[Exalted] Ten Thousand Broken Dreams: session summaries for an ongoing campaign

[Ranko]

Two Updates!

In less than a week!

We are getting spoiled here ;)

[Tepet Aekino]

Hopefully another one will be coming soon, Ranko.

Then you can see how Zera and Aekino got set up. BIG TIME!

[Quendalon]

Leaving the godling behind, the Solar pair entered the temple. A shaven-pated monk greeted them at the doors and led them through sparely furnished rooms to an altar. There, beneath a faceless statue, sat their Lunar companion, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight, whom they had sought for many weeks. He remained in meditative posture for several minutes, chanting softly under his breath. When he stood, it was with the flawless grace of the gazelle. He looked past Zera, instead inclining his head respectfully to Thorwald. “Pillar of the Sun,” he said, “I am glad to see you.”

“Why do you call me that, Fetek?” asked Thorwald. “I have never understood it.”

“It’s a title.”

Thorwald nodded. “How fare you?”

Fetek opened his shirt, revealing several ugly greenish scars on his chest. “I have almost healed from the Night Caste’s attack.”

“Ah.” The northman glanced from one companion to the other. The Lunar seemed disinclined even to look in Zera’s direction. With a shrug, he said, “I think Zera wishes to say something to you.”

Zera rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to talk for me. That is how children settle disputes.” Raising a forestalling hand, he continued, “That was not a jab at you. I just… I only want you to talk to me. I was not myself. It happens to all of us, <i>him</i> worst of all,” he added, pointing at Thorwald. “I do not know what I was in the throes of. All I know is that when it takes me, I have no compassion, no sense of justice, and no remorse. After all our time together, you would know that is not me. Take my situation into account… just before that, someone tried to sucker punch me.”

“I am not sorry about that,” Thorwald rumbled.

“And when you turned to birds and came at me,” Zera continued, “I didn’t realize they were only magpies. I thought you were attacking me, and I reacted. For what it’s worth, I don’t have the words to apologize to you. They don’t exist.”

Fetek stared at him in stony silence. Smoke rose around the faceless altar; incense cracked and popped in the brazier. Finally, the young Lunar spoke. “I am… happy to see you again, Iron Wolf.” After a stilted pause, he added, “I hope you are feeling better.”

“In one sense, yes. In another… I think about that cabin every night.”

Blood-streaked faces howled in the depths of Fetek’s memory. He turned away. “I don’t really remember that.”

“We won’t speak of it now.” <i>Especially not here</i>, Zera added silently.

“Well then. Are you willing to make amends with the Sage of the Lilac Garden?”

“I am.”

“Good. If you wish, we can leave Great Forks as soon as you are finished.”

“I would scarcely like to waste any more time. What do I have to do?”

“Burn some incense,” said Fetek, gesturing to the altar. “Pray for forgiveness. Show the Lords of Heaven your remorse.”

Zera laughed. “That’s almost disappointing. I thought I’d have to scale an unscalable wall and steal a gem from the idol of a rival god.”

“That would be me,” Fetek observed softly.

“Eh?”

The young Lunar sighed. “When you were not yourself, I took care of it. I owe the Sage a task.”

Zera’s hand twitched reflexively toward his bow, and then sank. “Do you have to go alone?”

“It may be only something I can do.”

“That is not fair,” grumbled Thorwald. “We should all be able to take up the task.”

“<i>You</i> may be able to help me. Zera may not.”

Thorwald nodded decisively. “Then I will aid you.”

“All right, then.” Zera cracked his knuckles. “One prayer with extra incense, huh? Let’s do this.”

* * * * *

Time passed. His prayers done, Zera joined his companions at tea; he savored the quiet, the cool evening shadows, and the knowledge that one of his troubles had been taken from his shoulders. The sky grew darker, the courtyard walls around the temple obscuring the colors of sunset. Distantly, the prayers of the faithful rose to Heaven like the cries of gulls.

“Are there any other ways out of here?” he asked, setting down his cup. The green dregs revealed to him no secrets.

Fetek nodded. “Of course.”

“That miserable godling is waiting outside so it can hound us for the rest of our days.”

“He will find you wherever there is a child.”

Thorwald stood. “There is nothing for it, then,” he said. Shouldering his blade, he walked out.

Zera groaned, but followed. Outside, the godling flitted through bluish evening light, pulling down prayer strips and letting them drift into the gutter. It drifted over to Zera. “Hey there, mortal! You owe me some worship!”

The archer shook his head. “Nope.”

“But you promised!”

“I said maybe. I changed my mind.”

Kibu pouted. “Beware! My wrath is terrible!” It flung a tiny little lightning bolt at Zera; briefly, it made his skin itch.

“I’m not a parent; I don’t discipline children. There are other people you could be paying attention to who would be more fruitful than me.”

It buzzed uncertainly, then giggled. “I have a secret. I’m going to stay with you until you guess it.”

Zera rolled his eyes. “Oh… to Hell with this. Let’s find a tavern.”

Thorwald grinned. “One that has mead!”

* * * * *

Midnight. Zera slept in a spartan room, on the second story of a threadbare inn. Moonlight gleamed around the edges of window shutters, scything through shadows and drifting dust. A dog lay curled at the bed’s foot.

Something stirred.

Zera opened his eyes. Sitting up cautiously, he grasped the dagger beneath his pillow and pushed the coverlet aside. A thickness hung upon the air; an unnatural silence. Then the true darkness came. Like coiling smoke, blackness oozed like smoke from underneath the door, then congealed into a pale shape with midnight hair, clad in robes of ermine and silver, flanked by two lesser shapes. A crimson radiance limned them; blood pooled at their feet.

The moment snapped. Zera flung his knife and vaulted toward his enchanted bow. The central intruder seized the knife from the air. Then, before Zera released an arrow, the three shapes flung themselves to the floor in obeisance. “Hail, o Dagger of Heaven!” they chanted. “Hail, o Concealed Sun!”

Zera held an arrow drawn, but did not fire. “Eh?”

“I am Swiftly Flowing Crimson,” said the leader, “the God of Murder Upon the Rushing Waters, and I have come to offer you my fealty.”

“… What?”

“You are a Hidden Sun,” said the god, its escorts gyrating slowly to either side. “You are an Iron Wolf, a Dagger of Heaven. At last, you have come again into this world. Once, I was a loyal servant to your kind. But now this world is out of joint, and you have been gone for too long. My offerings have been few, and the ways of Heaven unobserved. But you have come again, and so have I: to set the natural order right again.”

“Really.” Zera glared down the length of his arrow.

“You and I are natural allies,” the god continued. “Murder is in your nature, as it is in mine. You are a Dagger of Heaven; you walk through the dark places, bringing death to unrighteous and wicked souls. Our knives purge Creation of evil men; our arrows cleanse the world of sin. This is our duty. This is our purpose. Surely, our destinies shall be intertwined, as they once were in the First Age. You have but to take up the mantle of sovereignty, o Hidden Sun. As we served you once, we shall serve you again.”

The three gods bowed deeply. Silence filled the air once the words of Swiftly Flowing Crimson had gone. Hesitantly, the three straightened. Clasping its hands together, the murder god spoke. “Have you nothing to say?”

“I do have something to say.” He paused, his muscles twanging with the strain of holding the arrow in place. “There are times when we take life. It’s never something to be proud of. And I can’t accept your fealty.”

The dog snorted in its sleep. It opened one eye, which narrowed upon the intruders. Rising to its paws, it shook itself; and as it shook itself, it grew and grew, shifting and silvering. Fetek towered in his war form, antlers glowing faintly with the dimmed moonlight.

As one, the gods turned toward the Lunar. They bowed like clockwork toys. “Hail, o Silver Shadow!” cried the first god. “Hail, o Child of the Hidden Moon! I am Swiftly Flowing Crimson, and I have come to pay homage once more to the Celestial Exalted and receive the worship that is my due.”

Fetek regarded the god coolly, but made no answer. He yielded the matter to his companion. “Zera?”

The archer lowered his bow, but his glare did not slacken. “Not interested.”

“You say you will not accept my fealty?” Swiftly Flowing Crimson tilted his head to one side, nonplussed. “But I have much to offer. Do not pretend that you take no pleasure in murder. If you worship me, offering your prayers upon my altar, I shall serve you loyally, as I did in an age gone by. Such was always our arrangement and our way. Whence comes this refusal?”

“I have dim memories of times gone by,” said Zera; and as he spoke, the memories came sharp and clear, cold as knives in his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he could not block out the visions. The pleas of the doomed and the screams of the dying echoed in the cavern of his skull. The sweat on his hands burned like blood. “If these Iron Wolves were like the ones I remember, they brought death in the night and killed those who opposed them.”

“Of course. That is their function. Your function.”

“No, it is not!” Zera spat. “They lost sight of that. Their function is to watch people and protect them.”

“That is not incompatible with my function. Surely, o Hidden Sun, you have taken life to spare the lives of others. Blood is the price of your guardianship; you shield your protectorate with corpses. Surely you know the truth of this!” The god gestured grandly, trailing scarlet shadows, and its minions echoed its movements. “All I ask is a word. One word. You need only say, ‘Yes.’ Say ‘I accept.’ Say these things, and all that is mine, my knives and servants and worshippers, all these things shall be yours for a thousand years. You may not wish it, you may deny it, but you cannot escape the truth. You and your kind are the greatest murderers in creation.”

“I do not celebrate what I do.”

“It is not about celebrating. Everything in Creation has meaning and purpose, and must be venerated for its nature. I ask for that acknowledgment which is my due. Once, you asked men to worship you, and not the gods. Your kind twisted the natural order. Let things be what they once were, what they must be.”

“No. I am not a murderer, and I will not play your games. Go back where you came from, death god. You will get nothing from me.”

The gods whispered to one another, nonplussed. Blood seeped further across the floorboards; the air stank of it. Reaching a conclusion, the murder-spirits turned once more to Zera. Swiftly Flowing Crimson made a gesture: “Will you listen to my seneschal?”

“Yes.”

Clasping its long-fingered bony hands together, the leftmost god shuffled forward, bowing deeply. “I am Treasured Scythe,” it said, its voice the hiss of sharpening steel. “I have heard your words, great soul, and I hear the sadness within them. But you must realize a thing: there are many who would make themselves the enemies of Heaven, regardless of what you do, and sometimes such beings must be struck down in silence in the night. When this happens, many, many lives are saved. When you do this thing, you aid Creation and do homage to us. All we ask is you recognize this homage that you do, that you acknowledge how we both serve Heaven, each in our own ways. That you formalize a relationship that already exists.”

Zera snorted derisively. “And perhaps I can woo a woman I love and beg a love goddess to consummate our marriage.”

Treasured Scythe frowned. “We do not deserve mockery.”

“You deserve worse than that, and I’ve half a mind to show you first-hand. Fuck you, murder gods. I am not like you, and I never will be like you. Go. Away.”

“He is young,” murmured the last god, who had not heretofore spoken aloud. “I advised you that this might happen.”

Swiftly Flowing Crimson nodded. He bowed deeply, mirrored by his subordinate gods, then straightened. “Very well, Lord Thisse. We take our leave of you. If you reconsider, our temple lies upon the Street of Axes.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

The gods of murder bowed one last time, then dissolved into darkness once more. Scarlet light flickered. Like smoke, the shadows swirled away beneath the door, and were gone.

Zera sat down hard on the edge of the bed. He folded forward with an exhausted sigh, bracing his forearms on his knees. He wrinkled his nose at the blood that remained pooled on the floor, the only tangible sign of their traffic with the spirits. “I wonder if we will have to pay for that?”

“It will be gone by morning,” said Fetek.

“I hate this place.”

* * * * *

They threw the shutters wide that night. The moonlit breeze swept the room, brushing away the dust and the dank chill of the murder gods. The spicy odors of midnight prayers mingled with the smoke of incense that Fetek burned to mute the blood stench. The two young men spoke long into the night and on to the dawn, debating the responsibilities of the Solar Exalted.

“You must reclaim your place in the Celestial Order,” said Fetek. He seemed ordinary now, a simple boy slouching in his chair, but for the silver gleam in his eyes.

“How are we supposed to do this?” Zera retorted. He paced. “There used to be hundreds of us. Now there’s just four. We couldn’t do it even if we wanted to. And I don’t want to,” he added, brushing stray hair back irritably. “Let Tepet Aekino do it. I’m sure it’s right up his alley.”

“He can’t do it alone. As you say, there used to be many of your kind. You may not need so many, but you do your brothers a disservice if you do not stand at their side.”

“I can do nothing. I sit up nights thinking of this. Why us?” He punched the wall, crunching a dent into the plaster. “Why just us?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s no one who tells us what is right or wrong.”

Fetek gave a puzzled look. “Doesn’t the Sun speak to you?”

“Once.” Zera sighed in frustration. “It was vague and left more questions than answers.”

“Luna is more forthcoming,” Fetek replied. “Or at least comes with more regularity. I am surprised that the Unconquered Sun has only the four of you.”

“I guess we’re on our own.”

“I’m sure the Unconquered Sun will eventually make apparent what you must do.”

Zera walked to the window, where the blue glow of false dawn displaced the moon. He leaned moodily against the sill. “Thorwald and I were talking,” he mused. “We’ve determined that these moods, these fits, come to us all. It occurred to us there must be others like us, waiting to be freed. If we can find what causes these fits and bring them to an end, then we can find these shards and let them go. And then we can <i>do</i> something about Thorns and the shadowlands.”

“Allies in heaven would be useful,” chided Fetek.

Zera flashed a sour, furtive smile. “There are temples on the Streets of Axes…”

“Don’t look at me,” Fetek retorted, waving the words away. “That is not my place.”

“Neither is it mine. But you heard them. I am a Dagger of the Night.”

“Dagger of Heaven,” corrected Fetek absently.

“Sorry. I’m rusty on my grandiose terminology.” The archer slouched over and fell onto the bed. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

[aragorn]

sweet.

[Li of Orchid]

I got to make up Swiftly Flowing Crimson, and he was so fun to play.

Then I stole his name for a deathknight. :D

[Ranko]

It's your own damn fault; but now I demand more by the end of the weekend, or I will blow up the world.

Swiftly Flowing Crimson, and the whole idea an the scene are cool to the max; actually cool to the point where one wishes to have played in that session.

[Quendalon]

The weeks fled past the tournament grounds. With the seasons chained to spring’s mild weather, only the duels distinguished one day from the next. The passing rounds thinned the field; many of the competitors left in disgrace, shamed or maimed or dead, though others stayed to watch the remainder of the tournament.

Li stood with her companions at the edge of the dueling circle. Above the clash of steel on bronze and the roar of the crowd, a hundred competitor’s banners cracked in the wind. The western swordswoman stared blankly into the circle, composing her mind for the battle to come.

Alec Doren adjusted the ivory comb that held back his long, pale hair. “Have the two of you seen the Master fight?”

Ledaal Martin looked up from his kebab. ”Who?” he asked through a mouthful of tender lamb.

“Master Hark.”

“I haven’t.”

“What he did to the young Dragon-Blood,” Doren said patiently. “Do you remember?”

Martin nodded, remembering. “Well, she deserved it.”

“Is she dead?”

“She made it to Sijan.”

“I see.”

“I don’t think Li has room for error. Tepet Aekino,” said Martin, turning to the Twilight, “you might want to give her advice.”

Aekino regarded the younger man with surprise. “Give advice to Li? She is at home in battle.”

“I have no fear for Li, but it will be unpleasant if she loses control.”

The Twilight smiled, reminiscing. “Rarely has she ever.”

“Here is the thing,” Martin continued. “Don’t get caught up in that fight. I don’t trust Shima. If Li walks out in anything but less than perfect shape, the Immaculates may try something.”

“They will regret that,” said Alec Doren. “Our hosts will kill them before they have a chance.”

Martin snorted. “We are dealing with fanatics,” he replied, wiping lamb grease from his fingers. “These are people who’ve had stories about Anathema pounded into them since they were born.”

”I grew up among them,” Aekino protested, “and I’m no fanatic.”

“That’s because you weren’t locked up in a monastery since you were six years old,” Martin replied. “No one seriously believes that stuff about reincarnation and Dragon-Blooded karmic superiority except for the indoctrinated and the stupid. It’s just a story the Immaculates cooked up to keep the peasants in line.”

Doren shook his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Certainly, no gods or spirits that I know of have come forward to deny the truth of the Immaculate Philosophy. I’m no scholar myself, but I won’t claim to know whether it’s true or false.”

A heated argument sprang up between the three regarding the moral fitness of the Immaculate Philosophy and its adherents. Their shouting dissolved in a wash of noise when the crowd screamed over the end of the current match, as the Eastern barbarian Essereth broke an outcaste Dragon-Blooded champion’s back. Then the crowd noise quieted as a herald in sea-green and silver announced the next match: “Li of Orchid versus Master Hark!”

Li stepped out onto the beaten earth of the circle. Across the arena, an elderly man stepped forward. Dry twigs crackled amid strands of white hair; milky cataracts dulled the green of his eyes. He leaned upon a simple wooden staff, barely a stick, as he shuffled forward.

In the grand pavilion, the Eighteen Princes of the Opal Branch stood. Their skin shone like silk in the late afternoon sun. Together, they raised their hands, and the air within the circle rippled and swam. To Li’s eyes, the crowded stands shivered and dissolved, swept away like butterflies upon a wind, revealing a wide temple courtyard open to the western sun. To one side lay a dragon-roofed temple of polished wood and rice-paper walls; to the other, the ground dropped away in valleys of gray and white, snow sifting across the view of mountains and blue skies.

The old man bowed deeply; the crisp wintry air ruffled his frosty hair and gray robes. “Come then,” he said, his voice an unexpectedly strong tenor. “I am Master Hark.”

“Greetings, Master Hark.” The swordswoman bowed. “I am Li of Orchid. It will be an honor.”

“Indeed.”

From a distance, unseen, Li heard the voice of the herald. “Prepare yourselves!”

Li drew her twin blades, Radiance and Brilliance, and moved through the opening kata of the Five-Fold Bulwark Stance. Master Hark’s stick hummed as he performed the Five-Dragon Blocking Technique; his age seemed to drop away, his movements crisp and smooth as a Djala acrobat’s.

The herald called out again. “Be ready!”

Snow drifted onto Li’s sleeves as she rose into the Graceful Crane Stance. Master Hark breathed deeply, moving his hands through the gestures of the Air Dragon Form.

The herald’s voice rang through the valley: “Begin!”

Li waited. So did Master Hark. They watched each other, unmoving, hearing only the tinkle of prayer chimes and the sigh of the wind in the peaks.

“Come,” said Master Hark. “What are you waiting for?”

Li remained motionless, unwilling to be drawn into injudicious action. The old Dragon-Blood shrugged and poked at Li’s midsection with his staff. Li parried and riposted, her swords shining and singing as she probed her opponent’s defenses.

Master Hark stepped back. He spun his stick easily in one hand. “So, Li of Orchid,” he said. “Where did you receive your training?” When the swordswoman said nothing, Hark leaned down and swept his stick at her ankles. She leapt up and back, one blade lashing out at her opponent in a blaze of Essence. He calmly parried amid a spray of sparks; the blow scraped a strip of bark from his stick, revealing green jade beneath. “Very good,” he said, smiling.

The Dawn Caste refused to take the bait. She fought cautiously, respecting her elder opponent’s skills; she said nothing. Thin trails of smoke rose from the temple, sweet with frankincense, rising to the heavens above. Her swords danced like swallows; Master Hark’s rod flickered like a sapling in the wind, darting at head, heart and belly with ceaseless precision.

“Your style is familiar, child,” said Hark.

Li parried, twisting; her sword rang as green jade blocked her riposte. “In what way?”

“Yours is the school of the Crane, is it not?”

“It is.” Radiance and Brilliance flared against the green; her parries stripped away more bark from the old man’s stick.

He nodded, smiled in the momentary pause. “Who taught you then, child?”

“My master was Wudi,” said Li, punctuating her statement with a whirling two-bladed assault. “Son of Themata.”

Master Hark gave way before the golden onslaught. Gravel scraped and shifted beneath his sandaled feet, but his smile did not waver. “Ah, Wudi. I have not seen him in many years.”

As the young swordswoman hesitated, her face unusually open, Hark swung his staff at her throat. She parried and thrust reflexively. He leapt above the low strike and landed, feather-light, upon her blade, then kicked off and somersaulted back towards the temple gate.

Li pursued the old Wood Aspect, pressing him back through the temple doors. Within, a hush lay upon the place; their sandals brushed softly over the rush-strewn wooden floor. The rafters hung above like gulls on the wind. “You know my master, then,” said Li, her radiant blades casting a faint tracery of shadows upon the walls.

Orichalcum met jade; the clang resounded high in the rafters. Above the sliding rice paper panels that walled and doored the temple, there brooded nine hundred gods; behind them all loomed a vast, inscrutable mandala of cedar and gold leaf, its eight interlocked rings gleaming above the altar like the sun and stars. Master Hark smiled into a pause amid the strife. “Indeed,” he said, “I helped train him in his adventures in the East.”

Li inclined her head respectfully. “Then, master,” she said softly, “I owe you a great deal.”

“You follow the Eight-fold Path, do you not?”

“I do.”

Their weapons clashed, gleaming vaguely in the muted light that seeped through the rice-paper walls. Master Hark spun his stick through a slow and lazy kata. “Of all the tenets of the Path,” he inquired, “which do you think to be the greatest?”

Li pondered for a moment. Then she quoted the Mantra of Conflict: “Conflict is the name for the force which creates change. Change is the Way of Creation. Thus, the Way lies in conflict.”

“Very good,” said the old Dragon-Blood. Dreamlike, he leapt into the rafters. “Not your master’s way, but no student follows in every footstep of the master.”

“No,” the young Solar replied. “Otherwise, he would not be a true student.”

Leaning down from the rafters at an impossible angle, Hark struck at Li, then somersaulted deftly to the floor. “Indeed,” he replied, his eyes smiling in their wrinkled nests.

Li retreated before the Master, wending back and forth amid the temple pillars, deflecting blows from the jade-hearted staff with easy flicks of the wrist. But Hark showed no more sign of fatigue than the cypress or the oak, so Li returned to the offensive. She attempted the maneuver known as Iron Dragon Breaks the Bridge, but the Dragon-Blood turned it aside with ease. Her swords danced through the movements of Wind Scatters the Snow, but this served her no better. Recklessly, she attempted the Four Kingfishers in Spring. Jade spat green sparks as Master Hark turned aside the four strokes of her sword; the fourth blow came so close as to shear through his robe, but did not actually land.

“Very good,” he mused. “But clearly something holds you back. What do you want, child? The fires of desire are burning in you.”

“I wish to know my mind and my way.”

“Then why do you restrain yourself?”

Frowning slightly, sweat beading upon her tattooed skin, Li allowed her blades to reply for her. Her new assault pressed Master Hark back to the edge of the temple space. Like a windblown leaf, the old man skittered sideways and backed out through an opening in the paneled walls. As Li advanced, Hark kicked the rice-paper panel so that it slid shut with a wooden clack. The swordswoman moved closer, her steps the careful walk of the crane; she peered through the thinness of the rice paper, but no shadow moved on the other side.

Li edged forward. She traced an arc across the panel with one luminous sword’s point; a flap of rice paper fell away, revealing blue sky. She frowned. Then she spun about, driven by reflex and Essence, to parry a blow from the stick as the Dragon-Blood struck at her from behind. Her unthinking, Essence-driven riposte drew a few drops of blood from her opponent’s wrist.

Master Hark blinked a few times, either from pain or in surprise, but evinced no other reaction. Indeed, he seemed to be enjoying the match; his attention scarcely seemed to be on the fight itself, but rather upon whatever Li’s movements reflected of her thoughts. “You have never known the pleasures of the flesh,” he observed. “Have you, child?”

Li methodically pressed her opponent back, toward the other side of the temple. “Have you, master?”

“Of course.” Master Hark seemed content to allow Li the initiative. “One must embrace temptation in order to know how to combat it. For it is not pleasure that is banned, but the path of yearning.”


Hark backed out of the temple, his stick-like figure silhouetted against the shine of sun on rock. Again he stepped sideways and kicked a rice-paper panel shut; this time, Li immediately shredded it in a blaze of razor-edged Essence. He shoved another panel sideways as she stepped through the opening; she kicked it back, almost clipping him with the frame.

They moved out into the stone garden, and there the Dragon-Blood finally demonstrated his full power, the green Essence rising around him as his staff whirled and flashed in the sun, moving faster than Li could see. Her blades moved of their own volition, parrying one stroke after another, but the stick wove through the defense to land below her breastbone with a loud crack. The blow to her solar plexus sent her reeling; she forced herself not to vomit, to remain standing, as the Essence guided her swords despite her weakness.

She let her anger free. Gold fire roared from her mouth as she spun to the side and unleashed the maneuver called Cutting the Wavecrest. Brilliance flared as she cut a hole in the air amid a spray of scarlet blood and white-hot Solar Essence. Master Hark staggered back, his arms and chest dripping blood. He looked down at the blood, then up at the Dawn’s caste mark. “So,” he coughed. “It is true.”

Li nodded. “Yes, I am Anathema. I am surprised you doubted,” she said. “Why would Shima lie?”

Master Hark pressed one hand against the bloody gash across his chest. He regarded her, his jaw set. “I believe you follow the Eight-fold Path,” he said at last. “I will think on this.”

He bowed stiffly, from equal to equal. She bowed back, her golden corona bending like a flame in the breeze. “Thank you for your lesson, Master,” she said.

They turned away as the temple, the garden and the mountains shredded like smoke in the wind. They bowed to the Eighteen Princes. Then they walked out of the dueling circle, each to their own side, all in silence. All around them, the spectators stared at the apparition of the Anathema.

Tepet Aekino, alone, stood and applauded. For a moment, the stifling silence swallowed his clapping; then whispers and mutterings swelled amid the crowd, drowning him out.

Li joined her companions on the sidelines, her body still framed with golden fire. They smiled at her. “Did you win?” asked Ledaal Martin.

“Yes,” she replied. “He yielded.” She turned away, approaching a cringing slave for water.

“He quit?” Martin looked to his companions. “Why?”

Aekino regarded him scornfully. “Because Li beat him, of course.”

[YerMum]

:eek:

[Ranko]

Li of Orchid
She's our man
If she can't do it
No one can!

Oh yeah, and next please :)

[Quendalon]

Martin, Li and Doren lingered in a pale green sitting room off of the main dining hall of the Inn of the Nine Chrysanthemums. Conversation buzzed low; the other guests kept a careful distance, though they watched and gossiped about the Anathema. The slave boy freshened Doren’s tea, then knelt to massage the Dragon-Blood’s feet.

“Who do you think will win the tournament?” offered Doren.

“Li, of course,” Martin replied.

“Not Aekino? He seems most skilled at the martial arts.”

Martin smirked. “When it comes right down to it, Aekino is a lover, not a fighter.”

“That’s fair. And I already know what you think of the Immaculates.” Doren shifted slightly, indicating for the slave to massage his calf. “What of the deathknight? We don’t know the limit of his skills.”

“That’s a good question,” Martin agreed. “What do you think, Li?”

The Dawn shrugged. Her face remained impassive. “That battle has yet to be fought.”

Beaded curtains jangled softly as Aekino and Rei emerged from an upper stair. “Ah, there’s Li!” said Rei. She approached the tattooed Dawn, handing her a pouch heavy with jade. “That was a good fight! Here’s your share of the winnings.”

Li shrugged. With a raised eyebrow, she handed the pouch off to Aekino as he seated himself at the low table. He accepted it, smiling. “We thank you for your generosity, Rei,” he said.

Rei shrugged. “There have been some good side bets surrounding you. Don’t worry, I’ve picked up a lot more than what you’re holding. There’ll be even more if the Fortunes hold.”

Aekino nodded. His gaze drifted across the table, then snapped back to the slave boy. “Stop that,” he said firmly.

The lad blinked. “Stop what?”

“Stop staring at me.” He turned to Doren. “You really need to learn to keep your slaves under control.”

“Do I?” Doren smiled complacently. “I prefer to give my charges a somewhat freer rein than you seem to think appropriate. But that is my business now, and not yours.”

“This is ridiculous,” replied Aekino. “A competition on this scale and you turn <i>this</i> into an issue.”

“It is not an issue.” Doren sprinkled white rose leaves into hot water to steep. “To me, this is just free labor, Tepet Aekino.”

“Don’t worry,” Martin interjected. “We’re on top of things. Now that everyone knows that Li is Anathema, we can’t push the short bets anymore, but the first-place bets are still good. And we have some side bets going that should rake in the dough.”

Aekino’s eyes bulged. “Today’s revelation endangers our lives and everything that we do here, and you discuss <i>bets?</i>”

Doren shrugged. “Sometimes you can’t afford to lose track of the details, Aekino. But don’t worry; that is why I am here.”

“I have no need for your mockery, Alac Doren.”

“Rest assured, Tepet Aekino, that I do not mock you. I merely speak the truth as I see it.”

The bickering continued for a few moments, until a well-dressed young woman, whom they recognized as maidservant to the old matchmaker Suzaku Sentatsu, intruded upon their debate with a polite cough. “May I address the esteemed Master Tepet?” she said.

“Yes?” Aekino wreathed himself in smiles, his irritation vanishing like a fish into the depths.

“My master wishes to remind you your next match is in moments, and to convey his warmest wishes for your success.”

“Of course. Please convey to him my sincere and heartfelt felicitations.”

She smiled politely. “Is there anything that you might need, Master Tepet?”

“No,” he replied, “but thank him on my behalf.”

“He would be pleased if you dine with him this evening.”

Aekino smiled. “Of course.”

The maidservant departed. As soon as her back was turned, Aekino’s good humor vanished. Glaring, he stood. “I have enough troubles on my mind,” he informed his companions, “without dealing with your ill-considered attempts at humor. This conversation is over.”

Bemused, Doren watched the Solar depart. “There may be trouble to come if he cannot learn to master his emotions.”

Martin shook his head. “He woke up one day and he was a demon. His whole life turned upside down. That is hard to get around. The worst parts of his upbringing are coming out right now.”

“Nonetheless,” Doren replied, “he must work to stop this.”

“I am all about people changing, but you are pushing him too hard and that makes him recalcitrant. Don’t stop what you are doing; just reexamine your methods.”

“I will consider this.”

* * * * *

Thorwald, Fetek and Zera walked away from the merchant docks in Great Forks late in the morning. Zera shook his pouch; it hung limp, one lonely coin rattling about inside. The three had spent all of their money purchasing food to send back to the town of Brinlack, leaving themselves not enough even for steerage on the trip downriver. “Looks like we’re living light again.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Thorwald. “Everyone knows how wealthy and generous we are.”

They followed the dock road west. Bright-sailed vessels from the Realm jockeyed for position among the docks with dhows and junks from Calin, Nexus, Lookshy and Arashon. Merchants and factors dickered at the top of their lungs, laboring to be heard over the din of shouting sailors, raucous meat-pie vendors and the thunderous rattle of carts clattering over the cobblestones laden with goods. Scaly hair or stony skin marked many porters and stevedores as possessing divine or elemental ancestry; even Thorwald drew no attention there.

Then they approached the gates of the city, and the beggar gods accosted them. “Great ones,” they cried, “pray to us! Give us your blessings!” Passersby stopped to look. Our heroes hunkered down and moved faster, except for Thorwald. He turned to address the ragged spirits. “What do you want from us?” he asked.

“Don’t talk to them!” Zera hissed. “You’re only encouraging them.”

Fetek nodded. “Don’t make eye contact with the gods,” he said.

The divine mass seethed. Eyes gleamed like jewels from amidst shabby feathers and finery. “We want your respect!”

Thorwald inclined his head respectfully. “You have it.”

“Not in the way we want it.”

“My hands are beginning to twitch,” said Zera. “They want my bow. Let’s go.”

“Priest of the sun!” cried another god. Word spread; more spirits arrived, accompanied by citizens curious about this new manifestation of divinity.

“Thorwald!” The archer tugged at his larger companion’s arm insistently. “We’re running late.”

“Priest of the sun!” called yet another god. The chant spread.

Zera snarled at the latest divine celebrant. “Go hawk your wares somewhere else.”

“Foolish one, I come seeking you!” The god flung itself down at their feet, its azure robes puddling like water upon the cobbles.

“This is madness!”

“I should be in heaven,” the spirit droned imperturbably, “but I am here, because I am seeking you.”

Thorwald stepped forward to address the kowtowing god. “Spirit,” he said, “I have not determined yet whether we are capable of giving respect – or are worthy of it.”

“You show respect,” the god replied, “unlike your companion. I shall wait for the time when you have an answer.”

Fetek leaned near his Solar companions. “We need to have this conversation somewhere else,” he said sharply, “some other time.”

Thorwald nodded. He glanced at the encircling crowd; it had grown steadily, thickening, increasing in volume. “Perhaps we will meet again,” he said loudly.

“Time is of little consequence,” the god replied. “Go. Grow.”

They went.

[DannySF]

Reading this thread has almost turned me manic-depressive.

I've been working up to running Exalted and recently came across these campaign notes. Reading through them leaves me alternating between motivated & inspired by the excellence of the whole thing and dispirited & depressed in the knowledge that neither I nor my players are capable of achieving the same level of excellence.

That said, December can't roll around quickly enough, if only so I can vicariously enjoy the goodness. :D

Need more!

------
Dan

[Quendalon]

Noon. A fighter collapsed, blood streaming from his face. The crowd roared.

Ledaal Martin laid his hand on Tepet Aekino’s shoulder. “Aekino,” he said, “I can see you are in a bad mood. But do not carry that in the ring.”

Aekino shrugged the hand away. “I thank you for your concern,” he said coldly.

The herald shouted, “Tepet Aekino versus Peleps Taru! … Is Tepet Aekino present?”

Aekino stepped into the circle. “He is.”

The Eighteen Princes gestured as the competitors approached one another. The air rippled; the earth seemed to flow upward like water as the crowd’s image fell away like rain. The two stood in the courtyard of a glorious manse, where statues of Dragon-Blooded heroes encircled the splashing waters of a fountain.

“Prepare yourselves!” cried the unseen herald. Tepet Aekino and Peleps Taru glared at one another, compelled by the animosity of their last meeting. Aekino’s blue robe flapped in the breeze; droplets of water beaded upon the blue and black jade of Taru’s armor.

“Be ready!” cried the herald. Aekino took up the Snake Form; Taru rose several inches into the air upon the roar of a sudden whirlwind.

“Fight!” cried the herald. Aekino twirled his staff of black jade, Havoc in the Dragon Palace, so that its golden dragons sparkled in the sun. Taru spun his jade glaive until the air hummed.

Like a wasp, the Dragon-Blood soared and dived. He dipped behind the fountain for a moment, hovering upon the air, and then burst through the waters at his opponent. “For the Dragons!” he shouted, his blade descending like a butcher’s cleaver.

Aekino evaded the cut, his body seeming to blur as he twisted bonelessly aside. Taru’s next attack served no better. The Solar smiled. “Surely you can do better than that, Peleps Taru,” he goaded. “Are you even trying?”

“I will show you!” snarled Taru. He soared high into the air, then descended like a comet, his blade glowing an icy blue. Staring up to watch Taru’s approach, Aekino smiled and blew him a kiss, then bent aside like a reed in the wind. As the Air Aspect stumbled upon the ground, Aekino spun and kicked, the blow only missing its mark as Taru desperately conjured a wind to deflect it.

Aekino laughed. “This must be especially embarrassing for you,” he said, gesturing to the statues, “in front of all these Dragon-Blooded heroes.”

“You don’t seem to be touching me yourself, Tepet Aekino,” spat Taru.

“I have launched but one attack. How many have you launched?”

The Air Aspect’s self-control finally snapped. He assaulted Aekino furiously; lightning crackled around his flashing glaive, while hailstones whined and spun. Aekino seemed to swirl away like smoke, avoiding blows that broke flagstones and shattered the statues of Dragon-Blooded heroes. Distantly, the crowd roared.

Smiling, Aekino lured his opponent away from the fountain and statues, out over the grasses to the edge of the garden, to the border of the charmed circle. Taru attempted a furious lunge. Aekino allowed his anima to flare a brilliant gold; his hands snaked out to grasp the Dragon-Blood, redirecting his attack into a classic throw. “I know you can fly,” he said, flinging his opponent out of the ring. “Farewell.”

The illusionary manse faded as Taru crashed into the stands. Aekino grinned as the herald announced his victory. He strutted to rejoin his companions, but the crowd did not laud him; they watched the golden fire around him with suspicion and hushed whispers.

“Well done, Tepet Aekino,” said Alac Doren.

Li proffered a rare smile. “Well done, brother.”

“Thank you,” Aekino replied. Preening beneath the golden glow, he glanced at Ledaal Martin. “What, no praise?”

“Good job,” Martin grumbled.

“Thank you.”

They walked out of the arena Craning his neck, Doren eyed the teeming crowds. “I think we need to prepare for attempts on your life,” he said.

Aekino frowned at him. “Do you have any other more straightforward words of disapproval?”

“In what regard?”

Aekino sighed theatrically. “Doren,” he replied, “you disappoint me.”

“How so?”

“You aren’t conveying the lesson I see you desperately trying to convey.”

Doren shrugged. “Your motives,” he said with uncharacteristic somberness, “are your own. I think you either wanted to make clear the rumors were true, or there is someone in the audience you are trying to impress. The lesson I will be trying to convey is, I would think, an obvious one. Discretion is the better part of valor.”

“Why?”

“We are in a tournament of war, not a debating exercise. You need not respect me, but I would be much happier if you would respect the situation we are in. Your nature is no longer rumor, but established fact. Our enemies knew that Li was Anathema. Now they know about you. And in all honesty, Li is far more capable of defending herself against your enemies in battle.”

Aekino had no reply.

* * * * *

Aekino partook in a lavish dinner with Suzaku Sentatsu that evening, but his heart was not in it. He merely nodded along with the old matchmaker’s attempts to convince him to visit Iehachi; the offers of wealth and fame and lovely women scarcely touched him as he chewed over the arguments of the day.

The next day, Aekino wandered the fairgrounds with Li, passing a few words as they walked among stands selling garlicky grilled meats and fried honeyed bread. By chance, as they passed a seller of exotic birds of brilliant plumage, they encountered a familiar face, that of a small dark-haired fellow laden with pouches and pockets. A massive green-haired man accompanied him: the barbarian Essereth, one of the champions of the arena.

“Kurokami!” said Aekino. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

The scavenger lord smiled. “Likewise, Lord Aekino, Lord Li. It is good to see you both.” Glancing to either side, he added in a lower voice, “You have, I think, heard that I have a proposal that I would share with you?”

Aekino nodded. “Rei told us, yes.”

“Perhaps,” Kurokami suggested, “we might speak of this more discreetly?”

“Of course.”

They retired from the hubbub of the bazaar to a small tavern that stank of vinegar, stale vomit and woodsmoke. Aekino clasped a perfumed handkerchief to his mouth as they claimed a private booth. After the barmaid brought them mugs of watery peach wine and bustled off, Aekino spoke. “You have a proposition?”

Kurokami nodded. “It is rather dangerous, but lucrative. There is a lost city deep in the jungles of the Southeast. It is called Rathess; I am sure you have heard of it. It is said to have been a city of dragon-lords in the First Age. There will be much treasure. Essereth,” he added, gesturing to the scarred barbarian, “has informed me that he has traveled there and survived. He knows the way.”

“There are snakes there,” murmured Essereth. “But I like snakes.”

Kurokami made a gesture that succinctly indicated his dubious opinion regarding his barbarian ally’s thought processes. “We have worked with each other before,” he said, “and the results were profitable.”

“You know we have worked well with you before,” Li replied, “and will do so again.”

“I have seen what you can do, and I suspect that we will need your strength and your skills. If you accompany me, you can take whatever you can carry,” said Kurokami.

“Your offer has some appeal,” Aekino replied. “However, we have a deadline.”

Li nodded. “We must rejoin our friends on midsummer. Or get a message to them.”

“Where do you plan on meeting them?” Kurokami inquired.

“There is no need to concern yourself with that,” replied Aekino smoothly. “We will make the arrangements.”

The scavenger lord nodded. “Let me know before the tournament is over,” he said. “Thank you for your time.”

“No,” said Aekino. “Thank you for coming to us.” <i>Coming to us</i>, he thought, <i>despite knowing that we are Anathema</i>.

* * * * *

Days swept by beneath the violet warmth of Mokuren’s eternal spring. The crowds of competitors thinned, but many remained to watch as the tournament progressed inexorably towards its conclusion. Now, though the arena still got much use for sparring and impromptu duels, only once a day did the Eighteen Princes call forth the competitors for the tournament’s final rounds.

The sun hung high over the field. The thronging spectators roared.

“Ledaal Martin versus Ledaal Rivander!”

The air rippled. God-Blood and Dragon-Blood, renegade swordsman and student of the Immaculate arts, the two brothers glared at one another as the courtyard of Tower of Winds took shape around them.

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” said Rivander. He grinned nastily. “You’re brave, but you know you can’t stand up to me.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Just don’t hurt me too bad.”

“It won’t hurt too long,” Rivander replied, brushing an imaginary mote of dust from one magnificently embroidered sleeve.

“You always were all talk, little brother.”

The fight began. Flames blossomed around the two combatants. Scarlet blades leapt like cranes at sunset; clashing, they rang like broken bells. Within seconds, the younger brother claimed the advantage. His fires glowed brightly as his blades danced through Essence-charged patterns impossible for Martin to counter.

Slash! Rivander slid past Martin’s guard to carve a bloody slash on his arm. Martin snarled. “Is that the best you can do?”

Rivander sneered. “Not even close.”

Rivander proceeded to beat the living daylights out of his older brother. Martin spat defiance, seemingly trying to goad his brother into more furious attacks – a thing he accomplished easily, at which point Martin received the beating of his life. Seconds later, he lay insensate upon the ground, his arms and nose broken, his face disfigured by a dozen jagged cuts.

As Aekino and his companions moved to help Martin to the healer’s tent, Rivander passed them with a sneer. “You’ll get yours, Anathema,” he said. “You just wait and see.”

* * * * *

Thorwald, Zera and Fetek trudged westward along the north bank of the Yellow River. Winter slowly gave way to spring, and they slogged through tumbling, icy rains and rippling marshes strident with grackles and geese. As the weather warmed, they amused themselves by hunting bandits in the hills above the river, walking knowingly into their ambushes, scattering them with sword and claw and celestial fire, and then following them back to their lairs to steal their spoils. Soon they had enough money to purchase supplies and a small boat, with which they sailed swiftly into the west.

Hour after hour, day after day, the waters flowed uneventfully past. They slipped past the great cities and towns of the Yellow River district, stopping only occasionally at farming and fishing villages to gather supplies. Thorwald watched the currents and tended the sail; Zera kept a keen eye out for Dynastic vessels and the black ships of the shadowlands. Fetek hunted fish and river birds for their meals, and swam or glided alongside in his many animal forms.

One day, as he leaned in human form over the edge of the boat, Fetek said, “I’m bored. I think I’ll hunt a river dragon today.”

Zera gave him a flat, smoldering stare. “I think that is a terrible idea.”

“Ha!” Thorwald grinned down at them from the mast, his hands full of sailcloth. “I think it is an excellent idea! I will help you.”

An aerial sweep in the form of an eagle quickly revealed a river dragon to the young Lunar. As the others brought the boat to bear, Fetek dived towards the somnolent beast. He transformed into his war-form as he struck the water.

The dragon awakened. It thrashed, its head breaching the water as it voiced a high, petulant howl. Its tail flailed wildly, striking the boat below the waterline; timbers cracked and burst, spilling water into the bilge. Fetek clawed at the beast’s side with silver claws, opening huge gashes that stained the water crimson. It threw its coils around him and began to squeeze.

Thorwald leapt from the boat. Zera gritted his teeth as he watched the northman swim toward the boiling scarlet waters where the dragon and Fetek were sinking from sight. Another massive contortion sent out a wave that all but swamped the boat. When he could see again, the battle had wholly submerged; he could see nothing but the blood that boiled up from the depths and streamed downriver.

Minutes passed; the seething waters calmed. The river dragon’s corpse floated to the surface, riven by a hundred wounds. Thorwald straddled its shoulders and hacked at its neck with his daiklave, while Fetek thrust one claw deep into its chest cavity and pulled out its heart, which he began to eat.

Their work done, the warriors swam back to the boat, laughing. Zera sat on its edge, fuming, with his feet in the river. The prow emerged from the water at an unusual angle; the stern was completely flooded.

“Yeah!” Fetek wiped a bit of half-crusted blood from the corner of his mouth. His mood soured beneath Zera’s withering glare. “What’s your problem? I won!”

Zera nodded. “Hey, Fetek. Can you get something out of my bag?”

Fetek peered into the murky water that filled the boat. “I, uh,” he stammered, “I think there’s something wrong with the boat.”

“Very perceptive.” Zera made a half-hearted attempt to push the boat to the bank, making sure his bow remained securely over his shoulder. Thorwald helped, hanging the river dragon’s head upon the mast.

“I’ll, uh, get your bag,” muttered Fetek.

Zera nodded. He tried to shake water from his hair. “Why don’t you get all of them?”

“Right.” The Lunar took on the river dragon’s own shape and dove into the depths.

A half hour later, as Zera and Thorwald sat on the bank, making a fire close to the beast’s carcass, Fetek climbed out of the river with the sodden baggage in his hands. He set it down meekly at Zera’s feet.

“Why?” asked Zera. “Why now? Did you notice we were paddling a fucking <i>canoe</i>?”

“Well, uh… how often do I get this kind of opportunity?” Fetek retorted lamely.

Zera took a deep breath. He sighed. “How can I possibly refute such logic? You broke the boat! You sunk our food! The money is gone!”

“But we don’t need a boat anymore! I can turn into a river dragon, and you can ride on my back!”

“That’s it!” Zera threw his hands up in despair. “I’m making camp over there.”

“Zera!” Thorwald called out to his retreating companion, waving skewers of raw meat. “Do you want some river dragon?”

“Hah!”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

* * * * *

Evening. A small village on the bank of the Yellow River; thatching glowing gold in the last rays of the sun. Flies buzzed in the rice paddies and drifted lazily around the stink of the pigpens. As the villagers retired for the night, they stopped to stare at the three figures that approached from the east, hauling the carcass of a river dragon in their wake.

“Hello, the village!” shouted Thorwald as they came close. “We are travelers! We bring a gift for the village.”

After some milling about, an older woman stepped forth to acknowledge the strangers. “Thank you,” she said, her voice and posture uncertain. “We so rarely get… um… what kind of heroes are you that kill river dragons for rice farmers?”

“It attacked us,” Thorwald replied. “We do not need the meat.”

The villagers eyed the headless corpse of the river beast. It swayed gently, bobbing up and down in the current. They eyed the strangers, who regarded them with merciless bonhomie. They eyed the strangers’ weapons, all gleaming of jade.

“You are kind,” said the elder at last. “Surely we must reward such heroes in some way.”

“There is nothing we need,” said Thorwald. “We only wish to travel to Nexus. We are only passing through.”

The elder nodded. “We have a boat. Please take it, with our blessings.”

When the strangers left, the villagers counted their blessings indeed.

* * * * *

Spring spread its warm shawl over the East. Snow melted; streams swelled and roared; birds flung themselves into the trees, their harsh cries echoing across water and hills. Three ragged travelers peered westward from their boat as the gray sprawl of Nexus loomed in the west.

They disembarked at the Hollow Docks and made their way to the edge of the Night Market. Lean and weatherbeaten from their long journey, their jade weapons wrapped in cloth to avoid notice, they quickly found a boarding-house and procured a room and a hot meal.

Zera pushed aside his empty bowl. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll do a quick look around tonight, then come back here.”

“Why the rush?” Fetek looked up from his own meal. “The others won’t be here for months.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Zera replied.

Fetek watched Zera walk out. “What’s gotten into him?”

“It is about a woman,” rumbled Thorwald. He gestured for more ale. “When you love a woman, you will understand.”

“Excuse me? I’m married, if you remember.”

“I said a woman, not a demon. That doesn’t count.”

* * * * *

Entering the fifth inn of the evening, Zera brushed raindrops from his hair and breathed deeply. The air reeked of tobacco and wood smoke. He sighed. He had not really expected to find the woman he sought tonight. So why did it trouble him so?

He looked about. She was not here, either. Perhaps it was time to return to the others. But there, sitting alone at that table… that young woman looked familiar. He approached softly, ignoring the inn’s other few occupants, blocking out the buzz of their drunken laughter.

“Zera?” She looked up, her face flushing with excitement. “Zera, is that you?”

Recognizing her, Zera flinched. <i>Oh no</i>, he thought, <i>not her again. Not Mara. How does she keep finding me?</i>

“Zera, you’ve come back to me!” He turned his face away, but it was too late. Her voice rang with hope and foolish love. “I knew you couldn’t stay away!”

He turned to leave, but he did not make it to the door.

Her words stopped him. She rose to her feet, her hands pressed against her swollen belly. “Zera,” she cried out through the smoky air. “Zera Thisse. Don’t you want to greet your son?”

[Zera Thisse]

I don't think anyone realizes how much of an honor it was to be a part of this game. I've never met a better GM or interacted with a better group of players.

Worst of it all is that no one I know of in Austin even games. Even if they did, the band keeps me too focused on playing music to allow time to game. I'm fiending like a crackhead for a little Exalted or D and D. . . .

Here's hoping the other guys get the ball rolling again very soon, as I'm as interested as the rest of you to see where the story goes from here.

Oh, and the band is "Powderburn", not "Powerburn", oh great and terrible Li of Orchid.

[Breath-of-Midnight]

I don't think anyone realizes how much of an honor it was to be a part of this game. I've never met a better GM or interacted with a better group of players.

Worst of it all is that no one I know of in Austin even games. Even if they did, the band keeps me too focused on playing music to allow time to game. I'm fiending like a crackhead for a little Exalted or D and D. . . .

Here's hoping the other guys get the ball rolling again very soon, as I'm as interested as the rest of you to see where the story goes from here.



Aww... We miss you too. I think you should convince your bad to move away from that hell-state and back up here. On the plus side I now posses 67 Precious Venoms and we are getting another Lunar.

I would still rather have Zera, though...

[Spectrum]

Hey, just started reading this thread today. Some very cool stuff in here, keep it up guys. ^^ Kinda rekindled my lost interest in Exalted.

I'm also interested to see how (if at all) the Zera/Mara/Mya subplot plays out.

[Zera Thisse]

Awwwww, thanks Fetek. I would, but NYC and rock music don't really get along lately. I'll come back when I'm filthy rich and we'll game in my Central Park West penthouse. Sound good?

And yeah, Spectrum, I'm interested to see how that pans out myself. ::smirk::

[Tepet Aekino]

Yes, you see. That was set-up number one. Let's recall Kibu, the God of the Dreams of Rebellious Children said that he knew a secret. Well, there you have it!

Now I would like to have the rest of you reading this to watch for the way in which Aekino was set-up. Wait for it. Wait for it....

Oh, and I miss you very much, Zera! Hope you're having fun doing the things you do these days!

And might I say that I love your title and signature, Fetek. Very nice!

Welcome aboard, Spectrum. Please feel free to praise us early and often. We really enjoy the game and especially enjoy your feedback.

Toodles!

TA

[Breath-of-Midnight]

And might I say that I love your title and signature, Fetek. Very nice!


Thanks, I just figured out how to do that. Now I just need Li to remind me what that character's name was so I can properly attrubute the quote.

[Li of Orchid]

Thanks, I just figured out how to do that. Now I just need Li to remind me what that character's name was so I can properly attrubute the quote.

Sesus Amano.

I had half of the writeup done for the short Dragonblooded game where that quote came from, but I have since lost my USB Flash Drive that it was saved on, so until I find it, the game summary is in limbo...

[Breath-of-Midnight]

Sesus Amano.

I had half of the writeup done for the short Dragonblooded game where that quote came from, but I have since lost my USB Flash Drive that it was saved on, so until I find it, the game summary is in limbo...

Thanks!

I hope that we can get the write-up for the DB game. It was cool.

[Quendalon]

To my players:

Whoever saves the current session's notes, please do not save it under the name of "Session 39" (or whatever session number it currently is), which is how I name the files I use for my pre-game prep. Someone did that last session, and it overwrote my own file. As a result, all of my prep notes for the next half-dozen sessions are gone.

- Eric

[YerMum]

To my players:

Whoever saves the current session's notes, please do not save it under the name of "Session 39" (or whatever session number it currently is), which is how I name the files I use for my pre-game prep. Someone did that last session, and it overwrote my own file. As a result, all of my prep notes for the next half-dozen sessions are gone.

- Eric

:eek:

*flies round the earth backwards to rewind time!*

:( didn't work...

[Li of Orchid]

To my players:

Whoever saves the current session's notes, please do not save it under the name of "Session 39" (or whatever session number it currently is), which is how I name the files I use for my pre-game prep. Someone did that last session, and it overwrote my own file. As a result, all of my prep notes for the next half-dozen sessions are gone.

- Eric

Nessa was the note-taker last session, not us! Blame her! :eek:

[Breath-of-Midnight]

Nessa was the note-taker last session, not us! Blame her! :eek:

Damn her eyes!

[Li of Orchid]

I give the vast silliness of our raw session notes, before Quendalon can apply his masterful writing abilities and make this madness resemble a real story. Here is session 34.

http://www.lensmen.net/wiki/exalted.pl?LiOfOrchid/10000BDSession34raw

[Ranko]

Who is this Nessa?

[Li of Orchid]

Who is this Nessa?

Thorvald's player's girlfriend and occasional NPC-player.

[Ranko]

Thorvald's player's girlfriend and occasional NPC-player.

Thanks. She has a pretty name, you may tell Thorval'd's player's girlfriend I said so (but I mostly wanted to type it all out because it made me smile :) )

[Quendalon]

<b>Mother Cypress speaks:</b>
<i>“Hello, children. I see that you have come for a tale. So what tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of Sharn Alia, last-born child of the elder Solar, Sharn Larenn? Would you hear of how she received the Divine Breath on the eve of the Usurpation, and of what became of her in the years to come? Or would you hear more of the doings of the children of Moon and Sun, and of the fall of the Scarlet Realm?

“Ah, then come closer, my children. Gather round, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and their troubles in the lands of the East.”</i>

* * * * *

Mara drew nearer. “Don’t you want to say hello to your daughter?”

Zera stared at her pregnant belly in shock. He shook his head to clear it. “Come with me,” he said.

“I have a room upstairs,” Mara replied, smiling. “We can go –”

“Follow me!” snapped Zera. He grasped her wrist and drew her toward the door.

“Why?” complained Mara, flustered; things were not going according to plan. “My feet hurt and my ankles are swollen.”

“It’s not far.”

Zera let her out of the inn and down the street, to a narrow, triangular park where pigeons shuffled and brawled around a dry fountain stained white with their droppings. But for a blanket-wrapped beggar lying across a park bench, whom they ignored, the place was empty. He sat her down on a bench and leaned in close; and as he did so, the golden ring of his caste mark blazed upon his forehead. “This is how it is,” he hissed. “Do you know what this means?”

“Your face…” She reached out hesitantly to brush the mark with her fingers. “It means your head is glowing…?”

“You are familiar with the word ‘Anathema’?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “I –”

“Believe it,” he said.

She stared at him in wonder. “But you… it’s <i>you</i>.”

Zera shook his head. “It is, but it is also not. I am not the man you knew.”

“It’s strange,” she answered, “and magnificent. But I still need you. And so does our child.”

“I realize that,” Zera replied. “But it can’t be the way you want it to be.”

“I don’t understand…”

Zera sighed. He sat down beside her on the bench. He watched the pigeons flutter up out of the shadow of the fountain and into the slanted amber light of the afternoon sun. “I realize that,” he said. “And I realize that I’ve been unfair to you. So I will give you brutal truth.” He drew a deep breath. “Years ago, I was engaged to a woman. I thought she died. I saw it. I found out recently that she still lives.”

“And you’re going to go be with her instead of… us?”

“I will do what has to be done. But I’ve never loved you.” He looked away from her stricken face. “Besides, I’m a walking dead person anyway.”

“So I was only good enough while you were just traipsing through Thorns.” Mara’s voice shook. “And now I’m what, inconvenient to you?”

“I never promised you anything,” he said haughtily.

“That’s all very well, Zera Thisse, but this child that you’ve helped me to make… you can’t just abandon her!”

“I won’t abandon anyone.”

“You’re going to abandon <i>me</i>!”

“You remember the city we came from? Still fresh in your memory?”

Mara shied from the whip-crack of his sarcasm. “But you helped me. You were a hero.”

“You’re not listening to me.” He leapt back to his feet and began to pace. “The horrible things that destroyed our home… I’m gong to do something about them. I may succeed, but more likely I’ll die horribly. I’m not going to this woman to be with her. I’m going to see her one last time.”

“But things are different now.” She raised her hands, pleading. “You have family –”

“I have power. I have responsibilities.”

Mara clutched her shawl tightly around her as a cold wind blew out of the darkening eastern streets. “You’re speaking in riddles, I don’t understand.”

“You can’t understand it.” Down the street, pedestrians turned to look, but Zera didn’t noticed. He glared down at Mara, his voice raised. “I could kill everyone in this district in minutes! But I want to do something right. I can’t settle down in some little village and not use my power and ignore everything around me. I can’t just ignore it.”

“You don’t understand,” Mara replied. “Your daughter is going to be great and powerful like you. They’ve seen it in the stars!”

“What are you talking about?”

“They –” She gasped, clutching at her belly. “Oh,” she moaned, “oh, it’s time.”

Zera stared at her stupidly. “Time?”

Mara’s face had turned pale. “My water just broke.”

He swept her up in his arms. Like a cricket, he leapt out of the shadows of Nexus’ winding streets, and bore her off across the rooftops to the midwife.

[aragorn]

Mara drew nearer. “Don’t you want to say hello to your son?”

...


“That’s all very well, Zera Thisse, but this child that you’ve helped me to make… you can’t just abandon her!”



I hope that the sex of the child didn't change. Unless ... unless there's a plot point I missed in here somewhere and the kid is just cool. :)

[Quendalon]

I hope that the sex of the child didn't change. Unless ... unless there's a plot point I missed in here somewhere and the kid is just cool. :)
Ack! :eek:

I originally sprang the pregnancy on Zera's player as a surprise plot point, and the player running Mara as an NPC used the "son" line. I talked to Zera's player afterwards, and he said he'd prefer a daughter, so we retroactively changed his unborn child's gender. Unfortunately, I failed to notice the inconsistency in the session notes. Thanks for catching it!

- Eric

[Quendalon]

Li leaned upon the great blade named Burning Tiger. Through the dust of the afternoon, she watched the battles in the charmed circle as she awaited her own match. A snap of bone – a spray of blood – and a battle ended. Towering crags of sandstone faded, leaving only the victor brandishing his blade over his opponent’s body, lying motionless upon the battered earth of the circle.

“Sana versus Ah Chün!” called the herald, as two new competitors entered the ring. Li watched with some interest; she knew both of them. One, the Wood Aspect girl they’d rescued from a sacrifice on a demon’s altar, strode forth grimly to face the other, the tiger-clad barbarian woman ridden by an old god. Li stared; and as she did, she caught the old god’s eye. Somewhere behind Li’s eyes, a former life stared back, and she felt memory wash over and through her.

* * * * *

Night. The city of Haruka shone against the stars, her plazas ashine with prayer candles and paper lanterns, her jeweled towers blazing softly with a thousand lucent colors. Somewhere beyond her walls, the armies of the Exalted gathered to crush the gathering rebellion, but within, all lay serene beneath the cloudless sky.

Clad in black ranger armor, his leathery cloak flapping in the wind, Katsuro the Righteous leapt from roof to roof. Tree-lined streets fled by below; wind-ruffled pools reflected the stars’ cold, clear light. Now and again, he paused to observe the marshaling of troops as the city’s defenders practiced in the courtyards of armories or patrolled the illuminated avenues beneath the walls.

As he clung to a roof in a hilly district, he heard a sound. Peering into the shadows of a private garden, he spied a little girl who sat weeping upon a bench of stone; and as he watched, a shining figure bearing a tall staff entered the garden, his beard sweeping like summer clouds. “Here I am, child,” he said, and his voice was warm and full of comfort.

The girl threw her arms around him. “Oh, Ah Chün!” she cried. “It was horrible, the gates, the gates fell! The burning man, he broke them. And the warriors – they… they killed everybody! Everybody, Ah Chun! There was nothing anyone can do about it!”

“Why do you weep, child?” The old god gently brushed back her hair. “Do you not know that as long as Ah Chün lives, Haruka will never fall? I would never let anything happen to you or the other children.”

“I saw it in my dreams! Mommy and daddy died,” she wept, her whole body shaking. “I know it’s going to happen.”

The god hugged the child. “Tell me of the man in your dream,” he said.

“No, he’s too horrible.” She wiped tears away on the old god’s robe. “He... he glowed like the sun, blinding… it was terrible.”

“Like the color of the sky at dawn?”

“Yes.”

Ah Chün patted the girl absently, his eyes far away. “Katsuro.”

The girl’s sobs slowed. Finally she drew away, her tear-streaked face held in a strained calm. “I guess it’s kind of silly,” she said at last, “being so scared of a dream.”

Placing his hands on either side of her face, Ah Chün looked into her eyes. He spoke gently, but the firmness in his voice was unmistakable. “Ivania,” he said, “I would never let anything happen to you, or to anyone in this city. For generations I have stopped all who’ve come. Katsuro is mighty, but he will lose, just like the others.” He released her, and the light brightened around him. “Go and sleep now, and know you will always be safe.”

* * * * *

The vision faded. Within the circle, Ah Chün snarled in fury as she raised the Dragon-Blooded girl over her head, then dashed her to the ground with the crack of breaking bone. The girl spasmed, blood dribbling from her mouth. Somewhere, the herald cried, “This match is over! Victory to Ah Chün!”

Ah Chün’s eyes burned. She raised her lightning-crowned spear to strike the deathblow; but some of the madness faded from her eyes. She lowered her weapon. Her body shaking with fury, she stalked off as the healers removed the wounded girl from the field.

“Li of Orchid versus Ledaal Rivander!” cried the herald.

Li looked to Ledaal Martin, who stood by her with the others. His jaw clenched as he met her eye. “To ask for mercy would be pointless, wouldn’t it.”

“He is your brother,” Li replied.

Martin sighed. “I have a few fond memories of him, from long ago. But he’s not that person anymore. He is walking, talking dogma now. I ask you more from sentiment than anything else. For the Rivander I remember…” The god-blood shook his head. “He has made his choices. He will make trouble for all of us. Do what you must.”

Li bowed and turned away. As she walked toward the circle, Martin called out after her, “Good luck. I’m not going to watch.”

The swordswoman left Burning Tiger half-buried in the earth. In its stead, she accepted the twin blades Radiance and Brilliance from Tepet Aekino, and bore them with her into the circle. Across from her, she saw Ledaal Rivander approach, his scarlet hair tousled by the breeze. They met in the center of the ring.

Around them, the air shimmered; the tournament grounds gave way to a meditation garden. Vines wound around roughly hewn pergolas, shading beds of azalea and moss. Gravel paths wound among ornamental pools where carp swam. Petals fell from cherry trees like pale pink rain.

Ledaal Rivander surveyed the place with a smile. “I approve of this battleground. An Anathema should be finished in this place. You are lucky you hid yourself from me the first time, girl, or I would have finished you then and there.”

Li smiled back. Her swords blazed from their scabbards as the herald called the fighters to readiness; they glowed like the sun as she assumed the Five-fold Bulwark Stance. With an arrogant smirk, Rivander drew his paired short daiklaves, and a scarlet glow suffused his skin as he performed the opening kata of the Fire Dragon Form.

“Fight!”

With serpentine speed, Li flicked her blades at her opponent, probing. He whirled away, grinning; and then the fight began in earnest. Gold and scarlet flames leaped up around them as they unleashed half a dozen deadly blows in a matter of seconds. Both came away untouched, each evading the worst of their enemy’s strikes only through the use of Essence.

Rivander’s blades clashed and spun as he pressed against Li’s defenses. His anima roared like a furnace. She was hard put to turn his attacks away; but in his fury to win, his prodigal expenditure of Essence left him vulnerable. His uses of Essence grew fewer; he was forced to fight more conservatively. Li saw his weakness; spinning Radiance through a circular parry, she cut outward and upward with Brilliance in the kata of Cutting the Wavecrest. Drawing deeply upon his last reserves of Essence, Rivander twisted away from the assault, so that what should have been a mortal wound only cut deeply. He staggered and bled.

“I cannot lose!” spat Rivander. “I have the blessings of the Five Immaculate Dragons. Hesiesh, guide my hand against your enemies!”

Rivander lunged with the last of his strength. Li turned his swords aside with casual ease, then spun upon her heel and kicked him into the air. He crashed, groaning, to the ground just outside of the circle. As the illusion faded, Li walked over his body to rejoin her companions.

* * * * *

The inn’s cool shade proved a welcome relief. Li’s companions gathered around her as she seated herself in an isolated booth, away from the stares and whispers of the other patrons. She set her blades aside as she accepted tea.

Martin watched the serving maid depart. “He is still alive?” he asked Li. She nodded, sipping the hot brew. “I won,” she replied. “But he will bear some scars.”

“I do not think this was just the luck of the draw,” Doren pondered. “I think that the Eighteen Princes have deliberately pitted you against personal enemies.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t use the big sword,” said Martin.

Li frowned. “I have told you about this sword, haven’t I?”

“No, actually you haven’t.”

“It is called Burning Tiger.” Li rested a proprietary hand upon the great blade’s hilt. “It was a sword in my last life. Katsuro wielded it during his final battle. The army of dragon blooded… he slaughtered scores of them, but in the end he fell. It still rages at his defeat… Its influence has followed me. I feel the need to restrain myself when it makes me hate and want to kill the Dragon-Blooded.”

“It makes you feel?” Martin stared at the great weapon, as if expecting it to move of its own accord. “I did not know a sword could feel.”

Li nodded. “I do not know how long he lived,” she answered slowly. “I do not know what kind of power he truly wielded… I cannot imagine what I will be able to do when that time comes. It is inconceivable. All of the things I have seen and experienced… and then to… to lose… after having –” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. A moment later, she was calm again, though the words still came slowly. “I do not like… I do not want to kill. I am at home in battle, and yet… I do not enjoy… killing men. And…” She sighed, and then smiled ironically. “Burning Tiger does.”

“Wielding it must indeed be a struggle,” ventured Doren.

“I had to… turn away… from its path. It has been difficult.”

Martin continued to regard the grand daiklave, bemused. “Why don’t you just toss it in the ocean? Put it in a temple. Throw it away. Why carry it if it makes you feel this way?”

“It is a part of me,” Li answered simply. “I must master it. I cannot deny it.”

“Either way, I am grateful that you did not kill my brother. But I think it only delays the inevitable.”

“Perhaps.”

“He, too, enjoys battle,” Martin mused. “The thrill of feeling alive... unfortunately, it will involve you two killing one another, rather you killing him. You heard him; it’s gone beyond zealotry now. It is a matter of pride. He will never be as strong as you, but you know what strength the Dragon-Blooded can bring to bear. You may find yourself in the same situation as Katsuro if he plays his cards right. Maybe you should have finished him when you had the chance.”

Li shrugged. “I don’t believe expediency is more valuable than virtue.”

“I don’t understand what you mean… but I think I can respect it.”

“Then maybe, on some level, you do understand it.” Li drained her cup to the dregs. “I am going to rest.”

* * * * *

“Another note? My, aren’t you the popular one.”

Aekino gave Alac Doren a long-suffering look in reply. He waved the latest invitation, scribed with its author’s name in graceful calligraphy. “Who is this ‘Swan’?”

Doren shrugged. “A god-blood,” he said. “One among many.”

“He has asked me to meet him.”

“He is very attractive and very vain. You should get along with him.”

Aekino laughed. “He did not say I had to go alone.”

Doren demurred, and so it was Li of Orchid who accompanied Aekino on his liaison. The two crossed the tournament grounds that evening, moving among crowds and tents until they reached Swan’s grand silken pavilion. Outside, the clack of bamboo filled the air as two young women crossed practice swords. Inside, the air shimmered with incense and warmth. Mulled wine bubbled over a low fire; two children sat beside it, a boy and a girl, playing a game of Gateway. The girl glanced up for a moment, meeting their eyes; this was Sana, the Dragon-Blooded girl they’d rescued from the demon’s altar, who had come northwards with Shima.

A slender, androgynous young man sat among a wealth of silken cushions. His blue eyes danced; golden combs restrained his long lavender hair. This was Swan. “Lord Tepet,” he smiled in greeting, though he did not rise.

Aekino bowed. He spared a glance at a familiar slave-boy, eyes dulled with emotion, who waved a fan of ostrich feathers to stir the languid air. Aekino spared a moment to wonder how the boy had come here (was he not in Doren’s service now?), then turned his attention to his host. “Swan,” he said, “I must admit to some ignorance to your rank, though it seems eminent.”

“You flatter me.” Swan gestured to the slave boy, who set down the fan and darted off to fetch them refreshments. “I am glad that you and your companion accepted my invitation. And let me assure you,” he added, eyeing Li’s blades, “that you will come to no harm in my presence.”

Aekino seated himself upon the divan. Li remained standing behind him, the very picture of the vigilant bodyguard. “I find that it’s better to be prepared,” said the Twilight, “when one considers the climate.”

Swan arched an elegant eyebrow. “Rather hostile, isn’t it?”

“Some might find it very comfortable. For my part, I am content to suffer the hostility.”

“How courageous of you!”

“You’re too kind, I’m sure. But surely you did not ask me here for such banter, no matter how pleasing or witty it might be.”

Swan nodded. “I asked you because I have an offer for you,” he said. He took a glass of plum wine and a bowl of preserved robin’s eggs from the slave boy. After a sip, he continued: “I know that you have heard many tales from the high and the low, but I come with another. I’ve heard rumor that Shima’s intentions toward you are not even as friendly as you think. There may be danger, soon.”

“Oh?” Aekino tasted the wine, enjoying its heavy, mellow warmth.

“Indeed. I come to you on my mistress’ behalf; she is gathering a contingent of the more gifted individuals at this tournament, and she has an interest in you. I cannot go into details, but I can say that I have the authority to tender the good will of her nation, Tessen-O, where she rules as queen. My mistress would be happy to offer you sanctuary in this trying time. She would like to meet you and explore with you the ways that you can help one another. She is even willing to overlook the unfortunate ramifications of your… condition.”

“She is most generous,” said Aekino.

“She is most wondrous.”

“What is her name, O Swan?”

“She does not wish her name bandied about. We refer as the Thaumatarch.”

Aekino nodded. “Certainly I will look most favorably upon her offer. However, I will almost certainly need more time in which to consider it. In the meantime, I would be interested in learning much more about your nation. Perhaps you could… regale me with some stories, if you have the time.”

“Lord Tepet,” replied Swan with a knowing smile, “I have all the time in the world for you. But I would recommend that you inform your companions of the refuge I have offered.”

“Of course, but… you don’t mean to suggest that they will attack now, do you? Surely the Princes would object.”

“I am sure they would,” Swan agreed. “But there are only eighteen Princes, against how many of the Dragon-Blooded? Barring only the one they’d call traitor who travels with you,” he added.

“I see.”

“Do understand that I am not attempting to pressure you, but let us be clear on the facts. It has been… ennobling… watching you attempt to repair thousands of years of damage to your name, but do you have the time?”

Aekino hesitated, and then nodded. “I imagine you’re correct. Now…” He rose from where he sat and approached, saying, “I find this distance between us… unappealing.”

“This is acceptable to me,” replied Swan, smiling.

Li coughed. “Shall I take my leave?”

“If you don’t mind,” Aekino replied, settling himself at Swan’s side.

Li made her obeisance and departed.

Those familiar with Tepet Aekino’s proclivities will not be surprised to learn that he did not, in fact, leave Swan’s pavilion that evening. Rather, he continued to explore certain other avenues of negotiation, to their mutual satisfaction.

[Quendalon]

“Oh, Zera… oh, it hurts…”

“Quiet. I’m concentrating.” Zera Thisse bounded from house to house over the rooftops, leapt across a narrow lane, and descended into an alleyway. A few more steps, and he kicked open a door beneath the sign of a midwife.

The midwife, a chubby older woman who kept her gray hair in a bun, almost fell out of her chair. Her knitting tumbled to the floor. “What -?”

“I need help!” Zera looked around wildly for someplace to set Mara down.

“Her water has broken already!” Twisting her fingers together nervously, the midwife gestured to a cot. “Put her down right there.”

Zera lay Mara down, and the midwife immediately began fussing over her. Mara reached out blindly. “He’s going to leave…”

“Yes,” the old woman said firmly. “He’s going to take this pot, get water from the well and bring it to the blacksmith to get heated.”

The Solar ran off with the pot, filled it at the well, and brought it to the blacksmith. Phlegmatically, the smith set a red-hot horseshoe aside as Zera entered. “Wife having a baby?” he inquired.

“Something like that…”

When Zera returned, the midwife took the water and firmly pressed him out of the doorway. “I’ll take it from here,” she said. “And I need you to wait outside.” The door slammed.

Zera folded up against the wall. Glumly, he sat and watched the lamplighters scurry back and forth in the gathering dark, preparing the city against the night. He heard the flutter of wings descend in the alley at his back, followed by Fetek’s voice. “Iron Wolf?”

“Ugh.”

“So, who’s your friend?”

“Fetek…”

“Yes?”

“Why are you here right now?”

“Well,” began the Lunar sardonically, “because I was flying through the city, taking in the streets, and suddenly I saw a shimmering light and a man leaping across the rooftops with a pregnant woman, and I thought, surely that isn’t the Iron Wolf. And lo! I was wrong.”

“Her… her water broke!” stuttered Zera. “What was I to do?”

“I don’t know. Something that did not involve glowing golden, by preference.”

The midwife’s door slammed open. “Go down to Orchid Lane,” she snapped at Zera. “Turn left, to the fourth house on your left. Get me Clara. Then you can leave again; there’ll be no men in here. And you!” She pointed at Fetek. “Boy! Come in and help me.”

Fetek entered nervously. He watched Zera run off until the midwife dragged him in by the ear and shut the door. “You have the old ways in your blood. I can tell.” She pulled him toward the cot where Mara lay moaning. “I had him boiling water. Just between you and me, it’s better if he’s out of the way.”

“Yes,” Fetek agreed. “He’s not very competent at a lot of things. Who’s this?”

The midwife tossed away a handful of bloody towels, pulling clean ones down from a shelf. “His wife, yes?”

“Yes!” cried Mara, white-faced and panting. “His wife! I’m Mara Thisse! … Can we get an Immaculate to marry us?”

The midwife wiped sweat from Mara’s face. “That will come later, I’m sure. Breathe, dear.”

“What shall I name her?” Mara turned wide, rolling eyes to Fetek. “She’s got a great destiny, she’s to be very powerful.”

“Uh…”

“Mara Thisse…” She turned her eyes to the ceiling, staring off into a world of her own. “I am Mara Thisse.”

The midwife shook her head. “This is going to be difficult. She has a fever. You stay; you are good luck. But if you are not good luck, you leave!”

[Quendalon]

Zera found Clara without difficulty. A short, sensible young woman, she wasted no time in gathering her kit and following Zera to the midwife’s. Clara slipped inside to help in the birthing; Zera remained outside, not wishing to tempt the midwife’s wrath.

The minutes crawled past. The dark thickened; the last of the day people returned to their homes, while the night people, the dark-salesmen and harlots and thieves, gave voice and texture to the Nexus night. Finally, the door opened, revealing the midwife in a slice of hearth-light. She wiped her bloody hands upon her apron. “There have been complications,” she said, “but everything is all right –”

“What do you mean, complications?” Zera snapped.

The midwife drew back slightly before Zera’s looming presence, but her face grew stubborn. “Sometimes things happen.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Zera replied, pushing past her. “I’m not a child. Just tell me.”

“She had a fever,” said the midwife, following him into the house. “Or maybe she was jostled too much… sometimes things happen. We won’t know for a few days.”

The archer’s keen eyes swept over the sawdust-strewn floor, the rack of clay jars bristling with herbs, the bucket full of water stained red with blood. Mara lay pale upon the cot, her clothes spattered red. “Tell me when to come back.”

Clara approached, bearing a swaddled bundle. “Here she is. She’s actually quite pretty.”

Zera accepted the bundle. He looked down, wondering, at the small pink face nestled there. Somewhere nearby, the midwife said, “She should be fine. But you know how it is, sometimes…”

Mara opened her eyes. They were feverishly bright. “I want to name her,” she murmured through cracked lips, “after Zera’s mother… they… they should be across town…”

Businesslike, the midwife placed her hands around the bundle. “Don’t worry,” she said soothingly, “you have my word that I’ll take care of her.”

“She’ll be fine,” Clara added. “She’s very good. We’ll make sure that Lady Thisse is fine.”

Slowly, Zera released his hold. The child gave a hearty cry as the midwife took hold of her. “Come by whenever you need to,” the old woman said.

Zera found himself outside, in the torch-lit, bustling Nexus streets. Fetek walked with him. “Are you all right?” the youth asked.

“No. No, Fetek, I am not all right.”

“You never said you were married.”

Zera stopped in his tracks. “What!?”

“What?” Fetek gave the archer a curious look. “She said she was your wife.”

“I’m not married.” Zera laughed scornfully. “She said that?”

“She said you were her husband.”

“She’s feverish,” said Zera.

“Who is she?” Fetek asked. “Is she the woman we came here for?”

“No, far from it. Let me explain a little bit about who I was before… things happened.” Zera started walking again, and Fetek hurried to keep up. “I’ve always been able to do some of the things I am able to do now,” Zera continued, “the running, jumping, hiding, shooting… when I was young, I was put into a situation where I had to feed my family. I began to find lost children, hunt criminals. I got good at it. Very good.” Zera smiled. “As a result, I became something of a celebrity in Thorns. I enjoyed the lifestyle, if you take my meaning.”

“I do.”

“I had a fine apartment. All sorts of women.” Zera shook his head. “You see why Aekino irks me so greatly sometimes. What he does, it reminds me of me. She was just another one in the crowd who got a little too attached. Unfortunately, we just… she was the last one before Thorns fell.”

“Oh,” Fetek said. “You brought her here? She came on her own?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing here,” Zera lied.

“Are you sure the child is yours?”

“You can never be sure.” Zera shrugged moodily. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no way to know. So the only right thing to do is assume that it is indeed mine.”

“I guess it looked like you,” Fetek said, “as much as a newborn can look like anyone.”

Zera nodded. “I thought the same thing.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Do I look like I have a clue?” snapped Zera.

Fetek raised an eyebrow. “Well, what about your mother and sister? Aren’t they across town?”

“Hah!” said Zera bitterly. “You know where they are? Thorns!”

“Oh.”

They walked down a narrow alley, entering a cobbled plaza by the edge of a canal. Carts thumped and trundled past, reeking of fish. “Did I ever tell you about that day Thorns fell?” Zera asked. “Deathknights and marauding soldiers and that huge thing… Aekino and I Exalted. We escaped that day. They did not.”

“So what will you do?”

“After this, I’m leaving.”

“I don’t understand,” Fetek complained.

Zera nodded. “I don’t expect you to.”

“You’re not going to wait for everyone?”

“There’s no point in waiting.”

“If you go alone, you will lose,” Fetek insisted. He sounded upset. “You will die.”

“Makarios gave me the edge. I know its name now. I can find it. I think it will be enough,” Zera said.

“I don’t think the underworld will be cast away so easy. I think if you kill one deathknight, another will rise in its place. And if you die, and the shard of the Unconquered Sun is eclipsed by the darkness, you may be the one who rises as a deathknight.”

Zera grimaced sourly. “What does it matter if I squander my life and this shard that was given to me?”

“If you wait, you will become stronger. If Mother Wolf is correct, you and your companions have the potential to be the four strongest beings in Creation. If you wait, if you wait a thousand years, which will be nothing according to her, then there is no question that you will be able to succeed.”

“You don’t understand. I’m not doing this for me; I’m doing this for the people who are suffering now. I’m doing this to prevent a thousand years of suffering.”

“But you’ll die,” said Fetek plaintively.

Zera shrugged. “Maybe so.”

“I don’t want you to go, Zera Thisse.”

“That means a lot to me,” Zera replied with a small smile. “But it changes nothing. I believe in what I have to do, and I will do what I must to make it happen.” He sighed. “I don’t think I can convince Aekino and Li. And I can escape Thorwald for long enough.”

“True.”

“I’ve risked much by explaining my intentions to you. It’s now up to you to decide what to do about it.”

Fetek sighed. “I will respect your wishes, Iron Wolf.”

Zera stopped. “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to by myself for a little bit. You should go and find Thorwald.”

“I’ll look for him,” said Fetek. The young Lunar walked into a narrow alley, one where the walls of fish warehouses leaned heavily against one another and dripped with foul water. In the darkness, he assumed a raiton’s shape and flew away.

* * * * *

Fetek found Thorwald in a small, ramshackle inn near the Little Market. He sat at a small round table with four other dockworkers, playing at cards. The Northman grinned and waved a tankard of beer at the Lunar. “Ah, Fetek!” he shouted. “Come sit down, and I’ll buy you a drink. This game is terrible, I’ve lost half the money I made today. How was your day?”

Fetek did not sit down. “It was interesting,” he said.

“I had a terrible day!” Thorwald continued his game as he talked, pushing a handful of brass and silver coins into the center of the table. “No one had a more terrible day than I!”

“I don’t know about that.”

The young Easterner’s tone finally sank into Thorwald’s awareness. “Where is Zera Thisse, anyway?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Fetek acknowledged. “Let’s go outside.”

Folding his hand, Thorwald scooped up his small remaining heap of money. “I am the worst gambler in the world,” he complained as he followed the Lunar out into the torch-lit street.

“No, no… there is some worse gambling going on today.” Fetek looked around shiftily, then drew Thorwald under the shadow of a canvas awning that flapped in the chill, fish-tainted wind. “Zera Thisse is a father, as of about two hours ago. Apparently there was a woman he was sleeping with in Thorns, and she was pregnant, and he was jumping around on the rooftops with her…”

Thorwald grunted in surprise. “So he found her! And her with child!”

“No.” Fetek rolled his eyes. His voice was long-suffering. “Not the one he was looking for. A different woman.”

“Another one!” Thorwald snorted in amusement. “How many women does he have in this town?”

Fetek smirked sourly. “I wouldn’t raise the point with him. He’s not feeling very well.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” the Lunar replied with a shrug.

“Where is his child?”

“I can take you there,” Fetek suggested.

“Someone should watch the child,” grumbled Thorwald.

“The midwife is taking care of her. The mother…” Fetek paused, picking his words delicately. “The birth did not go well.”

“That is not enough. I will guard the child.”

So they traveled to the midwife’s house through the darkened streets. The night-folk of Nexus gave them a wide berth, for Thorwald’s daiklave and muscular bulk gave pause to even the most foolhardy of thugs and thieves. But when they arrived, the big man halted at the threshold. “I am a warrior of Stonehold,” he said. “I cannot go into a house of life. It is bad luck.”

“Would you like me to bring the baby out to you?”

“That is not necessary,” Thorwald replied dismissively. “I will watch from out here. No one will get past me. The child will be safe.”

[Ranko]

Very nice. I adore the scene with Fetek and Zera. I want more, but more importantly I don't want Zera to go away (by no means an insult to other players, but he's my favorite character :) ) :( .

[Zera Thisse]

Thanks a lot, Ranko! I miss gaming in a big way, but I don't think I've ever been more attached to a character in my life. Leaving this game was difficult to say the very least, but the dividends are starting to come my way out here in Texas . . .

I actually recently re-read the Dragonlance Chronicles (which I read back when they first came out, and I was very young and impressionable), and I was absolutely startled by the similarities between Zera and Tanis Half-Elven. I can see where my subconscious inspiration for the character came from.

I'm just waiting with glee for the next couple of summaries to come out - there is some serious tragedy upcoming, but some rays of hope, too.

I was thinking, actually, speaking of Dragonlance, how that series came about by summarizing the gaming sessions of the authors (or so I've heard, I'm no expert), and I really think Quendalon could be famous indeed if he sat down and edited this into novel form. . . . .

[Ranko]

Thanks a lot, Ranko! I miss gaming in a big way, but I don't think I've ever been more attached to a character in my life. Leaving this game was difficult to say the very least, but the dividends are starting to come my way out here in Texas . . .

Glad to hear that. Does your band have site we can take a look at?

I actually recently re-read the Dragonlance Chronicles (which I read back when they first came out, and I was very young and impressionable), and I was absolutely startled by the similarities between Zera and Tanis Half-Elven. I can see where my subconscious inspiration for the character came from.

I am so copy / paste this (except Zera Thise & Tanis part, obviously ;) )

Rock on!

BTW. All the player "interruptions" in the thread - were those writen by you guys as you played, or did you play those scenes out? I am mostly curious about the ones which go into the character's past.

[Tepet Aekino]

BTW. All the player "interruptions" in the thread - were those writen by you guys as you played, or did you play those scenes out? I am mostly curious about the ones which go into the character's past.
Well, your questionable tastes aside ( ;) ), what usually happens is that the player will find some inspiration during a session and will write up an interlude.

Sometimes, a player will say during a session, "Well, my character's going to go off and do so and so..." If this doesn't have direct impact on the game, but is still important to the character, then they just go off and we pass time and they write it up for our amusement and enjoyment.

Also, with the example of Fetek's deal with the Court of Secrets in Great Forks, something will be important to the game, but since it involves only the character and perhaps one NPC and it can be done on the side and then included later on.

I hope that I've helped answer the question and I hope that you stay tuned for our further exploits. I love playing this game and I can't wait to feature our new player and her contribution to our dramatis personae...

...SLIGHTLY BITTER FUZZY BUNNY, the cuddliest deathknight ever!!! [cue dramatic music]

[The Unconquered Shawn]

I was thinking, actually, speaking of Dragonlance, how that series came about by summarizing the gaming sessions of the authors (or so I've heard, I'm no expert), and I really think Quendalon could be famous indeed if he sat down and edited this into novel form. . . . .

Actually, I think they used the sessions for inspiration, but they had to edit them simply because of their own fallibility.

For exampe, the first thing they did when they reached Xak Xaroth was send Tanis down the Black Dragon well with the blue crystal staff. :D

[Ranko]

I hope that I've helped answer the question and I hope that you stay tuned for our further exploits. I love playing this game and I can't wait to feature our new player and her contribution to our dramatis personae...

...SLIGHTLY BITTER FUZZY BUNNY, the cuddliest deathknight ever!!! [cue dramatic music]

It helped. And I am certain that you are loving the game more than the poor squad which only gets to read about it :)

I thought that the new player was another Lunar. Damn you Sir! And your teaser!

Any idea when the new PC will show up (session number)?

[Quendalon]

Aekino stared at the scroll upon which the day’s match has been written. The names burned starkly into his brain, and as a result, the din and stench of the tournament grounds found no purchase upon his senses.

“Wow,” said Martin at his shoulder. “I’ve heard rumors about this Dancing Water person, even back when I lived in Tul Tuin. Very powerful and mysterious, they say. An ancient Lunar Anathema from the world’s edge.”

Aekino could not look away from the scroll. “And have you heard any stories dealing with Sharn Larenn?”

Martin’s blank look was eloquent. “Who?”

“A past incarnation.” Aekino shrugged. “She is the reason why Dancing Water is less than pleased with me.”

Martin playfully punched the Twilight’s shoulder. “I’m sure that he will not kill you for old times’ sake.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Immaculate in his white buff jacket, Alec Doren smiled mockingly at Aekino. “If you consider this to be too dangerous, perhaps you should withdraw from the competition.”

“Perhaps, but I would rather see what comes of the thing.”

“Well, you can always step out of the dueling circle. Unless,” Doren added slyly, “you enrage him to the point of refusing your surrender.”

“That is a consideration,” replied Aekino sourly.

Hours passed. Aekino practiced his forms; sweat dripped from his limbs and soaked his robe as he flowed through the katas of the Snake Style. Others avoided him; he was pleased to see their fear. As for himself, he sought to harden his composure against the encounter that was to come.

The hour of battle came. Drums thudded like the last beat of a dying man’s heart. Aekino stepped forward, robed in blue silk; a ring of white gold bound his long hair back, keeping it away from his eyes. In his right hand he bore his gold-chased staff of black jade. Gravely, he thanked his companions for their well wishes. “I will make you proud,” he told Li. Then he stepped into the ring.

Dancing Water approached. He moved as smoothly as a serpent, slim and hard, bare to the waist, his skin crisscrossed by a net of silver scars. Beneath the white feathers that were his hair, his face burned with immortal perfection. His eyes glowed clear and cold as still pools beneath the moon, filled with nameless passion, and Aekino could not meet that gaze. Ancient memories rose in him like the tide, and threatened to drown him in other lives.

“Tepet Aekino,” called the herald, “versus Dancing Water.” Aekino looked to his gathered companions, wishing him well above the roar and imprecations of the crowd; then the Eighteen Princes on their dais raised their hands, and the air quivered and changed, the tournament ground dissolving around them, so that Aekino and Dancing Water stood alone in a garden of golden flowers atop a soaring tower of orichalcum and glass. Other towers rose all around from the slopes of an impossibly vast mountain, soaring into the heavens from the glittering rooftops of a metropolis that beggared the Imperial City. Upon the mountain’s peak grew a spire of crystal and living wood, where countless skyships like jeweled fish of rainbow metal docked upon the wind. Miles below, the Blessed Isle spread out like a map of ancient days.

Aekino forced himself to breathe, for the air had caught in his throat. He tore his gaze from the immortal city. He did not bow, nor did his opponent. Slowly, he began to circle Dancing Water, who simply stood.

“The garden of Sharn Larenn.” Aekino spoke harshly, cloaking his anxiety in truculence. “In Meru. It may surprise you that I remember where we are. Does it, Dancing Water?”

The elder Lunar simply stood there, staring at Aekino. His voice was soft and clear as autumn bells, yet guarded, his passion deliberately muted. “Hello, Larenn.”

“I am Tepet Aekino now. But I wonder how many days you and Sharn Larenn spent doing this!”

Sliding forward in a graceful Snake kata, the Twilight feinted at Dancing Water’s torso, a probing attack meant to test the Lunar’s defenses. Suddenly, everything flashed past in a whirl of movement as Aekino was thrown across the garden. He crashed into a statue with a bone-jarring crack and slid to the ground.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Aekino deftly rolled to his feet. Clearly, he thought, his martial skills would be insufficient. He ventured a different approach. “Any more of that,” he said, forcing a smile, “and I may become accustomed to this.”

“You don’t say?” Unruffled by their brief engagement, Dancing Water casually approached. He watched coolly as Aekino leapt back to land atop another statue. “Taking the high ground?”

“If I cannot do it morally,” said Aekino, “I may as well do it literally. Or can I not do it morally?”

The Lunar ambled to a halt in front of the statue. Calmly, he aimed a kick at its torso; it exploded beneath the force of his blow. Falling, Aekino leapt from a tumbling stony arm to land on another marble sculpture. “Have I hit a nerve?” he jeered. “Did you strike down Sharn Larenn, or did someone else do it for you? Come, tell me what transpired.”

The tiniest wrinkle formed between Dancing Water’s perfect brows. “Orders,” he observed, continuing on with that same implacable step. “Always giving orders.” His open palm flashed out, striking the sculpture twice; with a stony groan, it fell into three severed pieces. Aekino slid from piece to piece, landing lightly on his feet atop the sculpture’s stump. Then there was movement. He returned to awareness lying upon the ground several paces away. He scrabbled backwards on hands and feet as the Lunar closed upon him.

Dancing Water kicked his hands out from under him, leaving him prone. He stared coldly down at Aekino. “That’s a reversal,” he said.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“You remember,” Dancing Water said. His eyes were pools of deepest blue. Aekino fell into them, and was lost.

* * * * *

A soft rain fell, but the garden remained the same. Clouds cloaked the city below. Moist winds carried eagles among the gold and crystal towers. Sharn Larenn stood in her garden, magnificent in emerald silk and her own resplendent glory; and a young Dancing Water knelt at her feet.

“You my return to your commander and tell him that I require some… variation.”

“Variation?” The youth looked up, startled. “What do you mean, variation? I can give you variation! Whatever you desire!”

She smiled sadly. “It is time you returned to your commander.”

“But… I belong to you.”

“There, there.” She stroked his pale hair, and he quivered in ecstasy at the touch. “It is no fault of your own. My priorities have… changed.”

“You have to give me a chance. I will do anything –”

She shook her head. “I tire of this. Go.”

Emotions crossed his face, as ripples from a fallen stone. “I have failed you somehow…”

“You haven’t failed me.” She shrugged equably. “These things happen.”

“These things happen? But I have been there for you, done what you wanted… helped you dress, bathed you, done whatever you wanted.” He swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

She sighed. “It is not your fault. You have done well. I will tell your commander; I will give you a glowing recommendation.”

“I do not want a recommendation!” His eyes flashed. “Larenn I love you! Don’t you understand –”

“Dancing Water. There is no reason to make this more difficult than it must be.”

“Difficult…?”

“Perhaps I have somehow been at fault,” she mused. “I am sorry I have misled you.”

“I see.” He feigned bravado, as if to conceal the tears upon his face. “There is no changing this, is there?”

“It’s hard to say. Give it a century, or two or three. Things may change. I just have a small project I am working on, certain minor matters that require my attention.” She smiled. Her face was full of light, and it broke his heart. “I am sure you understand.”

He could only nod.

She smiled again, then, but her attention had already moved elsewhere. “Now be a good little boy. Return to your commander. I will see you, oh, some time in the future, I am sure.”

* * * * *

“You remember.”

Drawing himself back to the present, Aekino nodded. “It’s not a fond memory.”

Dancing Water’s façade cracked at last. “It’s not a fond memory for <i>you?!</i>” he howled, baring inhuman fangs. Another blur of motion followed, whipping Aekino into a rosebush in a spray of scarlet petals.

“No!” The Solar rose from the tangled thorns. He brushed the blood from his face. “Yes, it’s unpleasant. Such a thing just passed between someone else and myself. But they weren’t you… and that was not me. It was different.”

The Lunar’s face twisted. He approached again, implacable. “Things may be different. But have you changed?”

Aekino met his gaze. “Understand this: I am not Sharn Larenn.”

Pale hands seized Aekino and swung him around and down, into a bubbling fountain. He thrashed in the water, refusing to be pressed under. Supporting himself with one arm, he swung his legs up to seize the Lunar about the throat, but Dancing Water’s head flowed and deformed out from between them before he could get a solid grip. They grappled for a moment; Aekino only just barely pulled himself away, rolling over the grass to his feet.

“You don’t understand,” said Dancing Water. His feathered hair was plastered back upon his head; drops of water beaded on his taut skin. “You never understood. You never knew what it was like to have no control. Everyone worshipped you, loved you… it was all about you. You never saw anyone as a person, just as a pawn in your game, someone to be used and thrown away…”

“And humiliating me will fix things? This will –”

Dancing Water slapped him, hard. “You still have to be in charge, don’t you, <i>Larenn!</i> You can’t live without being in control, can you?” With pretended casualness, he slapped Aekino again, knocking him to the ground. The Dynast moaned.

“What now?” The Lunar grinned mirthlessly as Aekino pulled himself groggily to his feet. “Do you want to kiss and make up? Is that what you want?”

Aekino looked him in the eye, but stubbornly said nothing.

“You can’t relate to anyone unless they submit to you, can you, Larenn?”

“Why should I?” asked Aekino mockingly, “when they give me so much power? And I am not Larenn.”

“What difference does it make whether you wear the same flesh?” Another slap. Aekino reeled into the fountain. He leaned against a water-worn stone, his eyes blurred by the spray. “Will you kill me for the crimes of Sharn Larenn?” he demanded.

“You are just like her.”

“No, I’m not. I’m not weak like she was.”

Dancing Water gave a surprised little laugh. “Really?” Everything blurred again, as Aekino hurtled from stone to stone. Bruised blossomed across his body. His ribs were on fire. Dizzy, he clawed at the ground. The Lunar ground his face in the mud.

“Kill me,” blurted Aekino.

“Who says I want to kill you?” Suddenly, the grip was released. “It is Sharn Larenn that I want. Tepet Aekino means nothing to me.”

Aekino rose, his body a mass of battered and bloody flesh. It took a monumental effort.

“You still feel no shame or guilt,” Dancing Water accused. “Except for the people you never met.”

Their eyes locked again. The vision swelled in a red tide: Sharn Larenn, robed in scarlet mourning, weepin