord, seeking ancient relics, lost treasures, and forgotten wonders along the Dreaming Sea. "I'm curious about yours." It's a light tone, one that isn't pressuring to get it. Just... friendly. It's very odd, not to have any suspicion behind it.

Topaz makes a small noise and shifts slightly as the light of a glowstone embedded in the ceiling falls on her face and disturbs her, saving you from having to come up with a good response. "Does she do this sort of thing a lot?" you ask, instead.

Dub-dubs gives a small giggle, an unusually lively sound from them. "She's always liked to meet new people, challenge them in some way, and see what happens from it. Novelty, you understand, plus that fae heritage that likes to cause chaos."

You arch an eyebrow. "I suppose it's good she has someone looking out for her, then."

"I like being able to be there for my friends." You nod. That does explain why the two of them are so close to inseparable, while being so different. They're supporting each other in a way both are comfortable with. "Gem normally isn't too dangerous for the likes of us, though, so... I suppose I haven't kept up all my instincts."

"You mean combat training?"

"'Training'?" They laugh. "The Dreaming Sea is not a kind place. I just knew how to defend my crew well enough." There's the suggestion of a shrug that won't disturb Topaz. "Never as much of a warrior as you seem to be, Amphora."

"In most of the world, Dragon-Blooded clans raise their children to be ready champions." It's a relatively bland statement, one that shares nothing of import. It's not just the Realm. There's lots of Dragon-Blooded traditions in the world, and all of them know that they have to stand ready to defend what is theirs.

"Well, I never had that. My father Exalted randomly, without any tradition or family who expressed the blood of dragons, so he had to make it up himself. I was one of only two out of eight children who Exalted. Just me and my half-sister. We looked a lot alike, but never got along. Not exactly a huge clan, nor a lot to work with. Hence why I struck out on my own with just my crew." Their tone takes on a lighter air. "Ah, but listen to me! I'm just rambling on about myself. I'll stop. If you're not too tired, you're welcome to come to my place and share whatever you want of your own story, talk a little about sorcery and see what we can learn from each other. No pressure."

You're passing through one of Gem's all-hours markets, a lower-pressure and more sedate shopping experience than the main bazaars, with only a few active shoppers this time of night. "Ah!" Your eyes flash in the direction of Dub-dubs' look, and you catch a familiar flash of sandy hair right before Dub-dubs goes on. "The angel of healing!" That's what the locals have taken to calling Ari after his anonymous medical care in the wake of the Clochard's blood-soaked rampage.

The Changing Moon ducks at the exclamation, backing away as Dub-dubs approaches to give him a chance to take stock of who is calling out to him. It's the general reaction you'd expect of a Lunar Anathema who spends a lot of time in places where he wouldn't usually be welcome, but Dub-dubs' gentle steps, all smiles and carrying someone asleep, is clear. This is a friendly meeting.

"I... sorry, do I know you?" Ari looks at Dub-dubs without recognition, though you catch the flicker in his eye as he sees you hanging back.

"Probably not," Dub-dubs says, undaunted by this. "But you still helped. I was trying to stabilize Topaz, and you came to us out of nowhere." The Water Aspect gestures to Topaz with their chin.

"Ah... yes, I do recognize her," Ari agrees, considering the sleeping woman. "I couldn't... I tried, but I couldn't..."

"You helped," Dub-dubs says, firmly. "We needed a hand, and you were there. That means more than you might give credit for. I owe you for that. If there's something I can do for you, come find me. My name is Welcome Wellspring, and I'm one of the sorcerers here in Gem." There's more than just a thank-you in that. Favors owed are a currency as meaningful and valuable as jade in much of Creation. To say you owed someone a favor, or to request one, is not an empty thing to be easily rejected.

"Well, thank you." Ari gives a heart-breakingly gentle smile. "I appreciate that. I'm not sure that I'm going to be able to take advantage of it. I'm leaving Gem in the morning, and I'm probably going to end up going a long way away."

"With only that?" Dub-dubs considers the single pack Ari was filling before your trio interrupted his preparation. "That's not very much."

"Well, I have some other preparations that you can't see right now," Ari says, deflectingly. Accurately, too, of course. Even if he doesn't have some sorcerous conveyance, he should be able to fly in hawk-shape longer and faster than any mortal hawk, and distance vanishes when one can go in straight lines at fifty miles an hour or more all day long.

Dub-dubs nods. "As long as you're prepared. Let me know if I can do something for you to help the trip. Just a neighborly thing." In other words, not the favor owed.

Ari's smile grows a bit proud. "It's not the first time I've made the trip. I'll be fine, but I appreciate the offer. I was almost done preparing, at this point." He swings the back onto his back and checks how it's sitting on him, clearly finalizing what he has.

"Fair enough." Dub-dubs shifts their grip Topaz slightly. "I'll let you go, then. I have to tuck my friend into bed, after all. But thank you."

"I'm always happy to help," Ari agrees. He gives you one quick glance, before turning to another direction, one that will take him away from the three of you. This is where you'd separate from Dub-dubs, regardless: the commercial efforts in this tunnel are here partially because it's set on a tunnel nexus, where different underground routes meet each other.

"I'll see you later, too," Dub-dubs tells you before going to a different route. How much later, exactly where... well, that's up to you. They made the offer, but aren't going to push it.

For a long moment, you feel how alone you are. There's people here, of course. Even at a quiet hour, Gem is never anything but lively. But none of them are paying the slightest attention to you any more: you're not selling anything, you're not buying anything, you don't look like an easy mark for a thief, and you're not blocking the way. You could be a wall for all anyone cares.

You shake your head to clear it, and set off down the tunnels. You have somewhere to be.

* * *​

You are still mad at Ari, who took advantage of your time to unwind by stealing your face without even asking. He had a chance to read how mad you are in your body language. How mad are you?
[] You're not happy with him.
It's still a breach of trust and the theft of one of the few things still unequivocally yours, but you don't think there was malice in it, and he seems contrite.
[] You aren't going to get over it.
Some things are irreconcilable. He might be an ally, but you're going to keep him at arm's length from here on.

Regardless of how you feel about that, where are you going from here?
[] You're going to take a walk on the surface, and happen to keep talking with Ari.
The plan is starting to come together, and you need to keep your Anathema allies informed and everything coordinated.
[] You're going to meet with Dub-dubs, once they return home.
Dub-dubs is curious about you and clearly thinks of you as an important, if new, friend. You'd like to deepen that.
[] You go home alone.
There is much work to be done. You can do it more easily alone, and well-rested.