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

Quendalon

10-27-2003, 03:58 PM

In a village of the Third Age, four young boys ran out in the wee hours of the morning to see Mother Cypress, a storytelling spirit, who offered to tell them a tale; of course, they chose to hear the tale of the return of the Solar Exalted.

* * * * *

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Hello, children. You’ve come here for a story, haven’t you. So then, what story would you hear? Would you hear a tale of the last days of the First Age: of how Sharn Larenn's brother killed ten thousand mortal men for sport, of how she slew him for it, and how the Deliberative judged her for her crime? Or would you hear a tale of the Contagion: of how the Jade Stars rescued the Shogun’s seven daughters from the plague, and what became of them? Or would you hear a tale of the doom of Thorns: of how the son of the Autocrat blinded his brother with hot irons, put him in chains and cast him into the dungeons to be forgotten, so that he might take their father’s place? Or would you hear a tale of the fall of the Scarlet Empire, and of how a golden power returned to the world?

"Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you a tale of the dawn of the new age, the Third Age, and of how the lost children of the Sun were finally reborn."

* * * * *

Li accidentally killed a boy her age in a fight. Running away, she found herself on the beach of black sand that her mentor Wudi always told never to visit, and was accosted there by a sea-spirit that tried to convince her to join it beneath the sea. Even when the spirit spoke of Li's parents and offered to bring her to them, Li refused its blandishments, until at last Wudi arrived to drive the spirit off.

Thorwald and his friend Frannja traveled to the volcanic rifts near his tribe’s lands to meet with the Firbolg, the one nonhuman folk his tribe will deal with; on the return trip, they were attacked by ice beasts, and Frannja Exalted as an Air Aspect. Thorwald would not deal with her; he called her a demon and tried to fight her, forcing her to knock him unconscious and leave him behind on the snows.

Shirking his lessons, Tepet Aekino wandered into the lower levels of the family manse. Hearing screams from his mother’s workroom, he entered to find a demon torturing his mother to death within a magic circle. He refused to let it out despite its offers and threats, until it killed his mother... or so it seemed, for his mother was not really there; all was illusion crafted by the demon's magic. A moment after Aekino vowed vengeance, his mother arrived in truth, to banish the demon and berate her son.

As young Zera Thisse waited for his parents to return from market day, a runaway from Thorns came to the house seeking refuge from soldiers. Zera let the man in, but demanded to know why the man ran; learning he was a thief, Zera berated the man, but offered to lead him to safety. Then the troops came; Zera hid the thief in the cellar and let the soldiers in, mouthed off and got bloodied for it. He led the troops into the woods on a wild goose chase; when no thief was found, they beat him and left. He returned home to find the thief had made off with all of the family’s valuables.

Mother Cypress then told of Aekino’s first love: of how he met Cathak Neris and Mnemon Dara at school, of how the two friends bickered over Aekino’s favor, and of how Aekino chose Dara over Neris, breaking apart the childhood friendship and creating a rivalry that would last for years to come.

One night, pirates attacked the isle of Orchid, led by the God-blood Zerus Shadow-of-Siakal. Zerus called up two Children of Siakal to fight Wudi, and battled Li to a standstill until Wudi’s loss of a leg distracted Li long enough for Zerus’ spear to pierce her heart. Then the dawn light Exalted Li, and she made short work of the pirates. Wudi gave her a golden boat from the First Age and brought her to an island manse, the Golden-Water Palace, where she found Hearthstones and two ancient blades of orichalcum. She took the boat into the east...

... and was caught in a Wyld storm that deposited her in a tiny hot spring amidst the frozen North. In the spring’s little warm valley, a Star-chosen awaited her, Hotaru, who gave her training and supplies for a trip into the deepest North.

Thorwald’s people came together to fight the painted Fair Folk of the Lhiannan tribe. They joined battle at a mighty spire of stone called Neroon’s Glory. The people’s iron blades served them well until a third force arrived: jade-armored demons out of the blood-realm of the South, beyond the sea. As the sun rose high into the sky, Thorwald was Exalted. The Sun spoke in his heart, telling him that the people would be abandoned no longer, and that Thorwald would serve the Sun in this.

As the battle raged, Li arrived on the scene, having followed the Wyld Hunt to the site. As the tides of battle swept past, the Dragon-Blooded engaged the Anathema. Thorwald’s fresh Exaltation gave him the strength to smite the Terrestrials; even as Li fell with a grave wound, Thorwald struck down all but the last of the Dragon-Bloods, who removed her helm to reveal a familiar face: his old friend Frannja, who had Exalted in their youth. They railed at each other for a time over that moment of Exaltation and betrayal, but neither would slay the other. Frannja faded into the snows, Thorwald helped Li to her feet, and the Sun spoke once more into Thorwald’s mind, telling him to go to the city of Tul Tuin in the Scavenger Lands.

Aekino’s parents, having concluded that he would never Exalt, sent him to join a diplomatic mission to Thorns and points east. Giving him a number of missives sealed in tubes of jade, his mother scorned him as useless, acknowledging that the entire scene with the demon had been staged in an effort to force his Exaltation, and gloated over having arranged for his lover Dara to be assigned elsewhere. Instead, as he learned upon arriving at the ship, Cathak Nerin, the jilted rival for his affections, would be present for the expedition. The trip to Thorns was unpleasant for all concerned, but they survived intact enough to arrive safely at the Autocrat’s palace.

As the sun began to set in Thorns, red light arose in the south; black and scarlet lightning crackled about the city’s towers; and the earth began to quake as the crawling city, Juggernaut, approached Thorns from the south. Zera Thisse watched it all. As his girlfriend Mara joined him upon the balcony, he thrust his money into her hands and insisted that she depart, and that they were to meet again in Nexus in two weeks. As she fled, he strung his bow, gathered his meager possessions, and set off to the slums to his family’s apartment to protect them as best he could.

Aekino, too, saw the coming of Juggernaut from the palace balconies. His cousin Tepet Serenna, the leader of the diplomatic mission, instructed him to leave the city immediately while she led the Exalts against the walking dead. She assigned Nerin to protect Aekino, an awkward pairing at best. The two gathered their possessions, found horses, and rode out into the plaza just as the sun’s last light shone along the boulevard from the West Gate. As the light struck Aekino, he Exalted, though he did not realize it until Nerin pulled him from his horse and forced him to view his own reflection in an ornamental pond.

As Aekino and Nerin prepared to leave, the vanguard of the dead legion arrived, led by a blind deathknight, aged and gaunt, his eyes covered with a scarlet cloth. Naming himself Red Iron Rebuke and claiming rule over Thorns, he attempted to slay Aekino with a volley of arrows enhanced with Charms; but Aekino called reflexively upon the sorcery that was his birthright, warding himself and his steed with whirling winds, then hurling a spray of black glass upon the deathknight and his bodyguard. Wounded and without aid, Red Iron Rebuke fled with a curse, leaving the young Exalts to flee towards the north.

Zera Thisse found the city bursting into riot as he entered the slums. When he came to his parents’ house, he found that looters had burst into the home, mortally wounding his father and violating his mother and his sister. In that dark moment, he Exalted. Alone, he defeated every one of the intruders, making their deaths slow and painful, giving his mother and sister his knives so that they might finish the job.

Sending mother and sister away to escape as best they might, Zera went out into the streets to see how he might fight against the horror that had engulfed Thorns. Encountering a woman in green jade armor who was slaughtering passers-by with a mighty jade daiklave, he attempted to defeat her with arrows; but she replied with bolts of black fire that crumbled the wall behind him to dust, and so he moved on, stopping only to steal a horse and to snatch a helpless young mother and child out of danger.

Zera encountered Aekino and Nerin amidst the chaos at the north gate; seeing themselves both Anathema, Aekino and Zera joined forces, and the group fled through the sewers by a route Zera knew, escaping the city and making their way north in search of safety.

... and then the sun rose in the village, and Mother Cypress ended her tale for the night. She offered to return again to tell more stories, then faded into the trees, leaving the children to wonder at all that they had heard.

Xolis

10-27-2003, 04:40 PM

DUDE! That is a FUCKING AWESOME campaign idea.

Thank you... very much!

ironsquirrel

10-27-2003, 05:04 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon

The game follows an Arabian Nights story-within-a-story model. At the start of each session, the players play a group of children in a nameless village who sneak out of their home in the middle of the night to visit Mother Cypress, a storytelling spirit that lives in the swamp. Mother Cypress then starts telling them the story of the return of the Solar Exalted, at which point the players start playing their actual Solar PCs. I interject commentary by Mother Cypress at regular intervals; this storytelling device smooths out exposition by keeping it within the framework of the game world.

Totally wicked idea! Why didn't I ever think of this??? (please don't answer that).

Are the children in the meta-story developed characters at all? Do you plan on roleplaying an adventure or two by them? It would be sort of cool to connect the two stories somehow... maybe the kids are the great-great-great-great-grandkids of the embedded story's characters (if that's even possible - I don't know anything at all about the Exalted setting). Maybe they have to tie-up one last little loose end?
Anyway, cool plot-structure.

Quendalon

10-27-2003, 10:48 PM

Thanks for the compliments!

Originally posted by ironsquirrel
Are the children in the meta-story developed characters at all? Do you plan on roleplaying an adventure or two by them? It would be sort of cool to connect the two stories somehow... maybe the kids are the great-great-great-great-grandkids of the embedded story's characters (if that's even possible - I don't know anything at all about the Exalted setting). Maybe they have to tie-up one last little loose end? The children haven't been developed, and I haven't thought about them too carefully as yet. Assuming that the PCs aren't swallowed by Oblivion and the Third Age prospers under the harmonious rule of Heaven, the children may turn out to be the descendants or the reincarnations of the PCs. But yeah, it might be fun to let them have an adventure or two of their own, perhaps reprising some theme in the adventures of the heroes of old.

I'll be posting more updates over the next few days. We've only played five sessions so far however, so the posts will quickly catch up with reality. After that, it'll be one session per week, give or take.

- Eric

Quendalon

10-28-2003, 09:54 AM

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Hello, children. I see you’ve come back for another story. So… what would like to hear tonight? Would you hear the tale of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind, who partook of the Sun’s bright power as it slipped from shackles of jade; of their many adventures as they sought each other out across the miles and across the years; of how they found one another, found love, and how that love turned to hate? Or would you hear the tale of Dancing Water, blessed of the Moon; of how he betrayed his sister out of love; of how he waited a thousand years and more for her rebirth; and of how he betrayed her a second time? Or would you hear more of last night’s tale, the story of the fall of the Scarlet Realm and the return of the golden power?

"Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of the children of the Sun, of their rebirth in the shadow of the Scarlet Realm, and the dawn of the new age."

* * * * *

Thorwald and Li made their way east until the mountains barred their way. They traveled to the volcanic rift where the Firbolg dwell, but found no refuge there. So they moved northward towards Gethemane. As they traveled, their supplies grew low, and they had run out of food when they spotted the snow-covered wreckage of a caravan in the evening light. The frozen and mummified corpses of merchants and yeddim lay strewn upon the ice and snow. Despite their fear of the hungry dead, the travelers took the opportunity to loot the caravan of food and jade. As they collected their spoils, the sun set; and as they argued about the danger, the wispy forms of a dozen hungry ghosts rose from the mouths and wounds of the withered dead. Essence flared around the two Solars as they fought, and Li’s blades blazed with solar fire that lay waste to the spectral host. The dead fell in moments, and the travelers built a pyre of crates to burn their bodies.

Tepet Aekino, Zera Thisse and Cathak Nerin fled the city of Thorns, bearing with them a helpless woman and child whose names they did not bother to learn. Aekino and Nerin bickered constantly in High Realm. After a few days, the flood of refugees dispersed over many routes as they traveled north into the lands of the Marukani. As the group followed a trail through brush and light woods, hoofbeats pursued them. Zera fell behind to lie in wait. Soon, the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms arrived with an escort of dead soldiers on skeletal steeds. She had little opportunity to speak, however; as she addressed Nerin, Zera stood and launched half a dozen arrows at her back, all of which found their mark. Wounded despite her soulsteel armor, she turned her pale steed toward Thorns and fled, leaving her zombie entourage to be slaughtered by Aekino’s obsidian magic and Nerin’s blazing blade.

After a brief visit to Gethamane, Li and Thorwald took ship to Icehome. Some friction arose between Thorwald and the crew, discouraging the Solars from another voyage by water. So they purchased a pair of horses instead. Riding south along the bank of the River of Tears, they heard the distant call of a horn. An elfin rider soon appeared upon a horned steed. This was Galarach, a mighty warrior of the Sihhë, who fed upon the passions of battle. Saluting the travelers, he informed them that he would challenge them both, as no single opponent were worthy of him; and as their horses had fled, he dismounted to allow for an even contest. Thorwald, for his part, insisted on single combat. Galarach deflected the northman’s blows with contemptuous ease, and did not even blood his blade, instead knocking his opponent off his feet with a kick to the face. Li then drew his shining blades and joined the fight, drawing first blood when one of her lunges rode high off a parry and cut the faerie’s cheek. Galarach replied by striking again, piercing Li’s defenses and cutting deeply into her side. The Solars fought more defensively then, and after a few passes in which none of the combatants landed a blow, the faerie sheathed his blade, vaulted back into the saddle and thanked his foes for the fight. Departing, he acknowledged their skill and expressed his wish never to meet them again.

The refugees of Thorns procured horses as they traveled north through the lands of the Marukani. As they reached the barren territory near Deren’s Ford, they accepted the hospitality of a fearful old peasant couple. The peasants spoke of haunts that walked the night, and the husband spoke privately to Zera of a terrible hungry ghost that had emerged in recent days, the shade of a Dragon-Blood whose body had been left behind after the great battle four years ago and entombed nearby. The tomb had been robbed, and now the ghost could not be appeased. Zera and Aekino determined to travel to the tomb and lay the ghost to rest, leaving Nerin to guard the peasant couple and the mother and child from Thorns.

At the tomb, a ghost rose from bones piled near its entrance, and it fell quickly; but it was merely the shade of a wanderer slain by the ghost that lay within the tomb. As the first ghost turned to dust, the Dragon-Blood's shade emerged and it was no easy prey. Zera struck it with six arrows; it shrugged them off and all but disemboweled the young archer with a single stroke, leaving him to bleed his life out upon the path. Aekino blasted the ghost with a razored stream of black glass, but it brushed the spell aside and kept coming, and the sorcerer only evaded its lethal counterstrike by pouring waves of Essence through his frame. Alone, Aekino devised a plan...

... and at that moment, the sun rose in the east. Mother Cypress bid the children return the following night, then faded into the murky shadows of the swamp, leaving the children to discuss what they had heard.

Quendalon

10-29-2003, 09:50 AM

The second session was very much a combat-fest, with the intent of getting everyone used to the combat rules. What I learned is that Exalted's combat system is a lot more complicated to deal with in play than I'd anticipated; we rarely remembered to call for or make infection rolls, and none of us remembered knockdown or stun until after the session was over. There was also a good bit of flipping through the rulebook to look up Charms. None of this has improved noticeably by session 5. We're probably going to let things slide and have stun, knockdown and infection be determined by me on an ad-hoc basis. If I run Exalted again, I may well translate the setting into another system, like Sorcerer or HeroQuest.

There was a lot of troupe style play in the first couple of sessions; every single NPC in those sessions was run by the players. This worked out well, except for some problems brought on by the fact that Zera's player wound up running Cathak Nerin, which is why Zera and Nerin never had any direct interaction. Running two characters in the same scene is always a pain.

Session 3 will go up shortly. Stay tuned.

urbwar

10-29-2003, 10:23 AM

Originally posted by Quendalon
There was also a good bit of flipping through the rulebook to look up Charms.

This problem is easily solved. Just go to the White Wolf site, and download the Charm Cards. They have them for the core rulebook, the Dragon Blooded, and the Immaculate Charms. More will be following, whenever Conrad uploads them.

Just print the cards to card stock, cut them, and you have them handy, and no more need for the books.

I also don't think Exalted have to roll for infection; our group never does. I think that's only for mortals and the like. Exalted are not so easily infected with disease and such

Quendalon

10-29-2003, 10:30 AM

Originally posted by urbwar
This problem is easily solved. Just go to the White Wolf site, and download the Charm Cards. They have them for the core rulebook, the Dragon Blooded, and the Immaculate Charms. More will be following, whenever Conrad uploads them. I'm printing them now. I think they will help a lot. Thanks for the advice!
Originally posted by urbwar
I also don't think Exalted have to roll for infection; our group never does. I think that's only for mortals and the like. Exalted are not so easily infected with disease and such Exalts do have to roll for infection, but the difficulty is lowered to 1, so most Exalts will make most normal infection rolls... but our Twilight and Night Castes aren't terribly tough, and many creatures like undead raise the difficulty back to 3, which is pretty hard to make with a low dice pool and offers a significant chance of failure even for high-Stamina types.

Then again, I seem to recall that a sick Exalt will shrug off an illness pretty easily, so it may not really be much of an issue in practice.

- Eric

urbwar

10-29-2003, 10:47 AM

Originally posted by Quendalon
I'm printing them now. I think they will help a lot. Thanks for the advice!

Not a problem. In the group I play in, remembering charms is an issue too, so having those cards helps (except for me, since my character has charms from one of the castebooks, and those are not up on the site yet)

Originally posted by Quendalon

Exalts do have to roll for infection, but the difficulty is lowered to 1, so most Exalts will make most normal infection rolls... but our Twilight and Night Castes aren't terribly tough, and many creatures like undead raise the difficulty back to 3, which is pretty hard to make with a low dice pool and offers a significant chance of failure even for high-Stamina types.

Then again, I seem to recall that a sick Exalt will shrug off an illness pretty easily, so it may not really be much of an issue in practice.

- Eric

Hmmm. Our group doesn't use them. I'd say ditch the rolls myself, or at least only have them roll if they are hurting bad (like say incapacitated). My character has been taken to that level before, and our gm didn't make me roll (I could probably have made it though, even being in that state).

My pc tends to get injured alot, since he tends to ignore extras, and they always wound him for 1 or 2 levels before he then goes back and takes them out (gotta love that foolhardy contempt Virtue Flaw!)

Just because it's in there, doesn't mean you *have* to use it. If it becomes an issue, modify or drop it all together :p

Quendalon

10-29-2003, 11:32 AM

Once again, the brothers endured their chores, thinking only of the night and the stories to come. A local peddler came to town that day, and his daughter slept in the loft with the brothers; so when one brother woke to glimpse Mother Cypress in the swamps, he woke her along with his brothers, and they all went to the water’s edge to hear the next part of the tale.

* * * * *

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Welcome, children. Will it be another night of tales, my dears? Yes? Well then, of what would you hear? Would you hear the tale of Faran Ut-Holor, daimyo of Atarani in the eastern lands; of how he butchered his family and his entire household over a single slight to his honor; of how their shades cried out for justice, and the manner of their revenge? Or would you prefer to hear the tale of the Tiger Warrior Resplendent Steel, the finest mortal swordsman in a thousand years; of how, upon his deathbed, he cursed the gods for denying him their gifts, and of what dread power hearkened to his call? Or perhaps the tale of Prince Mahasamatman of Velen, who knew only luxury until his thirty-third year, when the Contagion came; of how he alone of his people survived the plague, and how death and pestilence taught him the ways of enlightenment?

"No? Would you hear more, then, of last night’s tale, the tale of the heroes of the Sun? I see… Gather round then, my children, and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, of the fall of empires and the dawn of the new age."

* * * * *

His belly torn open by the ghost’s black claws, Zera Thisse lay in the dust. Tepet Aekino backed away from the terrible spectre, which followed him in its endless hunger for living blood. Thinking quickly, he devised a plan. He moved before a tree half-shattered by his storm of black glass, and when the ghost struck, the sorcerer evaded the blow so that it fell instead upon the tree trunk; and as the trunk cracked and swayed, he pushed with all his strength so that it toppled upon the hungry ghost. As the ghost struggled to rise, Aekino heard hoofbeats; as the ghost pushed the trunk aside, Cathak Nerin rode into the clearing and struck it down with his blazing red jade daiklave.

As Zera moaned in his pool of blood, Aekino begged Nerin to help him save the young archer’s life. Nerin, seeing little value in aiding a dying Anathema, refused to offer any aid without recompense. In fact, said the Fire aspect, it would be best to let Zera die, so that he would not weigh them down in their travels. The stubborn Dynasts locked horns on the issue, each refusing to budge, until finally Aekino broke down and offered to give Nerin anything he asked in exchange for assistance. Accepting the debt, Nerin helped bind the archer’s wounds and brought him into the tomb. Then Nerin brought forth the withered remains from the tomb’s sarcophagus and, calling upon the breath of the Fire Dragon, set flames upon them until naught remained but ashes.

They remained there for several days as Zera recovered. By the time he was fit to travel, he had found a ring of black jade caught between the stones of the tomb, a relic of the Terrestrial that had been interred there; and the tensions between Nerin and Aekino had slackened somewhat. As they traveled northward, their mood mellowed further, though their animosity never entirely faded. They pressed on to the Yanaze, raitons shadowing their progress, and eventually the Dragon-Blood and the Anathema parted ways, Nerin seeking a way back to the Blessed Isle as Zera and Aekino bypassed Lookshy and rode east toward Nexus.

* * * * *

Mother Cypress speaks:
"They gazed from afar upon the iron heights of Lookshy: its stark gray walls and towers capped with mighty engines of war, its streets resounding with the tramp, tramp, tramp of booted feet as ten thousand soldiers made their rounds; and if we were to peer into the depths of that stronghold, the Lookshy Manse, were we to descend through floors and cellars to view the uttermost vaults of the city, we would witness the preparation of their most ancient powers, shining weapons of the First Age, being brought forth once more after hundreds of years of cobwebs and shadows."

* * * * *

Having found another boat to carry them east along the Yanaze, Li and Thorwald caught their first glimpse of Nexus, its soaring towers silhouetted against the morning sun. The city’s beauty and magnificence awed them... until the rising sun revealed the city’s flaws, its soot-stains and shacks and thick yellow fog, and the changing wind brought the mixed stenches of refineries and tanneries and human waste that poured out from the city like a wave of concentrated nausea. Having spent several minutes praising the city, Thorwald reversed himself and cursed the place all the way to the docks.

After a day of wandering the city and a night in a small flophouse, the two travelers found the Little Market and began purchasing goods for their travels. Soon they found themselves in a part of the market where the disciples of various gods and spirits stood upon piled crates to preach to the crowd. One, a disciple in an orange robe, preached a doctrine that Li recognized – that of the Eight-Fold Path, as first propounded by the Enlightened One, Mahasamatman, who claimed that all life was suffering, that the Dragon-Blooded were no more enlightened than mortal man, and that one could free oneself forever from the changeless Wheel of reincarnation and rejoin the Essence of Creation through austerity and meditation. However, as this doctrine had been proscribed by an edict of the Council of Entities, passersby refused to listen to the disciple, and many threw stones and vegetables at him. Even worse, a passing Immaculate harangued the disciple, and would have struck him had Li not intervened. Li attempted to calm the Immaculate, but was thrown into a merchant’s cart full of caged ducks for his pains. Thorwald, spotting the movements of troops coming their way through the crowd, alerted Li, and the two of them grabbed the disciple and hustled him out of the market, the Immaculate monk on their heels.

The three soon lost the monk in the maze of streets. The disciple departed after a brief conversation; a moment later, the Immaculate returned, escorted by a handful of other Dragon-Bloods who were eager to make an example of a follower of the Eight-Fold Path. Thorwald, understanding the Immaculate only by dint of the monk’s language magic, helpfully pointed out the direction the direction the disciple had taken - lying sat poorly with him. As the Dragon-Bloods ran off in pursuit of their prey, soldiers followed them.

The captain of these mercenary guards addressed Li and Thorwald with a demand to see their permits. What permits? Their permits to intervene in a religious dispute... mandated, of course, by another edict from the Council of Entities. Lacking permits, the guards demanded that the Solars accompany them to their jail. Unwilling to fight so many in the midst of the city, and more hopeful of proper justice than any native of Nexus might fathom, they acquiesced to this demand. However, upon seeing the blocky prison with its barred windows and many guards, the pair reconsidered. Breaking from the guards, they ran up onto the rooftops and fled, only descending to ground level when Thorwald fell through a weak roof into the middle of a family meal.

The pair avoided another group of guards with the aid of a cloaked woman in an alleyway, who drew them into concealment at an opportune moment. She directed them to the docks, and after thanking her, they ran for their lives, bursting through crowds and dodging carts until they reached the river. Seeing a lone barge drawing away from the dock, they sprinted to the water’s edge and leaped.

Earlier, Aekino and Zera arrived in Nexus themselves. Having little direction, they milled about the city after selling their horses, and sought about for supplies that they might need for an eastward journey. But Zera quickly saw a familiar face: Mara, the lover he’d last seen in the sack of Thorns. He’d given her money and asked her to meet him in Nexus, but had had no intention of meeting her; he had wanted to break up with her in any case, and he never expected to come this way. But here she was, penniless and eager to rejoin her old paramour.

Zera tried to turn Mara away, but she would not be dissuaded; moreover, not only did Aekino encourage him to take up with her again, but the merchant at whose stall they were shopping stuck his oar in, offering Zera unsolicited relationship advice and recommending his cousin’s bath-house for a night of frolicking. Somehow Zera found himself there with Mara and a bottle of wine, while Aekino found himself a few youths to entertain him for the night.

The next day, after a pleasant romp with which to break the celibacy of his travels, Zera finally diverted Mara with a tale of how his friend had committed a crime against the Realm; of how he, Zera, had to aid his friend in escaping the Realm’s justice; and of how Mara would only be endangered, but that he would be back once his mission was done, and would she accept this bag of jade to tide her over for a while? Mara acquiesced, asking only that Zera come back to her, and let him depart with Aekino in tow.

The pair found their way down to the docks, where Zera found another familiar face: the river captain Saradene Marac, whom Zera had met some years before when he had tracked a bounty to Nexus. The old riverman invited the pair on board, introduced them to his wife Deedee, and offered them wine and food. After some conversation, they concluded that a river journey to the East might not be out of the question. Jade changed hands, and the Solars made their way down to the main cabin, where they encountered some of their fellow passengers: a crotchety old scholar from Lookshy named Shalàn Firamari, and the veiled Sijanese funerist Yumi of Wintergate and her apprentice. Tiring of the company, they returned to the deck as Deedee sang the wind spirits into the sail and the barge set loose from the dock, in time to see an odd pair of barbarians make a stupendous leap from the wharf onto the barge!

After some alarums and excursions, the four Solars came together to speak; first below decks, then above after Zera realized that the old woman was feigning sleep to listen to their conversation. Thorwald could not understand the language spoken by Zera and Aekino - knowing only Skytongue and a recently acquired smattering of Seatongue, he relied on Li to translate everything for him - but he shared a far more intimate communication with Zera as the two reeled under a quicksilver barrage of visions when they first met one another’s gaze. Though Thorwald rejected the notion, the others soon acknowledged that they were all of them chosen by the Sun. That understood, they had to deal with an encounter with another of the barge’s many passengers. The unExalted Dynast Ledaal Amaya came to greet Aekino, along with her bodyguard, the unExalted Immaculate Joyous Songbird, for captain Marac had told them that Aekino was a fellow citizen of the Realm.

Realizing that he had met Amaya once before, at a party, Aekino feigned sickness and leaned constantly over the rail to hide his face, and assumed the name "Azure Tempest" to conceal his identity. Zera, for his part, assumed the name "Corrin Dan," though he had less cause for anonymity. In any case, they shrugged off the unwanted contact, and made plans to avoid the Dynast in the future.

Over the next few days, they met the other passengers: the merchant prince Darien Tal; his bodyguard, the swordswoman Rei of Nechara; and a pair of wealthy citizens from Great Forks, whose names do not enter into this tale. They found moments in which to meet and discuss matters of mutual interest, avoiding the sailors, rowers and fellow passengers at every turn. And then, of a morning, captain Marac woke them and the off-shift crew to inform them that Deedee had determined that river pirates would attack that day, and that they would be required to come on deck and defend the ship.

Hours passed; the constant rain finally let up; and at last, a pair of bandit-laden rafts appeared from behind a rock outcropping, sweeping out over the water to thump into the side of the barge. As the pirates spilled onto the barge, Li and Thorwald leaped onto one of the rafts and lay into those around them, spilling pirate guts and sending many into the swirling waters. Aekino fared worse, as a pirate seized his staff and pulled, sending the sorcerer tumbling into the river. And as Zera fired arrows into the thick of the melee, an arrow struck him from afar, launched by the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms from that rock outcropping, where she sat astride her white steed, a black bow in her hand.

Seeing the deathknight, Li started to pole the raft toward the riverbank, until she looked back and saw the chaos on board the barge, where the pirates were hewing down the oarsmen. Then she shucked her buff jacket and dived into the water, swimming back to the barge. Thorwald plucked the sodden sorcerer out of the river, dropped him on the raft along with the buff jacket, and leapt into the water himself, swimming to the shore to fight the deathknight. And then Zera let himself hang from the rigging, pulled the arrow from his thigh, and severed a key rope with a single shot, allowing the boom to swing freely and sweep the deck clean. The sailors swam back to the barge; the pirates, by and large, sank in their armor. Zera and Li picked off the remaining pirates without difficulty. And as the barge began to pick up the swimmers, Thorwald reached the outcropping only to find that the deathknight had gone, departing without trace.

The heroes received the thanks and praise of Marac and the crew, and enjoyed the ship’s fullest hospitality. Crates were arrayed to form crude tables and benches as a feast was laid out that night upon the deck. They partied into the night, and continued to enjoy the crew’s good graces even afterward, over the next several days, as they conversed with one another, taught Thorwald the fundamentals of Riverspeak, and evaded the attentions of the Dynast and the Immaculate. At last, they saw the city of Great Forks rise to the east, the city of gods and spirits, the next stop on their journey to the Hundred Kingdoms and onward to whatever destiny awaited them...

... and as the sun rose, Mother Cypress ended her tale-telling and melted into the swamp, leaving the rest of the tale for future nights, and future tellings.

Quendalon

10-30-2003, 09:02 AM

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Hello, my children. Back you’ve come for more of my tales of times long past. So, what story would you have tonight? Will it be the tale of Nanashi the gambler and how he outlived his own death, and the five ways he eluded Heaven when the Maidens came to claim his soul? Or perhaps the tale of Captain Jala of Janapur, who sailed beyond the western tide, and what perils met her and her crew as they passed the edge of the world?

"No? Would you hear more of last night’s tale, my children? ... Then come closer, my children, and spread ears like elephants, that I might tell you the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and how they traveled into the East.

"The children of the Sun cloaked themselves as mortal travelers, and shared a barge that sailed eastward along the Yellow River. They rode the river in secret, trusting to Fortune to safeguard their intentions. But their passage did not go entirely unnoticed. The black-scaled raiton birds, circling upon the chill of the lower air, watched them as they went; and each bird perched in turn upon the black-mailed shoulder of a small, lonely figure who rode a pale horse, and each whispered to her their secrets. And far to the south and west, beyond the bleak and barren lands where rose the citadel of He-who-Walks-in-Darkness, beyond the wind-swept plains of the horse lords, a dark power marshaled his captains to council in the corpse-choked ruin of the city of Thorns.

"He styled himself the Mask of Winters, and bore such regalia as fitted the name. So too did that name fit the manner of his inmost nature, for his heart was as black and secret and cold as the ice upon the stones in the uttermost hidden places of Hell. His throne was built of children’s skulls, his crown a halo of blackest Essence drawn whole from Oblivion’s maw. Gray ice dripped over the arms of his throne and spread out across the floor in a carpet of frost.

"Six of his deathknights stood before him. All in a row they stood, these fine dark captains did, these lords of shadow, these black angels of Oblivion’s sweet caress. The Mask of Winters commanded many deathknights, but of those that could be gathered at this time, these were the ablest, the wisest, and the most loyal. And yet, as to measuring their loyalty, even the keenest of eyes could not easily discern which of his captains were true, and which were false.

"First among his captains was a tall man, old beyond his years, his thin pale hair held back by a circlet of shining black metal; his robes were sewn of silver thread, and a scarlet cloth concealed the ruin of his eyes. This was the one named Red Iron Rebuke, who was once a prince among men, and his was the mastery of the city of Thorns.

"Next was one with eyes like emeralds, hair like falling fire, and a complexion that glowed like moonlight upon unbroken snow. Her green jade armor gleamed like summer leaves made liquid, and her smile held the promise of secrets to be revealed. She was called the Green Lady, and she stood at her lord’s right hand.

"Next a small and wiry man: silent, weathered by pain and time, his plain robe and tied-back hair all of the same shade of gray. He stood with the simple grace of a dancer or a swordsman, and he clasped a monk’s staff of black ash wood between his callused hands. They called him the Leaping Dragon’s Shadow, and his gift lay in the knowing of the ways a man might die.

"Next a dark woman wrapped in shadow; skin, hair, and eyes, all dark as the empty moon, all one with the shadow that clung to her like a lover’s kiss. Black was her cloak, her gloves, and all other garb. Her name was Midnight’s Daughter, and she moved like a shadow at her master’s behest.

"Next an old man with eyes full of whispers, his ragged robe adorned with a thousand talismans of death. Upon his fingers he wore many rings, and each ring held a soul that had been hammered into steel. He had many names: the Confessioner Unshriven, the Abbot of Blood and Dust, the Litany of Gods Below; and in the house of the Dead Gods he called the ghosts to prayer.

"Last came an ancient woman in black silk and gold, a toothless creature of wrinkles and spite with a face like a spider’s web, whose eyes burned with a terrible power that could not be quenched or assuaged. They named her Grandmother Dust, for her heart was dust; her barren womb held only cruelty and hate, and she only found joy in blackest sorcery as it coiled through her veins like mating serpents.

"These captains knelt in that dread hall, amidst cold and shadow and silence, as their master rose from his icy throne to take his captains’ counsel. 'My children,' said the Mask of Winters in a voice like a crow of frost that perched upon the heart. 'My most loyal servant informs me that the Sun-touched ones have traveled into the East, where the Walker and the Dowager and the Wisdom dwell. Tell me, my captains, how we shall reclaim these errant travelers and bring them under our sway?'

"And the six captains rose, to address their lord in council; and words were spoken, and plans were laid that would bring the four bright heroes into the clutches of the Mask, to call them to court in his citadel of shadow in the ruin of the house of Thorns."

* * * * *

Early in the morning, as Li watched the sun rise, the swordswoman Rei of Nechara approached her with a proposition; she craved battle and had been cooped up too long without it, guarding the fat Guild merchant Darien Tal. In the end, they dueled with wooden oars, diverting the sailors and the early risers among the passengers as they moved back and forth upon the deck. For all of Li’s Sun-touched skill, Rei proved to be her equal. Li had no doubt that the battle would have been easy had she employed her Charms, but she refrained; a wise thing, given the unwanted notice that such a gesture would bring. Their duel concluded, the two warrior women spoke with greater candor and friendliness, at least until the merchant Tal called his guard back to her post.

As the sun rose higher into the sky, our heroes looked to the east as the barge approached the city of Great Forks. They gazed upon the city, with its shining temple roofs and its walls and harbor-towers, its fishing-boats followed by river-spirits, its threads of incense-laden smoke rising from a thousand altars, and spoke of gods and spirits as Thorwald expressed confusion and dismay over the whole notion of worship.

As this city was home to the captain and his wife and much of the crew, they declared a day and night of shore leave. Deedee remained to watch the barge, while Marac invited the heroes to join him as he visited the temples for prayer and feasting. They stopped at Madame Teng’s hostel to rent a room for the night, then moved on to the Temple Quarter for the holy feast of the Emerald Queen of the Maruto River. After more discussion of gods and spirits, Li and Zera wandered off, leaving Aekino to ask Marac about Ledaal Amaya and her mission. Marac answered frankly, indicating that she was a courier traveling to Tul Tuin in the Scavenger Lands to bring a message to her cousin, the Fire-Aspect Ledaal Vir, who ruled in that city by right of conquest. Marac then departed to leave offerings upon the altar of the Yellow River King, leaving Thorwald to drink himself silly and Aekino to ingratiate himself with certain handsome temple dancers...

Li sought out a temple of the Eight-Fold Path, but found none. Instead she found a tiny temple devoted to a god whose sign was an eye within a solar disk, tended by an ancient blind woman in brown and gold veils. She asked for the woman’s blessing, which proved to be the blessing of the Illuminated Ones, and departed.

* * * * *

The blessing of the Illuminated Ones:
"Praise to the enlightened ones, the illuminated ones, who dwell beyond the five quarters of the world. May they bring light into darkness, and form into chaos; and may they open the gates that all men and women may know truth and pass into Heaven. Let it be so."

* * * * *

Zera purchased a chain shirt, for his recent battles had proved the need for armor. Then he moved on to the many nightclubs and saloons of Great Forks to ask questions regarding their destination. He heard many rumors, which he dutifully collected: that demons ruled the city of Tul Tuin, or that the Fair Folk reigned there, or that a mighty Dragon-Blood had taken the throne; that the legions of the dead stalked the borders; and more prosaically, that the city was large and civilized as towns in the Hundred Kingdoms went, being a stable source of wheat for the river trade.

That night, the four children of the Sun convened at Madame Teng’s, where they shared the knowledge they had gathered. There they swore an oath to work together, then spent some more time arguing before they went to sleep.

* * * * *

Zera Thisse forms the oath:
"Come Dragon-Blood or Wyld Hunt, Fair Folk or the demon king himself, we are one. Where one goes, we all go."

* * * * *

The next day, Li and Aekino shopped for sundries in the city, while Zera and Thorwald returned directly to the barge… or attempted to, for they were brought up short when a spirit bowed to Zera in the middle of the street. Approaching, the liquid-eyed, petal-tongued spirit addressed Zera as “Kuro the Raven,” spoke of having met him before when Zera wore another body in another life, and mentioned that not all of the small gods had forgotten the old ways. The spirit wished them well and departed, leaving the bemused Zera and Thorwald to rejoin the others at the docks.

At the docks, they found the captain taking on two more passengers: a lovely green-haired woman, and one of the northern Fair Folk. Thorwald’s fellows had to persuade him not to attack the faerie, and Marac, once addressed on the matter, noted that the faerie had promised not to leave his quarters for the duration of the journey.

Weeks passed as the barge moved east along the Yellow River. Aekino meditated in the sun and studied sorcerous texts; Thorwald and Li practiced swordplay with Rei and worked with the sailors at times; and Zera watched everything, waiting for trouble to come. Eventually the barge reached Marita; they watched that city’s marble buildings slip past, including the great white Council dome, as the barge ponderously turned northward to follow the River of Willows, followed ever by a favorable wind.

One day, as the Dayshield’s Daughter made its way up the River of Willows, the captain’s wife observed that she sensed trouble coming once again; once again, it would strike at night, but this time she could not discern its nature. Troubled, the crew marshaled themselves to meet the danger. Likewise did our heroes prepare themselves, climbing up onto the deck or into the rigging to keep an eye out for such adversaries as might come.

When danger came, it came from below. The children of the Sun were first to respond when the screams rose up through the decking, and they sprinted down the stairs before the sailors knew what had happened. Li smashed the door open, revealing the eldritch sight of a thousand silvery tendrils, slim as reeds, which had entangled Ledaal Amaya and her maid and were lashing out at the monk bodyguard, Joyous Songbird, as well.

Our heroes quickly spotted the silvery orb from which all the tendrils sprang and focused their efforts upon it. Zera’s arrows bounced off it and the tendrils turned Li’s steel blade aside. Pushing through the forest of silver thread, Thorwald seized the orb and held it in place so that the others might strike it, but the orb flung Amaya aside and wove a shield of its tendrils to protect itself. Amaya struck the wall with a sickening snap and crumpled to the ground, her neck snapped.

As Li hacked through the shield, spraying the cabin with shattered silver fibers, Aekino finally recollected the exact nature of the thing they were facing, for he had read of it in an ancient tome. Such devices were known as the Strangling Moon-Steel Tresses, and the Anathema had forged them in the First Age for their mortal assassins to deploy against rivals. Moreover, he recalled a command phrase that had been written in that tome. As he uttered that phrase, the orb quivered and withdrew its tendrils, becoming quiescent in Thorwald’s hands.

Marac and his men entered at that point, just in time to hear the monk accuse Aekino of murder. Songbird knew that Aekino, who still went by the name “Azure Tempest,” had carefully avoided his mistress for the entire journey; that his features bore the cast of Realm nobility; and that he had just commanded the very artifact that had slain his mistress. The captain and crew had to interpose themselves to avoid a fracas, a gesture that afforded Aekino the opportunity to seize the orb and conceal it within his pouch.

While this went on, Zera had gone down the passage to see whether any of the other passengers were up and lurking about behind their doors. The green-haired woman and her Fair Folk lover opened their door to see what had caused the ruckus, and everyone began to gather around that door as they conversed. Matters grew confusing as Joyous Songbird once again directed abuse at Aekino, only to be punched in the back of the head by Thorwald; and as Thorwald had used a Charm to make his fists hard as iron, the blow shattered the poor monk’s skull. Before anyone was quite aware of what had happened, Zera dragged the body away as he made noises of “letting him sleep it off,” while Thorwald threw accusations at the Fair Folk noble, Orlàm, until that worthy creature invoked its glamour to convince everyone that he could not possibly be responsible for the murder.

Li and Thorwald then went one way to discuss recent events, while Zera and Aekino had a discussion of their own on deck, with Zera threatening Aekino with various dire fates unless Aekino surrendered the orb, on the grounds that its discovery would culminate in some very unfortunate consequences for them all. Eventually the four gathered at the keel of the barge, and Aekino, convinced, tossed the orb into the river.

Thorwald, however, had surrendered himself to the Great Curse that lay upon the Exalted. All fear had abandoned him, swallowed by the Curse, and deeming the abandonment of the artifact cowardly, he leapt into the river to find it, channeling Essence through himself until his anima flared sun-bright beneath the water. The sailors all gathered to watch, forcing Aekino to spin a tale of communing with a strange spirit of water and light to distract them and calm their fears. Li, for her part, loosed the barge’s skiff to find the barbarian warrior. And Zera? He seized upon the distracted captain to request permission to search Amaya’s cabin for evidence pointing to the murderer. Swearing that neither he nor his companions were responsible, Zera won Marac’s agreement, then descended swiftly and silently.

In the cabin, he found he was not the first to enter; the merchant Darien Tal had slipped in before him to loot the Dynastic courier’s personal effects. Zera ambushed Tal, stunned him with the hilt of his dagger, then gagged the man and left him there while he systematically searched the place. His gaze sharpened by Essence, he saw the marks in the dust beneath the bed where a small hand had placed the assassin orb. He followed this up by picking the locks on all of Amaya’s boxes, including a securely sealed lacquered coffer which proved to hold all manner of occult parchments and an ornately tasseled scroll case of yellow jade and gold, sealed with the mark of House Ledaal.

Seeking amidst the waters and mud, Thorwald found the orb by the golden reflection of his anima upon the metal’s silvery surface, then surfaced to find Li waiting for him. Together, they poled the skiff after the barge, but they could not catch up until the Dayshield’s Daughter stopped the next day at a small village to bury the bodies of the dead.

... and as the sun rose in the story, so too did it rise in that swamp by the village where Mother Cypress told her tale. She faded into the swamp once more, and the children returned to the village to fall into an exhausted sleep.

urbwar

10-30-2003, 09:24 AM

This is some great stuff. Keep it coming!

Quendalon

10-30-2003, 04:25 PM

Originally posted by urbwar
This is some great stuff. Keep it coming! Will do! We'll be playing the sixth session tonight. Tomorrow I'll put up the fifth session write-up, and the sixth should go up Monday. After that, we'll have to wait for more games to be played. :)

- Eric

urbwar

10-30-2003, 05:43 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon
Will do! We'll be playing the sixth session tonight. Tomorrow I'll put up the fifth session write-up, and the sixth should go up Monday. After that, we'll have to wait for more games to be played. :)

- Eric

Don't forget to let us know OOC how well the charm cards helped speed things up for the pc's when they wanted to use their charms

Quendalon

10-31-2003, 09:00 AM

Originally posted by urbwar
Don't forget to let us know OOC how well the charm cards helped speed things up for the pc's when they wanted to use their charms Unfortunately I forgot to bring them home from work, so I haven't given them out yet. :(

Since most of the combat this past session was against mooks, I pretty much let the players narrate out the combat so they could kick NPC ass in whatever flashy, stylish ways they saw fit. Since the Dawn has Fivefold Bulwark Stance, all of the fights were foregone conclusions, so there didn't seem to be much point in rolling dice.

- Eric

urbwar

10-31-2003, 09:13 AM

Originally posted by Quendalon
Unfortunately I forgot to bring them home from work, so I haven't given them out yet. :(

Since most of the combat this past session was against mooks, I pretty much let the players narrate out the combat so they could kick NPC ass in whatever flashy, stylish ways they saw fit. Since the Dawn has Fivefold Bulwark Stance, all of the fights were foregone conclusions, so there didn't seem to be much point in rolling dice.

- Eric

That makes sense. Sometimes it's easier to just narrate combat rather than roll for it, espeically if it's basically just extras.

I just realized you're also in NY; what part?

Quendalon

10-31-2003, 12:50 PM

Originally posted by urbwar
I just realized you're also in NY; what part? New York City; I work in Manhattan and live in Astoria.

Session Five will be up shortly; stay tuned!

urbwar

10-31-2003, 12:55 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon
New York City; I work in Manhattan and live in Astoria.

Session Five will be up shortly; stay tuned!

We're neighbors! I live in Flushing! Me and another member of our small group live in Queens, and we commute to The Bronx for our game (where the GM of our Exalted game lives). If you're looking for another player at all, and you happen to game every other week, let me know :p

Looking forward to seeing the next session!

Quendalon

10-31-2003, 01:07 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Ah, children. Back for more of my stories. Such beautiful children… So, children, what tale do you wish tonight? Would you hear the tale of how the Dawn-Light general, Katsuro the Righteous, stood against ten thousand men in the ruins of the First City; how he slew nineteen champions of the Dragon in single combat; of how he fell, and as he fell, how he bound his soul to his daiklave, Burning Tiger, that his sword might seek revenge even after his own death? Would you hear of those mortals who took up that blade over the years, of the empires they raised, and of the bloody vengeance they wreaked against the children of the Dragon? Or would you hear more of other heroes: of the children of the Sun, and of their sojourn into the East?

"Then come closer, my children, and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you the tale of the Sun’s shining children, of how they raised bright blades against the darkness that lurked in the heart of the River Province."

* * * * *

Come the morning, the barge reached Red Rye Town. As the funerist and the sailors took the bodies of Amaya and her poor nameless maid to the town for burial, Zera confided to Captain Marac that he could not determine the identity of the murderer. Marac, too, left the barge to make arrangements with the townsfolk for burial, leaving the passengers in his wife’s care. Zera and Aekino bickered for a time; Aekino bridled at Zera’s persistence and disrespect.

Time passed, and eventually Li and Thorwald reached the barge, having poled their skiff against the current through the night. Thorwald insisted gruffly that he will not lie nor conceal the truth about the monk’s death; he offered to pay weregild, a custom the others observe is not often practiced in the Scavenger Lands, and expressed willingness to go before the king of Tul Tuin, Amaya’s cousin Ledaal Vir, and present themselves before him in order to give what information they could about Amaya’s untimely demise.

Eventually they convened in the main cabin, where they discover that the monk, Joyous Songbird, was not quite dead; he had been tended in the night, presumably by Yumi the funerist, and showed signs of life. After determining that the monk’s skull had been shattered by Thorwald’s blow and that he was unlikely to recover, they ignored him and continued their discussion of where to go and what to do. Zera maintained that they should leave the barge so as not to further endanger the livelihood and lives of Marac, his wife and their crew, as their presence seemed liable to draw further danger upon them. Aekino, for his part, felt that they should remain on the barge to travel swiftly to Tul Tuin so that they might put their case before Ledaal Vir. Li and Thorwald sided with Zera, and eventually Aekino caved… and Zera noticed that once again, the old scholar Shalán Firamari had feigned sleep and had overheard some part of their conversation. This time, she may have heard too much, as our heroes had alluded to their nature as Anathema.

As the others left the cabin, Zera remained behind to confront Firamari, demanding information about the murder; he observed that she had rarely traveled above decks, and so was most likely to have observed the killer. She dissembled, feigning both innocence and ignorance until Zera threatened her with calm, cold insinuations of bodily harm. Eventually, she told him that she didn’t know who had killed Amaya, and he left unfulfilled.

When the captain returned in a rush, realizing that he needed to fetch Amaya’s treasures as grave goods, Thorwald attempted to give him the assassination orb. Marac rejected the device and insisted that he wouldn’t have it on his boat, as such things brought peril with them. The heroes of the Sun continued their discussion as Marac stormed off to reclaim Amaya’s stolen jewels from the merchant Darien Tal. In the end, they decided to leave the barge behind, and gathered their few possessions. Zera remained behind again with the intent of killing Firamari... but as he stood over the old woman, he could not bring himself to kill her in cold blood, and left her alone.

The Circle stopped briefly in Red Rye Town to attend Amaya’s funeral. They listened as Marac prayed to what gods he knew, and watched as he laid down her jewels and as the funerist covered the bodies with a yellow shroud. As the townsfolk shoveled earth over the corpses, the heroes told Marac of their plans to follow the road to Tul Tuin and give their testimony there concerning Amaya’s death. Receiving his blessing, they made their way onto the road.

The road joined a great north-south highway, a stony route from the First Age that had fallen into disrepair. Its spirit, a stone dog covered in lichen, appeared before the travelers and demanded tribute. Thorwald shouted defiance and demanded that the spirit do battle; it barked with laughter and vanished into the brush. They made camp shortly thereafter as night fell. Soon, an enraged bear lumbered into their camp, sent by the road spirit, but Thorwald killed it with his bare hands. As they traveled northward the next day after a breakfast of cooked bear, other beasts assaulted them en route; and when night fell, they found themselves before the partially scavenged corpse of a bear.

As they made camp, Zera brought forth the papers he had stolen and showed them to the others. Aekino and Li discerned that they contained astrological charts for the horoscopes of the heroes, including horoscopes for the moments of their Exaltations. He also brought forth the scroll case, whose seal Aekino recognized as the official sigil of House Ledaal. It also bore a magical ward, he saw, one that would consume the message in flame if opened improperly. He did not know the pattern for opening a Ledaal missive, and packed it away in frustration.

The next day’s travel was much the same; they ended the day at the bear corpse, and could clearly see from the distant hills that they had made no progress. Thorwald’s fellows chivvied him mercilessly for his disrespect to the road spirit. Eventually he roared in fury and ran off into the north. His companions camped and ate, and as they rested, Thorwald roared out of the darkness from the south, making the road’s deceptive character far too clear. From the woods beyond the road, the road spirit barked its laughter.

In the end, fury drove Thorwald to pound on the very stones of the road beneath him. Gold fire blazed from his fists and cascaded over his body as his Solar might cracked and smashed the paving beneath him. The road spirit yelped with pain and gave in, allowing the travelers to pass onward.

As they passed into the first foothills, the trees parted, revealing a small village spreading to their right. A black carriage in the village drew their notice, and Zera moved stealthily through the fields to see what he might learn there. From a knot of villagers, he learned that some menace required the sacrifice of a child, but that there was still some small hope that travelers might arrive to avert this. Zera returned with this news, and our heroes decided that this might be a place where they could do some good.

Entering the village the next morning, the four approached the leader of the village, a woman named Hoof Cloud, to learn what ill fate had befallen the village. She told them how a spirit named Thirsty Root ruled the life of the earth in their village, and that the crops would fail unless they gave it tribute each summer in the form of an adolescent from the village; in this case, her own child. Our heroes promised to go to its manse, a house of stone upon the hill, and settle the matter. Zera, for his part, brought Cloud’s son Rabbit aside to promise him safety, and gave him a necklace from his erstwhile girlfriend Mara as a token of his sincerity.

The four approached the manse named Ascending Trellis that very day. Zera used a Charm to take on the aspect of an adolescent boy, and the spirit granted him entry to the manse. In his youthful guise, Zera asked what would happen to him and why. Thirsty Root replied that the land was dying; that he himself would die without the sacrifice of human heart’s blood; and that if he died, the land would die with him. Zera revealed his true nature confronted the spirit and demanded that it stop its depredations. Thirsty Root recognized Zera then for a Prince of the Earth, a chosen of the Sun, who had once passed through these lands in another life as Kuro the Raven. Acknowledging his accuser’s power, he nonetheless insisted that his words were true, that the life of the land depended upon his own; that the people of the village were not innocent souls, for they often sacrificed passers-by to him; and that if he and the land died, that the land would pass into death and become a shadowland, like the ancient city of Kaihan near at hand, or like the city of Thorns.

Zera saw only truth in the spirit. Shaken, he departed the manse, and told his comrades of what had transpired. They agreed that the spirit’s tithe, for all its cruelty, was worse than the alternative, and that they could do nothing for the people of the village. Zera could not bring himself to go before them, however, and so Li went forth to address the townspeople. She told them in bald terms that they would suffer far worse if the tithe were to end, and that they were on their own. Helpless, they could offer no reply.

Turning their backs on the village and its manse, the children of the Sun returned to the road, and made their way north, through the hills of Stonegarden, to the lands around the kingdom of Tul Tuin.

urbwar

11-01-2003, 09:26 AM

I really like the moral dilemma the characters faced in regards to that village. Wanting to help, but realizing that for all their power, there was nothing they could do. Must have been a sobering experience for them.

Quendalon

11-03-2003, 08:52 AM

Originally posted by urbwar
I really like the moral dilemma the characters faced in regards to that village. Wanting to help, but realizing that for all their power, there was nothing they could do. Must have been a sobering experience for them. The scene went very well. It's purely a fortunate coincidence that the group decided to send in, alone, the PC whose background included a passionate hatred of the Deathlords. Zera's player said afterward that this would indeed be a pivotal experience for his character, opening his eyes to some of the moral complexities he faced.

Session 6 writeup coming later today.

- Eric

urbwar

11-03-2003, 09:11 AM

Originally posted by Quendalon
The scene went very well. It's purely a fortunate coincidence that the group decided to send in, alone, the PC whose background included a passionate hatred of the Deathlords. Zera's player said afterward that this would indeed be a pivotal experience for his character, opening his eyes to some of the moral complexities he faced.

Session 6 writeup coming later today.

- Eric

That definitely sounds cool. We had our own moral dilemma, and our group royally messed up. We were trying to stop another Solar from taking youths from a city to give to the Fae (who she was allied with). She refused to listen to anything we had to say, and as our willpower and essence was ebbing low, I had to make a choice. She was walking away (she was pretty powerful, more so than the 3 of us could hope to take for awhile), and I had 1 willpower left. My virtue flaw is foolhardy contempt. I had to either spend that willpower to resist the flaw (and leave myself open to possible glamour from invisible fae), or let the flaw take over. I chose to let the flaw take over, and we ended up killing the other Solar. Killing her had greater repurcusions, as the Fae removed their protection of the city, and the goddess of luck seemingly withdrew her favor from the city as well. The whole city had to evacuate, because forces from Thorns now had the way open to this city.

Needless to say, it was the lowest point we ever hit. I was in a funk afterwards (not just in character), but I think I found a way out of it.

Anyway, this dilemma your group faced hit home to me that our group chose one path, where your group chose another (ie they let things stay the same, because no matter what they did, it wouldn't help, and our group became involved, and we actually made the situation worse), which stand as good counterpoints to each other.

I'm really digging these sessions you have going; some of it's helped inspire me to rise above the mistakes our group recently made, and try and make some amends for our screwup. So your game may have helped get ours back on track (when we get back to it; we agreed to take a break from it to play something else for a short while)

Looking forward to session #6!

Quendalon

11-03-2003, 12:22 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Hello, my little sparrows. It is a fine night, a night for tales and stories. What tale would you hear tonight? Would you hear of the sorcerer Bagrash Köl of the frozen Northern lands; of how he found the Eye of the Celestial Smith, and wielded it to forge an empire that spanned the northern and eastern Threshold despite all the might of the Realm, and how the power of the Eye corrupted him? Or the tale of how a nameless mortal dreamer conjured the city of Cozen out of empty desert in a single night, of how a thousand dreamers flocked to that city to dream strange wonders into the world, and of the doom of Cozen: how the dream turned to nightmare, leaving ruins thick with hungry ghosts that still cry out amid the desert sands? Or would you hear more of the tale of the children of the Sun and the end of the Second Age?

"Then come closer, my children, and spread ears like elephants, that you may hear the tale of how the Sun’s bright children came to Tul Tuin and the Tower of the Winds, and what they found there."

* * * * *

Our heroes spent several more days on the road, passing along the wooded cliffs that ran along the west bank of the River of Willows. One evening, as they made camp upon a rocky terrace overlooking the city of Longcorner on the river’s far shore, where Guild barges docked to sell goods and take on grain and slaves, Aekino addressed his fellows: he had learned a few interesting things from the astrological charts and notes they’d obtained from the Imperial courier... most notably, that the Dragon-Blooded had ascertained the existence of a fifth Solar, one whose horoscope was not present in the stack. It pleased the Circle to know that there was another one like them out there, though it seemed likely that the Realm had captured that fifth Solar.

Aekino went on to discuss his plans for their arrival in Tul Tuin. He intended upon presenting himself honestly to the city’s prince, the Dragon-Blood Ledaal Vir, along with the notes and the sealed message that the courier had borne, in the hopes of winning Vir’s cooperation and trust. He also proposed to arrange for Zera’s confinement in Vir’s dungeons for the death of Amaya, for he said that one might learn much of a ruler’s character and policy from the nature of that ruler’s prisoners. Surprisingly, Zera proved agreeable; he called Aekino brother and said that he had come to trust him, and that he had faith in the Dynast’s understanding of intrigue. Li, however, was not so easily convinced. How could they be certain, she argued, that Zera could escape once imprisoned? And even if he escaped, would it not be dangerous for Zera if the Dragon-Blood knew him for an enemy?

Choosing to hold any decision in abeyance until their arrival, the group continued on their journey. Soon they reached the tumbledown town of Brinlack, where they found a half-deaf old ferryman who proved willing, after a lot of shouting, to take them across the river to where the small city of Tul Tuin lay upon the slopes of a rocky hill, beneath a promontory where a castle sent up a high tower of blue stone. As they crossed the river, a seaweed-draped spirit poked its head out of the current. As it observed the passengers, its eyes filled with shocked recognition as they lighted on Zera and Thorwald. Recognizing the shape and flavor of their Essence, it uttered the names “Kuro the Raven” and “Blessed Wind” in the tongue of the Old Realm (for it knew them of old, in other lives), then vanished beneath the waters. Only Aekino knew the Old Tongue, but he chose not to enlighten the others as to what he had heard. At last, they reached the far bank, and their destination was close at hand.

* * * * *

Mother Cypress speaks:
"These heroes had seized the message that would have delivered them into the hands of the Dragon-Blooded prince of Tul Tuin. But the folk of that city did not go entirely without warning. For in a small chamber of the Tower of Winds, three servants of the prince met in secret council.

"First was a bright-eyed old gentleman whose long beard and silken robes were of the same clean, pure white. They called him Ikari the Astrologer, for he knew the ways of the stars and planets, and the prince kept him close to call upon his wisdom.

"Next a slender woman armored in black leather, her face as hard and sharp as a bird’s, who moved with the grace of the crane arising at dawn from the reeds. Her name was Shield Willow, and she ruled the prince’s guard with a fist of jade.

"Last was a small man, a plain man in servant’s garb, of the same Realm stock as all the prince’s loyal servants. His face was ordinary, his stance unassuming. They did not know his name, so they called him Spy, for that is what he was.

"’Who are these strangers of whom you speak?’ asked Shield Willow of the astrologer. ‘What signs shall we seek?’

"The old man shook his head. ‘There is nothing I can tell you,’ he replied. ‘They come in secret, and a power moves with them. The rest, we shall see.’

"’Have you informed His Majesty?’” the woman inquired.

"’And what shall I tell him?” asked Ikari the Astrologer. “That bad times are ahead? My dear Shield Willow, bad times are always with us. I have warned him of the coming inauspicious hour; there is nothing more I can do.'

"’Very well,’ the captain said with a nod. ‘We are his loyal servants; it falls to us to weed his garden.’ And to the spy she said, ‘Find these strangers. Learn their names. Watch them well. Learn what you may, and bring that knowledge to me.’"

* * * * *

The river had swept the tiny ferry a ways downstream, and so they walked for a while past farms and orchards to reach the city’s docks at nightfall. The dock district was still thick with workers finishing the day’s labors, reeking of sweat and fish. Strangely, in addition to Easterners and a smattering of Realmsfolk, many of the citizens proved to be of blond Northern stock, a strange sight here in the Scavenger Lands.

Zera vanished into the diverse crowd to gather information, while the others looked about for the Dayshield’s Daughter. Soon they spotted that noble vessel, nestled among fishing boats and grain barges. Before they could board the barge to seek out and speak with its captain, a boy came up and tugged at Li’s cloak, saying that he had been sent to find her. Telling the others to wait, she followed the boy through the lower city to an alleyway between warehouses. There, Li’s finely honed senses caught the whiff of danger, and she concealed herself in the shadow of piled crates to see what happened next.

Unable to find Li, the boy called out, begged, even wept; but Li remained hidden, and so the boy brushed false tears aside, knocked on a door, then vanished into the warehouse. Li could faintly hear the sounds of voices; then the boy re-emerged with a tall hooded figure, followed by a dozen thuggish dockworkers armed with sticks, poles and gaffs. Realizing the nature of the trap, Li carefully opened a door to slip into the warehouse and escape, but alas! The hinges creaked abominably, and the thugs charged in her direction.

Ducking through the door, she waited until the first dockworker came after her, and kicked him backward into his fellows, knocking several of them to the ground. Essence swirled invisibly around her as she assumed the Five-fold Bulwark Stance. She moved through the crowd like a cyclone, her sheathed swords breaking knees and cracking skulls. Within moments, all of the thugs were crippled or unconscious. As the fallen men moaned in pain and the boy vanished down the alley with a pitter-pat of bare feet, the cloaked man stepped forward, a hooked gaff spinning lazily between his hands. Casting his hood back, he revealed a bone-pale visage, bruised beneath the eyes: the face of a corpse.

The two fought, the man mocking Li all the while. He lured her in with a deceptively weak stance, taking punishing blows that would have incapacitated a normal man, then sending her flying with a powerful blow. She drew her swords then and struck, but he twisted so that the blades would lodge in his body. He laughed, until she filled her swords with blazing Essence that burned him from within. Screaming, he spat corrosive black blood that burned her face. She responded with a blinding barrage of cutting blows that severed his limbs one by one. At the last, she cut the head from his body; but his spirit fled the corpse before the last blow landed, and his mocking laughter followed her as she departed the scene.

When she returned to the docks after dark, she warned her fellows of danger. Fearing that the Deathlords had sent the nemissary and that further attacks might follow, they left the docks without speaking to the captain of the Dayshield’s Daughter, and sought out a tavern where they might converse discreetly about what had transpired. And as they spoke, Zera found them there; for he had been moving among the taverns of that part of the city in the guise of a merchant’s guardsman, gathering rumor and gossip that might prove useful to the Circle.

Zera learned much, and he shared what he had learned with his fellows. The northmen, it seemed, had come to Tul Tuin generations ago, led by their ageless queen, Cessair of the Fair Folk, to conquer the native folk and rule from the Tower of Winds. Each year, she took a prince in marriage, and at year’s end she would slay him. But then the Dragon-Blood Ledaal Vir came and married the queen, and either by choice or by necessity, she did not slay him. They ruled together for a time, and brought several children into the world. And then, fifteen years ago, Ledaal Vir usurped the throne and locked Cessair away in a tower in a nearby village, where she has languished ever since. Now he rules by right of both marriage and conquest, surrounded by Realmsfolk who now control the city’s guard and bureaucracy, their authority undercutting that of the indigenous nobility and merchants.

The Night Caste shared what other tidbits he’d ascertained: that the Easterners claimed that the Northmen worshipped the Fair Folk, while the Northmen said the Easterners prayed to demons; that the prince had no overt ties to the Scarlet Realm, receiving few visitors and sending no known tribute; that the monk Shima had founded a shrine to the Immaculate Dragons in the countryside; that strange wild beasts and demonic creatures haunted the wilderness nearby, against which the prince sometimes rode, and which the swordswoman Rei of Nechara had gathered a band of warriors to hunt; and that the nearby kingdom of Longcorner, an ally of the Guild, used its superior military to raid the nearby kingdoms for slaves, and only spared Tul Tuin because one of Ledaal Vir’s sons had married Longcorner’s queen.

Our heroes continued their conversation for a time, despite such distractions as carousing dockworkers and a drunken city guardsman who tried to get into Aekino’s pants. Rebuffed, the man turned his attentions first to Thorwald, and then at last to the tattooed Li - apparently the fellow was entirely catholic in his tastes. Eventually Li said she would get jiggy with the fellow if he could knock her down. Being twice her size, he agreed and stepped outside with her; this being followed by a loud thump and a crash, and Li returning none the worse for wear. Wanting no further unwelcome incidents, the Circle retired for the evening.

The following morning, Aekino dressed himself in his finest Dynastic garb. Fully attired, radiant in silks and satins and jade, his eyes rimmed with kohl, he strode forth on the high road to the Tower of Winds, escorted by his bodyguards: the towering red-bearded Thorwald and the small, tattooed Li. They passed through the city’s bazaar, where strange wares unearthed by scavenger lords were hawked alongside cloth and silver and sweet bean buns; they passed among the high houses of the city’s oldest, wealthiest families; they passed through a large plaza where workers scrubbed filth from statues of the Immaculate Dragons; they passed through the wall of wind that forever encircled the Tower of Winds; until at last they reached the gates of the castle. Zera was to have met them there, but alas! He could find no safe place to wait under the gaze of the castle guard, and was nowhere to be seen.

Aekino gave his own name at the gate and easily intimidated the Realmsfolk guard-sergeant into allowing them passage. Escorted by guards, they entered a large courtyard brightened by gardens and hanging vines, where two large shrines to Hesiesh and Sextes Jylis stood. Aekino quickly earned the attention of Heaven Turtle, the prince’s officious seneschal, who kowtowed before this visiting Dynast and offered him the hospitality of the Tower of Winds until such time as the prince granted an audience. As Aekino demanded a luxurious suite for four, Li took her opportunity to leave the castle and seek out Zera.

Zera, as it happened, had returned to the bazaar to wait. By the time Li arrived, Zera had encountered an old acquaintance, a friendly traveling peddler of curiosities by the name of Bamboo Purple. As they caught up on old times, Zera spotted another familiar face in the crowd, though this one was not at all friendly; it was the merchant Darien Tal, whom Zera had mistreated on the barge, though not without cause. Taking their leave of Bamboo Purple, Zera and Li slipped away down a side street in hopes of avoiding the merchant. But they got lost, and soon found themselves in the warehouse district... in the same alley, in fact, where Li had fought the night before. There, Tal sent forth his bodyguards to teach Zera a lesson. The lesson learned, however, was that a handful of mortal guards are no match for a pair of Solar Exalts. Within seconds, the bodyguards lay strewn and groaning, while Tal whined with an arrow stuck through his knee. Before Zera and Li could take further action, however, they heard the approach of guards who’d heard the commotion, and once again made themselves scarce.

Back in the Tower of Winds, Aekino relaxed upon a silken divan and enjoyed the extravagance to which he was accustomed, there in the apartments reserved for visiting Dynasts. Eventually, his sipping of wine and nibbling upon dried fruits was interrupted; the prince’s captain, the eminent Shield Willow, came to fetch him to audience. So he made his way up stairways and down corridors to the hall where the prince sat enthroned amidst his courtiers. Calmly he made his way forward, his eyes subtly gleaming with Essence as he traced the threads of politics and conspiracy from courtier to courtier, reading only the broad strokes of intrigue with that one swift glance… and then he stood before the prince himself, the Dragon-Blood Ledaal Vir, garbed richly in golden silks embroidered with dragons of green and red. The man's thin sharp features bore the inimitable stamp of the Ledaal line, but his hair, though gray at the temples, was for the most part Cathak red, and his eyes shone Mnemon gray. The two Dynasts, one of Fire, the other of the Sun, greeted one another amicably. Then Tepet Aekino began his tale…

... but Mother Cypress would say no more that night, leaving the rest of the tale for another telling.

A2K v2

11-03-2003, 12:36 PM

Oh, my god. This is amazing. I wish I could think of something this great.

-A2K

Quendalon

11-03-2003, 02:43 PM

Originally posted by A2K v2
Oh, my god. This is amazing. I wish I could think of something this great. Thanks! A lot of it comes from paying attention to the players and the PCs so that they get what they want out of the game (most subplots are designed specifically to fit the characters, rather than shoehorning them into plots that don't fit them), and a lot comes from having enough spare time to think about and plan the game for several hours each week. :) I'm also blessed with a great group of players who get deeply into their characters.

As to the castes of the PCs, they are as follows:

* Li: Dawn
* Thorwald: Zenith
* Aekino: Twilight
* Zera: Night

- Eric

Quendalon

11-04-2003, 10:39 AM

Because the PCs gained access to their horoscopes in-game, and because I am crazy, I decided to write up the horoscopes and provide them to the players. It was kind of fun to try and break down their personalities and what I've thus far determined about their future plot arcs and try and find the appropriate signs for each character.

* * * * *

Li of Orchid
Ascendant: The Mast
Sun: The Spear
Moon: The Sword
Mercury: The Messenger
Venus: The Crow
Mars: The Mast
Jupiter: The Sorcerer
Saturn: The Spear

Tepet Aekino
Ascendant: The Peacock
Sun: The Sorcerer
Moon: The Banner
Mercury: The Musician
Venus: The Lovers
Mars: The Treasure Trove
Jupiter: The Key
Saturn: The Lovers

Thorwald of Stonehold
Ascendant: The Banner
Sun: The Guardians
Moon: The Shield
Mercury: The Sword
Venus: The Messenger
Mars: The Musician
Jupiter: The Pillar
Saturn: The Rising Smoke

Zera Thisse
Ascendant: The Quiver
Sun: The Ship’s Wheel
Moon: The Crow
Mercury: The Gauntlet
Venus: The Gauntlet
Mars: The Ship’s Wheel
Jupiter: The Messenger
Saturn: The Corpse

Quendalon

11-07-2003, 02:54 PM

Session #7 went pretty well, considering that one player showed up over an hour late (sessions rarely run over 3 hours), and that Aekino's player told me ten minutes before we started that his character was not, in fact, going to take certain actions that he'd talked to me about earlier in the week, and which I'd based my planned opening scene around. The players liked the session, which I believe to be the only reasonable metric to determine whether or not a session is actually any good...

Unfortunately I'm dead tired and work is extra busy, so I don't expect to be posting a session summary today. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. We'll see. :(

- Eric

urbwar

11-07-2003, 03:05 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon
Session #7 went pretty well, considering that one player showed up over an hour late (sessions rarely run over 3 hours), and that Aekino's player told me ten minutes before we started that his character was not, in fact, going to take certain actions that he'd talked to me about earlier in the week, and which I'd based my planned opening scene around. The players liked the session, which I believe to be the only reasonable metric to determine whether or not a session is actually any good...

Unfortunately I'm dead tired and work is extra busy, so I don't expect to be posting a session summary today. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. We'll see. :(

- Eric

Take your time posting the session summary. Those of us avidly enjoying your posts can wait until you feel up to it. it's been a great set of story synopsis's to date!

Quendalon

11-08-2003, 10:15 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Hello, my little sparrows. It is a fine night, a night for tales and stories. What tale would you hear tonight? Would you hear the tale of Aljami of Paragon, who freed an ifrit from a jar that he found in the desert; of how the ifrit granted him three boons for his service, and how he misused the boons that were bestowed upon him? Or would you learn the tale of Kiri the White, the youngest of the Sun’s children, and how she escaped the slaughter of her brothers and sisters by a twist of fate; of how she fled into the uttermost East, and what she found there? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and the end of the Second Age?

“Then gather round; come closer, my children, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, of how they met the lord of Tul Tuin in the Tower of the Winds, and of what happened after.”

* * * * *

Tepet Aekino felt all eyes upon him as he strode past knots of courtiers to kneel before his cousin, Ledaal Vir, who ruled in this place. Vir bid him rise, and the two greeted each other warmly. After an initial exchange of pleasantries, Aekino stated that the business that brought him to Tul Tuin touched upon matters of some import that had best be discussed discreetly. Vir then ended his public audience for the day and led Aekino to a small, richly appointed parlor for a private conversation.

Thorwald, who had remained standing guard outside the audience chamber, tried to find and follow Aekino when the door opened and the courtiers spilled out to go their own scheming ways, but Aekino had already gone. He thought then to remain there until Aekino returned, but a courtier managed, with much difficulty, to return to his quarters. Thorwald waited there for a time upon a balcony that overlooked the river. As he sat there, sharpening his swords, an airy spirit descended from the skies to speak with him.

The spirit, one Fourth Breeze by name, did obeisance and proclaimed that Thorwald was his master of old, naming him “Blessed Wind” and showing every sign of joy at his return. But the northman would have none of it. He refused to admit any familiarity with the spirit, for all that it claimed to have known him in other flesh, and would have no truck with it. At the last, rebuffed on all fronts, the spirit turned away and vanished into the air.

In the city beneath, Li and Zera met across the street from their inn, having successfully fled the guards after thrashing Darien Tal and his bodyguards. There they discussed their plans, and agreed that Zera would remain in the city to gather information while Li rejoined the others at the Tower of Winds. As she made her own way back up the sloping city streets, she passed through the market, where a young girl of Western blood hastened to speak with her.

The girl, a slave, sought only to speak with one of her own people in her own tongue; but her owner arrived a moment later and seized her arm, apologizing to Li for the disturbance. Disturbed, Li said she was pleased to speak with one from her own land, and asked that the girl be spared punishment for this. While the man grinned and agreed, they all knew that this would make no difference, and in fact the girl might be punished all the more harshly for the embarrassment her master had suffered. With a heavy heart, Li made her way back up to the Tower.

While these things were coming to pass, Aekino sat in the presence of Ledaal Vir, sipping fine liquor and telling his host of the fall of Thorns – carefully editing out the matter of his own Exaltation, of course. He went on to inform his host of the death of their cousin, Ledaal Amaya, aboard the Dayshield’s Daughter. Vir questioned his guest on both matters, and when he asked whether Aekino had traveled under an assumed name, it became clear that Vir had his own sources of information regarding their visit. Aekino then yielded up the moonsilver orb that had slain Amaya, followed by the jade message tube and the astrological charts that Zera had purloined from Amaya’s cabin.

Aekino held his breath as his host opened the tube and perused the contents, for he feared that the astrologers of House Ledaal might have predicted and written of his status as Anathema. But the suddenly dour Vir said only that four Demon Princes would come to his city, and that he hoped that Aekino would remain within the tower for his own protection. He asked only that Aekino would meet with his counselors so that they might scribe a record of the events of Thorns, and asked that they might meet for dinner that evening for more pleasant conversation. Aekino, for his part, agreed with these requests with good grace.

Vir then dismissed his cousin so that he might write certain missives to his fellow Ledaal on the Blessed Isle. Aekino returned to his chambers, slowly realizing that the Demon Princes that the Ledaal astrologers had written of might not be deathknights such as he had seen in Thorns, but rather he and his companions. He settled down then to enjoy the comforts of the palace, bathing and having his nails done, and eventually speaking with Thorwald and the recently returned Li as to recent events. He shared his discussion with Vir, while Li filled them in on Darien Tal’s aggressive pursuit of grievances and those things he had learned from Zera. It is worth noting that Thorwald did not speak of his encounter with the spirit Fourth Breeze at all.

Aekino went on to spend a few hours in the company of the astrologer Ikari and a couple of the palace scribes. The genial Ikari permitted Aekino to speak as he liked of his experiences in Thorns, with only the occasional question to draw out more detail on this subject or that. Eventually night fell, as it does with a certain regularity within the bounds of Creation. Li and Aekino finally prevailed upon Thorwald to bathe, and as that worthy finally partook of the dubious joys of hot water and soap, the call to dinner came. Leaving her swords in Thorwald’s care, Li dressed herself in servant’s garb. With Li present to act as his valet, Aekino descended to the small dining hall where he would have dinner with the prince

The dinner proved to be a family affair, for two of Vir’s grown children were present: Martin, who had glared at his father with some venom during the public audience earlier in the day, and his sister Tanith. Both flirted with the intensely attractive Aekino as various courses were served. In conversation, it came out that Martin was an experienced swordsman and soldier, while Tanith admitted to a certain familiarity with the magical arts.

Upon learning of the doom that came to Thorns, Martin urged that Aekino should depart at once for the Blessed Isle to bear word of the disaster… with Martin as bodyguard and aide-de-camp, of course, as this would provide opportunities both to see the Blessed Isle and to get into Aekino’s pants. Martin’s kin noted that this would be rather silly, and that Martin would be needed here in any case. The banter continued for a while over courses of mashed fruit and stuffed game birds, until another guest belatedly arrived, one whose presence angered and discomfited Martin and Tanith. This was Mari of Stonegarden, a dark-eyed Eastern woman, and consort to the prince.

After a bit more stilted conversation, in which Mari expressed interest in the astrological charts that Aekino had brought, Vir and Mari took their leave. Aekino lingered over dessert with Martin and Tanith, inviting both to visit him in his quarters later if they so chose. Satiated, the young Solar finally took his leave of his cousins and returned to his lodgings.

Something of a comedy of errors followed as Thorwald emerged from the bath to find that his clothes were missing! They had been taken away to be laundered, and while servant’s garb in his size had been provided for him, he wished to go down into the city to find Zera and refused to wear such garments where others might see him. When he stormed down half-naked into the servant’s quarters to reclaim his garments, they were still being washed, but he managed to procure ill-fitting street clothes from one of the northman servants instead. He also managed to get a suit of servant’s clothes in Zera’s size to help that worthy fellow sneak into the castle, though his ineptitude with manipulation showed true when his first attempt got him a dress. Eventually he made his way to meet Zera and convinced him to sneak back into the castle with him.

With the four children of the Sun reunited at last in Aekino’s chambers, they spoke freely for some time, sharing what they had learned. Zera spoke most of all, explaining what he knew about the region’s complex politics. He reminded them that Cessair, the queen of Tul Tuin, remained locked in a tower in a town just a day’s travel to the southeast, and added that he had heard of a city located three days to the north where the Queen’s daughter Idris still reigned, having split from the kingdom when Ledaal Vir took power. Zera proposed to travel there to seek counsel with Idris, keeping Thorwald at his side to guard him, and thereafter to travel to Iron Tower to speak with the Queen, while Aekino and Li remained behind to gain more information in the Tower of Winds and the city below. The others concurred, and so Zera and Thorwald took their leave, departing stealthily from the Tower of Winds.

Soon thereafter, a servant knocked at the door to deliver the promised chronicle of Tul Tuin’s history. As Aekino opened that book to read of the realm’s history and winkle out its secrets, Zera and Thorwald made their way down a darkened alleyway in the lower city. And as they walked through that shadowed place, a black bird flew overhead, its scales gleaming in the moonlight. Another bird followed, and another; and then, as our heroes turned a corner, a slim figure clad in dark armor emerged to confront them, the raitons circling overhead…

… and there Mother Cypress ended her tale, leaving the fate of our heroes for another night and another telling.

urbwar

11-09-2003, 07:14 AM

That was really cool. Looking forward to seeing the next session, to see if that was the deathknight who confronted them at the end of this session, or mayhap a Lunar?

A2K v2

11-09-2003, 07:31 AM

Aekino is rapidly becoming one of my favorite characters. Do not ask me why - he just is. :)

Can't wait for the next installment!

-A2K

Quendalon

11-12-2003, 04:48 PM

<blockquote>Here's a writeup of the history of the local area, as gleaned by Aekino from a chronicle written by his host, Ledaal Vir. I'll provide it to Aekino's player tonight at the start of tonight's session, and see what he makes of it.

I'll be out of town this weekend, so if the summary for tonight's session doesn't go up on Thursday, it'll have to wait until sometime next week.</blockquote>* * * * *

In the time before the Contagion, under the Shogunate of the Dragon-Blooded, the region now known as the Hundred Kingdoms was divided into the Laris and Vellens Administrative Districts. Vellens lay to the west and Laris to the east, divided by the Sandy River in the south and the River of Willows in the north. The region’s many rivers nourished the farms that fed much of the Shogunate, while mines extracted the sizable mineral wealth that lay buried beneath the northern hilly country. Several cities of note rose in the northern reaches of the Laris and Vellens districts, most notably Karánishen in the west, Keheyana in the northeast, and Atarani in the north.

The Contagion spread ruin across the Vellens district. Plague decimated the cities, leaving only a residue of human population spread in villages and tribes throughout the area. But the easterners proved resilient; within a century, several cities had sprung up along the length of the Sandy River. These cities signed on to the League of Many Rivers in the year 95, establishing a framework of long-standing peace that would only rarely be interrupted by trade wars and brief dalliances with empire. The north rebuilt more slowly; Fair Folk and their abominations populated the north more thickly, while bandit lords and raiders were far more entrenched. Eventually a few cities and kingdoms rose there as well, most notably Kaihan, founded by the outcaste Ral Therin upon the ruins of Keheyana, and Arashon, built on a surviving fortified manse constructed in the final years of the Shogunate.

Time passed. The south grew more civilized, with the city-states drawing together into the confederations of Laris and Velen. The northern reaches remained fractious and lightly populated. Heretical cults sprang up, dedicated to demons and Fair Folk alike. Eventually, almost two centuries after the Contagion, two of the Demon Princes came to the northern lands: a tall, pale northman named Blessed Wind, and a slim, dark southern woman named Kuro the Raven. There they gathered followers and raised up cities, the former at Tul Tuin, the latter across the river at Brinlack.

Fortunately, evil always turns upon itself. When conflict broke out between the confederacies of Laris and Velen in the Water War of RY 265, the war spilled over into the northern reaches and beyond, breaking the League of Many Rivers and straining the bonds of law and diplomacy throughout the Scavenger Lands. The Anathema turned on each other, reducing their respective cities to rubble and slaughtering most of the area’s citizens. When the Wyld Hunt arrived, the demons were too weak to stop them. The Hunt laid the Anathema to rest in a tomb carved out especially for the purpose, so that their hungry ghosts would not haunt the region forever.

A century later, the Fair Folk Cessair migrated into the northern Laris district with her handmaidens and a large tribe of northmen dedicated to her worship. Establishing herself on the ruins of Blessed Wind’s city, she subjugated the native peoples, sundered their open-air temples to the Anathema, and raised the Tower of Winds with her magic. Around the Tower she re-established the city of Tul Tuin, which remains to this day.

The next two centuries passed in relative calm in the northern reaches of Laris and Velen. The Arczeckhi horde of 435 broke against the southern cities without reaching the north, the bandit kingdoms slowly settled into more peaceable ways, and the indigenous Fair Folk slowly lost their grip on power and were forced out by men. It was during this period that the term “The Hundred Kingdoms” came into common parlance.

In the year 537, the Fair Folk returned in force, leading their forces in from the eastern border of Creation and assaulting the cities of the Hundred Kingdoms. Madness, slaughter and chaos followed in their wake. It took several years to expel the horde, and even now many pockets of Fair Folk linger from that invasion, mingling with Cessair’s brood and a few Fair Folk survivors from the era of the Contagion.

Ledaal Vir came to Tul Tuin in RY 717, where he wed Queen Cessair and put an end to certain distasteful practices that had held sway in that kingdom for some time. Their marriage was not a peaceful one, and he found it necessary to remove Cessair from the throne in RY 743. She currently abides in a tower of iron a day’s journey to the southeast of the Tower of Winds.

The northern reaches of the Laris and Velen districts remain unstable. While many of the area’s population centers remain intact, they must contend with outlaw bands, barbarian tribes from the north and east, Fair Folk, Wyld-twisted beasts, and even demons and the walking dead. Strong militias and standing armies are the norm, and mercenary companies profit handily from selling their services to some towns and plundering others. The Guild profits even more from the slave trade, with regular supplies of criminals and captives making their way down the rivers toward Nexus.

Fortunately, the ruler of Tul Tuin bids fair to make good on the promise of order and stability heralded by the Scarlet Realm. Ledaal Vir has established a proper bureaucracy, balanced the treasury, and expanded the military to withstand challenges from bandit princes, Guild-sponsored raiders and ambitious petty lords. He has purged the local Manses of lingering Fair Folk and demons, suppressed the Anathema cult, and founded a monastery to the Immaculate Order where newly fledged Exalts of the Dragons may come to be trained and learn the ways of Heaven. With the grace of the Dragons, his progeny will finally end the chaos and lawlessness of the northern Laris and Velen districts and gather it under the aegis of the Realm.

Quendalon

11-17-2003, 05:11 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Hello, my little sparrows. You have come for a tale, haven’t you? So what tale would you hear tonight? Would you hear the tale of Jori of Chaya, whose lover was poisoned by a jealous rival, and how she sought out the dragon Uktené to grant her a cure? Would you hear the tasks that the dragon set her that she might repay him for his aid; of her travels and adventures; and of how her lover came to grief in the course of her repayment? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and the fall of the Second Age?

“Then gather round, my children; come closer, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and their adventures in the lands of the East.”

* * * * *

When the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms leapt nimbly from a warehouse roof into the darkened alley before them, Zera froze in his tracks and threw up a hand to halt Thorwald as well. Zera’s attempts at negotiation proved fruitless; the deathknight drew her long black blade from over her shoulder and aimed it at Zera, mocking him as she called him by name. Seeing combat as inevitable, Zera leapt onto a rooftop to launch an arrow at the deathknight.

Twisting like spidersilk to avoid the arrow, the deathknight leapt to the warehouse wall and ran along it, right past Thorwald, and flipped up onto the rooftop. Dark fire blazed along her blade as she aimed a fierce blow at Zera Thisse. Zera dodged in a swirl of golden light, only to find that he was not the target, but rather his bow, which split with a resounding crack.

Not to be left out, Thorwald leapt from crate to crate to reach the roof. His great sword failed to reach its mark, however, as the deathknight neatly sidestepped his blow so that it fell upon the hapless Zera. The deathknight ignored the northman and concentrated her attacks on Zera amid a rising tower of black flame. Zera’s anima likewise flared as he dodged and twisted wildly. Unarmed, Zera tried to shove her off the roof. He almost succeeded, but she kept her balance on the very lip of the roof. When Thorwald swept his blade about in an effort to finish the job, she danced lightly along the roof’s edge, easily maintaining her perch… until her consuming anima rotted the edge out from beneath her feet, dumping her into the alley.

Forty-Four Devil Blossoms leapt back onto her feet as the glowing Solars jumped down to take the battle to her. Zera swept up a throwing axe from Thorwald’s belt and hurled it as the northman warrior leveled a mighty blow backed with the force of the Unconquered Sun… only to find their blows turned aside by her soulsteel armor. The stones beneath her feet cracked as she considered her foes, her blade moaning with hunger.

And in that moment, the sounds of shouting and booted feet could be heard approaching. The prince had set patrols upon the city to seek out the Anathema that he believed were coming, and the flares of golden anima-fire in the night had drawn their attention. With much of her Essence drained and more adversaries closing in, Forty-Four Devil Blossoms chose to withdraw. Leaping back to the rooftops, she spat a final curse at Zera before vanishing into the shadows. Faced with discovery by the guards, our heroes likewise turned to bolt, their animas casting wild shadows upon the warehouse walls.

The two made their way through the lower city, with Zera dragging his companion this way and that along alleys and byways he’d studied in his scant few days in Tul Tuin. Golden fire still flickered fitfully around Zera as he kicked open a cellar door, revealing a tight and musty passage, and the golden disk of the Zenith still burned on Thorwald’s forehead as he followed his comrade into that narrow place. Their backs to the door, they waited as the footfalls and cries of the guard rose and faded. And as they waited, another door opened before them…

Meanwhile, back in the Tower of Winds, Aekino had finished his first cursory reading of the history of the city, and was speaking of his discoveries with Li. He had found references to a pair of long-ago Anathema that had settled, died and been entombed in that province, Anathema with familiar names: Kuro the Raven, and Blessed Wind. Knowing that spirits had named Zera as Kuro the Raven, and not recognizing the other name themselves, Li and Aekino concluded that Thorwald had likely been Blessed Wind in an earlier life. Aekino hoped to jar Thorwald’s memory by slipping the name into conversation, while Li expressed some skepticism as to the worth of the plan.

Then came a knocking at the door, as the guard captain Shield Willow came to fetch Tepet Aekino into the presence of the prince. He complied with some small trepidation, and guards fell in around him and Li to bring them into Ledaal Vir’s presence. As it happened, the first reports of the altercation between the three Anathema in the lower city had just reached the prince, who felt it imperative to assure his cousin’s safety. Noting that the fleeing Anathema had slain some of his soldiers, Vir assigned several of his own men to Aekino as a personal guard, led by one of his best men, a squat and muscular man named Thundercloud Star. Though disturbed by the incipient loss of privacy, which would make it difficult to discuss anything regarding their nature as Solar Exalted, Aekino could only accede to this well-meant gesture with good grace. He then questioned his host regarding the Anathema in the city, but Vir ended the discussion soon after, claiming fatigue and the need to further organize matters on the city’s behalf, earning more sympathy from Aekino thereby.

Back in the lower city, the cellar door opened to reveal a stringy, middle-aged woman, whose eyes grew wide to see the golden figures before her. Zera leapt forward to deal with the woman; he seized her and pressed a knife to her throat, warning her that he’d kill her at the slightest outcry. When she agreed, he released her, only to step back as she fell to the floor and kowtowed in abject submission, begging to be allowed to serve them in any capacity that she might.

Zera’s gentle questioning revealed that the woman, Nala, belonged to a secret community that upheld what she called the “old ways,” who revered the Anathema and had long awaited their return. Accepting her words as truth and her loyalty as his due, Zera asked her to procure him a bow to replace the one sundered by the deathknight. This would be no trouble, she replied, as one of the city’s armorers subscribed to the same creed. Given leave to depart, she returned some time later with a bow, a sword, and a supply of food for the road.

Upon further prodding from Zera, the woman Nala agreed to fetch a peddler belonging to her sect who might provide them with cover so that they could leave the city undetected. When the peddler, one Gray Mantle by name, arrived, he seemed doubtful as to the divinity of these scruffy fellows. Then Zera and Thorwald set their golden animas aflame. His eyes bugging out of his head, the peddler fell to the floor, kowtowing frantically as he begged forgiveness from these dread lords.

* * * * *

Gray Mantle: “We have kept faith! We apologize for our lapses…”
Zera Thisse: “We are coming back. But you and yours are a blessing we did not expect. Thank you.”

* * * * *

As Thorwald and Zera made their way out of town on the back of a peddler’s rickety cart, Li and Aekino rose to the sound of sparrows as the light of early morning sifted through the richly curtained windows of their suite. After breaking their fast upon eggs and fried meats, of which Li ate but sparingly, they went about their ablutions, katas, meditations and studies until it was nearly noon, when a servant came to ask Aekino whether he would attend that day’s court.

Dressed to the nines, Aekino swept into the court amid whispers of intrigue and speculation, and took his place at the side of his distant cousins Martin and Tanith to the right of the prince’s seat. And shortly thereafter, a petitioner entered the room, escorted by his adult daughter and borne aloft on a litter by four brawny northman slaves. It was the merchant Darien Tal, the bandages around his knee still wet with blood from the wound left by Zera’s arrow, and he had come to seek recompense for his injury.

Tal harangued the court with complaint, demanding that the woman Li who stood outside of the audience hall be brought in for judgment, along with her archer companion. He brought forth one of his guardsmen, a man named Tai Ru, who described how Zera and Li had threatened his master, how they had tried to flee, and how Zera and Li had cornered them and assaulted them without mercy. When the prince mocked the notion that a dozen men would flee a man and a woman in the midst of the marketplace, Tal claimed that our heroes fought with inhuman ferocity and skill, making them somehow more or less than human – a charge that cut dangerously close to the truth.

Li, for her part, calmly stated the truth of the matter: that her companion had antagonized Tal in some way on the voyage to Tul Tuin, that they fled Tal and his men in the marketplace, and that they fought back only when cornered, and then only in self-defense. Though she knew that Zera’s friend Bamboo Purple was a witness to the initial confrontation in the marketplace, Li chose not to mention her when the prince asked about witnesses, for she did not wish to endanger the woman. Aekino added that he had full faith and trust in the veracity of his “servant” Li, and that any accusation of falsehood leveled at her would thus fall upon him as well.

Thinking on the matter for a moment, Ledaal Vir first asked whether Li wished to level charges of her own against Tal. When she declined, the prince cleared her of the charge of assault, accepting that Li and her friend, whomever he might be, had only fought to defend themselves. But the harm they had inflicted upon the merchant, and the deaths of those of his bodyguards that had died in the fight, demanded recompense. So Aekino agreed to pay the merchant a sum of silver, while Li would receive twenty lashes in punishment. Though he muttered complaints of leniency to his supporters as he departed, Darien Tal nonetheless agreed to the terms.

Aekino then proceeded to regale the court with a poetic rendition of the assault on Thorns. As the courtiers listened spellbound to his words, some of them weeping over the hopeless defense of the Dragon-Blooded nobles who sacrificed their lives for a city not their own, guards escorted Li out to the courtyard to receive her twenty lashes from a bamboo rod. Though the blows that rained down upon her back tore and bruised her skin, leaving great red and purple welts that dripped blood onto the stones, she did not cry out.

When Aekino returned to his chambers, he found Li there, binding her wounds; she had elected not to heal them with the Sun’s power, lest such unnatural resilience arouse notice among the inhabitants of the Tower. Not long thereafter, a guest arrived: the prince Ledaal Martin, who’d come to visit his cousin. They greeted one another affectionately and settled down to speak of the events of the court… until the impatient Martin made his move. In an instant, the two lustful young Dynasts were sucking face. Li and the guards politely averted their eyes while the pair went at it.

Matters proceeded in this vein for a few moments, but before these kissing cousins could further disrobe or otherwise proceed to rut like weasels, another knock came at the door. Lo, it was cousin Tanith, come also to greet the most eligible bachelor Aekino! With the speed normally reserved for Charms, the two young men disentangled themselves and adjusted their clothing, making themselves presentable.

The three talked for a time, starting with the events of that day’s court and proceeding on to other matters. Aekino plied the others with strong drink all the while, in the hopes of inebriating them sufficiently to pre-empt any further awkward romantic interludes. Tanith, however, seemed distracted. This proved to be the result of her sensing a spirit lurking in the room, a child of gold and silver that hovered insubstantially on the threshold. Discovered, it fled, but Aekino would take no chances; he and Tanith decided to ward the room against further spiritual intrusion. Later, the rite finished and both cousins departed amidst much flirting, Aekino watched the stars from the balcony and sighed, thinking on his beloved, the Dragon-Blood Mnemon Dara, and wondered where his love might be.

In the countryside, Zera and Thorwald made their way north toward the city of Idris. Along the way, amid the small villages and lone farmsteads they passed, they came to a bridge that curved over a small, yet fierce river that fed the River of Willows. There a wizened figure in a white wrap and wide bamboo hat confronted them. This was Flying Reeds, the spirit of the bridge, who gleefully announced that our heroes could only pass if they would pay his price: a heartfelt prayer to Flying Reeds himself.

Zera, amused, thanked the spirit for his “grand” bridge with flowery, overblown praise, then prodded his companion to do the same. But Thorwald would have none of it. He rudely questioned the spirit as to the need for a bridge over such a small river, to the amusement of a water spirit that poked its head out of the flow to watch. He then leapt into the rushing waters and swam to the other side. To add insult to injury, Thorwald then praised the river spirit for the refreshing swim.

After a night’s rest, Zera and Thorwald continued along the road, the River of Willows flowing towards them at their left hand. Here, over a day’s travel from any city, there were few signs of civilization. But come the afternoon, they heard a mewling in the hedge, which proved to come from a little girl in dirty, tattered clothes. The pair questioned the girl, who haltingly replied that she had been parted from her mother in a storm, and that she wanted to go home. Zera assured the girl that they would bring her home, assuming that the girl lived in the city to which they traveled. Thorwald was more suspicious of the girl’s story, and set his mind to keep an eye on her.

That night, as Thorwald kept watch, the rising moon cast long shadows across the river’s bank. A movement caught Thorwald’s attention; as the northman looked on aghast, the girl scooped up handfuls of Zera’s shadow and lapped at it, the darkness staining her face and hands. Thorwald drew his sword in sudden rage, cutting the girl-demon deeply in the side and sending it wailing into the night. Zera, weary from the supernatural consumption, could not follow, and so Thorwald remained with him, the stolid protector.

When the next day dawned, Zera remained exhausted, but despite the dark circles hanging beneath his eyes, he resolved to travel on. Our heroes walked onward, hoping to reach Idris by nightfall…

… and there Mother Cypress ended her tale for the night, for the new day was dawning and she could speak no more. Therefore she faded into the shadows of the swamp, leaving the rest of the tale for other tellings.

Quendalon

11-19-2003, 08:43 AM

It was morning, and the first rays of sunlight felt good on Zera's face. It was perhaps the only thing that felt good - the rest of his body felt like it had been beaten with a barbarian's club. He groaned slightly as he shambled down the worn path, and Thorwald glanced backward in concern. Sparrows and jays twittered, mixing with the jangle of Thorwald's greatsword in a pastiche that Zera found somewhat unpleasant. His mood was odd this morning, and he felt that it had to do with more than last night's attack. His mind wandered as they made their way down the road, glancing at the cracked paving stones beneath his boots as he struggled behind the Northman. What was it that plagued him so? What dark thoughts lurked in the back of his troubled mind? As the sun approached its noontime zenith, it came to him. He nodded slowly, the epiphany sending his mind reeling. He was perceiving the situation all wrong...

Thorwald glanced back again, and his thick eyebrow arched at Zera's grim countenance. He almost thought to ask him if he was well enough to travel, but he found himself strangely hesitant. He didn't like that expression one bit, and he soon chalked it up to the moodiness of these Southern folk, and turned his attention to the road, perhaps praying for another spirit to antagonize.

The girl-demon was a sign, Zera was sure of it. It was the Unconquered Sun itself shining the light of wisdom too brightly to be ignored. He remembered the ungrateful, nameless woman and child from Thorns that slowed them down and forced a confrontation with the deathknight-child. He recalled the thief from his childhood that took advantage of his naive pity. His way was now clear. Zera Thisse had always possessed a strong survival instinct, and in his youth it had made him selfish in some regards. As he traveled with his new companions, his Circle, he learned to care for the needs of others. It had earned him nothing but pain. Compassion was weakness, it was simple as that. No more would the needs of those too weak to fend for themselves get in the way of what needed to be done. The best way to help such individuals was to let them live or die by their own merit. He felt foolish for not realizing this earlier.

Aekino and possibly even Li would quite possibly attempt to stop him from freeing the Fey queen Cessair. They might even have good reason. Perhaps her rescue would be ungratefully received, perhaps it would wreak havoc on the area and bring war and pain and sorrow. Perhaps. Nevertheless, Zera was completely convinced that she knew things about him, when he wore different skin. He knew he had been a woman named Kuro the Raven, and he felt quite sure that he had spent time in this area. Thorwald may even have done the same, and Zera found it all too fitting that Thorwald was the one who accompanied him on this mission. It was also better that the Northman was along, Zera thought, because he wouldn't ask too many questions or slow the proceedings with opinions and arguments. When it came down to it, he would listen, and this rescue would go as efficiently as possible. Yes, he would know what Cessair had to say about Blessed Wind and Kuro the Raven. He would see her saved from her prison, and if this daughter of hers didn't see fit to help, then she would only be in the way. He rather thought that she would be only too happy to help, and he had a sneaking suspicion that should she be reluctant, perhaps her action-craving son could be convinced. Either way, she was coming out of that tower, and Zera would lie, cheat, steal, and kill anyone who opposed him to see it done.

Thorwald glanced back one more time, and liked the look on Zera's face even less. There was trouble ahead, and he wasn't sure if there was much he could do about it…

Arbane the Terrible

11-19-2003, 08:55 AM

Oh, dear. Was that a Limit Break, or some side-effect of the shadow-eater?

Very neat, as always.

Quendalon

11-24-2003, 10:40 AM

Originally posted by Arbane the Terrible
Oh, dear. Was that a Limit Break, or some side-effect of the shadow-eater?

Very neat, as always. Thanks!

Yeah, that was a Limit Break. Aekino's not far behind. Li trails far behind the others in accumulating Limit, and Thorwald may well hit his second Limit Break before Li has her first.

I'm almost finished writing up the ninth session; it'll be up sometime later today. And I'll be running the tenth session tonight. I only wish I'd actually done some prep work on it before now; hopefully I won't be reduced to pulling out GoD and flinging random demons at the PCs to fill time. ;)

- Eric

Quendalon

11-24-2003, 01:08 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Hello, children. I see that you’ve come for more of my stories. So what tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear of the Exalt Lorantha Twice-Blessed, and her quest for the Five True Pearls; of how she betrayed the Yellow River King to claim the Pearl of Water, and of the terrible doom the King laid upon her? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the turning of the Age?

“Then gather round, my children; come closer, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and their adventures in the lands of the East.”

* * * * *

An uncomfortable silence lingered over Zera and Thorwald as they made their way north along the road. Come nightfall, they reached Idris: more a large town than a city, divided from the surrounding farms by a log palisade reinforced with wooden guard towers, centered upon a low hill marked with tall trees and menhirs.

The gate guards challenged our heroes, but deeming them human and relatively harmless, admitted them at the cost of their weapons, which would remain at the guardhouse for the gate. Zera deposited his bow with the guard but, unwilling to be unarmed in this place, he made sure to conceal a dagger beneath his tunic as Thorwald made a show of laying down his great two-handed blade.

And then they were alone in the city, beneath a night sky darkening with clouds, chilled by a thin drizzle as the summer’s heat fled with the day. A few public houses tempted Thorwald with the glow of firelight, the smell of food and ale, and the sounds of laughter and companionship. He proposed spending the night at an inn, then visiting the queen Idris come the morning. But Zera would have none of that; he was a man with a mission, and would not be distracted with mere creature comforts. Even when Thorwald looked through a window and spotted a green-skinned Fair Folk trading stories with the northmen there, Zera would not be swayed to investigate, and so the pair pressed on to the center of the town.

* * * * *

Thorwald: “There’s a Fair Folk in there.”
Zera: “There are Fair Folk everywhere.”
Thorwald: “I guess it will take some getting used to, seeing them and not trying to kill them. Or vice versa.”

* * * * *

A long, low stone manse sprawled along the slopes of the low hill at the town’s center. This was the palace of Idris. Its guards, northmen like all the other folk they had yet seen in the town, refused entry to our heroes, for the day’s business was done and the queen would not see any other petitioners for the day. But Zera Thisse had fixed his mind upon seeing Idris, and so he called forth the golden fire of the Sun to mark him as Anathema, solely to press the guards into motion.

* * * * *

Thorwald: “I’ll bet you a week of drinks that they try and kill us, and we have to fight our way out.”

* * * * *

As Zera and Thorwald traded quips as to the security of the place, the tramp of guardsmen’s boots echoed through the palace halls. Soon the pair were admitted into a large entry hall where dozens of guards stood ready, led by the lord Erlend, grandson to Idris, a brawny fellow with streaks of shining silver in his yellow hair. With a gruff warning regarding funny business, he led his Exalted visitors down low, tapestried stone halls…

… while Tepet Aekino rubbed his forehead as he pored over a sorcerous text, laboriously striving to wrap his brain around the spell’s peculiar geometries. To his relief, his studies were interrupted by a visitor of his own. His cousin Martin had come to visit again, and this time his sister would not be interrupting them.

Martin, however, had come with an agenda. Once the conversation turned to Martin’s family, the young man’s demeanor grew touchy, even angry. He proceeded to excoriate his father, describing him as a failure as a father and as a king. Aekino interrupted to observe that rebellion underlay Martin’s words. He disagreed with his cousin’s view of Ledaal Vir, seeing him as a good man and a wise one who worked hard to juggle the city’s economic and political needs. When Martin claimed to be better suited to rule than his father, Aekino stated bluntly that he would have no part of any coup attempt directed at Vir.

Rebuffed, Martin set the whole political matter aside and attempted to renew his amorous advances of but a few days earlier. Aekino rejected these as well; despite his own desires in that direction, he felt that it would be improper and dangerous to involve himself in such an affair. Such things, he said, have a way of getting out; at the very least, Tanith would learn of the liaison sooner or later, and he had no interest in involving himself in the resulting familial imbroglio.

* * * * *

Aekino: “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Martin: “Ah well. As much as it pains me to refrain from taking you at swordspoint, I won’t.”

* * * * *

Disappointed, Martin left...

... as Thorwald and Zera Thisse entered the broad, low audience chamber in the palace of Idris. Bright tapestries and furs shone in the glow of fireplaces that flanked a great wood-and-bronze chair. There sat the pale-haired queen, aging but lovely, weary yet stern.

Others, too, were there, all hastily dressed for audience at an unexpected hour. There were the queen’s own guard, wolf-faced faeries bearing halberds of translucent bronze. There also stood an envoy in black and gray, its face covered by a silver mask, reeking of perfume to cover the stench of the grave. Lastly, there were two familiar figures, a noble of the Fair Folk and a green-haired smiling lady: the lord Orlàm and his lover, Silver Jade, last seen by our heroes on the barge named Dayshield’s Daughter.

Thorwald stood by quietly as Zera and the queen greeted one another respectfully. Though Zera had passed himself off by the false name of Corrin Dan through his travels thus far, he made a point of giving his true name to the queen as a sign of respect. He went on to speak of the perils of the shadowland of Kaihan that lay but a week’s journey from the walls of Idris; of how Idris and Tul Tuin must stand united against the legions of the dead; and of how he, as an Anathema, would use his powers to place her on the throne of Tul Tuin if she would lead the combined forces of the two kingdoms to oppose the forces of the dead.

The envoy in the silver mask interrupted at this point, insisting that Zera’s statements regarding the nearby shadowland and its inhabitants amounted to slander. It claimed that its master, the Prince Resplendent, had no interest in expansion or occupation or slaughter, and had nothing to do with the massacre at Thorns. The nemissary went on to state that its master sought only the friendship of Idris, and that it offered its aid as a good neighbor seeking stability in a region haunted by demons and the wars of mortal men.

As Zera opened his mouth to unleash a heated retort, the queen interrupted to demand the opinion of the heretofore-silent Thorwald. The northman shrugged. Surely, he replied, when given the choice of dealing with the Anathema or with the legions of the dead, the choice was clear. As the court mulled over this bit of wisdom, Zera added that every nemissary he’d ever met had wrought evil and destruction, while every Anathema he’d encountered was noble of character.

Idris pondered the arguments set before her, but would not choose without reflection; and so she ended the audience for the evening. The lord Erlend brought the Anathema Zera and his companion Thorwald to the guest rooms set aside for them. Before leaving them for the evening, Erlend made a point of insulting Zera for what he perceived to be disrespect to his grandmother the queen, and threatened him with bodily harm should he continue with his impertinence. Zera gave as good as he got, casting insults into Erlend’s face until the man stormed off in a huff. Zera and Thorwald then conversed for a time about their situation and their options.

* * * * *

Thorwald: “My patience is wearing thin.”
Zera: “That’s good, because we are probably in grave danger.”
Thorwald: “I can only hope.”

Thorwald: “From what I know of envoys, they are slippery and full of deception.”
Zera: “Let no one say you’re not wise, Thorwald. Flowery words and poisoned knives, that’s what they’re all about.”

* * * * *

Dreams haunted our heroes that night. Zera and Thorwald agreed to sleep in shifts, but as Thorwald stared into the fireplace, he dozed, and a waking dream came upon him. Both of them dreamed a dream of their former lives as Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind, dining together in a richly appointed tower chamber in a style of some centuries ago, looking out through broad windows at the ever-flowing River of Willows.

As their dream-selves conversed in utter silence, Tepet Aekino also dreamed. He dreamed a dream in which he walked in chains beneath the noonday sun. Guards in bright armor prodded him along a bridge of white jade, arching over a plaza to a great round tower. There, in a great vaulted chamber, figures in white and gold looked down upon him from tiers of thrones where they sat in judgment. And as he slept, a shining spirit-child, all of gold and silver, stood upon the balcony, just outside the wards, and watched him unseen. A black-scaled raiton bird watched, too, from its perch upon the railing, until a great white egret fell upon it and pierced its heart, sending it tumbling into the gardens below in a shower of blood.

Come the morning, Zera spoke of his dream, but the superstitious Thorwald, ever denying his heritage and his destiny, refused to admit that he had dreamed at all, let alone that he had shared the same dream. A serving maid interrupted their converse to draw their bath. Out of superstition and expediency, our heroes refused not only the bath, but also food and drink. They went on to discuss strategy for a little longer, until they received a summons to attend the queen at her morning meal.

Several of the queen’s progeny and descendants attended the meal, many of them marked with the signs of spirit blood. The nemissary attended as well, though of course it did not eat, and our heroes ate only as much as would be necessary to avoid insult to their host, for the presence of a dead thing beneath that roof turned their hunger to ashes.

The queen thanked them for their generous offer of aid, but noted that she had little cause to trust them any more than what little trust she might have for the dead. Furthermore, the Prince Resplendent who ruled in Kaihan clearly possessed great power, in the form of his undead legions, which might aid Idris in her goals. Zera Thisse might be an Anathema, but he had not established that he could offer the same level of support. But if Zera and his companion could demonstrate both power and trustworthiness…

And so Thorwald of Stonehold and Zera Thisse found themselves traveling into the farmland north of the city of Idris to destroy a nest of demons. After a day’s travel through wooded and hilly land, they came to a small village, one empty of inhabitants. Following drag-marks through the undergrowth, our heroes entered the woods as the sun began to set. The last rays of the sun glittered on something amid the trees, and Zera took to the boughs to get a better look.

From his high perch, Zera spotted glimmering black needles swaying in the twilight, independent of any wind. Pressing forward, he was the first to see the nest: a mass of earth and twisted trees pulled down and tangled together, from which hundred of black needles and spikes rose. Some of the needles sported the bodies of forest animals, birds and squirrels and the like, all pierced and swaying as grisly ornaments; and atop the center of the nest, the largest of the needles supported a human body. The man, not quite dead, whispered something that Zera could not hear.

And then shapes shambled out of three openings in the nest, slouched naked figures that appeared human at first glance, but from whose backs jutted whole forests of black spines. They walked right beneath Zera’s branch without noticing him, for their attention was focused on Thorwald. And as they walked, they placed their horn-nailed fingers together and drew them apart, and black ooze dripped and hardened into long black needles that glinted with the last rays of the sun.

Three more of the creatures shambled from the openings in the nest, and then three more still, and the black needles shone as they raised them against Thorwald. But Zera had strung his bow, and gold fire flared around him as he rained arrows down at the demons. Two of them fell, their skulls burst open by arrows from above. Then Thorwald stepped forward to cleave three more asunder with a single mighty sweep of his sword, and the battle was fully joined.

More of the demons shuffled out of the nest. Thorwald chopped two more of them in half, but they grew more cautious as they saw their fellows bleed out hardening black ichor onto the ground, and advanced in a bristling phalanx of black spines. Others flung shorter needles at Zera, forcing him to dance from limb to limb to avoid the barrage, his glowing anima bleaching the leaves and sending wild patterns of shadow and glaring light through the forest.

Thorwald pressed on as more demons swayed and thrust at him, and his own anima flared brighter as he took wound after wound from the beasts. And in his fury, he called upon the power deep within him. A wave of pure golden light spilled out over the demons. One fled outright, while the others staggered back, overwhelmed by the purity of the Unconquered Sun. Thorwald redoubled his efforts, chopping and thrusting with a blade made heavy and blunt by hardened demon-ichor, and in one instance kicking a dying demon back into one of its fellows, impaling the latter on the former’s countless back-spines.

Seeing no limit to the demons that marched out of the nest, three by three, Zera’s lips tightened and he reached for his bow. Dodging the needles that flew upwards from below like some bizarre inverted rain, he called upon the Sun’s power to fill his arrow, and sent a bolt of fire blazing down into the nest. As his brother Solar fought on below, Zera leapt nimbly from branch to branch and sent arrow after arrow down into the nest, stopping only when his Essence was depleted and the damp wood of the nest roared with flame.

With their reinforcements cut off, the remaining demons fell quickly. The very last demon turned and fled in terror; Thorwald gave chase, but it seemed to vanish into the woods like smoke. And so our heroes came together and stood before the burning nest, watching as the red flames towered alongside their own pillars of golden fire, listening to the panicked squeals of demons in the nest, smelling the rank stench of burning fat. As the fire slowly spread in a light eastern wind, Thorwald and Zera lopped off the heads of the dead demons, strung them on a rope, and headed off into the darkness.

Quendalon

11-28-2003, 07:52 PM

The sun was beginning to sink behind the tree-lined horizon, and in the distance inky-black smoke still billowed and drifted on errant breezes. Most of the indigenous animal and insect life had fled from the unforgiving flames, and the resulting quiet was just fine with the man called Zera Thisse. He and his companion Thorwald of Stonehold sat in a clearing, next to a small stream that fed into a nearby pond. The evening's exertions had not occurred so long ago, and the raging adrenaline made sleep difficult for either man. The silence around them was understandable, but the silence between them was another matter. Thorwald did not consider himself a man of many words - he knew that men like his brother Aekino used them to better effect. However, brothers sitting by a campfire should not feel strangely or struggle to make conversation. Zera was in a black mood indeed, and Thorwald could think of nothing to break the awkward moment. He sighed heavily, and idly began whittling a twig as he stared into the campfire.

Zera glanced up at the sound, and eyed the man coldly for disturbing his train of thought. His display for the guard, and thus for the Queen had been a calculated gamble. He had not really known what to expect, or even how to go about getting what he wanted. He was no diplomat, and the niceties of the court made him ill indeed. If he had to govern a region, he wouldn't ... then it hit him. The Shadowlands were an issue that needed to be dealt with. He would not see another Thorns, at the price of his own blood or anyone else's that needed spilling, for that matter. It seemed that his hope in Idris was unfounded, as she allowed one of those hideous entities into her court. Maybe unifying the region under the erstwhile Queen was a bad idea. Maybe ... just maybe this Circle could do what Ledaal Vir, Cessair, and Idris could not. It was so simple! Aekino had the necessary mind for the politics and diplomacy, Li had the mettle to guide any followers they could muster in war, Thorwald had the kinship to the indigenous Northman folk, and he himself could cultivate the eyes and ears for security and defense. He broke out in his first smile since the sun had risen the night before.

Thorwald glanced over and saw Zera smiling, and almost made a jest about their victory over the demons, but something in the other man's eyes stayed his tongue. He shook his head, and tossed the savaged bit of twig into the fire. An almost irrepressible urge to feel the cold North winds on his face washed over him, and the silence lasted well into the eerily silent night.

YerMum

12-01-2003, 02:53 AM

\o/ this rocks! lots!

Quendalon

12-01-2003, 03:45 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Hello, children. Sweet, sweet children. Back for more of my stories. So what tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of the warrior-hero Glorious Earth, who seized the Sword of the Black Chrysanthemum from its tomb in the shadowlands of Sijan? Would you hear of how he slew a god with that blade to win a place in Heaven, and of how, as the centuries passed, the dead god's power consumed him from within? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun's bright children, and the turning of the Age?

"Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun's bright children, and their adventures in the lands of the East."

* * * * *

A moment after sending a note to the prince requesting a private audience, Aekino received an invitation to court. When Aekino entered the audience hall, Vir introduced him to his youngest son, Rivander, and the Immaculate monk Shima. Shima, whose skin bore the bluish-black tint of an elder disciple of Daana’d, the Water Dragon, resided at the nearby Monastery of the Red Butterfly, where she trained Rivander and what few other young Dragon-Bloods were born in this portion of the distant East.

Vir dealt with a number of petitioners, mostly dealing with issues of increased violence and thievery, which the petitioners blamed on criminal gangs and organizations like the Pikes, the Foxes and the Violet Masks. Then he spoke in private with Aekino, who expressed a will to travel to Iron Tower. Surely, he observed, the imprisoned Cessair would be of interest to the Anathema, and his own experience with the Anathema in Thorns and thereafter made him uniquely qualified to help guard the queen. Aekino’s primary difficulty in pursuing his argument came from the unwanted presence of Vir’s consort, the witch Mari of Stonegarden, who dropped by in the middle of the discussion and simply wouldn’t take a hint and leave.

As Aekino convinced the prince to send him to Iron Tower with Martin and such guards as he could spare from the many other sites where he needed to assign his troops, Li stood in the palace courtyard with the young prince Rivander. In the short time since he’d returned to the palace, Rivander had heard the story of Li’s thwarting of Darien Tal’s guards, and seeing as how he had few opportunities to spar with opponents of any real skill, he challenged her to combat that very day.

Li agreed to fight the young prince, insisting only that the battle be unarmed. She intended to rein in her speed and skill so as to allow her opponent to win; not only would she refrain from exposing herself as an Anathema, but she did not wish to make an enemy by humiliating the lordling. But she had underestimated the quality of his Dragon-Blooded talents and Immaculate training. The first few exchanges of blows left her bruised and burned, and with the injuries she’d sustained from her caning not yet fully healed, it might have been better for her to admit defeat. But her warrior spirit would not let her, and so Li discarded her original plan to surrender. While she yet refused to draw upon the Sun’s power, she fought back with all of her natural skill.

We can’t know who would have won the battle had they fought to a conclusion. Martin, you see, had stopped by to watch the display, and he began to jeer at his brother Rivander, railing at him for abusing his Dragon-given power. To use the fire and strength of his Exaltation against an ordinary mortal, for so Li appeared to be, offended Martin. And so he insulted, belittled and shamed Rivander until the younger man called the fight to an end.

Thorwald and Zera, for their part, returned to the town of Idris that evening with a string of demon heads. Once again, Zera demanded an immediate audience, which of course he received. This time the silver-masked nemissary did not attend, to Zera and Thorwald’s intense satisfaction.

Despite our heroes’ success, the queen Idris showed no pleasure in seeing them. She informed them that she had learned that a village of Tul Tuin, two days’ journey to the south, had been destroyed two days before our heroes arrived at her gates, and all of the people brutally slain; she deemed this no coincidence, despite Zera’s protestations of innocence. She let it pass solely because those who had died were not her people. Moreover, since the morning that our heroes had set off on their demon-hunt, the nemissary that attended her court had lain unmoving as if no more than a mundane corpse, and she did not know whether this, too, could be blamed on Zera Thisse, who had heartily avowed his hatred of the walking dead before her court.

Despite all this, Idris had no evidence of wrongdoing by our heroes, nor had any of the harm done struck at her own land or people. And so she prepared to honor the deal she’d struck with Zera two nights earlier, to provide them with such information as might aid them in freeing her mother from the Iron Tower, to aid her mother in reclaiming the throne of Tul Tuin, and then giving her full support against the demonic and undead forces abroad in the land.

And so they rested, and set out the next day on the road back to Tul Tuin. The western wind thickened and brought clouds and a light rain. They traveled on into the afternoon, from the farming villages of Idris and into the swampy woods that lay beyond the borders of her lands. They spoke as they traveled, discussing their dealings with the half-faerie queen and her court, and of how their brother Aekino and their sister Li would take the news they brought. And then an arrow whirred through the air and buried itself in Zera’s shoulder.

The deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms had caught up to them once again. As she launched more arrows from the nearby tree line, Thorwald drew his great sword and charged at her while Zera dived for safety. The deathknight ignored the northman’s approach, so intent was she upon slaying the hero of Thorns, but her arrows went astray as Zera tumbled like a dandelion seed blown upon golden winds of Essence. In a moment, Zera found shelter the shelter of a mossy boulder, and there he rained blazing arrows at the deathknight as Thorwald menaced her with his mighty blade.

Forty-Four Devil Blossoms reeled as sword and arrows struck her and as flames licked up from where the fiery arrows landed. Though her soulsteel armor protected her from the force of the blows, the assault disconcerted her, and she darted upwards into the forest canopy and vanished from sight. Suspicious, our heroes sought after her in the foliage, then continued southward through a thickening rain, avoiding the road and trudging through the muddy woodland to minimize the chance of being spotted again.

As they muddled on through rain and woods and swampy ground, Aekino and Li arrived in Iron Tower beneath the fringes of that same storm. Martin accompanied Aekino into the small walled town with their guards, leading him through streets laid out in a military grid to a lodge at the foot of a great rust-streaked tower. There they cast off their cloaks to dry before a fire and spoke for a time; and as they spoke, Li of Orchid made her way around the town, reconnoitering.

As Li passed the town’s small cemetery, she heard foul ghostly laughter in her ear. The voice of the dead thing that had accosted her in Tul Tuin mocked her here, then called out to the dead that lay buried under earth and stone; and the dead heard, and their hungry ghosts rose in a great shadowy flock to accost Li.

Turning, Li ran, and the ghosts and the mocking voice followed her through the darkness and the rain. But she did not run out of fear. Instead, she had sought a grove of trees she had seen in the distance, and once she reached it, she allowed her anima to blaze with gold fire as she assumed the Five-Fold Bulwark Stance. With her glow muted by trees and rain and distance, so that the sentinels of the town could not distinguish her as Anathema, she exerted her fullest skills as a Chosen of the Dawn, and cut the ghostly hunting pack to pieces.

As she did battle amidst the cold and wet and dark, Aekino and Martin sat and chatted in the pleasant dry warmth of the lodge, enjoying wine and sweetmeats as they debated politics and family matters. Martin, of course, persisted in his advances. As he slid close and slipped his arms around Aekino, a window-shutter creaked open as a white egret flapped down onto the sill and watched the scene with a curious eye. And as Aekino pushed his cousin away and opened his mouth to utter some rebuke, the egret hopped off the sill and into the room; and as it did so, it changed, stretching and growing to take on the form of a man, one of youthful features belied by the lines around his silvery eyes, with white feathers for hair.

Martin and Aekino froze at the sight of this apparition. As the feathered man stepped forward, Martin drew his blade, then lowered it at a signal from his cousin, who felt ancient memories well up within him at the sight of the intruder. Smiling, the bird-man approached Aekino, addressing him as “Larenn,” a name out of another age, another time. They embraced and indulged in a kiss, one freighted by a thousand years and more of longing. Then they drew apart and regarded one another.

And the visitor’s face soured and twisted. “You bitch,” he snarled. With a backhanded blow, he knocked Aekino off his feet, smashing him through the wall of the lodge.

Quendalon

12-02-2003, 10:08 AM

Night had fallen in the woods outside of Idris, the comforting presence of the Unconquered Sun hidden away by a canopy of darkness and stars. Zera Thisse and Thorwald of Stonehold finished the last of a cold, cheerless supper and set about looking for somewhere to sleep. Thorwald agreed to take the first watch, and set his back against the trunk of a thick oak, his eyes seeming to plead for an intrusion to their rest. Zera tossed and twisted in his bedroll, with dull aches shooting up from his wounded shoulder, and the rocks and the roots below all seeking purchase somewhere in his back. As uncomfortable as all this was, Zera was far more troubled by the presence of the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms - hiding out somewhere in the forest looking for another chance to kill him. Her single-mindedness concerning him was disturbing, and the fact that she was in much better condition than either one of them also set Zera on edge. She would attack them again tonight - he knew it. He twisted again, stifling a cry of pain and trying in vain to find some rest. After a time, he slept…

Thorwald glanced down at his sleeping companion, and felt a pang of sympathy. First, there was that odd behavior of the last few days. He didn't act in the same manner as Zera did, but something similar had happened to him. It was worth considering. Now, there seemed to be bad dreams. Zera writhed and muttered in his sleep, calling out at times for old relatives. Thorwald guessed he was probably revisiting Thorns in his mind, and he didn't blame the man. He passed the hours with thoughts of home - of cold winds, drifts of unforgiving snow, and the warmth of Northern women. All of a sudden, the realization came to him that something was very wrong… the wood was too quiet.

He snatched a hatchet from his belt and threw it across the camp without a single consicous thought, and saved Zera's life. A slouched and silent human figure fell backwards next to the archer, the axe-blade buried deep into his skull. As the body hit the ground with a dull thump, Zera rolled to his feet, snatching his bow up. He glanced ahead and behind, and poured Essence into his senses. He nocked an arrow, and went back-to-back with Thorwald.

“Have you heard anything else?”
“No, Zera Thisse, but that creature was no living thing… I think there will be more.”
“If that is true, perhaps this is the work of that filthy Deathknight child.”
“She is frightened to do battle with us now, Zera? Then no matter, we will slay whatever paltry minion that steps foot in this clearing!”

The wait was brief, and the rest of the zombies were on them so quickly even Thorwald was caught off guard. They came from all sides, eyes burning red and jaws working involuntarily, perhaps already tasting the blood they could smell. The Northman immediately charged into the fray, a wordless battle-cry on his lips. The greatsword swung in vicious arcs, and mottled-gray limbs and blackish ichor flew around him. He laughed as the sticky substance wet his arms and chest, and he spun behind him to lop the head off another attacker. Zera sent a shaft whistling through the air, and it caught one of the dead men in the eye. He tumbled to the leaf-strewn ground, and immediately three more were streaking past his corpse. The archer leaped up and grabbed a low branch with his free hand, and pulled himself up into the tree. He reached for another arrow, sent it home into another zombie, and reached again. He found nothing in the quiver. The dead began to climb the low-hanging branches…

Thorwald grunted as claws raked across his left arm. These blasted creatures were fast, he'd give them that much! The blood of proud Northman ran through his veins, and the tradition of protecting the Southern Lands from creatures such as this was his to claim. He shoved the sword blade into his attacker's torso, and spun mightily, flinging the corpse off his blade and into two of its companions. He was no longer surrounded, having cut a great swath into his adversaries. He laughed and shouted insults as he cheerily laid about him with his formidable blade. He never saw the deathknight melt out of the trees behind him, and draw her wicked bow…

Zera's sight was Essence-sharp, however, and he caught the motion. He didn't have much time to come up with a plan. The first zombie would reach him in moments. Suddenly, his eyes lost focus of the moon-bathed wood, and saw flashing, fitful visions of another Age. Kuro the Raven and her Circle - engaged in battle with creatures of the night. Shambling, mindless things, but there were many. Her paramour Blessed Wind about to be struck from behind. Pulling her bowstring back and loosing a bright-gold bolt of pure Essence. The creature exploding into flame.

Zera pulled the bow back and shot before his sight even returned to normal. An arrow of essence laced through the air, lacking the sunlit majesty of Kuro's technique, but was more than up to its' task. Forty-Four Devil Blossoms gripped her vile bow tightly, nocked an arrow of pure black, and smiled as she envisioned the shaft finding flesh between Thorwald's shoulder blades. She stood in perfect harmony with the bow, with the arrow, even with Thorwald, and she exulted in the joy of the kill. She saw the flash from her left, but didn't have time to blink as the Essence-arrow lashed through the air and into the haft of her bow, knocking her hand aside and sending the arrow flying into one of her own minions. She cursed and swung to retaliate, but another arrow of Essence was already in the air, and she hissed as it bounced off her soulsteel plate. This was not how she anticipated this ambush, and she immediately took off through the trees, leaving the rest of her minions to be cut down by the hated Solars. There would be another time...

“I saw you do a strange thing, brother. How did you think to do that, in the heat of the battle?”
“Kuro showed me how, Thorwald. You might find it helpful to try and listen to your past…”
“Bah. I am competent enough already!”
“That deathknight's arrow would have begged to differ, my large friend. Think on it…”

The two friends and brothers gathered their things and found a more amenable, zombie limb-free campsite, and passed the rest of the night in relative peace.

A2K v2

12-02-2003, 01:40 PM

Wow.

It's been a bit since I've sat down and caught up with this story, but...

Just....wow.

Can't wait for the next installment!

-A2K

Sparrowhawk

12-02-2003, 08:49 PM

This is pretty cool. This last write-up has my favorite scenes so far: the fight agains the Firmin, with the creepy setting and lots of stuntability (I may steal this if I run an Exalted game); and the appearance of Aekino's Lunar lover... and what she does! The dream sequence was also quite cool.

Also, how long does the Heart of Flint virtue flaw last? It seems like Zera's Limit Break is having a pretty big effect on what's happening in-game.

Melkor

12-02-2003, 10:27 PM

Quendalon -

I was going to sit back, relax, and watch some TV tonight...Instead, it's 11:30pm, and I just finished reading through this thread.

Amazing stuff, and I really wish that I could play under a Storyteller like you....Alas, if there is Exalted to be played in my neck of the woods, I'm going to be the one running the game.

In reading through your story, I had a few things occur to me, and I realized that I don't have a really good grasp on the Exalted setting. Probably because I have yet to read any of the books all the way through to finish.

I thought that Fair Folk were basically bent on stealing away essence from mortals, so it suprised me to see them interacting in your story. I've been a bit confused when flipping through my books as to what exactly "Fair Folk" are...I'm not sure if they are the bald, mutant looking children people with multiple piercings, or if those are demons.

I also found it interesting that you were able to throw the various characters together when clearly, they have fundamental differences.....

Thanks for taking the time to post all of this up - It's really inspiring stuff.

Cheers.

Quendalon

12-02-2003, 11:10 PM

Ooh, lots of responses! Let's see...

A2K: Thanks! We played again last night, so the next summary should go up within the next few days. And I have another bonus submission from Thorwald's player that I may put up tomorrow.

Sparrowhawk: Heart of Flint lasts for one day per point of Conviction, and Zera has a conviction of 4. It's just about worn off at the end of session 10. And feel free to steal anything you like, of course. Anything that goes up here is public property. :)

Melkor: Sorry to have kept you from the TV, but I'm glad you like the story! ;) As to the Fair Folk, they do indeed eat Essence, and most of them get it by feeding off of the emotions of mortals. Some do so in more or less socially acceptable ways than others.

For example:
* Galarach, the faerie knight, feeds primarily from the passions of battle. Pain, fear and death give him no special benefit, so he makes no special effort to ensure that his opponents live or die.
* Orlàm, the faerie noble, most enjoys the subtle flavors of anxiety, stress and paranoia, and he employs his powers to spread these emotions. Let's just say that he's not entirely welcome in some of his former places of residence.
* Cessair, the faerie queen, used to marry a mortal hero at the height of every summer, and then slowly drain his soul until, by midwinter, nothing would remain but an empty husk. She's locked away in an iron tower for good reason.

And these are the nice faeries, the ones that can get along in mortal company for prolonged periods if they so choose. The ones that live in the wilds survive by kidnapping travelers or buying slaves and sucking out their life-force. The lucky ones have Manses or Demesnes to provide their Essence, but even they like to sup on souls when they can... for the flavor, don't you know.

Hope this helps,

- Eric

Melkor

12-02-2003, 11:36 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon
Melkor: Sorry to have kept you from the TV, but I'm glad you like the story! ;) As to the Fair Folk, they do indeed eat Essence, and most of them get it by feeding off of the emotions of mortals. Some do so in more or less socially acceptable ways than others.

For example:
* Galarach, the faerie knight, feeds primarily from the passions of battle. Pain, fear and death give him no special benefit, so he makes no special effort to ensure that his opponents live or die.
* Orlàm, the faerie noble, most enjoys the subtle flavors of anxiety, stress and paranoia, and he employs his powers to spread these emotions. Let's just say that he's not entirely welcome in some of his former places of residence.
* Cessair, the faerie queen, used to marry a mortal hero at the height of every summer, and then slowly drain his soul until, by midwinter, nothing would remain but an empty husk. She's locked away in an iron tower for good reason.

And these are the nice faeries, the ones that can get along in mortal company for prolonged periods if they so choose. The ones that live in the wilds survive by kidnapping travelers or buying slaves and sucking out their life-force. The lucky ones have Manses or Demesnes to provide their Essence, but even they like to sup on souls when they can... for the flavor, don't you know.

Hope this helps,

- Eric

Thanks for the response. Reading your campaign summary was a welcome break, so no apology required for keeping me away from the "idiot box".

So all of those bald-headed, child-like, body-pearced characters running around in the various Exalted books....are those demons or Fair Folk ? I thought they were Fair Folk until I bought Games of Divinity, and while I haven't read it yet, there are a lot of pictures of those guys in the section on Demons.

Quendalon

12-03-2003, 12:21 PM

Originally posted by Melkor
So all of those bald-headed, child-like, body-pearced characters running around in the various Exalted books....are those demons or Fair Folk ? I thought they were Fair Folk until I bought Games of Divinity, and while I haven't read it yet, there are a lot of pictures of those guys in the section on Demons. All of the above. That particular artist (don't know his or her name) draws everyone and everything that way. :) More specifically though, if you're asking about the bald pygmy people with panda-like black and white coloration, they're an odd human ethnic group called the Djala, who hail from somewhere in the South. They've received a few sentences here and there (mostly Castebook: Night and Manacle & Coin), but no major writeup.

- Eric

Quendalon

12-04-2003, 02:41 PM

In ancient times there came an evil from the edge of the world the likes of which has never been seen. Three Fey Chieftains arose among the Fair Folk and united all the Children of the Wyld under their banner.

And they chanced upon the realm and saw that the people were defenseless. For this was right after the time the old gods abandoned us and deemed that we were without protection. So they came down from their caves and holes in the edge of the world and brought death, entropy and wonder upon this tortured earth.

Our people met the Fair Folk in the Plains of Triumph and moments before dawn a great battle was joined. But though our people fought with great skill and valor, the sheer power of the three Fey Lords turned the tide of the battle.

Foremost among them was Calcruach; tall, eagle-eyed and possessed of inhuman beauty and battle prowess.

Second was Jagganath, son of the Faerie Queen Durandana. Tall as a mountain and twice as strong, his feet shook the earth and his hands, the size of small castles, destroyed whole armies. Entire battalions surrendered at the mere site of him.

And the last, was Sui Anl'a Brul, Scion of the Wyld, shaman and spiritual guide of the Fair Folk. His counsel and strange magic guided the Fair Folk from one victory to another.

When the battle was over the Fair Folk were victorious. And the three Fey Lords spoke, naming themselves the Shining Princes and their horde the Bright Army, for they and they alone stood to greet the light of the sun. The remnants of our people fled in shame to the southern clans to bring news of this horror.

Some time after our people met the Bright Army again, but this time we were not alone. The High King of Gower had raised his war horn and this time all the clans of the north were united under the banner of the Army of Men. The Great Northern Army was the finest fighting force ever assembled. And it stood as the last hope of our people against the hordes of Fair Folk who pressed in to destroy us.

The Army of Men met the Bright Army on the Plains of Conflict. But the battle was over even quicker than the first, for though the Armies were well matched, the Heroes of Humanity had no means of combating the Shining Princes who had power like unto the Children of the Sun.

Years later the remnants of the Army of Humanity met the Bright Army one more time on the Plains of Defeat. They were a motley tattered group composed mostly of old men, women and children for the flower of our manhood had perished in battle long since. They fought not to win for they knew they were doomed. They fought for pride and the desire to account well of themselves before falling.

But some of the Heroes of Humanity had faith. They realized the war could be won. They met with those Fair Folk who were enemies of the Bright Army and an alliance was forged. On that day, the Army of Humanity stood side by side with these renegade Fair Folk. And it was on that day that the Fir'Bolg hero, Ki'Anghsi loosed an arrow at the Shining Prince Jagganath. Where the arrow, a mere splinter, struck no one can say. Only that when it did the Fey Lord died instantly and when he fell his immense bulk destroyed half of the Bright Army.

The other half, trapped between the body of their fallen Prince and the collapsing plains fell before the fury of the clans. I do not lie when I tell you that not a single one would have survived were it not for the mercy of our generals who allowed a handful to flee back to the Edge of Creation only so that they could tell the tale of what happened on that day and what would happen if the Fair Folk ever came forth into the lands of mortal men.

But you know as well as I that it is not a warning they have heeded, yet never again have they come at us in such force.

After this battle our people, the first to meet the Bright Army and the ones to have lost the most, left their ravaged lands and went north. They went past the Plains of Bitter Sorrow and up the Mountains of Torment to the very edge of creation. There they built our homes and our villages, ever-vigilant of the coming of the Fair Folk. To this day we keep our Blood Oath between our clan and the Fir'Bolg and once in every man's lifetime we raise a force to travel to the Great Mountain where the Fir'Bolg live to re-affirm that accursed bond.

This pact is a symbol of our undying shame. For in our darkest hour, we turned not inward to our own strength but out to our enemy. We keep this oath not out of respect for the accursed Fir'Bolg for in truth we owe them nothing and no act can be considered treacherous against any of their kind. We hold this oath as a painful reminder of our moment of weakness for it was better to have died to the last, man, woman and child on that day than to have claimed a victory tainted by association with the children of the Wyld.

Quendalon

12-10-2003, 05:18 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Hello, my little sparrows. Come here, come here, that I may tell you a tale. So then, what story shall it be tonight? Would you hear the famous tale of Ryoji and Soryu, two young lovers of An-Teng, and how they were separated by the war between their families? Would you learn of how these two lovers took their own lives, so that they could be together in the Underworld; and of how they learned that the freedom of death is a lie? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the turning of the Age?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and their adventures in the lands of the East.”

* * * * *

In the Iron Tower, the egret-Lunar stalked toward the fallen Aekino. As an alarmed Li of Orchid burst into the room, followed by Thundercloud Star and the rest of the guard contingent, the Lunar grabbed Aekino by the collar, shook him and dragged him to his feet. As the others looked on, unwilling to act lest they further endanger their comrade, the ancient Lunar thrust Aekino away, then stood there and harangued him with accusations of callousness and infidelity. The young Dynast stood there and took it, struggling beneath a double assault of hateful words and emotion-laden visions of a former life, until the Lunar turned in disgust and started to walk away. Then Aekino begged him to stay. But the bird-man would have none of it; changing back into a white egret, he flew out through the window and into the night.

As Aekino stood at the window and wept, Martin ordered the guards out of the room, then confronted his cousin regarding what he had seen and demanded answers. When it became clear that Martin would not accept hedging nor postponement of the discussion, Aekino revealed the truth: that he was Anathema, one of those children of the Sun whose terrible power gripped the world in ancient days. He refused to speak on behalf of his fellows, an omission which rang of an admission.

Martin informed his cousin that, for all that he had been raised by his father in the ways of the Immaculate Philosophy, that he was no tool of the Immaculate Order. He could come to his own conclusions regarding the Anathema. But he would make no decisions at that moment; he needed time to think, and would thus take a long walk to consider what he had learned. At that moment, Li caught her comrade’s eye, her glance freighted with meaning. Could they, she asked without words, release this man and chance his revealing their secret to all? But Aekino shook his head: he would not have his cousin slain, no matter the risk. So Martin went out for his walk, leaving Li and Aekino alone to speak about what had transpired, with Aekino seeking consolation of his sister-comrade.

The next morning, as the sky cleared a bit and the new day grew warmer, Thorwald and Zera squashed their way through the forest muck. They remained alert despite their occasional banter; Zera’s shoulder still pained him from the arrow wound he’d received the previous day from the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms, while his comrade Thorwald limped along despite wounds gathered from deathknight, zombies and spiky demons in many recent battles.

In the midst of their speech, Zera raised his bow and nocked an arrow of pale Essence, for his keen eyes and ears had picked out an untoward movement from above. There, amidst circling rations, a ghostly shape of mist and blue light descended. Thorwald looked up and saw it too. He raised a hand to halt his brother, for he had met this being before, this phantom figure that descended into the clearing and knelt before him. This was the wind-spirit Fourth Breeze, who had approached him upon the balcony of the guest suite in the Tower of Winds, claiming to have served him in another life.

While the spirit came to warn of the incipient return of the deathknight that stalked our heroes, Thorwald had little interest in heeding anything it had to say, and only Zera’s words forced him to acknowledge the spirit’s potential value. It observed that, while few of Thorwald’s former spirit followers still clung to their old allegiance, the dragon-lord of its spirit court would surely provide aid… for a price, though that price remained unstated. Likewise, Fourth Breeze would aid Thorwald directly, should he only give the word.

Thorwald mused on this. Then, with all solemnity, he released the spirit from its oaths to him. Perhaps to his surprise, it did not take advantage of this opportunity to depart, but persisted in offering aid. His first directive was for it to stop calling him ‘Lord’ or ‘Master.’ His second was for it to travel to the Tower of Winds to seek out his other companions, Tepet Aekino and Li of Orchid, and tell them his location. Fourth Breeze agreed and whirled south upon the wind. Thorwald and Zera proceeded onward through the wood, unaided by the spirit, and so they were alone and unprotected by spirit magic when the deathknight came upon them yet again.

Zera reeled as the deathknight’s unexpected arrow pierced his side. Enraged by the cowardly assault, his comrade Thorwald drew his great sword and charged, forcing Forty-Four Devil Blossoms to cast her bow aside and draw her own black blade. She proved herself as skilled with a blade as with her bow, parrying Thorwald’s blows in a rising haze of dark fire and wounding him with her own flashing strikes, until he discarded his sword in frustration and threw her into a tree, crushing its trunk to kindling and momentarily trapping her beneath its fallen branches, before they rotted away in the black blaze of her anima.

As Zera pulled the arrow from his side and, coughing blood, drew himself into a sitting position to watch, Thorwald and the deathknight grappled amidst the trees. Sparks flew from the clashing fires of their black and gold animas. Then Thorwald’s clutching hand tore away the deathknight’s leather mask, revealing her true face, that of a white-haired starveling girl, her face as pale and bruised as a corpse. A ring of black flame blazed upon her forehead, twin to the golden ring upon Zera’s own brow.

In that moment of surprise, the deathknight’s mailed fist rose and fell, knocking Thorwald senseless. She then strode over to Zera. Glaring at the fallen hero of Thorns, she snapped his bow in half as he raised it in defense, and then proceeded to beat him into unconsciousness.

Things proceeded more tranquilly at the Iron Tower. There, in the broken-walled lodge, a troubled Aekino entertained his cousins Martin and Tanith, wondering all the while as to whether Martin had told Tanith about the previous night’s revelations. Their conversation turned to the past, and the cousins painted a rosy picture of the era when their mother Cessair ruled the land. They spoke also of the return of the Anathema, and of how Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind might walk again in these lands. Martin noted that Blessed Wind’s return would spell trouble if he sought to reclaim his erstwhile kingdom of Tul Tuin.

The ever-vigilant Li stood alert throughout the discussion, watching for danger of any sort. A hint of music wafting in through the window caught her attention. Peering out the window, she discerned that the sounds came from the upper levels of the adjacent tower of iron. As Tanith explained that her mother often had musicians perform in the tower so that she might feed off of the passions their melodies aroused, a drearily paranoid Aekino invoked the power of the Sun to expand his perception so that he might discern whether some sinister supernatural force might be at work. What he saw, amidst the swirl of least gods acrawl over every surface of the comfortably appointed lodge, was a golden-skinned girl with silver hair who watched him from a corner: the same spirit that Tanith had described to him earlier in the Tower of Winds.

A vision of ancient days came upon Aekino then, a vision of braiding that same child’s hair amidst luxury undreamed, and he knew that the girl meant something to him. But she gasped in surprise as she met his gaze with wide, startled eyes; turning, she vanished through the wall despite Aekino’s cries. As the others regarded him with astonishment, he recounted his experience to his guests, then called his guard-captain Thundercloud Star to bring swift horses, ostensibly for hunting. Too many strange events had happened here, dredging up too many memories of that other life, and he sought only to flee to the fresher air of other places. Where to go and what face to put upon it could wait. He could not breathe.

Sometime that afternoon, Zera Thisse awoke to the jarring rhythm of hoof beats. He watched roots and fallen leaves whirl by his face against a backdrop of a horse’s pale coat. He and Thorwald had been tied to the deathknight’s saddle, a tight squeeze even on her great steed. Forty-Four Devil Blossoms did not yet seem to have noticed his awakening. So, he subtly prodded the half-aware Thorwald into drawing his wrist dagger for him and passing it across the narrow gap between their bound hands. Despite a disastrous near-fumble, Zera got a firm hold on the knife and began to saw at his bonds.

Then the deathknight observed that her captives had regained consciousness, forcing Zera to stop his work. She cursed him roundly, her voice thick with spite as she called him the “hero of Thorns.” She called him hypocritical and selfish, unworthy of the adulation of the underclass of Thorns that he claimed to serve. Her animus toward her captive seemed quite personal, and Zera racked his memory for any memory of this child-faced killer.

Finally, jarred by the thudding of the horse’s hooves upon roots and stones, he recalled a moment several years earlier, a triumphant return to Thorns after earning his first bounty for capturing an escaped thief. As he’d made his way down the winding streets of the Gray Stews in Thorns, he’d spotted a beggar girl in an alley mouth and tossed her a copper coin from his pouch. That girl, he was sure, was the same as the one who now held him captive, though looking no older after, what, six years? Seven?

Zera found the whole thing ridiculously funny. The dreadful Anathema that had dogged his steps for the past few months was a slip of a street urchin? She hated him because she’d grown up poorer than he? He could do nothing but laugh. “Should I have given you a silver?” he replied

The deathknight didn’t think it funny at all. Her eyes blazed as she twisted in the saddle to grab Zera by the throat. She throttled him with her ice-cold hand until the world blurred and faded to black.

By that time, Aekino and his entourage had set off on the road back to Tul Tuin. Aekino claimed that they needed to search for their companions Zera and Thorwald, disregarding the fact that there was no cause to think that they should even have started their return journey from Idris yet, let alone that they should have got themselves in trouble in this vicinity. Nonetheless, they took to the road, the rust-streaked Iron Tower dwindling at their back through the afternoon.

They moved slowly, with Li and one of Thundercloud Star’s scouts combing the high grasses, shrubs and weeds along the borders of the road, humoring Aekino by looking for signs that Zera and Thorwald might somehow have passed that way. It was late in the afternoon when Li’s keen eyes caught something strange and extraordinary: a trail of grasses that gleamed like tarnished brass, leading away from the earthen road to north and south.

Li conferred with Aekino as to the meaning of this prodigy. They deemed it likely that this was the work of a demon, most likely of the Second Circle, a thing that should not be free and loose in the world. So, by Aekino’s command, the small band turned off the road and followed the trail southward.

Zera woke again as the deathknight’s pale steed bore him inexorably southward. Licking blood-crusted lips, he felt for the knife. To his immense relief, it remained jammed in the knotted ropes at his wrists. So he finished cutting away the ropes, then went on to sever the saddle-girths, all with such swiftness and subtlety that the deathknight noticed nothing until she spurred her steed into a great leap over a gully and the saddle slid away with her two bound captives. Twisting like an eel in midair, she regained her seat on the beast’s bare back as it landed on the far side of the gully. But by then Zera had slashed the rest of his bonds and Thorwald’s as well.

Thorwald had had enough. As he had done when fighting the spiny demons, the northman drew forth the golden power within him and flung it at the deathknight, who howled as her flesh and hair began to smoke. Screaming a promise of vengeance, she kicked her horse to flight and vanished into the trees. Zera looked sidewise at his comrade and said, “You might want to think about doing that more often.”

As the sun sank low in the west, Li traced the trail of brass and black stone over one last hill. Her eyes widened; she beckoned her fellows forward to see. Below them lay a small, isolated depression filled with gray ash. Lumps of black debris protruded amidst the dance of ashen dust devils, and black cave mouths pocked the depressions slopes. In that entire place, nothing moved but for the ashes dancing on the breeze.

Commanding the others to stay back, Aekino went down into the dale, accompanied only by Li, to see what lay in that place. He halted at the edge of the gray. The evening light seemed strangely muted there. In that light, the dark debris showed clear amidst the gray. Black bones they were, of bird and beast and man, skeletons carved or transmuted into rough basalt.

And in one of the earthen cave mouths at the edge of the gray, a shadow moved.

Li dragged back a mesmerized Aekino as the blackness flowed out of the cave. As they climbed the ridge, she shouted to the others that they had to go, now! There was time only for a single backward glance from the ridge top, showing the blackness boiling outward across the bowl of ash; then they were each of them mounted and in desperate flight.

They reached Tul Tuin well after dark, only to find the gates aswarm with Realm soldiers bearing the mon of House Ledaal. Martin and Aekino pressed past the guards on the weight of their Dynastic status and made their way to the Tower of Winds. There, Aekino and Li retired to their suite, their persistent guards still in tow, and gazed out over the city to watch the gleams of lantern-lights wend their way out through the gates and into the countryside.

Aekino rose at dawn after a short sleep. Once again he peered into the spirit-realm, and as he had hoped, he saw again the shining golden child he had seen in the lodge at the Iron Tower. Again she shrank back upon feeling the force of his attention. This time he smiled at her, using all of his charm to keep her there. The Sun shone through his countenance. Spellbound, she remained. He asked her, with all gentleness, to seek out his comrades who had not yet returned from the north; for he deemed them late in returning, and he would know what had befallen them. She consented in her soft, timid voice, and turned and vanished into the morning sunlight.

The apparition of the girl surprised Zera and Thorwald as they limped south through forest mud. Though Thorwald viewed her skeptically, Zera thanked her politely and asked that she bring Aekino and Li with some haste, that the Circle might be rejoined.

Things moved swiftly after that. Aekino swept enthusiastically out of the castle, accompanied by Martin and Li and guards, not dallying to present himself to his royal cousin Vir. They met their comrades about two hours north of the city, at the border of woods and settled fields, and greeted one another with delight. They spoke of the adventures they’d had these past few days, of demons and deathknights, of shapeshifters and small gods, one of which – the spirit Fourth Breeze – wafted about in Thorwald’s shadow . They also shared, in voices pitched low so as not to carry to the nearby guardsmen, of how each had revealed their nature as Anathema – Aekino to Martin, and Zera to Idris and her court.

* * * * *

Li of Orchid: “We have been reunited for five minutes, and already you are bickering.”
Zera Thisse: “I missed it.”

* * * * *

Their discussion turned to the tomb of the Anathema that Aekino had read about, which lay in the hills to the east or northeast. Aekino spoke of how it contained the bones and relics of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind, people whose flesh Zera and Thorwald once wore, and of how it might be well for them to reclaim their ancient panoply from that place. The others agreed, and they started to discuss what preparations they might make for entering that tomb.

Then came hoof beats from the south. A sizable troop of horsemen came on from that way, bearing the standard of the Ledaal of Tul Tuin. With a glance, Martin announced that it was his eldest brother, Tristen, though he knew not the purpose for this visit.

Our heroes didn’t like this one bit. As Martin, with a wink at Aekino, led the guards off to investigate, the four comrades shared meaningful glances; their secret might have spread all too swiftly, and Ledaal swords might be raised against them should they return now to the Tower of Winds.

As one, they mounted and spurred their steeds into motion. Shouts of surprise and outrage burst from the guards and soldiers. Within moments, the soldiers had sorted themselves out; they galloped into the woods, hard on the heels of the four, strung out in a long line of banners and metal and horseflesh.

The chase was on.

Quendalon

12-12-2003, 12:49 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon
As one, they mounted and spurred their steeds into motion. Shouts of surprise and outrage burst from the guards and soldiers. Within moments, the soldiers had sorted themselves out; they galloped into the woods, hard on the heels of the four, strung out in a long line of banners and metal and horseflesh.

The chase was on. I may actually have to get rid of this bit, since we just ran the following session, and there really wasn't much of a chase. Heavy wounds really don't do much for one's Ride pool. :)

- Eric

alexandria2000

12-12-2003, 02:26 PM

Woot! Something to read to keep me enthralled through work hell!

-avidly reading the latest installment A2K

Quendalon

12-15-2003, 08:41 PM

The sun was falling, and it was becoming pleasantly cool. The forest was full of beauty - the sounds of birds and the breezes through leaves of maple and birch... but the man noticed none of it. His steely gray-green eyes were locked on a piece of wood, with a target circle carved hastily into its aged surface.

His left hand gripped a shortbow tightly, perfectly comfortable despite the fact that he'd never held the bow before today. It belonged to one of Thundercloud's soldiers, and it was inferior indeed, but in the hands of this man it was still more than lethal.

He had no quiver, no arrows, and he yet he stretched his free hand behind himself as if to grasp one. Zera Thisse's act was more than just physical, he reached for far more than just an arrow. He gathered Essence, he thought about what he had seen in that flashback - the glowing bolt of pure solar fire, and let the string go...

Nothing. Not even a Phantom Arrow. Frustration marred his scruffy, worn face, and he snarled.

"DAMN!" He ran the fifty feet and kicked the target-wood savagely. As it skittered off into the woods, a sound behind him startled him, and he whirled around - for all the world expecting the damnable Forty-Four Devil Blossoms. Instead, his sister Li of Orchid walked to where he stood, and sat peacefully on the stump.

"You reach, and find nothing. Do you know why that is, brother?" Li considered Zera, her scarred face impassive.

"I reach and find nothing because I have no idea what I'm doing. All I have to go on are fragments of memories and -"

"No. This is not true, brother." Li interjected politely. "You fail because you lack the control of your own mind. Your passion is great, your will is strong, but your mind is unquiet and does not let the knowledge flow to you."

A moment passed in silence, as Zera looked off into the trees, and Li let the wisdom of her words sink in.

Birds called to each other, and again the breeze danced among the leaves and teased the ends of their hair. He turned to face her, and nodded finally.

"Brother, this principle applies to more than just your archery."

"I had guessed that. You are referring to the way I deal with Aekino, I'd imagine."

"Correct. Has it occurred to you that when the two of you speak, Thorwald and I say nothing?"

"It has, but it usually occurs to me only when the argument's over. I know that I treat him unfairly - it's just hard for me to deal with the 'me-first mentality' those nobles all have-"

"And you are condescending and harsh, and not just to him."

Zera's eyes flashed with anger, but the emotion didn't last long in the face of Li's cool demeanor. There was no insult, no scorn - the woman only spoke truth, plain and simple.

"So what do you suggest I do? It's quite often that him and I both think we know what's best for the Circle. I don't know how to push aside his flaws and just attempt to make sense..."

"If I could give you all the answers you sought, I'd be a sage, not a swordswoman. It is your challenge to overcome. I do wish you luck, however... for all our sakes. We need to cooperate - there is much to do."

Li rose to her feet with the grace of a swan taking flight, and briefly placed her hand on Zera's shoulder. "Be careful as you practice, or you'll open this wound."

With that, she was gone. The trees swallowed her up and she didn't make a single sound, left no passage.

What she did leave was a lot for Zera Thisse to think about.

Quendalon

12-17-2003, 11:51 AM

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Hello, my little night birds. Come closer, come closer, that I may tell you a tale, for surely that is why you have come to me again. So what tale would you hear? Would you hear of the scavenger prince Varnalish of Mokuren, most fearless of ruin-sifters, and his adventures in the buried labyrinths of the cities of the First Age? Would you hear of the perils he overcame in those forbidden places, of the beasts and hungry ghosts he overcame, and the treasures he won from the tombs of the ancients? Would you also hear of how the scavenger prince Varnalish finally transgressed once too often against the buried and the dead, and of how dark and terrible powers enslaved his immortal soul? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and the end of the Second Age?

"Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and their quest for the tomb of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind.

"The Sun’s children stood poised for flight at the edge of the woods a short ride from the Tower of Winds, with soldiers of the prince Ledaal Vir descending upon them. How did this come to pass? Two nights before, the Moon-child Dancing Water confronted his reborn lover, Tepet Aekino, at the foot of the Iron Tower. Aekino’s guardsmen saw and heard much of this confrontation, and when Aekino returned to the Tower of Winds the next night, they gossiped with their fellow soldiers in the barracks of that place.

"By the next morning, the news of that event had filtered up to the prince’s captain, Shield Willow, who informed the prince of what this might mean. The prince then summoned his cousin Aekino; but Aekino had already slipped away with his sworn brothers and his guards. Unsettled, the prince sent his eldest son, Tristen, to follow them with many soldiers and bring them back to the Tower of Winds."

Our heroes fared poorly in their attempt at flight. The grievous wounds dealt them by the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms still pained Zera Thisse and Thorwald; they slumped in their saddles, unable to press their horses on to the same speed as the others, and quickly fell behind. Unwilling to lose his brothers, Aekino dropped back to join them. Thorwald, with equally reckless stubbornness, tried to drive Aekino onward while holding back the oncoming guards with his great blade. And as the pair halted to argue, the guards came up around them.

Li and Zera watched through the trees as Aekino argued with their comrade Thorwald and negotiated with cousin Tristen. Voices carried clearly in the calm forest air; they listened as Tristen made clear that he had come at his father’s behest to bring Aekino to audience, and they heard Aekino demand that his comrades go free. Tristen made no objection, as he saw the others as nothing more than Aekino’s servants, who did not fall within the scope of his orders.

Aekino rode back to the Tower then, in the company of Tristen and Martin and Thundercloud Star and all the guards. Thorwald rejoined his other comrades, and the three found themselves a secluded spot among boulders and thickets upon a hilly slope where they might rest, and plan, and make ready for their brother Aekino’s return.

Rumors had flown like crows throughout the Tower in their absence, croaking in every open ear. Wary eyes followed Tepet Aekino as the guards escorted him to his lonely suite. Likewise, when a freshly bathed Aekino entered the audience hall in his finest robes, the courtiers gossiped in low tones as they watched him slyly from behind their gaudy silk fans. But the prince disappointed them; Aekino begged that they might speak in private, rather than spreading stories far and wide, and Vir granted his request. They retired to a small parlor, attended only by Tristen, Martin and Thundercloud Star.

When they had settled into that pleasantly decorated chamber, with its teak paneling and its tapestries in comforting shades of green, Vir informed Aekino of the rumors he had heard of the encounter with the Lunar in the lodge at Iron Tower, of how the shapeshifter had addressed Aekino familiarly, and of how Aekino seemed in fine physical shape for having been knocked through a wall immediately thereafter. Tristen egged his father on, but Vir seemed willing to listen, though he called upon both Martin and Thundercloud Star to provide their own versions of events. Thundercloud made clear his suspicions about the event, particularly regarding how he and his guards were ordered to keep their distance from the scene. Martin, for his part, put the best face possible on all of Aekino’s statements, though Vir made it clear that he viewed Martin’s words as less than objective, for he knew of the burgeoning relationship between the two.

The discussion went on for some time. Vir seemed tired and irritable; Tristen, lofty and amused; Martin, sarcastic; Thundercloud Star, stoic; and Aekino turned on the tears, expressing sorrow and dismay that he had to relive that night, and that he faced such distrust he faced from his relatives. Tristen and Martin sniped at each other with barbed words all the while. Finally, Vir could take no more; he ended the audience, informing Aekino that they’d speak again on the morrow.

Martin wished to escort his gorgeous cousin to his quarters, but Tristen demanded and received that privilege. As they traversed the narrow halls of the Tower, Aekino tried to mull over certain facts that had come to light during the audience – that the Wyld Hunt was en route to Tul Tuin, for instance, or that Vir had sent out his troops to guard the Tomb of the Anathema and all nearby Manses, in accord with the message that Aekino himself had brought to the court from the dead hand of Ledaal Amaya – but Tristen insisted on chatting. Between the two distractions, he all but walked into an unfamiliar denizen of the Tower, a small, pale, worn-looking fellow with a clear family resemblance to the Tower’s ruling family.

When Aekino and Tristen reached the guest suite, they drank and conversed, each attempting to pick the other’s brain, but Aekino’s heart wasn’t in it. Part of his mind pondered the pickle he was in, trapped in the Tower without his comrades, perhaps facing some dreadful doom at the hands of his host if his Anathema status came out. Another part considered the worn-looking fellow he’d met in the hall, one Ledaal Laris, yet another member of Vir’s extensive brood. Of all of that line, only Laris remained mortal; neither god-blood nor Dragon-breath touched him. Tristen revealed this and more: that Laris had had a twin, who had died some years earlier when Vir and Cessair fought for the throne. Now he lingered on, half a man, lacking any drive or conviction, withering in the brilliant light of his talented and magical siblings. Aekino thought it terribly sad.

Outside, the rest of the encamped Circle had no time for sadness, for instead they contemplated their many troubles, and sought a means of extricating their brother from the Tower of Winds. They mused, too, upon their own escape from their brother’s fate. Li surmised that the Dragon-Bloods, seeing Aekino’s comrades as servants, must have thought them beneath notice or contempt. Thorwald rumbled that, had he command of the guards, he would have slain the Circle outright, lest they survive and lay plans to free their brother (as, indeed, they were in the process of doing). Zera smiled grimly and observed that the Dragon-Blooded were too arrogant to take mortals seriously, and that would be their undoing.

As they discussed plans for freeing Aekino, they discussed what might come after. They quickly came to a consensus, that they would free Cessair as Zera and Thorwald had pledged to do, but that reaching the old Tomb of the Anathema must come first. They needed the power that they hoped might lie locked in the Tomb if they were to defeat their enemies: perhaps the Dragon-Blooded of the Tower, and certainly the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms, who still pursued Zera Thisse with dark and unforgiving rancor.

Aekino refrained from joining Vir and his children at dinner that night, claiming that a flux of the bowel kept him closeted in his quarters. This was, in some ways, a shame. For a wonder, all of Vir’s surviving children guested beneath his roof, and they gathered with him at table.

Tristen, the eldest, sat at his father’s right hand. New come from his seat at Longcorner, the slim and elegant Mela-child sipped the cold white wine of Mokuren as he cast subtle aspersions upon his siblings. The next, sister Tanith, at their father’s left hand, watched the others from behind her veil of pale hair. Only occasionally would she venture some small comment or lock eyes with her closest ally, fiery brother Martin, who exchanged abuse with Tristen at regular intervals from his seat at the foot of the table. Laris sat silent as a ghost beside her, eyes mostly upon youngest sibling Rivander, who seemed particularly belligerent that night; his bastardized Immaculate training had focused his Essence without calming his rebel nature.

Had Vir hoped for a peaceful gathering, he was disappointed. Tristen called Martin an incestuous freak, Martin called Rivander a vicious woman-beating thug, and Rivander had something unpleasant to say about everyone. Even the usually-quiet Laris and Tanith found opportunities to taunt and jibe their sibs; when Rivander made a veiled threat against his sister, she replied, “Well, I do fit the profile; I’m a woman, and I’m defenseless.”

Their father tried to calm things down by turning the discussion to this subject or that, but his children would not be swayed; they could find some cause to heckle one another on even the most innocuous of topics. The bickering, combined with occasional bitter comments about Vir’s concubine Mari of Stonegarden, finally drove him off, and the mood grew even more spiteful with his departure. Had our heroes been present, surely they would have placed bets on which sibling would be the first to commit fratricide.

Our heroes were otherwise occupied. Aekino mulled over spells in his suite, while Li and Thorwald slept in their thorn-bordered camp. And as Li slept, she dreamed terrible dreams, dreams of battle and slaughter, in which she stood against an army upon an icy plain, in the shadow of a great stone crag that rose from the ice like a giant’s needle, and a great daiklave of orichalcum and red jade spat fire in her hand and hewed down her foes by the hundred. Thorwald slept more easily, for his dreams were pleasant; he dreamed of traveling through these lands in an earlier life, among both mortals and spirits, encouraging the elementals to build on the behalf of mortals, to raise up walls and crops, to bring rain and sun at the proper time; and through all of that dream, the spirit Fourth Breeze walked at his side, his constant companion.

In any case, had our heroes been in any place other than where they rested at that time, to observe other events in that region, there were other proceedings of greater import for them to spy on than a quarrelsome family dinner. For beneath a large manor house in Tul Tuin, one whose blue-green roofs towered over the lower quarters of the city, there lay a nest of hidden corridors and chamber; and in one of those, a terrible rite grew to fruition upon that last night of the fourteenth month, beneath the new moon.

There in a great round room filled with chanting and sickly sweet smoke, thirteen figures stood, masked and cowled, their arms upraised as they faced one another. Each bore ritual implements of some strange black metal, knives and wands and censers that gleamed weirdly in the torchlight. Drugged slaves lay insensible before them on stone slabs, from which runnels led to a circle of black metal in the chamber’s center, inlaid into the stone floor; and a darkness grew there as they redoubled their chant.

“Come to us, Alveua,” called the leader of the summoners, and the darkness roiled in the circle.
“Alveua!” the others cried as one.
“Alveua, Keeper of the Forge of Night,” the leader intoned, “come to us. Alveua, Great Maker, we welcome you here. Alveua, drinker of the blood of innocents. Alveua, we open the door. Alveua, we open the way. Alveua, we give you blood. Alveua, we give you purpose. Alveua, come to us. Alveua. Alveua.”
And all the while, the others chanted, their voices growing louder and louder. “Alveua,” they shouted. “Alveua,” they roared. “Alveua. Alveua! ALVEUA!”

Black knives fell. Dark blood flowed. It flowed, and flowed, and flowed, pouring through runnels to that circle of black metal. There, the darkness thickened, and congealed. There, it took a human shape.

* * * * *

Our heroes, of course, knew none of this. So when they awoke sometime after midnight, with only the faintest light growing in the east, they did not go forth to slay those who would call the agents of Malfeas into the world. Instead, they supped on the remnants of the evening meal and mulled over their plans to rescue their brother Aekino.

Fortunately, a new plan came to them with the return of the wind-spirit Fourth Breeze. This time, swayed at last by his dreams of other lives, he acknowledged the spirit as a friend and companion, one whose unswerving loyalty he did not (in his mind) deserve. And with that arrival and that acceptance, a new plan arose. The spirit Fourth Breeze, gleaming like mist and moonlight, flew to the Tower; and as he had carried Zera Thisse while that worthy was wounded by the deathknight’s blade, he now bore Tepet Aekino across the sky, from a suite atop the Tower of Winds to a wooded slope where his comrades awaited him.

Their travels over the next few days concern us little. For a week they rode east through the woods, over hills that grew steeper as they progressed. Then they stopped briefly at the town of Turtle’s Cross, one of the Five Towns that supplied Tul Tuin with grain (from which the surplus was then exported by barge to the rest of the River Province), to obtain supplies. Zera Thisse slipped into the small town at dusk in the guise of a grizzled woodsman. There he found a Tul Tuin garrison; he gambled with townsmen and with soldiers in a tavern in hopes of winning a soldier’s bow, but the scout wouldn’t stake the thing. His pouch bulging with the coppers he’d won, Zera went on to slip into the garrison like a shadow and make off with a bow and quiver of arrows; he went on to fill a sack with vegetables filched from closed-up market stalls. He left his winnings for the farmers as payment, for he was an honest rogue.

And he returned to his comrades at their camp, where they made a savory stew of vegetables and of rabbit and squirrel that Li and Thorwald had caught. And after a good night’s rest they continued on their way. They would reach the Tomb soon. There would be guards aplenty, and perhaps traps and curses and the like. There would be adventure, clean and without politics, and they savored the anticipation as they rode beneath the leaf-dappled morning sun.

Quendalon

12-20-2003, 08:58 AM

On the road north and east, Aekino pretty much takes every opportunity to bathe for about three days. He also takes every opportunity to ogle his brothers and walk off a few yards in the evening when they rest. What his brothers and sister are unaware of, is that when he lays down to sleep he silently allows tears to streak down his flawless face.

On the third night however, he begins to quietly weep but as the first fat teardrops fall his features work their way from heartbroken to determined. He rises, wiping the moisture from his skin and takes a scroll from his pack. Reaching back in, he retrieves a brush and inkwell. He breathes deeply of the clear night air, centers his Essence and begins to write.

Stricken
square in the conceit
through prosaic wood
my past flees
Dancing Water

Hopeful
memories engage
time collides in our gaze
we drink deeply
Dancing Water

Climbing
through Ages
wicked ways and means
become sacred
Dancing Water

Beckoned
I am undone
regret takes hold
kissing hello or farewell
Dancing Water

Ashamed
I seek comfort
and ancient truths
eternal, unchanging
Dancing Water

Beringed
hands between us
one possessed and hated
the other missing
Dancing Water

Return
find forgiveness
my lovers enemies
none approaching
Dancing Water

The final character flowed onto the parchment. Aekino withdrew his arm and released the sleeve of his writing hand he'd been holding out of the way. Looking at the poem, he critiqued it and was less than pleased but found that he felt less like weeping. Dancing Water would remain distant as long as he cared to. Aekino had no control over that. What he could control was his own reactions to the feelings the Lunar evoked within his fickle heart.

Ledaal Martin he wanted for his fiery, muscular God-Blooded beauty.

Cathak Nerin he wanted for his tempestuous and conflicted rage.

Mnemon Dara he wanted for his loyalty and love through a dozen years.

But with one meeting that was all destroyed. A lifetime of centuries asserted itself and the nearly three decade old Aekino had no hope in its face. All of his hopes of finding allies, some sort of powerbase so that he could turn his attentions back onto the Blessed Isle were suddenly replaced by one simple compulsion.

Find the moonstone ring with the amber diamond set into it.

Which he would do, once his brothers were restored to some extent to their former glory, their ancient power. Nothing and noone would stay him from his task. The funny thing was that Aekino realized as he thought it how insane it sounded. How obsessed he had undoubtedly become. He only hoped his Circle might understand and allow him this.

Sprinkling fine sand upon the characters so that they might set into the thirsty paper, Aekino withdrew the scroll that contained the secret of Emerald Countermagic and studied it in the light of the fire, the stars and the small peace he had found. Tomorrow would be another day closer to his reunion with his soul mate. Dragons...no, Heaven help him.

He looked around the small campsite and beheld faithful, serene Li of Orchid as she sat watch. She would always forgive because she never took offense, simply seeking wisdom and understanding. He envied her focus. He also wondered at what was beneath that surface that dogged her sleeping mind. A warrior of such skill and dedication must feel something about the art of dealing death. Perhaps she repressed something that pained her. He wished he could help, but doubted it. It was her struggle.

His gaze moved to a large form that slept. His brother Thorwald was healing nicely even as they rode toward the tomb that contained the remnants of the flesh his soul had once worn. The flesh he'd worn as he looked down upon Aekino's prior manifestation and proclaimed judgment. Aekino wondered just how much his Northron brother judged him now. He did not say much. He was, though, an apt judge and had shown a great depth of character in his reactions to spirits. Aekino hoped he would come to accept that role someday. Many peoples lives would be better if he did.

He let out a soft sigh as he looked over at Zera Thisse. He and Aekino were perhaps too much alike. It would gall the proud peasant to admit it, but it was true. The crux was pride. Aekino was proud of his heritage. He was accustomed to the lower classes obeying him. Zera was proud of the work his class performed. He hated the upper classes that relied upon his own and yet neglected their duties to protect and rule fairly. Those were exactly the kind that Aekino hated as well, but emulated with perfection in order to exploit them. Perhaps one day a lasting peace between them would be found. Aekino simply hoped they would bicker simply to keep in form. One never knew when a harsh and clever witticism as all that stood between life and death.

He returned the now-dry scroll and the old spell scroll to his case and pack and curled up, a small contented smile on his face. He slept.

Quendalon

12-21-2003, 12:00 PM

Zera winced as he stubbed his toe on the knob of an ancient root, the impact sending pain shooting from his injured shoulder. He wasn't paying attention - not a good trait for someone who should be forward scouting.

He gave his head a shake, and cast his eyes along the treeline. She was still out there, somewhere. The unfortunate one, the one he couldn't help but feel sorry for. If there was a way to drag her from the abyss of her existence, he would. He highly doubted it would come to pass - and he wouldn't hesitate to do what needed to be done, should she threaten his brothers and sister again.

So much on his mind - his battles with Aekino and Devil Blossoms, the shadowlands so close by, the memories and nightmares of Thorns... he let them parade through his mind mostly to keep his mind from the latest task at hand. They were on a collision course with the tomb that held the remains of a woman he used to be, and the corpse of her lover. He wondered how Thorwald must be feeling.

Aekino pushed incessantly for the tombs, among other strange behavior. Zera understood that. He knew the importance of what could lie within those walls. That wouldn't make it any easier to stare into the desiccated face of Kuro the Raven.

It was not his way to be emotional. He actually envied Aekino's ability to scream and cry and say exactly what was on his mind. He envied Li and Thorwald's ability to push aside what was inside in order to get their goals accomplished.

He glanced back at his companions as they made their way behind him. They were stoic, prepared for whatever lay before them. Soldiers of the Realm lay in wait before him, along with Heaven knew what from the First Age. Well... he would draw on the strength of his brothers - let them come. They would prevail together, or not at all...

Quendalon

01-03-2004, 07:04 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Hello, my little sparrows. Come closer, my dears, gather close around old Mother Cypress, and she’ll tell you a tale of long ago. And what tale shall you hear tonight? Would you hear the tale of Tesha Three Ribbons, a poor bureaucrat’s daughter of Calin, and of the terrible oath she swore, that no matter the cost, she would never die? Would you hear of how she ruined her family through blackmail and embezzlement to gain the wealth she needed for her experiments? Would you also hear of how, at the last, she went to the unspeakable Monarch of the Yellow Veil, who dwells in the cold places where the world ends, and of the dreadful price she paid to learn the secret of immortal life? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the fall of the Scarlet Realm?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the heroes of the Sun, and how they came to the tomb of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind.”

* * * * *

Our heroes rode higher into the hills. The landscape grew steeper and more precipitous; spruce, birch and oak gave way to pine and highlands bamboo, interspersed with high meadows and patches of bare rock. As they traveled, they discussed what perils lay at their back. Aekino pondered all manner of troubles: might not Vir put his son Martin, their ally, to the torture in hopes of learning where they might travel? Might the prince’s soldiers be after them even now? Worse, might not the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms track them down and make yet another effort to slay them? They mulled over such questions, except for Thorwald, who said, “That would not be a bad death.”

They finally drew near to the tomb, though not without some debate over their route, as Aekino wished to visit a nearby Manse, the Tower of Barbs, where he hoped they might find time to rest so that Thorwald and Zera might recuperate from their still-grievous wounds. The others, however, would have none of it. True to form, Thorwald boomed out that he needed no rest, while Li noted that if the Tower of Barbs were guarded, as they had cause to believe, then there would still be battle, denying them the rest that such a move would be intended to grant. Zera added that there was no certainty that they’d find anything in the tower to benefit them in any case, unlike the tomb, where they counted on finding the relics of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind.

As Zera and Aekino debated this matter and others, Thorwald and Li rode out in front, and their keen ears heard shouts ahead. So they sent the crafty Zera ahead over the next rise to investigate. He ran among the high branches and looked down on two groups of bandits on either side of a gorge, bridged between them by a fallen tree trunk. The bandit leader on the near side, One-Ear Shen by name, demanded passage over the gorge, while the opposing leader, one No-Nose Chou, roared insults and arrows on his rival, to whom he denied passage to “the treasure.”

Zera laughed to himself over this display, then went back to report it to his comrades. He suggested that perhaps they might reveal their true nature to the bandits and use Aekino’s oratorical magic to sway them to their side as followers and cannon fodder, but Li and Thorwald thought it unnecessary. Li deemed it best to let the bandits kill each other, but Thorwald preferred battle. “Each of us takes thirteen,” he proposed, “and Aekino can handle one. The odds are even.”

When they approached, the bandits remained locked in argument, with only a few desultory arrows shot across the gap every now and then. But One-Ear Shen reacted quickly enough to our heroes’ approach, gathering his men around him as he bandied words with Zera Thisse, whom he too accused of wanting the treasure of the Tomb of the Anathema.

It didn’t take long before words gave way to blows, and the bandits were unprepared for the fighting fury of Thorwald, Li and Zera. One-Ear Shen’s men fell beneath a withering barrage of arrows and blades, and a cold-eyed Li decapitated the hamstrung, blubbering Shen with a single cut.

After witnessing this display, No-Nose Chou foolishly attempted to bar our heroes from crossing the gorge, but Li danced across the fallen trunk amidst a terrifying display of razored golden fire, setting most of the bandits to flight. Aided by Zera’s unerring arrows, she cut down those few bandits who stood to fight. As he hid behind a rock, No-Nose Chou shouted, “I have reconsidered; you may pass. But be quick about it!” Then he fled, leaving our heroes to administer the coup de grace to a few twitching outlaws and to haul up Thorwald, who’d attempted to leap across the gorge, and now clung to crumbling stone at the gorge’s edge.

Our heroes followed the gorge north until they found a traversable trail by which they could lead their horses across. Unfortunately the island-born Li’s equestrian skills proved weak, and her horse stumbled and fell, breaking its legs on the jagged stones below. Fortunately, the toppling steed didn’t drag anyone else down. She put the beast out of its misery and rode double with Zera thereafter.

As night fell, our heroes got the drop on yet another group of plunderers that stood poised to invade the tomb. This group’s leader proved familiar, however; she was the swordswoman Rei of Nechara, who had traveled with the Circle on the Dayshield’s Daughter. Half a dozen survivors of her demon-hunting expedition followed her, laden with weapons and demon-repelling talismans and grisly trophies of their adventures. They knew that Vir had sent soldiers to the tomb, and why do so unless the tomb still contained the riches of old? Rei planned to let the other groups in the area start fighting over the tomb, then move in to mop up and claim the treasure within.

After some debate, the two groups agreed to work together to deal with the Tul Tuin camp and win the treasure. The matter of who would claim which artifacts remained a sticking point, however, and Rei and her companions clearly felt no compunctions about coming to blows over the matter; they had defeated several demons over the past few weeks, and Rei herself had fought Li to a standstill and defeated the other three in their friendly sparring matches on the river barge.

To facilitate matters, our heroes chose to reveal their nature to Rei and her companions. They knew that their animas would blaze in the battle against the soldiers in any case, so it were best to bring matters into the open now. Their caste marks shone in the shadows of the trees as they explained that this was their tomb of old, and they sought only their battle panoply of ages past, while all other treasures in the tomb would go to Rei and her companions. Despite their fear, the mortals all consented to honor their deal with the Anathema, for their greed for riches burned hot within them. And they had survived their encounters with demons thus far, even if certain of their ill-fated companions had not, so what had they to fear from these so-called Chosen of the Sun?

Starry night had well and truly fallen by the time our heroes saw the faint glow over the next rise. Sharp-eyed Zera moved forward to investigate. He saw many campfires on the slopes of a hill below a broken pagoda. He counted dozens of soldiers there, and faint movements and glints of firelight on metal revealed the presence of sentries in the valley between. He also spotted another figure crouched behind a rock not far away, watching the camp through some strange device.

Zera crept up on that watcher with drawn bow and brought him, captive, back to the rest of the group. The prisoner proved to be yet another treasure-hunter, a scavenger lord named Kurokami, with whom Rei claimed a passing acquaintance. They took him in as another provisional member of their pact, which he quickly accepted in order to avoid getting his throat cut.

The adventurers made their plans quickly, for movements on the slopes indicated that the soldiers had spotted Zera as he’d brought back Kurokami as a captive. Then they moved in for the assault. They knew that the soldiers would have to be dealt with in order to give themselves the leisure to explore the tomb, and though some had scruples about slaughtering these mortals who only did their duty to their lord, all of them swallowed their compunctions and prepared to do their worst.

We need not go into the assault in too much detail. Suffice it to say that the swords of Li and Thorwald, the arrows of Zera Thisse, and the black glass magics of Tepet Aekino proved sufficient to slaughter the vast majority the tomb’s mortal garrison and to utterly rout the remainder. Eventually Rei ascended the hill to join them, with two of her men and the scavenger lord in tow; the others had deserted, deeming the lure of treasure less potent than their desire to preserve their own souls from the power of the Anathema.

The Solars gathered the bodies of the dead and tossed them into a great heap. One corpse opened its eyes and thrust at Li with its spear, but one of the walking dead could do little against the great warrior; she cut it to pieces in a trice, then continued about her task. When that was done, Thorwald called upon the power within him to burn the bodies to ash in a blaze of sunlight, that their hungry ghosts would not haunt that place. Then he turned aside from his brethren and climbed the hill to the broken pagoda that marked the tomb where his former incarnation had been laid to rest.

There visions came upon him, as they had so often before. He recalled coming to that place with Kuro the Raven on a spring day, amid sunlight and green grass and bluebells flowering across the hillside below. “This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen,” he said in that vision, with the words of Blessed Wind coming from his lips. “It would not be a bad place for my ashes to lie.” Kuro laughed at him.

That laughter echoed harshly, mockingly, as the vision changed to another day, a dark day when Blessed Wind carried the body of his lover Kuro, slain by his own hand, in his arms to that place. He looked down upon slopes covered with the soldiers of the Realm, led by Immaculate monks and jade-armored warriors of the Dragon-Blooded Host. Setting the body down, he leaned on his great spear, Diamond Fire, and addressed them, unwilling to curse them for doing what they did, but likewise unwilling to lay down and die. White fire blazed from his spear…

… and then all was starry darkness once more, and he stood with his brothers at the top of the hill. Vines and moss encrusted the pagoda, and mats of fallen leaves covered the steps that spiraled down into shadow within. They descended.

Turning and turning, illuminating their path with the fire of the Sun, they finally found themselves before an archway leading to the lower level of a round, galleried chamber, its walls carved with images and Old Realm script. Stairs led to the second tier where doors of tarnished silver gleamed dully. Entering, they saw crimson eyes watching them from behind other archways, accompanied by strange grunting and snuffling noises and an animal stench. The eyes vanished, but the sounds and stench remained, drifting unaccompanied through the air.

Then the demon-apes returned to material form. Four of them there were, one for each of the Sun’s chosen, their shuffling gait belying an unnatural swiftness of motion. As Zera danced up one ape’s arm and fired two arrows into its skull and Li cut deep into another with his blades Radiance and Brilliance, another ape hurled Thorwald through a stone pillar with a crack like shattering bone. Aekino flung his ape toward Li with a martial arts throw, then hid behind a pillar to avoid the shambling brutes.

The battle proved more difficult than expected. Zera’s ape roared at the arrows jammed into its skull and threw the still-injured archer across the room; striking the wall on the upper level, Zera fell down in a daze, barely able to move. Thorwald nailed his ape’s foot to the floor with his sword, then smote another pillar with his iron fists, bringing down a section of the gallery upon the ape; alas, it dematerialized once more as the stones fell about it. As Li chopped another ape into four pieces with her blades, the dematerialized ape reappeared to pound Thorwald into unconsciousness. The two remaining apes advanced on Li, unleashing mighty roars so loud that they cracked stone. As Li parried the sonic assault with crossed blades, slivers of focused sound spattered across the room, striking fragments of rock from the carvings on the walls.

In the archway, a tiny mouse dropped from where it clung to Kurokami’s pack. It darted into the room, and as it moved, it grew. In an instant, the little creature had bloomed into an enormous manlike stag-beast with a great rack of silver horns. This was the Lunar Exalted named Fetek Breath-of-Midnight, heretofore unknown to our heroes. He disemboweled one of the demon-apes with a sweep of his antlers, leaving the last to Li’s tender mercies.

Our heroes stared at their rescuer. The silent moment stretched, punctuated only by the drip of blood, the panting of breath, and the creak of tortured stone. Then Thorwald groaned and opened his eyes, breaking the moment. And Li stepped forward, wiping the blood from her golden blades, to thank the Lunar warrior for his aid.

Arbane the Terrible

01-03-2004, 11:15 PM

Another fine chapter, even if it was mostly fight scenes. It sounds to me like the heroes are just about on their last legs--it seems like you kept putting potential allies in their path. (The bandits, Rei, and then the Lunar.) Was that intentional?

Hope they get a chance to recuperate soon.

Quendalon

01-03-2004, 11:58 PM

Yeah, the Circle is in sorry shape - they're painfully stubborn, so they tend to wander around deep into their -2 or -4 health levels. :-) I had no specific intentions as to how they'd interact with the various other treasure-seekers at the tomb. Most of the session came together at the last minute (I wrote up the tomb during the half-hour before the session started), and I had no idea whether they'd fight, ally with, or sneak past any specific group.

Zera's player just read through the thread (he's visiting my place right now), and he's asked me to point out that in the dinner scene with Vir's family in Session 12, all of the NPCs were run by the players. I'd come up with the idea of a troupe style all-NPC scene a few sessions earlier and it finally came together. Much fun!

- Eric

Arbane the Terrible

01-04-2004, 01:43 AM

Originally posted by Quendalon
Zera's player just read through the thread (he's visiting my place right now), and he's asked me to point out that in the dinner scene with Vir's family in Session 12, all of the NPCs were run by the players.

Interesting...how'd you handle that?

Quendalon

01-04-2004, 09:35 PM

Originally posted by Arbane the Terrible
Interesting...how'd you handle that? Well, as I've noted earlier in the thread, we play the game troupe-style; I assign players to run NPCs whenever possible, and the players usually stick with the same recurring NPCs. So whenever I introduced another of Vir's children, I made sure that each would be run by a different player. When it came time for the dinner scene, I listed the NPCs present one by one, and the players caught on within a few seconds and dived into the scene with gusto.

I'm so proud of my players. :)

- Eric

Quendalon

01-05-2004, 10:02 AM

Li glides through the forest, the glimmer from her blades lighting her way. Aekino trails in her wake, his silken strangling cord dangling from his hands. Behind them, two patrols of Ledaal Vir’s guards lie crumpled upon the mossy ground or gasp out their final breaths, clinging bloody to the branches for support.

The camp is awake and fully alert, there was no mistaking the fact now. The soldiers know that there are intruders and though Li knows that her Circle may be able to slip unnoticed into the tomb, it is impossible to contemplate with half a dozen of Rei’s men and Kurokami the Scavenger Lord in tow. The element of surprise is fading now and the soldiers begin to organize themselves and retreat to the open ground of the camp, where they hold the advantage. Bells ring out into the night, recalling the far-ranging and vulnerable patrols and the soldiers of the Realm mass their ranks.

The Dawn-child realizes instinctively that should they manage to overcome their initial shock from the ambushes sprung by her compatriots, the soldiers pose a far greater threat. From the edges of the heavy forest at the base of the tomb-crowned hill, Li analyzes the situation and instinctively devises a course of action.

“Watch me from here,” she tells Aekino, “and be ready to call the Obsidian Butterflies at the best opportunity.” Her brother nods and ducks behind a thick oak. Then, Li charges directly from the treeline towards the camp.

The soldiers shout and point and their officers command the archers to fire. Radiance and Brilliance whirl in devastating arcs, faster than humanly possible and arrows fall behind the Bronze Tiger as she sprints uphill, closing the distance. Her anima banner flares brilliantly to life like the sun rising from behind a hill, and Li’s small frame is suddenly suffused with a kind of terrible ferocity that grips the soldiers’ hearts with fear. Some of them scream, others shout the obvious, “Anathema!” and many turn to flee.

Li is among them then and impossibly, her twin blades burst into an even more furious light, showing why they are named Radiance and Brilliance, and the sudden, shocking illumination fills the eyes of her enemies. A brave – or mad – few stand their ground as she advances among them, cutting down a pair of archers as they turn to run. Half a dozen men with spears, at the exhortations of their sergeant, charge her. With six quick passes, their weapons turn into so much firewood and before they can draw their short swords, her blades rise and fall six more times and she presses on past their bodies towards her goal: the officers and the battle standard.

Behind her she hears Aekino’s voice rise to a crescendo and she throws herself flat upon the ground. Around her, a shrieking, hissing torrent of black glass cuts the air above and around her and men fall like flowers before a frost. The Death of Obsidian Butterflies expends itself and she rises to look about the carnage it has wrought. Tents everywhere in its path are shredded into rags and men and horses have fared no better. Overturned cooking pots bubble their contents onto the ground and mix with the blood of the fallen in the muck and mud. From the treeline, she sees arrows arc into the camp and kill with deadly precision. Zera Thisse, she thinks and a moment later, Thorvald bursts from the forest and charges into the decimated camp.

She spies her object, then: there, the captain shouts to his men, “To me! To me! Rally to me!” and the signalmen ring frantically at their bells, blow through their horns and wave their flags, trying to enforce order upon the chaos of the melee. Like a golden meteor, she descends into their midst, cutting down the two bodyguards in her path with barely a glance. The signalers cry out in terror, abandoning their equipment, trampling it into the ground, and the bells clang one last time as booted feet crush them underfoot. The captain curses, leveling his sword at the radiant golden demon, her dark tattoos outlined in stark contrast across her glowing face, her cloak a deep red from the blood soaked into it – or is it the red of the dawn’s light? Her blades are unnaturally clean as if they reject the touch of blood upon them.

Li falls upon the captain, who puts up a brave and completely futile defense. She flicks his sword aside; Radiance finds the chink in his armor just above the knee; Brilliance slips into a shoulder joint. With a flourish and a flash of light, she withdraws her swords and as he collapses to one knee, she stabs him once through the throat and is past him, moving to her next opponent before he has even toppled to the ground.

Now the chaos is complete. The soldierly professionalism of the Ledaal troops has dissolved in the face of myths and legends spat out by the night to deliver death to them. As her blades whirl, rise and fall, as blood arcs and spurts, and as the cries of the wounded or dying mix with the battle cries over the field, Li enters another time. She is again within the realm of her dreams and of alien memories, she is again the ancient Katsuro upon plains of ice and blood. She remembers the bloodlust and it seeps into the calm mindlessness of her battle-focus and obscures her reason. Only moments pass before Li realizes she is chasing the backs of a half-dozen fleeing soldiers, hundreds of yards from the camp, and she has just let out a primal scream as her blades behead a straggler.

She stops, the shock of it overwhelming as blood covers her feet. The fleeing men do not stop and splash across a small stream, disappearing into the darkness of the woods. The frenzy recedes and she notices her cloak is drenched in dripping red. Her anima still flares around her, a corona of cold red-gold flame. Behind her, from the camp, she hears Thorvald’s battle cry as he cuts down the last few soldiers.

Shakily, she stumbles into the middle of the small stream. The water doesn’t even reach her knees and is cool and fresh after the heat of battle. Slowly, dazedly, she unclasps her bloody cloak and dips it into the water in an attempt to wash it clean. Red swirls form immediately in the clear water and are washed downstream. She rubs fitfully at the canvas material, trying to get more blood out. Suddenly, she turns her head and vomits into the water.

Li crouches in the stream, her anima beginning at last to fade. She draws ragged breaths and chants words from the Mountain Sutra of the Great Monad to herself, trying to calm her mind. She has killed men before, and demons and all kinds of unclean creatures – but this slaughter, this battle, is something she has never experienced. Never before has she killed so many men. Even worse: she knows that a dark place within her reveled in it and took joy in the death-dealing, a thoroughly disgusting feeling not from the memories of long-dead Katsuro, but from her own heart.

At last composing herself and finding her place of inner calm, she rises, water running in rivulets from her leather armor and great canvas cloak and makes her way back to the tatters of the Ledaal camp.

Quendalon

01-06-2004, 06:22 PM

It was a beautiful day; A beautiful day with a clear, cool wind and a midday sun blazing high in the sky. Thorvald remembered it well because he was with Frannja and the two of them stripped bare and dove from the top of the Eagle’s Claw into the White Ravine. He could not say who broke the surface of the water first. Looking back, he liked to think they both hit the unseasonably warm water at the same time and touched the dark, rock covered bottom together. He remembered turning, pressing his legs against the ground, blowing all the air out of his lungs and pushing up and up towards the surface.

I’m sure to have beaten her this time!! He had thought.

Light came closer. Rising, He could see the noonday sun distorted by the surface of the river. His lumps were thumping now and his heart beat rapidly, as his breath gave and water seeped into his lungs, There was one last mighty surge and…

* * * * *

Blessed Wind burst through the surface and landed on his feet on the shore. He turned to look and saw Kuro sitting in the rock, water dripping down her lithe, half naked form. She smiled mischievously and flipped a large, perfect smoke colored pearl into the air and caught it again.

“I win.” She sing-songed with a sweet smile.

“Impossible!! There is no way you could have swam faster than me! You cheated somehow!!!”

* * * * *

Angrily Thorvald smashed his fist…

And Blessed Wind’s body twisted and cracked from the force of the blow.

* * * * *

“Thorvald…”

Aekino’s face was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.

“Are you well, brother?” Aekino asked.

Groaning, Thorvald steadied himself and tried to rise. He drew a deep breath and smelled, foul ichor, dust…the smell of death and decay. Where was he??

* * * * *

The tomb!!!

In front of him darkness. A chasm…no a doorway. In the distance… movement.

So finally they were in the tomb of Blessed Wind and Kuro the Raven. Finally, but the going was not easy. He and his brothers had not easily dealt with the Tomb Guardians. Zera, Aekino, even Li… dead? Thorvald’s head spun. No, not yet. And their new friend… benefactor. Yet someone else from his past…

No! Thorvald thought firmly. Not my past… Blessed Wind’s.

He took a breath and stepped into the dark stairwell. He was already a good distance behind his brothers though they were moving slowly to deal with the traps. He was the last.

He angrily chastised himself for being last. His jaw set in a hard line and he stormed downstairs.

* * * * *

And Aekino was the first. Chained as he was and very beautiful. Only Thorvald realized this was not Aekino but the person Aekino was before… a woman. Just as Zera had been a woman in ancient times.

Kuro… A voice from within seemed to whisper.

He looked down at Aekino. His long hair fell down his face, obscuring his pale eyes. There was shame, yet defiance. His once proud robes were worn and wrinkled, and the golden chains that bound him seemed as much ornamentation as they did devices of restraint. With cold and merciless eyes Thorvald approached, judged and thus condemned him.

And then he turned to Zera and did the same.

* * * * *

“A DEMON!!!”

Whose voice was that? Thorvald tried to focus but the pain was mind-numbing. His vision dimming, he turned. Aekino stood, alive. Somehow alive. And the dark haired stranger was with him and their look was one part scrutiny the other concern. In the distance, Li… fighting, always fighting. And Kuro…

“Fourth Breeze…help me!!!” He whispered as he staggered.

He tried to step on the stone in the water but it was too far. He would have to jump.

“Thorvald, don’t. You are wounded.” Who’s voice was that? Aekino? Or another.

* * * * *

Staring closely at Aekino Thorvald tried to get some sense of his brother. Tepet Aekino was very strange for a man. Aekino was a highborn of the Isle of the Dragon Queen and he dressed and carried himself in their manner. By his people’s standards, he was flighty and womanly. But all men of the realm behaved like this.

He reached forward and swung his blade. Aekino’s head fell from his shoulders.

No... he murmured. That is not how it happened... I am not Blessed Wind. Blessed Wind, who did not even have the dignity to carry out the sentence himself.

Mustering the remnants of his drained will, Thorvald fought the intrusive memories of the council chamber and of his role as judge over the woman who once was Aekino.

Kuro... Larenn, Zera… Aekino. I killed my own brothers...

NO!! Not me. Blessed Wind did these things!!!!

I do not want this! A voice echoed in his mind. Angrily Thorvald shook it away.

Thorvald stared at his reflection in the water. He tried to charge but fell to his knees.

* * * * *

So this is how it ends for you... The voice was soft yet it may as well have been a thunderclap. Thorvald tried to focus but the pain overwhelmed him. His vision dimmed but not before he glimpsed Aekino and the dark haired stranger with looks of scrutiny and concern as they viewed the battle. In the distance, Li…fighting, always fighting. And Kuro...

A sharp pain stabbed at him. Thorvald fought back tears and tried to push himself forward but froze in his tracks at the edge of the lake. He stared at the still black water and felt a paralyzing fear.

“Fourth Breeze… help me!!!” he whispered desperately, but Fourth Breeze did not come.

“Thorvald, don’t. You are wounded.”

Whose voice was that? Larenn? Or the other?

It did not matter. It spoke the truth. He WAS wounded. Yes…terribly wounded and incapable of joining the battle. As Thorvald thought this he also heard an angry voice railing, screaming something or other about having suffered worse wounds than this but Thorvald quelled and ignored it. Yes….he was hurt. Very hurt. So hurt it that if he fell to the ground and feigned unconsciousness, none of his brother would know…

I wouldn’t even have to pretend. All I have to do is surrender to the pain.

And thus, he fell. His head rattled against the cold stone floor but he was still conscious. They would never know. No one would know he didn’t pass out from the strain and his wounds. Only he would know his shame.

And as he drifted away he heard a hollow laugh.

* * * * *

When the rangers saw Thorvald burst through the underbrush they all started and whirled from their seats around the camp fire weapons drawn. Anyone else would have been concerned but Thorvald laughed, pushed his way past the standing stones surrounding the camp and trudged towards his bewildered comrades in arms, the severed head of the Kanar dragging behind him.

“Looks like I’m four goats and five flagons richer!!!” he exclaimed.

But he was met with a stunned silence. At first the warriors thought he was an illusion or a Fae sorcerer but then realized Thorvald still wore his iron necklace. A Fair Folk could do no such thing. Their magic couldn’t even imitate the guise of that which was their bane. It was Thorvald alright. But to them this was even more unbelievable. They had expected two things. His death or his return empty handed. None of them, not a single one, thought it was remotely possible for him to win his foolish wager.

Thorvald laughed uproariously and with a mighty heave tossed the head of the slain Kanar into their midst. The creature’s fierce white skull rolled slowly and stopped a few feet from the fire. In the dim light of the flame, it’s dead eyes shown with an eerie gleam as shadows played on the fallen beast as giant dagger like teeth glinted with a maliciousness that belied its vanquished state. The blood on its fangs and tongue told the dangerous tale of the killing and the terrible wound on Thorvald’s shoulder dispelled any notion of dismissing what was so incredible yet obvious at the same time.

“How?” Hafgan whispered softly almost with reverence. He hadn’t liked Thorvald’s chances when he boasted of killing a Kanar in single combat but he liked them even less when he further bragged that he would do it almost weaponless armed with the flimsy hatchet that was barely suitable for cutting wood let alone a Kanar’s near impenetrable hide.

Thorvald laughed boisterously “Sit then, my brothers! I will tell you!!!”

Over the rest of the night, sitting at the seat of honor surrounded by his brothers, Thorvald ate and drank as beautiful women tended his wounds. He told the tale with great eagerness, explaining how he managed to trap the creature in a crevasse on the west side of the cliff. There he was able to strike unimpeded while the Kanar’s immense bulk hampered its movement and its swings. It had charged right into his blow as he knew it eventually must and that was the beginning of the end. Chopping the head off took some doing but was not a difficult task. In fact, he stated matter-of-factly, the climb down the mountain with the creature’s severed head in tow was much harder than the actual fight.

And as the moon hung high in the night sky, Thorvald finished telling his tale and there was silence. He was no bard, but sometimes a tale is powerful enough to make up for the shortcomings of its teller.

“Did you feel fear?” Someone finally asked his voice trembling with awe and wonder.

Thorvald thought for a long moment and finally shrugged for he could not answer the question. Fear was to him what color was to a man born blind; it was something he just could never understand.

Sparrowhawk

01-06-2004, 11:05 PM

Whoah.

Was that a death scene?

Quendalon

01-08-2004, 09:05 AM

Originally posted by Sparrowhawk
Whoah.

Was that a death scene? Nope. Did you really think that one of the Destined Heroes could die so easily? :-)

Like all of the "interlude" scenes, this was written up by the player between sessions. It indicates what was going through Thorwald's head during the many times he was incapacitated during the session. (The session actually stretched on a little bit past the end of the session write-up; since we broke in a weird place, I decided to move the end of the session to the start of the next write-up.)

- Eric

Li of Orchid

01-09-2004, 09:16 AM

You're falling behind, Eric...you missed the other half of that session in the tomb. ;)

-Li

Quendalon

01-11-2004, 12:37 AM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Hello to you, my little sparrows. Come closer, that I might tell you a tale of olden days. What tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of how Muskrat stole a single star from the heavens? Would you learn of how the Constellations fought to fill the empty space in the sky, and of what became of the falling stars that rained like blood from their wounds? Or would you hear more of the tale of the golden children of the Sun, and the turning of the Age?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and what they found in the deeps of the Tomb of the Anathema.”

* * * * *

Fetek Breath-of-Midnight smiled at the Sun’s children as he assumed a human form. Silvery nubs, like a fawn’s first growth of horns, gleamed beneath a fall of dark hair. As Li helped a battered Thorwald to his feet, Aekino attempted to question the stranger, but to no avail; Fetek proved garrulous but unforthcoming, sharing nothing of his history or purpose, other than that he had watched our heroes for many days.

These greetings were interrupted by a vision that descended without warning upon Thorwald, Aekino and the newly arrived Fetek. Once again, Aekino wore the form of the sorceress Sharn Larenn of the First Age. Once again, she knelt in chains of jade before tiers of enthroned Solars as they gathered to pronounce sentence upon her. And as the Thorwald of that age arose from amongst his peers to speak, Fetek stood catlike at his side. Thorwald glared balefully at the prisoner, while Fetek grinned with a predator’s feral glee. Thorwald spoke…

The vision passed, but our heroes’ moment of victory and good humor fled with it. Thorwald limped up the stairs to the damaged gallery to help an equally battered Zera to his feet, while Aekino occupied himself by trying to translate the archaic Old Realm script on the walls. The mortals ignored all this byplay, for the golden light of the Solars’ animas had revealed the glint of treasure in the side chambers, and they pursued it with abandon.

Probing the doors that encircled the gallery, Zera found that most were false doors fitted out with cunning traps; if not for Thorwald’s quick reflexes, the first of these would have burned him alive. When he found a door that opened onto a descending spiral staircase, the others gathered round. While the mortals pawed through heaps of copper cash and fistfuls of jade, his fellow Exalts followed him down into the dark.

More traps littered the stairway, pressure-sensitive steps that unleashed darts and knives and scything iron blades. Zera found them all. He led his fellows down to the foot of the stair, which opened onto a broad, vaulted hall. Murky water of unknown depth lapped at the landing’s edge. Square platforms of dark gray stone protruded from the water like stepping-stones, spaced several yards apart, stretching out in a chain to where the hall curved tightly to the left in the middle distance.

“This is inauspicious,” murmured Li. She was correct.

Golden animas renewed their brightness as Li and Zera called upon the Sun’s power within them to move with the floating grace of the crane. As they leapt from stone to stone, dodging and parrying the swarms of darts the traps spewed forth from hidden slits, Fetek soared past them in owl-form. As the owl turned the corner, the others heard the twang of bowstrings, the clatter of arrowheads upon stone, the splash of spent missiles in water. Fetek swiftly returned to the base of the stairs and resumed his mortal form.

“A demon,” he reported tersely to his newfound companions. “With many limbs, in a pillar of green fog.”

Aekino blinked. “A tomescu!” He recognized the description from his studies of occult lore, and knew of their strength in battle. “Will you help my brothers defeat the demon, good Fetek?”

“I cannot,” said the Lunar with a shake of his head. “I have done too much already.”

Turning the corner themselves, Li and Zera confronted the demon, which stood atop a larger stone platform that filled most of the breadth of the hall. Li’s blades flashed through the patterns of the Five-Fold Bulwark Stance as she shattered the arrows that leapt towards her from the demon’s many bows, while Zera stood behind her and fired arrow after arrow of blazing sunlight into the demon’s cloak of fog. It cursed in the tongue of the Old Realm.

At the base of the stairs, Aekino laughed as he heard the demon cry out in pain. Raising his voice in song, he mocked the demon in the same ancient tongue. “You who know the manner of your passing,” he sang, “know that your life ends this day. You will die like an animal, cut down without honor, and no one shall mourn your ending.”

The demon roared. Li leapt forward with shining blades. Zera nocked another burning arrow to his bow.

And a dozen tentacles burst out of the water to strike at Li of Orchid and Zera Thisse. Of course there was more than one demon. And the second, its body concealed under water, would be more difficult to fight.

Li’s whirling blades severed the tentacles that came near her, leaving a slick of oily blood to pool on the water’s surface as the stumps withdrew. Zera twisted away from the blows as best he could. He nocked and fired two arrows simultaneously, sending a pair of tentacles twitching back into the water. But more tentacles came forth to replace them, and the tomescu demon stretched forth a dozen weapons from the mist, blades and spears and hammers, all of them striking at Li of Orchid.

Back at the base of the stairs, Thorwald heard the thrashing and the shrieks of demonic rage. Though he had remained behind to nurse his grievous wounds, he could contain his battle-hunger no longer. But without his comrades’ gifts of movement, he could not make the leap from stone to stone. So he dived into the foul and murky water to swim powerfully towards the battle.

More greenish, ropy tentacles burst from the water. Tentacles and demon blades converged upon Li, testing her defenses to the limit. Though her skill was almost without peer, enhanced by the magics of her weapons and her Charms, one blow after another proceeded to pierce her defenses. Soon she would be disarmed, or impaled upon a demonic pike, or pulled beneath the dark waters to be devoured.

Then Zera looked at the slick of oily demon blood upon the water, smiled grimly, and struck at it with an arrow of fire.

The blood ignited with a roar. The tentacles spasmed and sank as huge shriek-filled bubbles rose and burst amidst the flames. Dismayed by the loss of its ally, the tomescu faltered, and Li cut again and again into its mist-shrouded form.

But the water-demon would not stay down. The mass of its scaly body sent broad ripples through the fire and water as it rose to the surface. A ring of scarlet eyes glared around its fang-filled sphincterlike mouth. Despite the purplish blood still oozing from its stumps, many more intact tentacles leapt forth to grab Zera and lift him high into the air.

Would dizziness and blood loss stop our Zera? No, of course not. He fired off another arrow from where he dangled, burying it deep in one of the monster’s eyes. It flung him at the ceiling with a falsetto croak. Like a tumbling crane, he managed to avoid the worst of the impact and aim his fall at one of the platforms (better to crash on stone than sink into the demon’s waters, he thought), where he landed with a crack and a gasp.

Would swarming tendrils and demon-weapons stop our Li? No, of course not. With dazzling dexterity, she severed a tentacle with one blade and ignited the ensuing gout of blood with the other, sending an oily torrent of flame at the tomescu demon. And as the demon severed one of its own arms in an effort to fend off the burning spray, Li cut its body in half with one prodigious blow and toppled its beweaponed torso onto the water-demon. Impaled by a dozen demon blades, the tentacled monster sank from sight.

Would grievous wounds and burning blood stop our Thorwald? No, of course not. Though the demons were already sinking beneath the waters when he arrived, he came close enough to see them through the murk by the light of his anima. Despite being cut in half, the tomescu still clung to life. Glaring, it lashed out at the northman with razor-sharp limbs. He responded with a rush of Essence, and the waters flashed incandescent as the demon’s body burned away inside its chitinous armor.

Gasping, Thorwald pulled himself to the surface and rejoined the others.

Past another bend in the hall lay a narrow ledge. There stood a pair of rusted iron double doors. A sunburst pattern etched upon the doors radiated outward from a yellow jewel at the center, which gleamed with an inner light. When Thorwald laid his hand on the doors, that inner light flared into a blaze of lightning that crackled across the iron and blasted him backward into the water.

Li fished her comrade Thorwald out of the black water. As he lay wheezing upon the ledge, something else came up out of the water. Though pierced and bleeding in a hundred places, the tentacled water-demon still lived! And it was angry.

Thorwald opened one bloodshot eye. Gold fire roared and howled. The demon thrashed and wailed as its eyes burst and its skin peeled away in crispy layers. With a plash, it sank into the murky water, never to be seen again. Farewell, demon.

Time passed. Thorwald and Zera rested their feverish heads on cold, wet stone, for despite their grievous wounds, the Circle agreed that they could not spare the time to properly rest and recover, lest more soldiers arrive and trap them in the depths of the tomb. Li returned to the upper chamber, where she convinced Rei and Kurokami to descend deeper into the tomb. Fetek the Lunar Exalt agreed to watch from the pagoda above against the coming of additional troops, while Rei’s men Iwa and Urei continued to sift through the money and lesser grave goods in the upper tomb.

A few hours later, the Essence had renewed itself within the hearts of our heroes. Tepet Aekino drew upon that power to evoke the Emerald Countermagic, whose raving display of green fire extinguished the storm-jewel’s light. The iron door creaked open. Leaving the scavenger lord Kurokami to watch over the injured Thorwald, Li, Aekino, Zera and Rei descended into blacker depths.

Li led the way along the narrow, serpentine stair, which descended deep into the bedrock of the hills. At last, it opened onto a spherical chamber about five yards in diameter, its stone surfaces webbed with cracks and fissured that glowed an ominous green. A golden door gleamed on the far side.

Enthralled by the door, Zera slipped past Li and made his way across the cracked and broken floor, his feet dancing nimbly over fissures and jagged knife-like protrusions. He stood there in front of the gold door for a time, peering at its bas-relief of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind. And the green light brightened and flowed upward through the cracks in the stone.

A streamer of green light twisted free of the ceiling and, like a demented earthworm, probed blindly at Zera’s shoulder.

“More demons!” cried Aekino. He knew what they were, these unholy living wounds from out of the bowels of Malfeas, whose touch carved gashes through stone and flesh with equal facility and vigor. He knew, too, how they might be driven off, but there wasn’t time to convey that knowledge as the green crawled down Zera’s arm. Fortunately, enchanted weapons could destroy them, and at that very instant, Li’s blades leapt from their sheaths.

The living wound shrieked and dissolved at Li cut it in half. Zera jerked back in surprise and shock, for in dying, the demon had cut a wide, bloody slash through his chain shirt and the skin beneath. And the demons came forth in earnest, boiling up out of the fractured stone in a nightmarish green tide.

Flash! Slash! The swords Radiance and Brilliance sizzled through the air. Green and gold clashed. The emerald tide ebbed as Li of Orchid pierced the demons, one by one, leaving them to sputter out like dying candles. And then they were gone.

Li twisted the sword Radiance free of the stone in which it had become locked when she impaled a living wound as it crawled toward her over the floor. Rock splinters flew as the blade came loose.

Zera Thisse pushed open the golden door.

The demoness Sondok stood revealed in the doorway. What can one say of that terrible being? Who does not know the tales of She-Who-Stands-In-Doorways, mistress of blood and blade, ghastly guardian of halls and portals? Shall I tell you of the crown of gold and garnet upon her cloud of night-dark hair, of how her sword and axe shone with the oily gleam of Malfean steel, or of how stars glittered in her scarlet eyes? Or shall I leave such things to your imagination?

In any event, she gave the Sun’s children pause in their reckless probing of the tomb’s dark depths. Aekino was first to overcome his dread. He tried to sway Sondok into permitting them passage, if only to spite the one who had bound her there, but she would not, could not, comply, compelled as she was by sorcery and pride. He questioned her then, hoping to win some shred of useful knowledge, and they traded inquiries for a few moments.

From the demon, our heroes learned that Sondok had guarded the burial chamber of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind for the last twenty years. She had been summoned and bound by a man whose name she did not know, one who might well not have a name at all.

From our heroes, the demon learned that each of the four had Exalted in the past year, and that they knew of no others of their kind. They claimed that their next step, after the tomb, would be to enter and purge the shadowland of Kaihan, and that their ultimate goal was to break the hold of demonic and necrotic powers over the peoples of the Threshold.

“I’m tired of this,” Zera said. Aching from his wounds, smarting from the demon’s superior tone, and impatient to retrieve his grave goods, he raised his bow. Yellow light danced through his fingers as he nocked an arrow of sunlight and launched it across the chamber.

Sondok kicked the door shut. The arrow’s Essence spattered harmlessly across its golden surface.

Our heroes looked at each other in silence. Then Li kicked the door back open, her blades thrumming with daylight, to reveal their foe. And the final battle for the tomb began.

It was a difficult fight for our heroes. All of them were wounded, and Thorwald lay elsewhere, unable to turn his power against their demonic foe. So Li stood once more in the fore, blades skirling with white and gold, trusting to her Five-Fold Bulwark Stance to repel the demoness’ Malfean blades. Rei stood at Li’s back and thrust past her at every opportunity, interjecting her blade whenever Li left an opening. And Zera balanced on a precarious rocky ledge to launch golden bolts of Essence past his allies.

Li quickly discovered that measures of mortal skill held no weight when dueling a demon of the blade. The demoness grinned as she caught the blade named Radiance in the crook of her axe and, with a derisive fillip of the wrist, sent it winging through the air at Aekino. The sorcerer survived only by virtue of his training in the martial arts. Without thought, he clapped his hands together, catching its blade between the palms of his hands with the tip mere inches from his throat.

Aekino tossed the blade back to Li, who lashed out at her opponent. Zera fired arrows. Rei struck past Li at the demon’s flank. And then, with a running leap, Aekino jumped over everyone’s heads to land in the passage behind Sondok and took off down the passage at a run.

The demon screamed with fury. This was her doorway! None could pass! She grasped at Aekino, but her hand closed only on the trailing hem of his robe, which slipped out of her hand. She hurled her sword after him, but only succeeded in shearing off a lock of his hair. Axe raised, she turned to pursue the fleet-footed sorcerer, only to have Zera send an arrow through the back of her knee.

But Li would not let this opponent get away so easily. She pressed Sondok hard, taking a few cuts from the demonic axe to keep the demoness from chasing Aekino down. Then, at the end of a high cut that caught the demon on the cheek, she caught her foe’s golden crown on the tip of her blade, spun it there, and flung it over her shoulder, where it clattered into a stony fissure and vanished from sight.

As Sondok shrieked in unmitigated fury, Rei shoved her way into the fray and seized the demon’s arm long enough for Li to bury her blade in her opponent’s chest. Against any normal enemy, this would have ended the fight. But Sondok snarled and uttered a terrible curse, one that crackled across her hand and blazed a terrible path through Rei’s Essence. The mortal swordswoman gasped and crumpled to the ground, all of her strength burned out of her in an instant.

Sondok then spat the Old Realm word for “pain,” and the word leapt from her mouth in a blaze of scarlet fire. It sizzled and spun through the air toward Li.

Sweat trickled down Li’s brow as she raised her blades. How could she parry a word? But she never lost faith in her skill. In a flash of gold, she cut the crimson rune to ribbons. Shreds of reddish light flew in all directions. Where they struck flesh, they caused spasms and stabbing aches and tingling pins-and-needles twinges. What terrible doom would Li have suffered had she been struck outright?

She did not stop to consider such matters. She pressed the demon back into the hall, and back and back. Aekino, who had run to the very end of that hall, returned to catch the demon from the rear, holding her own black sword. Li’s blade sliced through the haft of the demon axe. And the two of them stabbed and cut, hacked and thrust, until the demon fell bleeding from a dozen mortal wounds, the bright blade of the sword named Brilliance buried deep in her black heart.

Sondok locked eyes with Li of Orchid. Red blood dribbled from her lips. “I shall see you,” she murmured, “in hell.” And her body dissolved into a stench and a dark reddish vapor.

She was gone.

Our heroes trudged past the blackened spot. At the end of the narrow hall they found a round room carved with images of the reign of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind. At the center of the room lay a broad stone sarcophagus, bearing effigies of the aforementioned worthies upon its lid. Zera Thisse stared for a time at these images, one of a former life, the other of a lover in that life.

He shook his head. “Let us open it,” he said, and the three put their backs against the rocky slab and cast it down.

Within lay dust, and ash, and scattered bones. Amid the debris, marked by the searching of an unknown hand, there lay only a sheet of rice paper. There were no gleams of orichalcum, no glittering spear nor bow of starfire. No trace of the relics of the former age.

Zera took up the paper and read from it aloud. It said,

“As water flows down to the sea,
“So does wealth flow to the princes of the earth,
“And all lore to the wise.
“Kaihan holds the ruin of ages,
“There treasure abides in a palace of dust.”

Li bowed her head. Aekino cursed and spat. Zera crumpled up the parchment and flung it back into the sarcophagus, where it cast up a plume of his former life’s dust.

They turned and walked out. The dust drifted down in their fading golden shadow.

Darkness returned to the tomb, and silence.

Quendalon

01-18-2004, 11:24 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Hello, my little sparrows. Come closer, that I might tell you a tale of long ago. What tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear of the dragon of the people of Ai, which soared on wings of silver and glass to guard their sacred fields? Would you hear of the heroes who slew the dragon of Ai, and of how they were rewarded by the jealous neighbors of Ai who came to take that land for their own? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the end of the Second Age?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, of how they departed the Tomb of the Anathema, and of where they went in the days and the hours before that terrible Calibration.”

* * * * *

Our heroes trudged slowly upward out of the deep places of the tomb. They gathered up their fallen companions Rei and Thorwald, brought them across the dark water, and made their way up the trapped stair to the upper level. Li took the rear, holding the helpless Rei in her arms. Her body and spirit blasted by the demoness Sondok, she could not move, nor do any more than move her eyes and whisper.

“Li,” she whispered, “wait. I beg a favor.”

Li halted. “What can I do?”

“There is a healer,” said Rei, the effort of whispering a few words enough to leave her gasping for breath. “In the thorny tower… to the south. I do not… trust… my companions. They will slit my throat… for my jade. Please. Take me there.”

“I will do as you ask.”

In the upper vaults, Li informed her brothers of this. They were pleased to be able to aid a companion in arms. They were not so pleased to find that Iwa and Urei were trying to smuggle what appeared to be some very large artifacts out of the tomb.

“What are you holding?” Zera demanded.

“Um, nothing, nothing at all,” said Urei. “It’s, um, supplies.”

Zera shook his head. “Why don’t you put that down.”

“I knew this wouldn’t work!” Iwa hissed to his companion.

Iwa and Urei sullenly set down a pair of long, loosely wrapped bundles. Zera’s direction, the scavenger lord Kurokami unrolled the bundles to reveal a pair of magnificently crafted jade weapons that the Solars swiftly claimed for themselves over the mortals’ objections. Tepet Aekino claimed one, a black jade staff chased with golden dragons, which he recognized as ‘Havoc in the Dragon Palace,’ once borne by the Immaculate missionary Harahané Chal in the latter days of the Shogunate. The Circle thrust the other, an elegant white jade daiklave in the ‘Drifting Pear Blossom’ mode, upon Thorwald despite his disdain for anything other than plain steel.

Deprived of these treasures, Iwa and Urei sought only to leave before the Solars discovered the other, smaller treasures of jade and orichalcum that they had secreted about their persons. Sulkily, they trooped up the stairs amid the jangling of packs full of copper cash. The scavenger lord Kurokami, however, offered to remain with the Circle for a time.

“I’m surprised that you would agree to travel with us,” observed Zera, “after all you’ve seen. Those others couldn’t move fast enough to get out of our sight.”

Kurokami shrugged. “This has been a profitable venture. I have no doubt that you will find yourself in other such treasure houses before too long, and I can hardly complain about having companions with so little interest in the acquisition of wealth. Although,” he added with a glance at the insensate Thorwald, “on the subject of companions… no offense intended, but I can’t believe that your friend will survive. Though I admit that he has been a long time in dying.”

Zera smiled. “I have not yet met the creature, or natural force, that could kill that man.”

Carrying Thorwald and Rei, our heroes ascended from the dusty halls of the Tomb of the Anathema into clear afternoon sunlight. From the vantage of the ruined stone pagoda, they looked out over the wooded hills whose green trees had just begun to gleam with the red and gold of autumn. The slope below them bore the wreckage of their battle against the Tul Tuin soldiery: flattened tents, broken and discarded gear, blood and bits of flesh. The clean light revealed tracks amidst the debris, where soldiers broke before the Solar charge and fled in all directions.

Casting her eyes about along the tracks, Li spotted movement behind a rock some ways down the hillside. Zera followed her as she moved quietly in that direction. There they found a badly wounded soldier who had concealed herself there after the previous night’s battle. She cringed as Li approached, then glared, clutching a dagger in her bloodstained, white-knuckled fist.

Li gave the injured soldier a rare smile. She set down an armful of supplies that she had gathered from the wrecked tents. “Here are some bandages,” she said, “and food and water.”

The soldier looked up with wide, uncomprehending eyes. “I don’t understand,” she said.

Li simply shrugged and rejoined her brothers. They gathered their supplies, placed Thorwald and Rei on rough travoises, and started on their way to the Tower of Barbs.

Aekino blinked in the evening light as a thought came to him. “Where’s Fetek?”

Zera laughed. “Guarding the rear, no doubt.”

The Lunar Fetek, of course, had been following our heroes again in the form of a magpie. He flowed back into his own shape and replied, “As I said I would.”

Zera twitched in surprise. Aekino laughed. Li only shrugged her shoulders as she continued to drag Rei’s travois along the route they had chosen.

Two slow days passed. Our heroes dragged their injured fellows over the pine-clad trackless hills, driving off tigers by day and wolves at night. And then they crested a hill and saw the Tower of Barbs in the valley below. It rose amidst mounds of greenery. Trees and bushes and brambles and briars all merged together into a single green mass, a living tower that made the trunks about it looks small and weak. Two great oaks were its gateposts, tangled about with roses and morning glory.

A small group of soldiers, perhaps two score, had encamped outside the Tower gates. “Will you be killing them too?” asked Kurokami.

Aekino shook his head. “No more killing,” he replied. “Especially my own people.”

“Not unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Zera added.

From their vantage point, Li regarded the tower critically. “We cannot all slip past the guards. And some of the survivors from the tomb are likely to have fled here; they will recognize us.”

“They will not recognize me,” said Fetek. “I will carry your friend there.”

As the Sun’s children concealed themselves amid the pines and undergrowth, their Lunar companion bore Rei down into the valley, to the flowering gates of the Tower of Barbs. The guards questioned him; they were wary of strangers in those cursed hills, and many were indeed survivors of the massacre at the Tomb of the Anathema. But silver-tongued Fetek talked his way past the guard-captain. Escorted by soldiers, he entered the living Tower to meet its healer.

The soldiers brought him up stairs and down halls made of living wood and vines, illuminated by sunlight passing through gaps and shafts in the brambles. They passed through a curtain of leaves to enter a round room. There, the healer stood amongst her shelves of herbs and books.

“Why, Rei!” said the healer. “What has happened to her?” The woman addressing Fetek was small and dark. She wore a kimono of sea-green silk; a pale, luminous jewel gleamed on a diadem upon her brow.

“She has been cursed,” said Fetek, “by a demon.”

The woman nodded distractedly as she fussed over Rei. “Set her down there,” she said.

He complied. Then he viewed the woman with the eyes of Luna. He saw power; Essence wove itself through her blood and bone, focused upon the living jewel she wore. A host of spirits of leaf and branch hovered around her. Unnerved, Fetek made his excuses and departed as swiftly as he could.

The Circle found a cave nearby where they might rest for a time. Blessed as they were with the swift healing powers of the Exalted, it would still take weeks to fully recover from their wounds, for most had suffered enough injury to kill a mortal. So they sat in their cave, where they spoke, and thought, and remembered, and waited.

Several days passed before Thorwald finally opened his eyes and spoke. “Why do I keep surviving these mortal wounds?” he asked.

Zera smirked. “Because mortal wounds kill mortals.”

Thorwald groaned. “And the worst part is, I still owe you three weeks of drinks.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

With Thorwald awake and aware, our heroes could finally plan their next move. Would they go to Kaihan and wrest their grave goods from the dead, or would they fulfill the vow that Zera and Thorwald had made to the lady Idris, and free her mother Cessair from the Iron Tower?

Zera wished to procure their old gear from Kaihan. None were surprised that he would choose the route that would allow him to wreak harm upon the walking dead, but he gave other reasons: to gain tools that would aid them in other causes, and to avenge the desecration of the bodies of their former lives, which he likened to the defiling of the graves of one’s ancestors.

Thorwald snorted disapproval. “We need no toys,” he said, “only our own strength. And Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind deserved what they got. They were arrogant and wicked.”

“Kaihan,” Aekino asserted breathlessly, “is the cleaner route. I will not slay another of Ledaal Vir’s men, not even to save my own life. We must change our path.”

Zera shook his head. “You are allowing the wisdom of your words to be subjugated to your despair,” he said. “There will be bloodshed no matter what, so long as we remain in this region. And we can’t leave, not until we finish what we’ve started.”

Aekino shook his head. He looked into his comrades’ eyes, one after another, and his own eyes were moist. “How many children,” he asked, “do you all have?”

“Ah!” boomed Thorwald. “Now I understand you, Aekino. These are your people. But people die. It is that simple. I have no animosity towards them; I hope that they have no animosity towards me. And we, too, may die; and if we die in Kaihan, our oath will remain unfulfilled.” Aekino could only nod in reply; he hung his head in his hands.

“Remember,” Thorwald added, “we agreed only to take the queen to Idris, but not anything further. If that faerie tries anything stupid –”

Zera nodded. “I would not stay your hand, brother.”

“We must do this,” continued Thorwald, “if only to teach ourselves a lesson: that an oath is not entered lightly. Do you think I wanted to free this faerie whore?”

“There is a third option,” said Li, who had sat quietly for some time, as was her wont. “We may also go and speak with Fetek’s teacher, of whom he has spoken. There we might learn more of the lore of the First Age.”

“Bah!” Thorwald dismissed the notion. “We can always do that later.”

The debate flowed back and forth for hours. In the end, they chose to travel to the Iron Tower when they had recovered further. But that very afternoon, Fetek returned from his scouting to report that a large contingent of soldiers had arrived from the south, led by a red-haired man bearing the mon of Tul Tuin. (“Ledaal Martin!” exclaimed Aekino as the man was described.) The man had argued loudly with the healer, he said, after which the healer had returned to the Tower of Barbs and sealed its gates with a wall of thorns.

This decided matters. If the healer was in any way at odds with Tul Tuin, then they felt safer in going to her for healing. They sent Fetek in to speak with her that very evening. In the form of an owl, he flew in through one of the many shafts that let light and air into the Tower. There he confronted the healer, his tattoos and his castemark blazing with silver light.

The woman faced him with some apprehension. “I know what you are, child of the moon,” she said. “Why have you come to me again?”

“I have comrades in the forest. They are also wounded. As you might guess, they do not want to be seen by the soldiers of Tul Tuin.”

She shook her head. “I will not involve myself in such political struggles,” she stated. “I have an arrangement with the lord of Tul Tuin. He does not disturb me in my Tower, and I do not disturb him in his.”

Fetek smiled. “That is all very well,” he said, “but my companions are like me. As you can imagine, if they want to enter your tower, they will do so, and possibly not in a way you might like.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not at all.”

She sighed. “Very well. Have them come to the rear of the tower at nightfall. I shall open the way for them.”

Meanwhile, Kurokami the scavenger lord had gathered his possessions. “I think that it may be time for us to part ways,” he said. “Demons are one thing, but the Fair Folk are another matter. And there are politics to consider. I would rather not get involved.”

Zera and Thorwald nodded in understanding and agreement. Aekino said, rather archly, “I recommend that you travel north.”

“Actually, I was planning to go south.”

“North.”

“I am not planning to go anywhere near Tul Tuin, if that is what you are getting at.”

“That will be fine,” replied Aekino smugly.

“You have been a good companion,” added Li. “Go safely and well.”

At dusk, our heroes slipped around the rear of the tower, where the living wood opened before them. A path lit by phosphorescent blooms led them upward and inward to the healer’s workroom. There, she met with her uninvited guests.

“I am Dandra Dinesh,” she said. Whatever displeasure she might have felt was concealed. “Welcome to my home.”

She spoke cordially with the Solars for a time, explaining that she had come to that region some fifty years earlier from her birthplace in the demon-haunted Southwest, to study the ways of Essence from certain masters who dwelt in the vicinity. Then she directed our heroes to lie upon beds of leaves and living wood, and applied poultices to their wounds. A clear white glow emanated from the jewel upon her forehead and bathed them in its light.

In the first hours of the next day, with false dawn just starting to glimmer in the east, our heroes found that the worst of their injuries had healed miraculously, leaving bruises and glaring red scars. Rei, too, had begun to recover; she could move now, though Dandra Dinesh said it would take some time for her strength to fully return.

“You are welcome to come with us,” Aekino told her. “You have been a good companion.”

“Thanks,” smiled Rei, “but I don’t think I’m quite ready to travel yet. Maybe I’ll catch up with you on the road or something.”

“Well. I have something for you.” He brought forth the black iron blade they had won from the demoness Sondok. “I thought you might like it.”

Rei took the blade. “Nice balance,” she said. “Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.”

Dawn came. Our heroes said their farewells and crept out the back way, which sealed itself with brambles as soon as they departed. They made their way out of the valley; but their journeys were interrupted by the cry of a wolf, a call that brought Fetek to a halt.

“Isn’t it unusual for wolves to howl during the day?” asked Aekino. The others nodded.

“That is not a true wolf,” said Fetek. “That is my teacher. She wishes to speak to me.”

“Will she speak to us?”

The Circle remained behind as Fetek flew off to speak with his teacher. When he returned, he did not speak of the details of that conversation; he did not explain that his master had forbidden him to speak with or meet with them, and had threatened to tear out his throat if he were to disobey her again. He only said, “She will speak with you.”

Fetek led the Circle toward the source of the call, a wide, low cave where great golden eyes shone in the darkness. “What is your teacher’s name?” Aekino whispered to him. “Just call her Mother,” Fetek replied.

A rough, throaty voice came from within, like the grating of polished stones. “Come closer,” it said. “I cannot see you with these old eyes.”

The Solars crept into the cave. “Come closer, come closer,” the voice crooned. “I still cannot see you.” They edged closer and closer, until they could see the glint of light upon fangs. At last, Li said, “Then we shall give you light,” and set her castemark alight, followed by her brothers. The light revealed a great shaggy black bulk, perhaps ten feet in height; a great wolf-woman whose ivory teeth gleamed in a huge grin. “That’s better,” she said as she dipped her head to sniff at them.

“So,” asked Aekino, “what do you want? Why have you called us here?”

“I have your scent now,” she replied. “I can find you now, wherever you go, wherever you hide, anywhere in Creation. You cannot escape.”

“Is that what you brought us here for?” Aekino demanded incredulously. “To threaten us?”

“I will tell you this: you wasted your time in being born.”

“I didn’t choose to be born. I did it anyway.”

“Foolish boy! Do you not think that a spirit is restless? You chose to come back!”

Thorwald growled. “Let us kill this creature.”

The ancient Lunar laughed. “Why am I not surprised? Go back to your lives, little Sun-spawn. You are as broken and incomplete as ever. Just remember that when you abuse your power, I will be waiting.”

They turned their backs on the Lunar and made their way out of the cave. There, Fetek uttered a spell; silver light flared around him as he dissolved into a flock of birds and scattered among the trees.

“I hate them,” snapped Aekino. “With their magic and their cryptic statements. And their magic.”

Zera nodded. “They’re all the same,” he said. “Judging us.”

Our heroes spent the next nine days journeying westward through wooded hills turning red and gold with the coming of autumn. They avoided travelers and farmers, evaded military patrols, and detoured around the Monastery of the Red Butterfly and other settlements. And on the last day of the year, they found themselves on the outskirts of the town of Iron Tower, where they concealed themselves in an abandoned farmhouse and discussed how they might enter the rusty needle of the tower and free the queen.

Arbane the Terrible

01-18-2004, 11:45 PM

Yay! More story goodness! Finally our heroes get a chance to heal a little.

Is Fetek a PC?

Wil

01-18-2004, 11:45 PM

That's such a freaking awesome idea...I'm stealing it!!! :D

alexandria2000

01-19-2004, 04:58 AM

*just stares*

I. Want. Your. Brain. And your writing ability.

How *are* you coming up with this marvelous stuff?

-at the feet of masters A2K

Quendalon

01-19-2004, 10:17 AM

Thanks guys! Praise is always welcome. :)

Arbane: Yeah, Fetek is a PC. His player will be ecstatic that someone's finally figured that out. He keeps looking over my shoulder while I'm writing up the session summaries to see what I've written about him.

Wil: Which idea are you stealing?

alexandria: I'm not sure where it comes from. Well, I do know that some of it comes from my players, but I have no idea where they get it from. And I don't know where I get the rest of it from. But hey, it works.

The session writeups are getting longer and longer for no discernable reason. This session was one of the shortest, and was pretty light on action, yet it came to six pages of text - the longest one yet. I'm not sure I can keep writing them to this level of detail. I may have to go back to shorter, slimmer summaries for future sessions, if only to keep myself from going crazy writing them.

- Eric

Wil

01-19-2004, 10:26 AM

Just the "PCs being the subject of kiddie story time and the players playing the kids listening". I like the possibilities of smoothly transition from "in-game" to "meta-game" and still being in the game. I like the idea of smoothing over some parts where players have questions, like:

GM: "The Merchant wants 5 Jade Talents for the monkey."
Player OOC: "What's a Jade Talent?"
GM puts on Old Spirit Telling a Story Hat: "It's money. Now do you want me to tell this story or what, whippersnapper!"

Quendalon

01-20-2004, 08:58 AM

The wind sang in its plaintive moan, setting tree branches to dance and the edges of Zera Thisse's cloak whipping about his ankles. The Iron Tower was a dull finger reaching to the sky only scant miles away. Its shadow fell even here, if only in a figurative sense. Zera knew that only trouble lay in wait for them inside those cold, dimly-glinting walls.

Day had just broken, and the others were beginning to rouse and go about the morning chores. Everything was done in silence, as the woods between here and Iron Tower were swarming with the soldiers of Tul Tuin. Last night, Li had uncharacteristically broken a twig during their nighttime scouting mission, and now the soldiers knew that something was amiss. A difficult mission was now bordering on impossible.

The plan they had decided on was perilous and would have far-reaching implications. For that matter, so would the release of the imprisoned Fae Queen Cessair. However, he had sworn an oath to the Lady Idris, and Thorwald had agreed as well. In return for this, they would receive the good Lady's aid in the struggle against the Deathlords of Kaihan… for whatever that was worth.

Thorwald was correct, damn it all. Those called Anathema, those who were reviled by all and aided by few - all those individuals truly had was their word. All else could be taken away, even life, but honoring your word was a right that no man or beast could deny. It was a moral quandary at best, as Zera knew that once Cessair was free, things would get worse before they got better. He had no idea what possessed him to make that oath, but that hardly excused him now.

He sighed and leaned against the thick trunk of a venerable oak tree. As the others kicked out the fire and gathered bedding into their packs, he found himself thinking strange thoughts… thoughts of a city and the surrounding countryside that he may never lay eyes on again. Thorns.

Davram Thisse was not the tallest man, but he had a way about him that commanded both respect and a certain admiration. He was a merchant's guard when he was a young man, but when Zera and Shara were born, he settled into the simple life of woodsman and part-time tracker. When wolves raided the farms that clustered around the great metropolis, it was often him who was called. When Zera stole a goodwife's apple pie or Shara lied to her mother, he did not spare the switch.

Despite his inherent hardness, it went without saying that he was a good man. Kari Thisse was a villager and farmer's daughter, and fell in love with his rough features and strong hand. Together, they brought the children up with a strange combination of street savvy and woodland lore. Zera and Shara could navigate the alleys and markets of Thorns as easily as they could track a rabbit or build a lean-to.

The boy was thirteen when Davram handed him his first bow. He had carved it in secret and hidden it in the woodpile, until the boy's nameday. Zera took to it instantly, and never forgot those days spent learning its use. He realized at that point that he would do the same work as his father, and that it would be all he ever wanted out of life. To be half the man Davram was would be a greater accomplishment than becoming a Scarlet Emperor…

The thief came not long after his nameday, maybe a few weeks. Something about his demeanor pulled at Zera's heart. He needed help, and somehow the soldiers would hurt him unless something was done. So, Zera lied to the men, led them into the woods, and was beaten for his troubles. When he returned, the house was stripped of anything remotely valuable. His parents never blamed him, but he lost a piece of himself that day. He saw what helping the supposed "unfortunates" earned you, and swore to never be taken advantage of like that again.

In the coming months, he also learned what it was like to struggle. His father took up caravan guarding again, and was gone a great deal of the time. His mother found work as a seamstress in the city, and even Shara was forced to clean the scullery at the Prancing Pauper Tavern. He took up his father's woodsman trade, and the extra tracking jobs that came along. It wasn't long before he discovered how much better than Davram he was.

By eighteen, Zera had already made a bit of a name for himself. It started when the caravan of a dignitary traveling from Chiaroscuro caught fire. The Diplomat's daughter had knocked over a lantern while playing, and the wagon of provisions quickly caught. As the guards and aides rushed about, she ran off to avoid getting in trouble, and suddenly found herself in the woods… alone and quite lost.

The nearby villagers had the guards call on Davram, and they were disappointed - forced to settle for his son instead. Zera grabbed his bow, set off, and returned with the little girl in a matter of hours. He barely received thanks for his trouble, never mind a bit of jade, but the wheels had been set in motion.

Davram returned from his latest travels to find that his family had actually moved into the city proper, and his son had not only accomplished that feat, but was able to afford an apartment of his own.

This was to be for the best, because Davram had received a severe injury to his swordarm, a lucky shot from a now-deceased bandit, and his guardsman days were officially over. Zera quickly took up the slack, and became the provider for his family, finally freeing his mind of the guilt of past mistakes.

Eventually, his parents no longer had to work at all, and Shara's razor-sharp intellect found better work - she was now scribing for the local apothecary. Several years passed and Zera continued to impress clients with his skill at tracking, and at archery when bandits roved too close to the farm villages.

He met Mara at a spring Festival, a lovely dark-haired girl dancing alone to the tune of a fiddler and a piper. Drums beat and children ran laughing all around him. The street was filled with the smell of cooking food and the sound of merrymaking. He joined the dancing, and several hours later, he and Mara settled into a comfortable, drunken sleep together.

As much as she grew to love him, his ability to trust others was still limited, and he never let her get as close as she deserved. He saw other women and his lies were always accepted, even though Mara was not as dim as Zera believed. It was a chaotic, slightly selfish existence, but it was all that Zera ever wanted to know.

Then, in that fateful evening of his twenty-third year, the Juggernaut crawled up from the south, and his whole life changed. Only flashes of that horrible night came back now, pushing silver coins in Mara's hands and telling her to flee. Racing through the streets, all riots and smoke and flames, to his parents' home. His father bleeding on the floor. Those men, doing unspeakable things to his mother and sister. The sudden rush of heat and light and pain, and the beautiful and terrible voice in his head. The flashes of his knives. Dead men laying about the room, his father dying in his arms. The awful swordswoman in the green jade with the daiklave, dodging his arrows and spouting black flames. Tepet Aekino and Cathak Nerin. The nameless woman and child…

Zera shook his head, clearing the remnants of daydream. Mara's pleading eyes still lingered in his head, and the last whispers of his dying father in his ears. Davram held on long enough to ask Zera to make him proud, to ensure safety for his family.

Yes, he had given his oath to do that, as well. He had failed miserably, there. He didn't even know where his mother and sister were. He had no idea what had become of Mara. What a strange thought, here in the hours before fufilling an oath that meant much less to him. After all that had happened - after all the death and fruitless search for answers or even some kind of purpose.

Now he and his brothers had the power to make the world safe, and not just for his family. For everyone. He had an obligation and a purpose, and it was all thanks to dead warriors named Kuro and Blessed Wind. They had done the world a great disservice, and Zera would see those wrongs righted and the misdeeds of Deathlords and the corrupt Realm paid back with the justice of the Unconquered Sun.

He and his brothers had made bad decisions, and had brought harm on the people of this district. When that was set to rights, he would find his family and Mara both, and bring them somewhere that the growing chance of death and tragedy could not touch them. That was an oath he swore to himself, right then and there.

Thorwald laid a massive hand on his shoulder.

"It is time, Zera Thisse. We must be going."

Zera nodded at the big man, perhaps his closest living friend. He and the other two who stood watching him, expectant. He would say the sky was green if Tepet Aekino declared it blue, but Zera understood how much love he felt for the man at that moment. He had let Mara and his family down, but he would die before doing the same to his new brothers and sister.

Without a word, he moved into the shadows of the tall trees, his companions only a step behind.

Li of Orchid

01-21-2004, 02:48 PM

Originally posted by alexandria2000
How *are* you coming up with this marvelous stuff?
Because he has the coolest players ever! It helps when we do awesome things he can write about. :p

Ranko

01-21-2004, 05:00 PM

Just a quick question on that. Can you give us some detail on how you do it? Do you have handouts? Can we sneak a peak at one? Name tags?

Come on, share your technique.

Quendalon

01-23-2004, 09:24 AM

Originally posted by Ranko
Just a quick question on that. Can you give us some detail on how you do it? Do you have handouts? Can we sneak a peak at one? Name tags?

Come on, share your technique.

1) Important NPCs for planned scenes: For these, I pull the player aside before the game starts and talk to them for a couple of minutes about the character I want them to play, then answer any questions they might have about the character.

2) All other NPCs: I say something along the line of, "The guard says:" and then point at a player. The player is now playing the guard. They make stuff up about the NPC on the fly.

If I need to get additional information across about an NPC, I just use the Mother Cypress voice-over to point it out. For example: "Ah, children, if you could have seen the anger on the faces of Ledaal Vir's children when Mari of Stonegarden walked into the room! For she had supplanted their mother in their father's life, and their resentment knew no bounds." Since my players are good at separating IC and OOC knowledge, this is a very effective technique, since it gives the players the context to appreciate what's happening in-character. Why keep them in the dark if you don't have to?

All of this stuff seems to work pretty well, especially since some of my players are real hams. Though I do admit that nametags might help. :)

Session 16 writeup coming soon - hopefully later today.

- Eric

YerMum

01-23-2004, 09:28 AM

woo!

Scorpio Rising

01-23-2004, 02:20 PM

Dang. This is a really satisfying campaign summary. Congratulations on making this so entertaining.

Got me a couple comments and questions:

1) You've got a really nice prose style for these. It's a very good balance between poetry and economy - there's enough to capture what's going on without overloading the reader. I tend to find my own summaries drag on and on; I could do to borrow a couple feathers from your quiver.

2) What I really like about this is that it sounds like you're running the classic Exalted game, by which I mean the kind of Solars game that's suggested intrinsically by the corebook and the rest of the setting material. After reading proposals for all kinds of crazy Exalted spinoffs on this site (including, I'll admit, my own plans to run Buffy the Nephwrack Slayer at some point) it's nice to see someone running things in a straight-up fashion and bringing so much creativity and passion to it.

3) The characters are mint. The PCs in particular are very satisfying. Aekino was a bit of a scene-stealer at first but I've recently developed a lot of affection for Thorwald and Li, while Zera is doing a nice run on the "dark hero" vibe. Out of interest, do you rewrite/paraphrase the players' interstitial compositions, or is it just that your players are remarkably capable of writing in a prose style compatible with your own? I liked Aekino's poem probably best of all the character pieces to date.

4) I really like your take on the Fair Folk. I haven't been able to get a good handle on them, possibly because they're a bit too much like the Sidhe in 7th Sea, which I'm also running, and I want to accentuate the differences. But you've given me some ideas which I shall spin into my own game soon. Thank you.

5) I have one question about the large-scale fights, such as the battle with the Ledaal legions outside the tomb. Are there any tricks you use to help keep these combats fast and mobile? I'm only running with one player just now, but I anticipate more by the time he makes his way to Rathess and I'm wondering how to handle large combats without causing the system to bog down in dicepool mud.

Anyway. Thanks for the writeups. Keep posting and I promise to continue to be entertained.

- Scorpio can't (or won't) say fairer than that.

Quendalon

01-23-2004, 06:35 PM

Thanks for the praise! Let me try and answer your questions...

Originally posted by Scorpio Rising
2) What I really like about this is that it sounds like you're running the classic Exalted game, by which I mean the kind of Solars game that's suggested intrinsically by the corebook and the rest of the setting material. After reading proposals for all kinds of crazy Exalted spinoffs on this site (including, I'll admit, my own plans to run Buffy the Nephwrack Slayer at some point) it's nice to see someone running things in a straight-up fashion and bringing so much creativity and passion to it. There are actually some significant changes to the setting... but they're all things that won't become visible for some time yet. As you note, the initial situation for the PCs is pretty vanilla. It's my first Exalted game, and it seemed best to go with the standard stuff at first so everyone would be on the same page.

Originally posted by Scorpio Rising
3) The characters are mint. The PCs in particular are very satisfying. Aekino was a bit of a scene-stealer at first but I've recently developed a lot of affection for Thorwald and Li, while Zera is doing a nice run on the "dark hero" vibe. Out of interest, do you rewrite/paraphrase the players' interstitial compositions, or is it just that your players are remarkably capable of writing in a prose style compatible with your own? I liked Aekino's poem probably best of all the character pieces to date. I don't change a word of the interstitial compositions (great phrase!), except to correct spelling mistakes and tweak the occasional punctuation mark. I happen to have players who write well; I can take no credit for this!

Originally posted by Scorpio Rising
5) I have one question about the large-scale fights, such as the battle with the Ledaal legions outside the tomb. Are there any tricks you use to help keep these combats fast and mobile? I'm only running with one player just now, but I anticipate more by the time he makes his way to Rathess and I'm wondering how to handle large combats without causing the system to bog down in dicepool mud. I handle combat with as little system as I can get away with. Any battle that's a foregone conclusion, like when thugs jump Li and Zera in an alley, doesn't get rolled at all; I just tell the players to narrate the results of the battle for me. For larger battles, I may roll the first few rounds and then narrate the rest, or just have everyone make a single die roll and narrate the results on the basis of that roll. This sort of thing won't work for some groups though; not everyone is willing to give up the "power of the dice."

Originally posted by Scorpio Rising
Anyway. Thanks for the writeups. Keep posting and I promise to continue to be entertained. It's a deal! :)

Quendalon

01-24-2004, 08:59 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Why hello, my dears. I see you’ve come for another story. What story would you hear tonight? Would you hear of how the Solar elder Minako the Wise repented of her role in the war against the First Ones, and of how she undertook to pry open the gates of Malfeas so that the lords of the Dawn Age might return to Creation? Would you hear of the successes she won in her endeavor, and of how the Yozis repaid her for her labors? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the fall of the Scarlet Realm?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, of how they came unto the Iron Tower to free the faerie queen Cessair, and of the dark hour of Calibration.”

* * * * *

“In the course of the month of Descending Fire, the last month of the year 758 of the Scarlet Reign, many things had come to pass.

“On the Blessed Isle, the elders of the Houses met to discuss the future of the Realm. In the North, where the warlord named the Bull of the North had ravaged a dozen towns in thrall to the Realm, the legions of House Tepet gathered their forces. In the South, strange machines unseen for countless centuries moved and chattered in the hidden places among the fiery sands. The shark-prowed vessels of the war priests of Siakal roamed the islands of the West, looting and raiding. And a lone rider swept across the lands of the East, towards the Hundred Kingdoms, a great daiklave across his shoulders and the Wyld Hunt raving at his back.

“In the city of Tul Tuin, the docks creaked with the mass of packed Imperial junks and caravels. Another squadron of Ledaal troops disembarked, escorting elders of the House Ledaal to the Tower of Winds, while thugs butchered thieves in the shadow of the warehouses.

“In the black depths of the Tomb of the Anathema, at the base of the lowest stair, Rei of Nechara probed demon-carved fissures with a fishing line and hook. After many tries, she drew forth a shining crown of gold and garnets, its uprights formed as the ears of the wolf. ‘What a pretty thing,’ she said with a smile. ‘How could they have left you behind?’ She rolled it about in her hands for a time, admiring it, and then placed it upon her head.

“Her erstwhile men, the hulking bearish Urei and weasel-thin Iwa, argued over which path to take on the way to Tul Tuin, until they finally parted ways. Urei made his way into a lighted clearing, where hundreds of gathered figures stared and closed ranks around him. ‘Welcome,’ said the leader, a cadaverous figure bearing a spear of green light. Urei reeled back in terror; he cried, ‘Spare me! Spare me and I will give you… half my treasure! Yes!’ The leader laughed, a dead noise rattling in its throat. ‘Oh, you will give us more than that,’ it said. ‘You will give us everything…’

“And at the site of the Iron Tower, our heroes prepared to free the faerie queen Cessair…”

* * * * *

The Sun’s four children sat in the burned-out shell of a farmhouse as the sky lightened in the east. Their camp lay at the outskirts of the tilled land surrounding the town of Iron Tower. Rough woods lay to one side; on the other, farmland, houses, and roads arrowing towards the palisaded town nailed to the earth by the iron spike of the Tower.

Li tossed and turned in her sleep. Visions of Katsuro’s final battle still plagued her dreams. Whenever she closed her eyes, she was the elder Exalt once more, cutting down wave after wave of mortal and Dragon-Blooded soldiers on an icy plain, her burning sword howling for blood in her hands. And when she woke, that same hunger for blood echoed in her own heart. It tasted bitter.

Thorwald weighed his new pear-blossom daiklave in his hands. The great blade felt as light as a flower petal. Aekino had demonstrated the process of attunement the night before, but it had been nothing that he had not already understood at some visceral level. He had felt the pull of the blade, the need to join its Essence with his own. It was seductive, and so he had refused it

Aekino brooded. Visions of his gray-eyed lover Mnemon Dara flitted across his mind, and of his wife and child, left behind on the Blessed Isle these many months ago. And he thought of those soldiers of Tul Tuin doomed to die in battle and in civil war, and he sighed.

Zera sighted down his arrows, rolling each arrow-shaft between his fingers, searching for imperfections. He mused briefly on what dooms might come of fulfilling his oath to Idris to free her mother, the faerie queen Cessair, from the tower. Then he put that out of mind. What was done was done; he had made his choice. All that remained was to carry it out.

Around noon, dust rose to the northwest, marking the arrival of a line of soldiers from Tul Tuin. They came under the Ledaal mon, and their jade-armored leader’s banner did not correspond to any of Ledaal Vir’s progeny. “Reinforcements from the Isle,” Aekino muttered. All plans and action were postponed until the soldiers all made their way into town.

In the afternoon, Zera Thisse assumed the shape of an Eastern peasant in a ragged smock, under which guise he made his way to the town gate. The venal guards exacted a “Calibration tax” from him, clearly nothing more than a petty bribe on a day when farmers and villagers needed to get behind town walls to spare themselves the ill fortunes of Calibration. He made his way around the town’s military street grid without drawing undue notice. He saw that the place was built for defense, with thick-walled buildings inset with arrow slits on the upper floors, and ordinary citizens bearing arms. In the central plaza where elaborate guest lodges flanked the rust-streaked tower, the hundreds of Ledaal soldiers had pitched their tents. But none of these things stopped Zera from slipping in and out of town unseen, and reporting his observations to his comrades.

“So there are many soldiers?” Thorwald growl. “Good. Li and I will burn a few farmhouses, and they will come running.”

“Wait,” said Zera. “It might not be necessary. Aekino and I will slip in first, and see if we can free her from the tower. Stay here and keep watch for golden fire. That will be our signal to start your distraction.”

Thorwald grumbled. “A signal, eh?” He seemed put out to be denied the opportunity for battle. Zera could only grin.

Aekino and Zera disguised themselves as traveling minstrels. They slipped through the city gate in the last hour of the day, just before the guards sealed it for the five days of Calibration. After paying the guards’ extortive tax, they pressed through a thickening crowd of townsfolk and soldiers making merry for the start of the Calibration festival. The sounds of drums and bells and laughter filled the air, mingling with the smells of incense and wood smoke, of roast meat and festival cakes.

They made their way through the gambling and partying soldiers around the tower with ease. At the tower door, Aekino’s musical gifts and Zera’s glib tongue sufficed to get them through, as they explained that they were musicians come to play for Queen Cessair for Calibration. Zera waved a document he’d forged the night before; purporting to have come from Vir’s hand, it proclaimed their musical worth and granted them admission.

“To play for the queen, eh?” The sergeant scratched his chin. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that… Good luck.”

Inside the tower, more soldiers were playing at cards and dice. The duty officer within laughed at the scraggly pair of ‘musicians.’

“I’m sure the queen will enjoy your music,” he said with a smirk. “She enjoys music so much, that the musicians we send up never come back.” He turned and barked at a young soldier. “You! Escort these gentlemen up to the gate. Maybe, if you’re lucky, she won’t eat you too.” The soldier turned pale.

Upstairs, a pair of guards bearing iron-tipped spears waited before an iron-barred gate. They unlocked the gate and allowed our heroes through. Up the stairs beyond lay a door. The faintest noise of conversation drifted through it.

Zera swallowed and knocked.

A pause. The scuffing of slippers beyond the door. The clack of the lock. The door creaked ajar, and the apprehensive face of the queen’s daughter Tanith peered out.

She recognized Aekino despite his disguise. Her expression turned to fear. “Leave,” she hissed. “Leave now! While you still can!”

A clear, melodious voice came from within the room. “Dear daughter. Do we have guests? Please, let them in.”

Tanith’s face fell. She opened the door wide to admit our heroes to the queen’s den. That round chamber was heaped high with riches. Between windows of thick red glass, there were tapestries of richly colored silk, furniture of exotic Eastern hardwood inlaid with jade, and shelves of books bound in calf’s leather adorned with gold leaf, all of them strewn about in glorious profusion. And behind a dragon-fan screen of rice paper on a red-lacquered frame they saw the silhouette of the queen.

Even her silhouette was beautiful. Her voice was like satin and roses, and Zera shivered as that voice tried to free something deep inside him.

“It is the one I told you about,” Tanith said, speaking of Aekino. “And one of his men.”

“Really?” purred the queen. “Let me see.” Arising from her seat, she stepped out from behind the screen.

Zera’s heart stopped for an instant. He gaped. Even Aekino blinked in astonishment, his mouth dry. For the queen transcended mortal beauty. Beneath a fall of pale hair, her face was astonishingly, ethereally perfect; and yet they knew that, were they to look away, they would not be able to describe her features, nor even the color of her eyes.

Aekino recovered himself. “Your Majesty,” he said with a respectful bow, “I am Tepet Aekino, and this is my brother Zera Thisse. We have come on behalf of your daughter Idris, to rescue you from your prison.”

”We have sworn an oath,” Zera added sourly.

“Indeed?” The queen’s face was impassive, but her eyes sparkled with laughter. “What a dutiful daughter she is. But not dutiful enough, I think. Did she not tell you to bring my heart?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My heart,” said the queen. “My husband has it, you see. I gave it to him, once. He keeps it in a cage above his bed. You do not have it with you, and I cannot leave without it.”

“That’s a shame,” observed Zera unconvincingly.

“Isn’t it, though?” Cessair replied. She stepped toward Zera, and he felt his knees go weak. How could this inhuman creature, this soulless thing, arouse such desire within him? “Perhaps you would be so kind as to bring it back to me?”

Zera stepped back. “Maybe,” he said, caution writ upon his brow. “And maybe, while we are doing you this favor, you could do something for us? You have been here a long time. You know the story of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind, perhaps better than any now living. There are things you could tell us, things that we would know.”

“Perhaps,” she replied. “And perhaps you might promise that you will do me no harm after you deliver me to my daughter? You seem less than favorably inclined towards me, Zera Thisse, while your oath seems rather specific.”

Zera frowned. “I am less than inclined to agree. But we shall see; perhaps we can discuss this further when we bring back your heart.”

“I look forward to that discussion.” Cessair stepped forward once more, her hand outstretched toward Zera, who flinched away. “Your heart is full of anger,” she continued with a smile. “There is so much of it. I can relieve you of some of that burden, if you wish.”

“Get away from me, you witch!” snarled Zera. Only Aekino’s urgent entreaties diverted the young Night Caste from drawing a blade then and there and assaulting the faerie queen.

Having chosen the liberation of Cessair’s heart as their next goal, our heroes had to sneak back out of the tower. Tanith set forth a plan which worked splendidly: they obtained an empty wine-cask from the cellars beneath the tower and concealed Aekino within it, and while Zera took on the guise of a soldier, they had the cask removed from the tower and carried out into the city. Without ceremony, Zera and a wine-sodden Aekino slipped out the gate and returned to their comrades, to whom they explained the new state of affairs.

Li accepted this new turn of events with her usual detachment. Thorwald, for his part, was confused. “I do not understand,” he complained. “If he has had her heart all this time, why hasn’t he killed her?”

“I think he loves her,” replied Aekino slowly, as if the idea were new to him.

“This makes no sense!” snapped Thorwald. “Where I come from, if you love someone, you do not lock them up inside a tower!”

Zera said nothing as Thorwald and Aekino argued. He only stared into their tiny fire, watching the flash and flicker of fire and sparks, until Thorwald gave him a hard look. “She has bewitched you,” Thorwald declared.

“No!”

“She has,” insisted Thorwald. “I can see it in your eyes.” With that, he took the iron necklace that he always wore, that all of his people wore to ward off the Fair Folk, and handed it to his brother Zera. “Wear this,” he said. “Clearly, you need it more than I.”

After a couple of hours of discussion, our heroes broke camp and made their way through the night to the road to Tul Tuin. As the sky lightened with false dawn, they passed the place where they had turned south to follow the demon-trail to the valley of ashes and black bones. In that faint light, they could see the grayness had spread to the hilltops there. Li muttered a quiet curse. “It is a terrible thing,” she said, “that such a thing might come to pass.”

Thorwald scowled. “Swear to me,” he said. “Swear that we will return and deal with this.”

Aekino raised a single perfect eyebrow. “Another oath?”

“Swear it!” insisted the Northman.

“Why do you require this of me?”

“Because!” Thorwald snapped. “We never do what I want!”

The others laughed. No oath was sworn, and after the moment’s levity passed, our heroes traveled with heavier hearts on that twilit road. Come the morning, they had arrived at Tul Tuin. Thorwald claimed to recall, from his former life as Blessed Wind, a back way into the Tower of Winds. So they circled about the city and found themselves a campsite amidst the trees, from which they might look out at the rubble, underbrush and scree that lay in heaps upon the side of the Tower’s promontory.

The Circle waited for the sky to darken so that they might safely approach the Tower without being spotted. As they waited, their Lunar ally Fetek Breath-of-Midnight joined them, descending from the sky in the form of a banded hawk. When night fell, they moved at last under its concealing darkness, and soon found what they sought: an opening, concealed by centuries of overgrowth, which led into the caverns and tunnels that slumbered beneath the lowest cellars of the Tower.

Lighting the way with the golden glow of his caste mark, Thorwald led his comrades through the tunnels. Rough cave walls soon gave way to cut stone. Through a door, they entered a maze of barrels and casks and racked bottles laden with cobwebs and dust. “Ah,” Thorwald said with a complacent smile, “it is as I remembered it.”

Sidling upwards, they made their way into the lower levels of the Tower proper. Dodging the servants going in and out of their quarters, they slipped past the laundry rooms and entered a narrow stair by which the servants accessed the upper levels. After a brief detour to avoid a servant descending the stairs, forcing them to knock an unsuspecting court clerk unconscious and leave him tied up in his room, they climbed to the highest floor without incident.

The servant’s stair did not let directly into the prince’s quarters, but instead onto a guarded passage. After muffled debate as to their next move, Fetek took mouse shape and slipped under the door, past the guards, and into the prince’s richly appointed chambers. There, hanging above Vir’s fine four-post bed by a chain, he saw a cunningly wrought double cage, wood within iron, which held a beautiful songbird with feathers of white and gold.

But the room also held two Dragon-Blooded elders, for Ledaal Vir and one of his cousins had chosen that place to play Gateway. This might not be so easy! Fetek slipped back under the doors and into the stair to warn the Solars.

“Who could the other one be?” Aekino mused. “That doesn’t sound like one of Vir’s children.”

“Does it matter?” grumbled Thorwald. Aekino had no reply.

They spoke in whispers in the stairwell as they tried to divine a plan to sneak the bird out of Vir’s room without anyone noticing. The fact that Gateway games had been known to last for months dampened any enthusiasm for outwaiting the Dragon-Bloods, a strategy not much to the liking of Thorwald and Zera in any case.

Zera finally settled on a simple and direct plan of action. Taking the form of one of the Tower servants, he walked past the guards and into the prince’s room. There, ignored by Vir and his cousin, he walked up to the bed… and leapt atop a bedpost, seized the cage and its chain, flipped back to the ground and bolted out of the door.

It worked, for about three seconds.

The Circle fled down the narrow stair. Behind them, Vir launched himself forward, a sword of fire blazing to life in his hands. Li, who had held back, drew her blades in a blaze of golden Essence and parried the first fiery stroke, while Thorwald thrust past her with his white jade daiklave. Vir pressed them back with skill and fury, while Aekino, Zera and Fetek leapt the stairs three by three down below.

Level after level swam past the warriors, until they emerged from the stair in the servant’s levels. There, Li spun her blades through the movements of ‘Hummingbird Takes Flight.’ Vir’s eyes widened as Essence whirled and blazed around his foe; he kicked the door shut in her face, but her blades tore through it in an explosion of bleached and burning wood. His parries impaired by the narrowness of the stair, Vir reeled back as blood dripped down from deep gashes on his forearms. “Anathema!” he cried.

With a roar, Thorwald tore another door from its hinges and smashed it into the doorway, barring it for a crucial moment. Through the door he shouted his retort: “This is not your day to die!”

As the pounding of soldiers’ boots grew louder, Li and Thorwald ran to the cellar stairs. The door shattered behind them. They burst into the wine cellars, where they caught up with the others. Zera tossed aside a cask of fortified wine with a grin. He had poured long trails of the stuff across the cellar while the fight raged above. Now, as they sidled out of the wine cellar and into the caverns below, and as the soldiers made their way into the dim maze of casks and bottles, Zera launched an arrow of flame into the morass of alcohol-sodden wood.

The explosion was heard halfway across the city. Closer up, as they ran through the tunnels by the light of Li’s anima, they could hear the cries of the dying. Not long thereafter, they burst out of the caverns and into the night. Then they parted ways. For Li and Thorwald blazed like beacons; they could not travel in secret. So the two golden warriors traveled north, towards the city of Idris. And Zera Thisse, accompanied by Aekino and Fetek, bore the faerie queen’s heart south and east to the Iron Tower.

YerMum

01-26-2004, 02:45 AM

Thank you Quendalon, the perfect start to my monday morning!

Arbane the Terrible

01-26-2004, 03:11 PM

"Cadaverous figure bearing a spear of green light"...?

_How_ many Second Circle Demons are on the loose in that country? :eek:

Good stuff.

Ranko

01-26-2004, 04:43 PM

You guys work too much.

I think I speak for the whole Open when I say that you need to quit work/school and play more :) .

Quendalon

01-27-2004, 10:06 AM

Thorvald dreamt and in his dreams found demons, bloodlust and slaughter.

These things were not unwelcome. But as he slept he soon learnt that even in dreams, there was little shelter from hidden truths. He reeled as ancient memories flooded his mind; a mind whose formidable defence finally gave way under the stress of fatigue, battle and bitter remembrance.

He awoke with a start. He looked out in the night sky and saw that Zera's watch was about to end. It was to be Li's turn to watch, but Thorvald knew he wouldn't be able to sleep again for quite sometime and Li was in the midst of another one of the terrible dreams that plagued her.

I will take the next watch, he resolved. The better to make sure when she wakes she'll be better prepared for the last watch. Besides, it is fitting that she be awake to greet the dawn.

As he rose Thorvald instinctively grabbed for his blade but grimaced as his hand closed around the hilt. For a moment he'd forgot his old blade was gone. It now lay in the ruins of the Tomb of Blessed Wind and Kuro the Raven, lost forever. When he lay wounded, his companions found a new one in its stead and it was this blade he now grasped and for a second he felt ashamed. This new blade that Aekino named 'Daiklave' was a poor replacement. It was smaller than the old. Too small, and it looked wrong and felt wrong in his grasp. His old blade had served him all his life. It was long, terrible and broad and took two hands to wield. This new blade was short and its hilt was barely large enough for Thorvald's massive hand. And where his old weapon was wrought of cold iron taken from the Black Mountain, this was made with a substance called jade, a white stone that from what Thorvald had seen was used to make jewelry for highborn women. And where his old blade was plain and unadorned, this one had strange carvings hardly depicting fearsome things but of flowers and vines and all sorts of foolish pointless things that had nothing to do with battle.

"It is a good blade, brother." Li had told him earlier. "And it will serve you well."

Feh!! What does she know!!! Thorvald thought

"Is she dreaming again?" Zera Thisse asked as he came near the campfire.

Thorvald nodded. Zera looked down at Li for a long time but said nothing. This close to the fire, Thorvald could see that Zera was in a bad way. His lean face was drawn long and gaunt from hunger, exhaustion and wounds. Slowly, he lay down to sleep next to Aekino who slumbered softly, but it was clear he was more concerned for his sister than with getting much needed rest.

Thorvald stood and took position just outside the camp but near enough to the fire so that he could see by its light. Yet as vigilant as he was he couldn't help but look from time to time at Li as she twisted, turned and spoke, her voice barely a whisper. From his vantage point the light of the fire cast strange shadows across her face and made her look at one moment like a grim spectre and the other a frightened child.

Thorvald turned away. These dreams were nothing new. Li had them since he had known her. They came. They went. But as of late they were stronger, more frequent and terrible in their aspect.

Li of Orchid. Out of all three of his sworn circle-mates, he had traveled with her the longest. Before all four were united, Li had journeyed from her home in the west to the distant north and the home of his people. He didn't know why he trusted her then though the reasons were clearer now.

On the day Thorvald came into the sun's power, Li was there. That day was a fey one and his memories of it were very dim. He remembered the sense of gloom and apathy that surrounded the Clan before his final battle. For years the Fair Folk at the Edge of Creation were growing bolder and their attacks more frequent. Scouts sent into the deep tracts did not return until finally, the Clan raised a warband to venture out into the unknown to learn what befell them. Forty men left, two returned; and they spoke of a huge force of Fair Folk making its way down the mountains.

No one was surprised. Ill omens were cast in the sky for many long turnings. He and his people knew the truth of it. At long last after over a millennia, their clan was finally about to suffer its ancient doom: annihilation at the hands of the Fair Folk.

But it was not meant to be. Though outnumbered 20 to 1 his people won. Clan History would say that on the day of the battle the Storm Clan fought with fury and grim determination scattering their surrounding foes like twigs in the wind. It would say nothing of the cold brutal nights before the battle when every last man went deep into the mountains and hid. It would say nothing of the hit and run tactics of the clan skirmishers who threw their lives away merely to slow the advance and buy time to set up adequate defenses. It would say nothing of the small quiet Eastern girl who appeared when the battle seemed lost and single-handedly turned the tide. And it definitely would say nothing of Thorvald One Eye, Spawn of Anathema who on that day was at last revealed as a Demon Prince risen from the dead to destroy the enemies of his people.

Thorvald gritted his teeth at the shame of it all. Li of Orchid came from distant lands on what could have been no more than a sliver of a belief and with her she brought the truth of his legacy. She survived the long march through the blasted lands that a millennia ago killed most of his people. She climbed mountains that none outside the Storm Clan ever dared traverse and helped win a battle that had nothing to do with her. And after all of this her reward was to be reviled and hated even as she lay bleeding and dying bearing wounds so grave and courageous that they would have done pride to the greatest heroes for ten lifetimes. It was clear to him, even then, that his destiny was joined to this strange quiet girl whose warrior spirit burned with a fire even brighter than his own.

And so they journeyed. Many moons they passed in each other’s company. They rarely spoke for such was their nature, yet in their silence communicated in ways the so-called Dynasts could never understand. They knew nothing of each other but a trust was forged that was like the wind: Unseen and ungraspable yet there just the same and strong.

Obstacles stood in their path. They withstood hunger, sweltering heat and bitter cold. They fought back brigands, pirates and survived the strange trials of the Vale Brotherhood. Through all of it they were unlikely yet steadfast companions moving toward something they were unsure of but nonetheless had the power to draw them further and further south.

And in that direction lay their two brothers Zera Thisse and Tepet Aekino. They too had come together in much the same way (though likely, with far more bickering) and now they were all joined together. Whether this was for the better or for the worse remained to be seen.

He did not know why he journeyed with Li of Orchid then but he did now. When Li fought at his side that first day, he saw something in her that he envied. At first he thought it was her skill, once he accepted her prowess as such and not mere 'Easterner tricks'. But he know knew it was more than that. It was an inner strength that defied his understanding. Some men fought out of duty, some because of bloodlust. Others for revenge or glory or a desire to protect their children. But Li of Orchid was different from them all. They fought for a purpose. For her, fighting was the purpose. When her blade fell it fell without fear or hatred or anger. Victory and defeat were of no consequence. All that mattered was the purity of the moment.

Even his people, warrior-fanatics who laughed at death could not approach this. They too lived for the moment but there was emotion and feeling. With Li there was no feeling, merely a strange unfathomable peace, a peace that was a pillar of strength.

And the blood-dreams would twist that strength, Thorvald realized as his hands closed around the hilt of the strange blade. They would take her strength and make it the source of all her weakness. She struggles against it, but what if she falters?

Thorvald lifted the blade and stared at it in the moonlight. If she falters, it matters little. He turned and looked back at Li, guilt and torment written across her face. What foul images haunt her so? What demons from the past assail her spirit? As he watched his sworn-sister in the throes of some terrible memory he almost swore that he could see the very evil around here.

Enjoy this moment while you have it. Thorvald spoke unheard into the wind. For you will not break my sister's will. She may be small but she is strong. And if she falters, I will be there. And we will see how you hide from the light of the noonday sun.

He swung the blade in an arc over his head. His old blade whistled as it cut through the air but this jade weapon was silent. It still felt strange in his hand but he ignored it. "It is a good blade," Li his sworn sister had said. And that was good enough for him. How could his sister, who touches the very soul of struggle, be wrong about this weapon even if she tried? Thorvald swung the blade to his left and smiled as the flames danced off its white surface.

After an hour of practice the blade still availed him poorly. He was not used to its shorter reach and one-handed grip.

It matters little, Thorvald resolved as he twirled the blade. Sometimes there is great strength in small things.

YerMum

01-27-2004, 10:11 AM

Speechless.

Quendalon

02-04-2004, 02:51 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Why hello, my dears. I see you’ve come for another story. What story would you hear tonight? Would you hear the tale of Darien Gisla, whose family was cursed by three small gods for failing to give worship and offerings at their shrines? Would you hear of how her business failed, her husband left her, and her children withered away under the power of the curse? Would you hear, too, of how she turned at last to the worship of the First Gods, and of how she read their prayer-book and grew strong in the ways of the Yozis? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the fall of the Scarlet Realm?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, of how they returned to the Iron Tower to free the faerie queen Cessair, and of the dark hour of Calibration.”

* * * * *

When last we left our heroes, they had parted ways after stealing the faerie queen’s heart from the bedchamber of Ledaal Vir. Zera Thisse, Tepet Aekino and Fetek Breath-Of-Midnight traveled south and east toward the Iron Tower to free the queen. Meanwhile, Thorwald of Stonehold and Li of Orchid ran northward, their blazing animas illuminating the night, to lead the soldiers of Tul Tuin away from their brothers.

We shall leave them to their journey for the nonce. Instead, we shall return to the bedchamber of Ledaal Vir, where that worthy Prince of the Earth has gathered his elder cousins and trusted servants for a brief council of war. They knew their decision must be swift, lest the trail of the Anathema be lost. As they spoke, servants ducked in and out, binding the prince’s wounds and preparing his red jade armor for what was to come.

The taciturn general Shield Willow bowed to her prince. “It is my considered opinion that we must act immediately. The Anathema must not be given time to escape. My lord Vir, I urge you to mobilize our forces as swiftly as possible, track these creatures down, and destroy them.”

“Not so fast.” A fair-haired man in blue silks raised a languid hand. This was Ledaal Daikani Chen, a scholar of military affairs, who had been present during the theft of the heart. “This could easily be a trap. Be cautious, cousin. Do not get caught up in the fervor of the moment; do not discard your resources needlessly.”

“No,” interjected another elder. This was Ledaal Goren, once a dragonlord to the Second Ledaal Legion. “I agree with your general. We have to act. I will lead the forces myself.”

Vir shook his head. “I have a responsibility to my people –”

“Yes, you do. And you shall best fulfill that responsibility by remaining alive.”

“If I may speak, Your Highness?” White-bearded and white-robed, the astrologer Ikari bowed before his master. Permission granted, he continued: “There is something you must know, Your Highness. There is a danger here, now, over this city. The aether is disturbed; the stars are out of alignment; divinations yield impossible readings, and all that is sure is that this place holds the nexus of danger. Your Highness, I beg you to see to the city’s protection.”

“But this is Calibration,” protested Chen. “The stars are always confused at this time of year.”

Ikari shrugged. “I know what I have seen.”

As his servants fitted Vir with his red jade daiklave and his scarlet cloak, with talismans and shimmering Hearthstones, that noble prince assigned his counselors to their tasks: Ledaal Goren to follow the Anathema north with a party of younger Terrestrials, Shield Willow with the main body of soldiers to the Iron Tower, and Ikari the Astrologer and Ledaal Daikani Chen to scour the city for the source of dark magic. Prince Vir himself strode out onto the balcony to marshal his thoughts and emotions. The sky slowly grew pink in the east. He watched with heavy heart as color flowed into the world, as the city woke beneath him.

Li and Thorwald ran on beneath the same lightening sky. They stayed away from the farms and villages that lay around the city, but they likewise avoided the deep forest; they wished to be followed, to draw off pursuit from their brothers. As the sun began to peer above the horizon, their pursuers came clear, dozens of riders who cast up a cloud of dust to the south.

“We cannot outrun them forever, my brother,” said Li as she ran.

“What, then?” Thorwald replied.

“We must find a good place to do battle,” Li replied.

Thorwald grinned. “Good! I like the way you think. There is a swamp not far from here, that we passed through on the way to Idris.”

Li nodded. “Their horses will be useless there,” she said as she quickened her pace. Though fatigue left her face pale and worn beneath her tattoos, she pressed on.

They waited in the swamp as the sun rose. The first fallen leaves drifted across the murky water. Knee-deep they stood there, among twisted trees and scattered shrubs, all of it tinted a wavering scarlet hue by the dawn.

The Hunt was fifty strong; hardened soldiers led by half a dozen Dragon-Blooded in glistening armor of jade alloy, the green-clad Ledaal Goren foremost among them. They dismounted at the edge of the water, leaving their mounts amidst the trees and tall grass.

Goren stretched out his hand. A massive wooden bow formed therein, its twigs shedding golden leaves. Birds burst squawking from the water at his booming shout: “Anathema! Surrender yourselves to my men! Your deaths will be merciful!”

“We surrender!” replied Thorwald with a laugh, twirling his daiklave in anticipation. “But we are stuck in the swamp. You will have to come in and get us!”

“I see… so that is the way it will be.” Goren nocked an arrow as he stepped forward into the muddled brown waters of the swamp. “Charge!”

Soldiers poured forth into the swamp, plashing through the muddy waters as they waved their swords and spears. Fire and storm blazed around the Dragon-Blooded as they advanced in a half-circle, bearing swords and spears and mauls of brilliant jade. And Li of Orchid raised her swords in a brilliant display of golden fire.

It was as if the sky had opened up and disgorged a thousand suns. Bladed rays of orange, gold and crimson stabbed outward in all directions. Overwhelmed by awe and terror, the mortal advance collapsed in an instant. Some soldiers fled, others fell to their knees or collapsed outright, their minds withdrawing in abject horror before the unbridled fury of the Sun. Only a handful of the soldiers pressed on, shielding their eyes and gritting their teeth against the unholy power of the Sun-demon before them.

In the moment before the wave of troops washed against the Solars, a whirlwind of green leaves swirled out from Ledaal Goren as he drew upon the might of the Elemental Dragon of Wood. Arrows cascaded from his bow with a sound like a tree trunk cracking under its own weight, and his furious strength split the bow itself in two as he fired the last shot. Li of Orchid spun her swords through the intricate pattern of the Five-Fold Bulwark Stance, shattering the arrows in mid-air; but several splintered shards of those arrows pierced her defense, wounding her in face and side.

Then the soldiers struck, and the melee began. The mortals could not harm the young Solars; Li’s blades brushed their weapons aside like gnats, while Thorwald simply accepted the blows, allowing them to fall upon him like rain upon the elephant’s back. Our heroes disdained to strike the mortals down; it seemed beneath them to do so.

Then came the Dragon-Blooded. One leapt forward amid a haze of flame, only to be stymied by Li’s bright blades. Another struck at Thorwald with a javelin of crystal that shattered against the Zenith’s skin, leaving shallow cuts that dripped blood into the dawn-reddened water. And Ledaal Goren swept through the press, a great green jade daiklave in his hands, and as he raised it aloft, bark and leafy twigs grew along the length of the blade.

Surrounded by whirling blades and crackling elemental animas, the remaining mortal soldiers backed away through the knee-deep water, leaving the field to the Exalts. While Thorwald hammered away at one of the Terrestrials, cracking the fellow’s red jade armor and shoving him underwater amid a plume of superheated steam, Goren and Li tested one another’s swordsmanship. Both came away wounded.

Goren stepped back and raised his blade in salute. “Let no one say you were not a worthy opponent,” he said. “I fear no death.”

Li saluted back. Her blades thrummed with power as she leveled them at the Dragon-Blooded, and her eyes gleamed with the light of the dawn.

Essence blazed through air and water as the Exalts drew deeply upon their strength. Thorwald cut the Fire aspect almost in half in a spray of blood and flame, then barely avoided being crushed by a great pillar of stone that another Terrestrial called up from beneath the water and sent toppling, deluging everyone in mud and water and rotten swamp debris. And Ledaal Goren drove Li backward with a torrent of verdant strikes, rending her flesh as he entangled her with twining briars that uncoiled from his blade.

Goren raised his blade to finish off the defiant Solar. And a darkness descended from the sky.

The deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms had arrived.

Soldiers screamed as plunging raitons pecked and clawed at their faces. They broke and ran. Ledaal Goren himself staggered back as the deathknight’s black blade cut deeply into his side. Scarlet blood poured from his green jade armor. A Water Aspect moved to his side and leveled his spear at the newcomer; with a single contemptuous blow, the deathknight cut the man down.

“Fall back!” cried Goren. This new Anathema seemed more powerful than the others, and together, they would destroy his men. He would not allow that; he would sacrifice himself to give the others time to flee.

But that proved unnecessary. The Sun-demons did not join with the deathknight, but struck at her instead. In a moment, the Dragon-Blood and the Solars were fighting side by side. And outnumbered, her wounds accumulating, Forty-Four Devil Blossoms broke away from the battle, leaping across the fallen stone pillar and up into the canopy of the bordering trees, where she vanished from sight.

The survivors leaned upon their blades and regarded one another warily. “I don’t understand,” Goren said. “How can this be? Are you not demons?”

Thorwald shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Goren nodded. “I am not without honor,” he replied. “You have saved my life.”

“And you have saved ours. I am Thorwald, and this is my sword-sister Li.”

“I am Ledaal Goren. I thank you for your aid, Anathema, but know that this is only a reprieve. The next time we meet, we will finish this.”

Thorwald grunted. “Until we meet again.”

Goren withdrew, leaving the bodies of his fellow Dragon-Blooded in the mud as he rejoined the survivors. Li and Thorwald leaned on their blades and regarded one another. The sun rose higher, brightening the day and gleaming on jade and blood and fallen leaves. And in that prolonged moment, as our heroes savored their victory and thought to have a moment of peace amidst the strife, the corpse of a Dragon-Blood stirred amidst the waters.

It flopped over with a splash, then began to rise. It lurched to its feet. It straightened and shook itself. And it walked towards Li of Orchid.

Pale from blood loss beneath her tattoos, Li shuffled forward to battle the walking dead. Thorwald interposed himself between the two; he knew that Li could barely stand. Clad in shattered armor of black jade, twirling an ebon spear, the nemissary sneered through a face full of clotted blood. “Out of the way, Northman,” it said. “I’ve no interest in you. But the girl… she’s mine.”

Thorwald spat insults at the thing, but Li did not hear. She heard that voice, and saw that whirling spear, and in her daze of blood and pain she looked back into the past. The world blurred around her in a scarlet fog…

She remembered another dawn, another battle, where she stood knee-deep in water upon a sandy shore. Her steel blade clashed with a great barbed spear as the gulls cried overhead. Flames leapt up from her burning village, bathing the beach in blood-red light. The pirate’s teeth gleamed white through his beard as he mocked her. She could not see the shark-spirits that he had called to battle her master Wudi, for that battle was at her back; but she could hear Wudi scream.

The pirate toyed with her. He wore her down. He cut her, pierced her, over and over again. And at last, as the sun raised itself up over the horizon, he thrust his spear’s point through her heart.

She remembered the pain and the fire, as she died and was reborn with the power of the Sun. She looked up, then, and whispered his name. “Zerus.”

He grinned the evil grin that she remembered. His teeth glittered redly in his corpse’s face, and he spat blood into the stagnant water. “Now you remember me,” he said, chuckling. “I’ve followed you for a long time, girl. And now I have this magnificent new body. You’re not going to get away from me this time.”

“I don’t think so.” Thorwald stepped forward. Golden sparks crackled from his eyes as he raised his daiklave. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t care. If you lay a hand on Li of Orchid, I will cut it off.”

“Really?” Zerus laughed, and more blood bubbled from his lips and nose. “We’ll have to try that and see.” And the spear clashed with swords of orichalcum and jade, there in the swamp in the early morning, where birds cried harshly and the red leaves fell.

While Li and Thorwald gave battle, the rest of the Circle rode at all speed along the road to the Iron Tower. They pressed their horses hard throughout the day; by the time they reached the Tower’s encircling villages, their steeds were lathered and foaming, ready to drop from exhaustion. Our heroes dismounted at the edge of the woods to observe the town.

“The gates are shut,” said Aekino. He leaned upon his staff of black jade as he peered through the reddish evening light.

Fetek smiled. “Do you need secrecy? For I can break down those gates, no trouble.”

Zera shook his head. “That would bring more trouble that it’s worth,” he said with a wicked grin. “But don’t worry; I can get inside.”

Moments later, our heroes were pounding on the town gates. They had rubbed their bodies with dirt and rent their garments, and upon being confronted by the gate guards, they cried, “Help us! We are fleeing the Anathema! They have destroyed our village!” They pleaded and begged, and their tongues were of silver and gold; so befuddled were the guards that they allowed our heroes entry and left them alone to bear news of the ‘invasion’ to the Tower.

Our heroes darted down the town streets. They passed dancers in stylized spirit-masks and carousers with mugs and casks of beer and mead; they passed devotees offering prayer strips and noodles at small shrines and children playing with slapsticks and wooden pikes. At the center of town, hundreds of soldiers sang and gambled amid their tents. They paid little notice to the Exalted in their midst. Soon our heroes were at the Tower doors.

These guards remained alert despite the Calibration festival. They crossed their spears before the rusting iron doors. “State your name and business,” said one. The other smirked, seeing only beggars before her, and added, “And then turn around and leave.”

Stymied at the Tower gate, unwilling to press a direct assault in the midst of hundreds of soldiers, our heroes drew back to consider their options. They would have to act quickly, for had they not seen dust on the horizon behind them as they approached the Iron Tower, raised by pursuit from Tul Tuin? So they mused; and then Aekino smiled. “I have an idea.”

Aekino took a moment to peer into a rain-barrel and adjust his hair and apparel. When he returned, he was transformed. While his delicate good looks had always made him look younger than he truly was, a careful application of cosmetic and a few well-chosen rips in his garments made him look like nothing more than an adolescent waif just waiting to be ravished.

As he went among the soldiers, Aekino told a tale of how raiders had destroyed his village and despoiled his family. “And they did this to me,” he said breathlessly, “and this, and this,” and he used the brawny soldiers to demonstrate the sexual acts of which he spoke. The soldiers, drunk and bored and excited by the show, were only too eager to join in. This display of debauchery attracted attention, and soon a circle of soldiers had gathered round to watch. Zera snickered to himself at the decadence of it all as he moved off to implement his own portion of the plan. Fetek smiled to himself. Who knows what he was thinking? He was inscrutable.

Zera slipped into a tent. He emerged a moment later clad in pilfered mail, with a bundle of similar gear for Aekino’s use. But Aekino’s ‘distraction’ had turned into a full-fledged orgy, and the Dynast showed no sign of extracting himself from it. Zera shook his head; he would have to handle matters himself. And was he not best suited to handle the difficult matters, in any case? So he marched to the doors of the Iron Tower in full sergeant’s regalia, Fetek hiding in mouse-shape in a pouch at his belt, and talked his way in. Easy enough, for one of his talents.

He talked his way past the iron gate on the second story, too. The stair beyond was quiet, too quiet; and the door loomed like a gravestone before him. He entered.

Cessair stood there. The faerie queen waited for him in her chamber, clad in jewels and silk, a veil of blue gauze scarcely concealing her dreadful beauty. She smiled. “Is it finally time?”

Zera nodded. “Just don’t try anything funny,” he warned. “I’m not in the mood for games.” Fetek took on his human form once more to stand at Zera’s side; his moonsilver tattoos blazed in mute agreement with his Solar ally. Was she intimidated or unnerved? It is hard to say, concealed as she was by the veil.

“Of course,” she replied. “And now, I ask you to return my heart, if you please.” When Zera seemed unwilling, she continued: “You have come a long way to fulfill an oath. You may not care for my welfare, but you do care for your oath. And I shall not leave without my heart.”

Wordlessly, Zera brought out the cage. He opened its doors. The songbird that was her heart flew out on wings of silver and gold, to land on Cessair’s outstretched hand.

She raised the edge of her veil and opened her smiling mouth. It unhinged like a snake’s. The bird flew in and alighted on her tongue. She swallowed; they could see the pressing wings stretch the skin of her throat as it went down.

In that moment, she seemed to glow with an inner light; she seemed larger somehow. “Let us go,” she said.

Zera descended the stair. He heard voices ahead; it was a shift change, and the guards were talking about how a sergeant (Zera in disguise) had gone upstairs to check on the Queen, and was this in order? Full of bravado, Zera barked orders. The guards complied; the iron gate clacked open.

Then Cessair stepped into view.

The guards gasped. “It’s the Queen!” they called to one another. “Stop her!” They charged forward in an effort to slam the gate shut. Zera blocked them until one guard kicked him in the stomach; he reeled back, but managed to shove the butt of his stolen pike between the bars so that the gate could not close. “Fetek!” he called.

The Lunar, who had followed the faerie queen down the stairs, did nothing. After all, he had not been so foolish as to make an oath to free one of the Fair Folk!

Cessair then stepped forward. She drew aside her veil. “Stop,” she said, and the guards halted their efforts to close the gate. “Stand aside,” she said, and they did so. She walked forward then through the open gate, past the glaze-eyed guards, and descended the next stair.

Fetek approached Zera and whispered in his ear: “I am under no such promise. I can slay her for you.” But Zera only shook his head.

They descended the stairs to the guardroom, where the guards stood like statues. They opened the tower’s great iron doors and let the queen step through. Drawn by her presence, the guards and soldiers turned as one to look upon her. She removed her veil, and her beauty blazed like the sun and the moon. She smiled. “Sleep,” she said, and like wheat before the scythe, they toppled into slumber.

The queen stepped among the heaps of snoring bodies. She smiled at Zera Thisse, and a shiver ran through him. “Thank you,” she said. “You have set me free.”

“Enough.” Zera was displeased with the whole affair. “Let’s get you out of here. It’s a long road to Idris.”

“Oh, do not trouble yourself,” she replied with a little laugh. “Your work is done; I shall see myself to my daughter’s door.” She raised her arms then, and light shone through her fading flesh. In a twinkling, there was no faerie queen to be seen, but only a songbird of silver and gold that took to the sky.

Fetek leapt up after her, becoming a white eagle whose wings beat hard against the air. Then Zera was alone among the sleeping multitude. Others were just beginning to poke their heads out of buildings and tents, Aekino among them. And the sound of hoofbeats could be heard from the town gates. Their pursuers had arrived.

“Where’s Cessair?” Aekino asked as they came together.

“She left. She said she didn’t need us.” Zera cast his eyes about; men and women and children, soldiers and militia, were hefting their pikes and blades. “We’d best leave too.”

Seizing their possessions, Aekino and Zera leapt to the rooftops. Overhead, clouds had begun to gather; seeing herself pursued, Cessair had called upon a storm. Fetek pressed on against the winds. Soon, his eagle’s talons were close to the faerie queen’s tail. But by then the air had begun to crackle, and he feared a lightning-stroke. So he turned about and returned to the town of the Iron Tower, where his Solar allies were struggling to escape the guards and militia that were boiling up out of trapdoors onto every rooftop.

Racing to the edge of town, Zera looked out across the thirty-yard gap between the outermost buildings and the town walls. He ran faster. Golden sparks crackled about his heels as he leapt. The air boomed as he arced through the air; like an arrow, he soared over the wall and into the fields beyond.

Aekino winced at the thought of making that same jump. He looked over his shoulder as the sounds of battle rose behind him. Fetek had returned, and in his form of a staglike man-beast, he was tearing guards and soldiers apart.

Aekino shouted, “Fetek! Stop! Come with us!” The Lunar laughed, and hurled a soldier down into the street below. Aekino grimaced at the waste and the slaughter, but what could he do? So he turned and ran, and ran swiftly; and as he reached the end of his run, he slammed the tip of his staff down at the roof edge and pole-vaulted out, and over, and down beyond the wall.

Zera and Aekino bolted across the fields through the gathering dark. The soldiers of Tul Tuin poured out after them.

To the north, Li and Thorwald had long finished their battle with Zerus. Could he truly have thought that he might defeat two of the Solar Exalted in combat? To be sure, he was mighty among the dead and wore Dragon-Blooded flesh in armor of jade, and his foes were sorely wounded and low on Essence; but in the end, he was no more than a nemissary. Like a weasel caught between a tiger and a wolf, he fought with an uncanny ferocity, but in the end he fell before their blades. They cut his carcass to pieces and cast it into the swamp. Bodiless, he rose laughing on the wind and vanished into the morning air.

“Let us go,” said Thorwald. “I mislike the stink of this place. We need cover, and you need rest.”

Li winced as Thorwald put his arm around her. Together, they limped into the woods and vanished into the trees.

The day passed slowly. They rested in a nook of brambles and stones; Thorwald crouched against a tree, his daiklave in his lap, and watched the sun move across the sky, casting shifting shadows through foliage and falling leaves. And Li slept.

Li slept, and as she slept, she dreamed. She dreamed that she stood in a foyer of apple-green chalcedony and white alabaster, scented with the swirling smoke of fine incense; and with the feather-lightness with which one walks in one’s dreams, she floated into a grand hall filled with wonders. Windows full of green light shone upon racks and tables full of the most marvelous things.

In the center of that grand hall, a slender youth sat before a table carved from a single sapphire. His hair was spun copper; his eyes shone with all colors; his robe was of white silk patterned in green and gold. He rose to his feet and bowed before his guest; and when their eyes met, she felt a shock deep within. She knew then, with a deep and sudden certainty, that this was more than a mere dream. Somehow, this was real.

“Welcome,” said the young man, his voice soft and sure, the demon-fire awhirl in his eyes. “Welcome to my home. I am Makarios. Please, have a seat, for we have much to discuss…”

Ranko

02-04-2004, 03:49 PM

I was just about to post and demand you quit the stupid job and post a new report.

Lucky for you, you have done just what I desired right now :)

AS usuall, great.

Li of Orchid

02-05-2004, 11:17 AM

Saved by an Abyssal... I'll never live it down. :'(

Philomousos

02-05-2004, 01:08 PM

Quendalon, I've just recently started reading your summaries. This is *awesome* and I love it! Really top-notch stuff.

I've been putting the summaries into Wordpad so I don't have to be online to read them. At 10 point single-spaced Times New Roman, this is about 75 pages so far. By the time the campaign is over with, White Wolf will have its next novel series. =)

Keep up the good work!

Ranko

02-05-2004, 02:24 PM

Originally posted by Li of Orchid
Saved by an Abyssal... I'll never live it down. :(

Lucky you. I want a ST like the one you have :(

Quendalon

02-06-2004, 06:54 PM

In a rude camp of brambles and stones, guarded by her comrade Thorwald of Stonehold, the swordswoman named Li of Orchid slept. And as she slept, she dreamed; and the dream was real.

In dreams, she stood in a grand hall, its walls of apple-green chrysoprase and white alabaster, its windows shedding beams of green light. Everywhere, racks and tables and shelves brimmed with exotic wonders. And before her, in the form of a youth with hair like spun copper and eyes full of rainbow light, the demon Makarios sat at a table carved from a single sapphire.

“I am a merchant,” said the demon Makarios. “And dreams are my stock in trade. I hope to interest you in some of my wares. Admire, for instance, this magnificent daiklave, dreamed by seven youths of the House of Bells…”

Li shook her head. “I thank you for your interest, friend Makarios, but I have no interest in your wares.”

Makarios gestured grandly. “Look about you, my friend. My inventory is extensive, my prices reasonable. Surely there is something here that you might desire.”

“Your wares are splendid, good Makarios, but I am certain that they come at too high a price.”

“Not at all! They are of the stuff of dreams, and I ask only for more of that miraculous substance that I may use to craft more such wonders. And look you there, Li of Orchid.” He gestured at a window, where a burning shape clawed at the glass. It changed form as she watched; sometimes it was a great daiklave, and sometimes it bore the shape of a man: Katsuro Neroon, called the Righteous, whose flesh Li had once worn, and the blade Burning Tiger, that Li had wielded in that flesh, both of whom haunted Li’s dreams with blood, terror and flame.

“You may even yield me your own dreams,” continued Makarios. “For it is clear to see that you have little use for them.”

Li shook her head once more. “Terrible they may be,” she said, “but they are mine to suffer. I shall not yield them up.”

“Very well.” Makarios smiled. “I will not press a client. My offer remains open; I can always find you. Now, however, there is another who wishes to speak with you.”

The doors of the hall gaped wide. The sounds of the street rose up from the city beyond. And strangely, those sounds began to gather, to resonate, and from their massed noises, a melody arose. It swelled like the sea, taking on a light and delicate clarity, and the swirling incense smoke upon the air coiled and danced to its tune.

A light gathered then, moving in time to the music. Spheres of light bubbled from it, converging, parting, and interlocking, all cloaked in an aurora of velvet brilliance. They drifted closer, and every thing in that hall hummed and shone in sympathy with its brightness, its movements, its music. And Li wept despite her wishes, for the music was clean and pure and alive-oh, a holy and perfect thing that touched her at the core.

The spheres slowed then, and came together in a moment of brilliancy; and when that radiance dimmed, a young woman stood there, her transparent body formed of soft blue light. Luminous spheres swirled around her, through her, and the music ebbed and flowed like the wind and the tide. She smiled, and when she spoke, her voice was music also. “Greetings,” she said, and the word sounded like a promise, or a gift. “I am Sanceline.”

Li inclined her head respectfully. Her face was a mask. “Greetings.”

“Li of Orchid. There is a thing, a thing that we would have of you. And for this thing we ask, I offer a gift, a thing I know you truly desire.”

“I desire nothing.”

“You desire nothingness; you desire the lack of desire. You wish union with the Omphalos, the axis mundi. You would be one with the Essence, one with Creation, united in harmony with all things. Is this not your heart’s desire?”

“This is true.”

“This is the thing that I offer you: union with the Essence, union with Creation. I shall lay my touch upon you, and you and the All will become one. And we ask but a single boon in return.”

Li frowned. “This is not a thing that may be given. It must be earned.”

“I am Sanceline. I am the music of the spheres; I am the dance at the heart of all things. It lies within my power to give you this thing. It is true and it is real. Will you not take it?”

“I cannot. That which comes without struggle has no value. Please forgive me, but I cannot accept your terms.”

Sanceline shrugged, and her movement was part of the dance. “As you would have it, Li of Orchid. We shall speak of this again, for you may choose another path in nights to come.”

“I find that unlikely.”

The demon smiled, and the spheres made music around her. “We shall see. You shall remember nothing of this in your waking hours; but you may yet dwell upon it in dreams. Farewell, Li of Orchid. We shall meet again.”

“Farewell.”

The grand hall of Makarios began to fade, like mist before the morning sun. The walls dissolved; all of the marvels and wonders blurred into smears of color. And Li of Orchid opened her eyes.

She yawned. Stretching, she brushed away dirt and fallen yellow leaves; stretching, she groaned as all her wounds reminded her of their presence. She leaned against the tree she’d slept under. Nearby sat stolid old Thorwald, his sword in his lap, keeping guard against the night.

A tune had come stuck in her head as she slept. She turned it over in her mind, and found it good. Of the rest of her dreams, she remembered nothing. It was true that her wounds still pained her, and it hurt to move. But for the first time in many weeks, no dreams of blood and fire plagued her sleep. She smiled a thin, tight smile. Perhaps this was a good omen.

They broke camp. She hummed a few bars of the tune, and it sounded clear and clean as it hung upon the forest air. Where, she wondered, had she heard it before? She did not know; and really, she thought, how could it matter? She shouldered her pack and put all thought of dreams and music behind her. Better to focus on important things. Real things.

They set their feet upon the path. She set her hands upon the hilts of her swords, and her doubts fled away. That was better, she thought. That was right.

Chris M

02-06-2004, 07:49 PM

Christ that is beautiful storytelling man..mind if I ask you this..this question has been bugging me a little..no offense intended but...where the IN THE SEVEN HELLS do you find the time for all of this..assuming you work 9 to 5 or attend a university/college of some such. Because these stories are a labor or love and as such they take time and considerable imagined thought. I commend you on this great work but I am also astonished at the same time!!!:D

Quendalon

02-11-2004, 12:10 PM

Thanks for the praise, guys!

Philomousos: Writing this is, but a novel this ain't. Then again, quite a few published novels (like Steven Brust's Jhereg books and Raymond Feist's Riftwar books) were based on the authors' gaming experiences... but my stuff is nowhere near the same level of quality. There's no comparison. I don't read White Wolf novels, but I do hope they can manage better writing than mine.

Chris: I don't know where I find the time to write this either; it's taking longer and longer to do these session write-ups. But most of it gets done at the office. Please don't tell my boss. :)

I hope to get the Session 18 summary up before I run Session 20 tomorrow night. Wish me luck!

- Eric

Ranko

02-11-2004, 04:59 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon
...Raymond Feist's Riftwar books) were based on the authors' gaming experiences... but my stuff is nowhere near the same level of quality.

Well, I for one think that Feist couldn't write a decent book if it came up and wrote itself to him, but hey...

As for the quality of your writing, don't kid yourself, it is really good. Even if you are comparing it to those authors, these would be rough drafts to their novels. Add more time, a decent editor and these summaries would be one sexy novel.

Quendalon

02-11-2004, 05:01 PM

Gods, I must have been quite the sight as I ran behind my little brother, Zera Thisse. My bangs, newly shortened, flew in my face and eyes. My recently acquired black jade staff, Havoc in the Dragon Palace, was held horizontally at my side. My torn and frayed gray overrobes fluttered behind me like broken wings. Flashes of pale flesh shown through rents in my plainest seacrest print breeches. Thank the spirits my sandals were holding together. I’ll take what small favors I can these days. Mela knows they’re certainly few and far between.

By the way, I’m Tepet Aekino. I’m a newly risen Twilight Caste Solar Exalted. Can’t you tell from the description above?

All I could think as we ran was: Where in Malfeas is the Fae Queen were supposed to be bringing back to Idrys? What has Zera done now? I’ll have to remember to ask him after we lose the, oh, two or three hundred angry Ledaal soldiers that seem to be trying to catch us; probably thinking the same two questions I was as they’re doing it. Funny, that.

I think that Fetek is that eagle flying ahead and to the left. Hopefully looking for a place us land-bound folk can hide in to evade our irate pursuers. I suppose I can’t blame them for being angry. I mean, until a few hours ago there they were just enjoying a perfectly normal Calibration. Then BAM the reason they were camped around that ugly iron tower in the first place escaped, two Anathema were fleeing and a Moon Demon was playing rough with them all of a sudden. Oh, and by playing rough I do mean goring them with a rack of towering silvery antlers.

After all, what is a seven and a half feet tall killing machine without the towering rack of silvery antlers?!? Lacking, I tell you, lacking! Gods have mercy.

This is all we need. I’m going to die, shot through with a score of arrows shot by soldiers that serve the Scarlet Realm. Soldiers I should be able to command as a scion of House Tepet. Maybe the irony will let me die smiling. Comforting.

Meanwhile, I still feel the sword-calloused hands and soft lips of the ones that were guarding Queen Cessair on my skin. It felt so good to lay down on downy cushions and enjoy the touch of avid admirers surrounding me, enveloping me, longing to consume me. It’s the only time my cares and fears melt away and I can be myself. Giving pleasure, being pleasured the way only a hungry lover…oh, sweet Mela. Control, Aekino!

I see Younger Brother (as I’m starting to think of Zera) duck into a copse of trees ahead of me and follow. Crouching next to him, struggling to catch my breath, we study the terrain and try to find the best path of escape.

I nearly jump out of my skin as Zera softly touches my shoulder, pointing at a circling eagle that I can barely make out in the sky. Brilliant! It must be Fetek, about two miles off. Just a quick jog away, Aekino, I tell myself. Really. What a grand adventure! I need to take a few moments to banish the image of myself gleefully strangling a black-faced Zera to death with my silken garrote.

Sigh. Some fantasies are just too sweet to be entertained. Reality just never compares.

I gulp down a few deep breaths of air then indicate my readiness to my Sunless Sky brother. We take off, keeping a ridge between ourselves and any pursuit. Blessed by the Graceful Crane, we seem to float over obstacles most folk would break a leg or two on. My mind somehow manages to wander as we go, reviewing the past couple of days.

Let’s see, there was the Tower of Barbs. What in the names of the Celestials is Dandra Dinesh, anyway? Wait a blessed minute! The Celestials. The Sun has its (His?) Chosen. I know this by dint of being one. The Moon has Hers (annoying though they may be). The Terrestrial Dragons have theirs. That leaves the Maidens. It would only stand to reason that they would Exalt mortals as well. Wow, that only took me about four months to reason out. I should kick myself the next time that I think I’m so damned smart. I guess I could say that I’ve had my share of things on my mind if I’m feeling charitable. Because it’s so like me to be charitable, after all.

I hope my Ledaal Martin is all right (he was at the Tower of Barbs, too). I miss him, the fool. See? There’s charity for you!

Then we went down to the Iron Tower. It was, I must admit, a bit of fun pretending to be musicians going to our doom. Zera can put on a good show when he puts his mind to it. It was also nice to see Ledaal Tanith. I am quite impressed by her mental prowess. I must speak with her about these powers of hers. Lords of Heaven, I hope she wasn’t reading my thoughts all those times we spoke before!

Mustn’t panic… mustn’t panic. Okay. Better now.

Is that a hill up ahead? Yes! Hopefully it has some shelter nearby. I have blisters on my feet and they are not improving my mood or patience with this running business.

Cessair was not as pleasant as her children tend to be. At least the God-blood ones. I’ve not dealt with many Fair Folk. Just lots and lots of Dragon Bloods. Queen Cessair was majestic, regal, magnificent and completely inhuman in breadth and scope. I was afraid of her gaze. It seemed altogether alien and very, very hungry. Poor, poor Zera. Yes, poor Zera, indeed.

She told us about her heart, which was eerie in an interesting sort of way. Fair Folk are certainly singular creatures. Each one is so unique. Anyway, off we were to Tul Tuin to fetch her heart, which, by the way, was in the form of a songbird. Of course.

Tul Tuin.

Wait… okay… not stopping… must… keep… running.

There was something definitely wrong with Tul Tuin. I don’t mean your run-of-the-mill powerbase of our mortal enemies sort of wrong, either. I mean your great-big-miasma-of-dark-magicks Void in the universe gaping to swallow you into Oblivion sort of thing.

The harbinger of a powerful demon’s presence, smarty Tepet Aekino?

Why, yes, that would be the one!

Oh, goody!

I hate this. I hate this whole past year. Oh, so very much do I hate it.

Right about then we broke into my cousin’s Tower of the Winds looking for Cessair’s songbird-y heart. I’ve found that it’s very handy when your Older Brother (which would be Thorwald to my new way of thinking) happens to be the reincarnation of the chap that designed the place, or rather had it designed for him. Then you know all sorts of helpful things…such as where to blow up the place while the current Lord of the Manse is trying to stop you from stealing his wife’s heart. See how helpful that is?

When I laugh hysterically later I hope someone understands. Just read three sentences back! Come on, people, now that’s comedy! The tragic sort, but comedy just the same.

So naturally, after all that, Thorwald and Li (my honorable Little Sister, who happens to be blazing like a bladed sun by this point of my narrative) head off to the north to draw my cousin’s attention in two directions while my current companions and I head south, back toward the Iron Tower, to rescue Cessair.

And that’s how I ended up under an overhang in the middle of the hills in the Eastern Threshold, trying to breathe and just barely succeeding.

That’s when Fetek turns to me and says “That was an interesting approach to distraction you took back at the Iron Tower, O Descending Sun.”

I turn and glare at him for a moment and respond with “I would say the same about your approach to fleeing, O Hidden Moon” in my best frosty tone as I promptly pass out.

Quendalon

02-13-2004, 07:38 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Welcome, my little starlings. You have come for another story. What tale shall I tell you tonight? Shall I tell the tale of Sambara Eyes-Like-Knives, who found a stone of power in the waters of the River of Tears? Shall I tell you of how Sambara used the stone to gain wealth, and might, and long life in the countries of the Scavenger Lands? Would you learn, too, of how Sambara struggled against the stone’s will, and how, in the end, she cast it back into the river to be washed down to the sea? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the fall of the Scarlet Realm?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, of how they fled the Iron Tower after they freed the faerie queen Cessair, and of what dooms arose in the dark days of Calibration.”

* * * * *

“For many months, our heroes had wandered the earth in the eastern lands. And high above, in the heavenly city of Yu-Shan, their wanderings had come to the attention of the Celestial Bureaucracy. For elementals had spoken to elementals, and spirits to spirits, until the word of the return of the Solar Exalted traveled from earth to heaven. The gods spoke of the Sun’s children in their bright salons, whispered their secrets in alley and bedchamber, and bet upon their survival in the gambling halls of the heavenly city. And in the Manse of Gray and Silver Dream, perched high upon the seventh tier of the Spire of Infinite Radiance, the children of the Maidens met in sober council.

“On one side of the hall hung a banner of deepest scarlet cloth; on the other, a yellow banner bearing a wheel of five jade dragons. The Star-children sat before a table of ebony inlaid with platinum and pearls, and there they debated the matters that had come before them.

“’What shall we do about the Solar Exalted?’ a Star-child asked, resplendent in her robes of black and gold. ‘They were to strike against the Ghost-lords and the offspring of Malfeas. Instead, they have loosed the Fair Folk upon mortal men.’

“’They must be dealt with,’ spoke a red-robed elder, brandishing his scepter of copper and crimson glass. ‘They should never have been free.’ The others nodded in agreement.

“’And what of the dark cult in Tul Tuin?’ asked the elder in black and gold. ‘Do they not seek to summon Amalion from her Malfean lair?’

“The red-robed elder shook his head. ‘Irrelevant,’ he said. ‘They are mortals. They have not the power to draw her forth from her den. No, the Sun’s children alone concern us now. All of our differences are meaningless in the face of this peril. You prepare your agent, and we shall prepare ours, and we shall settle this matter once and for all.”

* * * * *

Panting and wheezing, Tepet Aekino doubled over as he crested yet another low rise. Zera and Fetek had run well ahead; they were barely visible in the dark. Aekino halted, resting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath, and looked back to the south. Miles of farm and wood and bracken stretched out behind them, all the way to the distant glow of Iron Tower. Glimmers of torchlight haunted the space between, as Vir’s soldiers spread out in pursuit. They had outdistanced their pursuers thus far, but the young sorcerer struggled with the effort.

“Wait for me,” he gasped into the night.

The others returned for him. They helped him along. They camped in the rotten stump of a great fallen tree. There they waited. The stars turned in their courses overhead.

* * * * *

To the north, Li and Thorwald made their way through the woods. Despite the dark, their eyes were keen and sharp, discerning the dim shapes of rock and tree as they made their own way toward the town of Idris. They traveled in companionable silence. All that marked the quiet were the hoot of owls, the scuttling of mouse and hare, the scuff of their boots on rocks and roots and fallen leaves.

Then they heard the music.

Low and mournful, with moments of clear high sweetness, it sounded of flutes and oboes, of wind in the branches given melody. They stopped to listen.

“Where is that music coming from?” asked Thorwald.

Li listened. “It has the sound of spirits about it,” she whispered.

Thorwald turned his ear to the wind. He focused on the melody. And as he opened himself to the music, his spirit rode the melody into the past, calling up a vision of another life. He remembered his travels in the flesh of Blessed Wind, centuries ago; he recalled wandering these forests with his lover Kuro in those days, seeking someone named Kiri in the eastern forests. He remembered traveling among the tumbled hills and wooded dells, visiting the old places and the spirit courts. He heard that music in his vision; he saw spirits with cloven hooves and silken fur, with robes of bark and hair of red and green and golden leaves, dancing and playing pipes that skirled like the wind gusting through the trees.

He pushed the memories away. “Forest spirits,” he said with a nod. “They are not important. We shall not waste our time with them.” Frowning, he loped off through the darkened wood, away from the wood-gods’ tune. Li shook her head at her brother’s obstinacy. Nonetheless, she followed, and the music faded behind them.

* * * * *

While Li and Thorwald trod through the woods, Aekino and Fetek hunkered down in their makeshift shelter. Zera had gone out to scout amid the treetops while Aekino regained his strength, and in his absence, the other two bickered.

“I don’t see what you’re so worried about,” Fetek said in a reasonable voice. “They’re unlikely to find you in the dark. And even if they do, well, they’re only mortals.”

“Is that how you see them?” snapped Aekino. “As ‘only mortals’? No wonder it bothers you so little to kill them without reason.”

Fetek shook his head. “Believe me,” he said, “I have my reasons.” And Aekino could press him no further than this.

The three of them took turns on watch while the others napped; they had not slept for days, and needed all of the rest they could get. And they got little, for the soldiers approached despite the dark. Fetek woke the others. “I hear bells,” he said.

Yawning, Aekino wiped the sleep from his eyes. “The soldiers use those to co-ordinate on the battlefield,” he said. “They must be using them to keep track of one another in the dark.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and they’ll attract something nasty to snack on them.” Zera shouldered his pack and his bow. “Let’s go.”

Aekino nodded tiredly. “I’ll do my best,” he said without conviction. “But I don’t know that I can do this much longer.”

Shadow played across Fetek’s silhouette. He grew larger, more bestial, and antlers gleamed palely upon his brow. “Get on my back,” he said. “I will carry you. I can carry you both.”

And he did.

Fetek raced northward. Plains and downs and tree-cloaked hills unrolled beneath his hooves. Then they broke out of the woods; settled farmland opened up before them, traced with the dimmest sparkle of rivers and streams. Zera leaned across the Lunar’s massive shoulders, and spoke to his brother Aekino over the wind of their passage. “This is working out pretty well,” he said. “Fetek can take you to Idris.”

Aekino gave him a look, but could distinguish little in the dimness. “And what of you?”

“I can slow them down.”

“No.” Aekino shook his head. “Do you think we can just abandon you? What will happen to you without us? No. We will not leave you behind.”

“Of course not.” Zera grinned. His teeth shone in the starlight. “I know you can’t leave me. You love me too much.”

Aekino flushed. “Shut up!”

* * * * *

“Hush.” As they passed through a clearing in the trees, Li touched Thorwald’s shoulder to draw him to a halt. “Wait.”

“What is it?” grumbled Thorwald. “I don’t hear anything.”

Li pointed. Eyes gleamed amidst the trees. In ones and twos, they grew closer.

Thorwald grinned. “Good. Something to fight.” He drew forth his daiklave; it shone faintly beneath the stars and the lightening sky.

The silhouettes of wolves padded silently out from the cover of the trees. Their eyes glinted red; their teeth flashed ivory. And as the foremost entered the clearing, starlight glinted on brain and bone; part of its head had been shorn away, blackening its fur with clotted blood, yet still it moved, and walked, and hungered.

“This is foul,” Thorwald hissed. Li said nothing, but her blades came into her hands. Golden light spilled out and illuminated the wolves. Each of them bore terrible wounds. Each of them was dead.

A shadowy figure followed the wolves into the clearing. Small and slim it was, clad in light soulsteel armor, bearing a naked daiklave. Pale blue eyes shone through a crudely mended mask of black leather.

Thorwald grunted. “It’s that Forty-Four Blossoms of Frost,” he muttered to Li. “Stay behind me. I’ll take care of her.”

The deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms pointed at Thorwald. “Kill,” she said. The undead wolves stalked forward. They leapt.

* * * * *

Fetek had halted by the banks of a swift-flowing river. This was the River Balkatha, or the Barrelwash, that flowed westward from the Five Towns to the docks of Tul Tuin and the River of Willows. Standing in the shadow of a barn, for this was a settled place, they discussed possible crossing places over the rush of the water.

“I still think we should try the bridge,” Aekino said. He was tired and frustrated, and had almost poked his own eye out on Fetek’s antlers.

Zera rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you been listening?” he snapped. “It’s half a day away. We don’t have time. Now, the ford –”

“No time,” Fetek said. He pointed at the bobbing torchlights that peppered the fields to the south. “The soldiers are almost here.”

They looked at each other. “We could try and swim,” offered Aekino dubiously.

Zera shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s fast and cold, and let’s be honest, you’re in no shape for it.”

Aekino sighed. “I guess you’re right. Hmm… Fetek? Can you take the shape of something that can carry us across? Like maybe a giant turtle or something?”

“Nothing like that,” said the Lunar. “But I can carry you, if it’s not too deep.”

“How deep is it?” Zera asked.

“How should I know?”

So they climbed again onto the Lunar’s back, and perched on his shoulders as he walked into the swift-running river. Within moments, he was waist-deep, and then shoulder-deep, and then neck-deep. He kept going. Soon only his antlers could be seen, with Aekino and Zera waist-deep in water on either side. Then the antlers, too, were gone, and the river eddied around the Solars’ shoulders.

Zera raised his bow as high as he could, so as not to wet the string. Water rippled around his neck. He smiled wryly at Aekino and quipped, “I hope we’re not in over our heads.”

* * * * *

Thorwald hacked another of the undead wolves in half. Entrails spilled out to join the pools of gore at his feet. “Li!” he shouted as more wolves seized his limbs and pulled him to the ground.

Li of Orchid had her own problems. Ledaal Goren had cut her deeply the previous day, and now she moved awkwardly, her blades barely moving quickly enough to deflect the deathknight’s vicious assault. Her buff jacket seemed no more useful than cobweb in warding off the black blade; new injuries quickly accumulated among yesterday’s wounds. She stumbled back.

Thorwald leapt to his feet with a roar. With two blows, he smashed the skulls of the zombie wolf that clung to his legs. They fell away, shattered jaws gnashing uselessly, and Thorwald jumped to his sister’s defense.

Jade clashed with soulsteel. Sparks flew. “So,” said Thorwald, “you’re still coming back for more? You make an excellent lap-dog for your master.”

“How dare you speak of the master!” The deathknight’s shriek lanced the air. “You are not fit to say his name!”

The battle was furious and quick. Our heroes’ weapons were like hummingbirds of light, dazzling and swift, but the deathknight’s sword was a vortex of darkness, and her body a thing of air and shadow that twisted and whirled around and past her opponents’ blades. When she finally struck Li in the head with a vicious flying kick, the Dawn warrior crumpled like a snake’s skin as her consciousness flew to the four winds.

“No!” Thorwald’s muscles surged as he seized the deathknight by the arm and flung her into a tree. The trunk cracked. She got up. She grasped the fallen Li and slung her over a shoulder.

Thorwald attacked with manic intensity. Forty-Four Devil Blossoms parried one-handed as she backed away. Cricket-like, she leapt into the forest canopy above. As she danced along a branch, Thorwald drew forth a throwing-axe and flung it upward. It cut through the branch; the deathknight tumbled. Thorwald caught Li in his arms. The deathknight vanished into the foliage.

“Damn it!” Thorwald settled Li on the ground, examined her injuries. “Where is that Fourth Breeze when you need him?”

The air whispered. “Master,” it said, “I am here.”

A startled Thorwald stood and stepped back from the elemental’s cloudy blue shape. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” he shouted. “Now, I need you to do something,” he added in a lower tone. “I need you to carry my sister Li to the town of Idris. Can you do that? Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, master,” said Fourth Breeze. It lifted Li in its translucent arms.

“And my name is Thorwald. Stop calling me ‘master’!”

“Yes, master Thorwald.” The elemental bore Li off into the brush, and they vanished from sight.

Brandishing his blade, the northman shouted into the trees. “Come and get me then!” he cried, striving to draw the deathknight’s attention and ire. “What are you waiting for? If you want to fight, I am right here! Are you a coward? Come on now. I am waiting!”

He heard only wind, and silence.

Quendalon

02-13-2004, 07:39 PM

The river gurgled merrily as Fetek and his Solar companions rose out of its waters. Who could think that such a trivial obstacle would defeat the Chosen of the Moon and Sun? So they emerged, dripping, in the dim light of the hour before morning, to stand on the bank.

“Look!” cried a voice. “Spirits!”

Our heroes turned. A farmer and his nephew sat on a mossy log, swishing bare feet through the water as they fished with bamboo poles. The father was dumbfounded, the son excited.

The Sun’s children looked at each other. Zera turned then to the boy and smiled. “Yes,” he said. “We are water spirits. We have come to bring your village luck. You will find your fishing goes well this day.”

The father sputtered and stammered. His eyes rolled across Fetek’s massive form, silvery antlers branching and gleaming. “You’re not river spirits!” he shouted at last.

“Uncle!” The boy, infected by fear, grabbed at the older man’s sleeve. “Run!”

They ran. Our heroes laughed as they watched the mortals go stumbling and sliding along the muddy bank.

* * * * *

Thorwald waited for the deathknight to strike.

Leaves fell, their reds and golds slowly brightening as the sun touched the sky with morning. Birds twittered in the trees; squirrels and voles quarreled in the brush. Branches quivered as a chill wind moved through the foliage. But the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms did not appear.

The air quivered. Fourth Breeze swept in, empty-armed and alone. “Master,” he said plaintively. He bled mist from a dozen wounds.

“What has happened to you?” Thunder rumbled in Thorwald’s voice.

“The dark one came,” the spirit told him. “She struck me with her blade. Master… she has taken your friend. I am sorry.”

The northman scowled. “Show me where this happened,” he said.

They went to that place. There they found the marks of hooves upon the leaf-mould, a track that led south through the wood. And Thorwald ran after them, following the traces of the deathknight’s pale steed, and the trees flowed past him like anger or tears.

* * * * *

“Keep running.” Zera tugged at his faltering comrade’s arm. “We need to put… as much space between us as possible.”

Aekino slowed to a walk, then stopped. He looked up at the slope that slanted upward between the trees. “I’m too tired,” he panted. “And they can’t… be on us yet. They had… to go to the ford.”

“Which was half an hour away. Sooner or later, we’ll have to rest, and we need distance.”

“Where’s… Fetek?”

“Scouting.” Zera looked up through the foliage, glorious with sunlight and autumn colors. “He’s got eagle eyes. Don’t worry; he’ll spot us. Now, I think you’ve rested enough. Let’s get moving.”

The pair of them jogged up the slope, swerving around trees and shrubs and stands of rock. At the top of the rise, they found out about the sharp overhang on the other side, the hard way.

It was a long drop.

* * * * *

Fetek soared over the lands east of Tul Tuin on eagle’s wings. Sunlight shone softly on golden leaves, blazed on patches of white stone, glittered on lakes and streams. The wind whistled and sang. He loved to fly, to look down upon the world from a height and see its secrets unfurl before him.

There was another eagle, a real eagle, which ignored him regally from where it hung enthroned upon an updraft. There flew a flock of crows from tree to tree; there, a family of deer darted across a meadow. And there? To the southeast? A line of riders in bright armor, red and green and blue, riding north and west, towards the town of Idris. His own destination.

Interesting, he thought. He flew closer.

Yes, thought Fetek; those were Dragon-Blooded warriors, or at least they wore armor of jade. He knew it well. And in the lead, a man in gray, a great daiklave strapped to his back? That was no Dragon-Blood. They pursued the man. A victim of the Wyld Hunt? Perhaps… but what concern was that of Fetek’s? He had work to do. He left the hunt behind; he winged back toward his fellows, to where their route would most likely have taken them.

He circled for a time over the woods and hills. He saw the soldiers crawling across the landscape; he saw landmarks he had marked with an eagle’s eye. But of his comrades? There was no sign.

* * * * *

Zera Thisse looked up at the sky. Clouds drifted across a narrow band of blue, flanked by rock and scrub and scree – a ravine. He lay in a narrow cleft of stone and tree roots, a cave mouth, leading into shadow to his left. Aekino slumped upon the rock nearby. Assessing himself, Zera found no bones broken, albeit a number of new bruises and scrapes to join his existing collection. He leaned over to peer out of the cave.

It was a long way down. He shook himself and rose to his feet, and helped a groaning Aekino do the same. They stepped away from the edge. They looked into the darkness of the cave, and saw three figures there.

One of the shapes raised a hand, and a faint amber light spread through the darkness. The figures clarified.

There stood a bear, a slouched and hairy thing, with eyes that shone like mirrors. By its side, there stood a raccoon near as tall as a man, garbed in satin breeches and silken vest, a slim sword at its side and a tricorn cap on its head. And behind them towered one like unto a tree, with arms like bent branches and hair all of trailing moss.

The tree whispered, and its whisper filled the cave with a susurrus of sighs. “You have entered my home,” it said in the River tongue.

“Ahh… it was an unintentional act,” said Zera. He glanced uneasily behind him at the lip of the cave, and the drop below. “We will leave.”

“Oh, no! Don’t leave so soon,” the raccoon-spirit chortled. “Rest. Take a nap!”

“I wonder,” grumbled the bear in the Old Tongue, “what they are fleeing from.”

The raccoon sniggered. “Oh, don’t be such a worry-wart!” it replied.

“Many soldiers,” said the tree-spirit. “With torches.”

Aekino stepped forward. He still felt breathless and sore after his escape from the Iron Tower; but now, at least, he was in his element. He bowed deeply. “Oh spirit,” he said in the Old Tongue, “we have stumbled upon your lair only through accident. We humbly apologize for the intrusion.”

Zera looked back and forth, utterly baffled. He did not know the Old Tongue.

The tree-spirit stretched to its full height, perhaps twelve feet; it loomed in the amber shadows. “Hm,” it said.

“It is my understanding,” Aekino continued, “that my kind and your kind have long-standing accords.”

The bear-spirit sniffed the air then. Its snout crinkled in disapproval. “Sun’s children,” it grumbled. “Yes, there were accords. But that was long ago, before your kind broke the world.”

The tree nodded. “It is long,” it said, its voice like a bassoon. “But we remember.”

Aekino bowed again. “Your memory is good,” he said. “We cannot begin to apologize for what happened then. But we need not dwell on the past, not when we have this moment in which to discuss the future.”

“Very well, then.” The tree beckoned, its twig-like fingers crackling. “Do come in. We shall discuss these things at leisure.”

Zera shook his head. The words might be nonsense to him, but the gesture was clear enough. “I’d love to go in, sit down, have some tea,” he said, “but we have to go.”

“We should go in,” replied Aekino under his breath. “They might be able to help us.”

“Against two hundred and fifty soldiers?” Zera hissed.

“Tree-spirits speak slowly. Do you want to have this conversation out here where we can be seen?”

Zera grimaced, but he acquiesced. The pair walked deeper into the cave.

The tree roots around the cave opening slithered free of their moorings. They gathered together, knotting and tangling around and about, closing tight over the cave mouth. Then there was silence, and birdsong, in an empty gully, with nothing to be seen.

* * * * *

Fetek paused in his northward flight, and entered a long, slow glide. Another rider had caught his eye. A dark figure on a pale horse, galloping south, bearing a bulky bundle. Then he realized, as he came closer, that that was no bundle. That was Li of Orchid, bound weaponless to the saddle.

This must be the deathknight of which the Solars had spoken, he thought. And he smiled within the arc of his beak.

Moments later, the deathknight Forty-Four Devil Blossoms suffered a setback in her journey, as she learned what happens when a bird turns into a towering, antlered man-thing in mid-dive. She tumbled free at the last instant. Her steed was not so lucky. It fell, broken and screaming, spewing bloody froth. And Fetek stood, all ablaze with silver light, to free Li of Orchid from captivity.

The deathknight leapt at him, her blade screaming in her fists as it clashed upon his metallic hide. His own blows fell like hammers or like rain, and were likewise turned by her soulsteel cuirass. And as they fought, Li of Orchid climbed shakily to her feet, her hands bound behind her back. Carefully, carefully, she pulled the deathknight’s axe free from its sheath on the flailing horse’s saddle. With it she severed her bonds, one at a time. Then she weighed the thing in her hands; and she strode purposefully towards the fight.

Forty-Four Devil Blossoms had had enough. Her breastplate rang like a gong from Fetek’s parting blow; she danced back, somersaulted up among the leaves, and vanished.

It was not long before a crashing through the brush presaged the arrival of Thorwald. He grinned to see his friends safe and sound. “Fetek! Thank the gods. I should have known. You, of all of us, would not fail.”

Fetek smiled. “Thank you, Pillar of the Sun. Now, let’s go elsewhere,” he said with a gesture that encompassed the still-twitching horse, the deathknight, and all of the other perils of their journey. “And I’ll tell you all of what you’ve missed.”

* * * * *

“I’m still not sure that telling the truth was a good idea,” Zera whispered to Aekino as he finished telling the spirits of their trials and adventures. Aekino shrugged; his attention was all for his hosts, who seemed engrossed in his story.

“So you have freed Cessair?” The raccoon-spirit giggled inanely at Aekino’s tale. “Eh-heh-heh!”

“You show honor,” the bear grumbled. “If not wisdom.”

Aekino smiled. “You are generous.”

Zera sighed. He’d not understood a single word that was spoken for the past hour. “If you do not tell me what they’re saying,” he observed conversationally, “I will stab you with a knife.”

Blinking with surprise, Aekino spoke further with the spirits. Zera listened to the raccoon’s tittering, the bear’s low rumble, the tree-spirit’s slow groans. Then Aekino spoke again: “The tree-spirit has offered us the hospitality of his cave, and promises that no harm will come to us.”

“That’s a relief.”

“The raccoon-spirit wishes you to close your eyes and stick out your tongue.”

With some reservations, Zera did so. A moment later he felt a sharp pain; the spirit had bit him on the tongue! He felt at his mouth and found blood.

Aekino had to restrain his companion from violence. It was a task he was beginning to feel accustomed to.

* * * * *

Thorwald, Li and Fetek made their way north. As they passed through a small valley, all rocks and shrubs, they heard hoofbeats from behind. A dark-skinned rider in gray, a Southerner by his looks, came their way, pursued by half a dozen warriors in jade. Thorwald smiled and halted halfway up the shallow slope. Such a chance for battle, he thought, was not to be lightly turned aside.

The gray rider put on a burst of speed. His Marukani horse leapt across a rivulet, climbed the slope, and came to a halt before our heroes, its sides sweat-streaked and heaving. Its rider, similarly wild-eyed and sweaty, grasped the hilt of a great daiklave upon his back. “Friend or foe to the Dragon-Bloods?” he cried.

Thorwald looked him in the eye. “What do you think?”

The man’s face hardened. He drew his sword a few inches from its sheath, revealing a blade luminous in red and gold. “More enemies?”

Thorwald laughed, his face a lopsided grin. “You misunderstand me. I will fight anyone.”

Li watched the Dragon-Blooded approach. She drew Radiance and Brilliance, returned to her by Thorwald after her rescue. Fetek shifted and grew at her side, shedding human form to assume his half-stag, half-man battle-shape. And the rider in gray drew forth his grand daiklave, all of orichalcum and scarlet jade, garbed in flame.

The blade spoke to her. It whispered in her mind: We are one. The sun, the grass, the trees, all gave way to a plain of ice and snow, where she was once again the warrior-general Katsuro the Righteous, hewing down an army of Dragon-Blooded at the cold edge of the world. She could taste his blood and rage, as she tasted the fear and pain of those who fell beneath her blade, Burning Tiger.

It was as though she saw the world through a veil. Faintly, faintly, through the screen of ice and snow, she saw the Dynastic leader banter words with Thorwald; she saw the Dragon-Bloods charge with weapons raised; she saw Fetek’s charge, heard Thorwald’s battle cry, felt the heat from Burning Tiger as its wielder fenced with the Dynastic leader. She saw the Dragon-Blood’s fear.

And she saw Burning Tiger halt itself in midair, deliberately choosing not to strike. She saw the Dragon-Blood’s blade sweep up and out, saw the man in gray stumble back as his head parted from his shoulders. She watched as Burning Tiger tumbled through the air to bury itself in the turf at her feet.

It spoke to her again, in her mind. We are one, it said.

She reached out her hand, and took up the blade.

She was lost.

* * * * *

Zera leaned against cold, damp earth and stone. Aekino continued to chatter with the spirits in their odd tongue. The archer now understood what they were saying, as the raccoon-spirit’s bite had conveyed the language to him somehow. It wasn’t an improvement. They were boring.

“Your soldiers?” The raccoon put his paws to his face in helpless laughter. “Oh, I can get rid of them. I surely can! But you will have to do me a favor first.” Giggling, it looked Zera in the eyes. Its eyes were not laughing; they were dark and perilous and cruel. Vague memories swam through Zera’s mind at their touch.

“I know you.” Zera put hand to sword-hilt. He felt his composure waver, there in the cold and earthy damp.

The raccoon sniggered. “When all this calms down,” it said, “come back here and we’ll have a contest of my choosing.”

“This seems awfully familiar…”

“Don’t pay attention to the memory.” The raccoon rolled its eyes, fluffed up the tuft of rakish feathers clinging to its hat. “It’s really quite simple. Yes or no?”

“What kind of contest?”

“I’ll decide later. Eh heh… I haven’t made up my mind. So, yes or no?”

Zera sighed. “In the past, I have been honorable. Now I will be wise. I say no.”

Aekino looked nonplussed. “I thought you said you going to be wise.”

“So… eh heh heh… you wish to leave?” The raccoon-spirit pirouetted, its silken vest luminous in the cave’s tawny light. It sidled over to the tree. “They’re too stupid to take the deal.”

The tree-spirit shook its mossy head. Leaves fell to join the mulch that littered the cave floor. “There are soldiers,” it said slowly, “all around.”

Zera threw his hands into the air. “All right!” he shouted, loudly enough that the bear-spirit squinted and the tree-spirit drew its head back and away from the noise. “I’ll do your stupid contest.”

“Oh good! Now, all you have to do,” the raccoon-spirit said between bouts of mad chortling, “all you have to do, is stab me through the heart and cut me in half.”

The spirit had to repeat its offer, so surprised was Zera. But the archer quickly smiled, and it was a nasty smile indeed. As you might imagine, he didn’t much like the spirit.

“I can do that,” he said. “That won’t be any trouble at all.”

Zera stabbed the raccoon-spirit through the heart. It toppled like a rotten log.

He prodded the corpse. It seemed dead.

It took him many minutes to hack through its body with his small sword. Gore and filth befouled him, as though the creature’s innards deliberately sought to spray him with their contents. Finally, sweaty and stinking, Zera stood and examined his handiwork.

The halves of the spirit’s body twitched and quivered. They rose into the air. They writhed and flowed, stretching and smoothing and bifurcating. They took human shapes. With a quiver and a twist, two men stood there; spitting images of Aekino and Zera. Both smirked at their originals.

Eyes bulging, Zera nocked an arrow to his bow. Aekino threw himself in the way. “No!” he shouted as he grabbed the archer by the shoulders. “These are our hosts, they’ve promised sanctuary!”

The bear-spirit rumbled a low, guttural laugh. “Do you not understand the concept of ‘decoy’?” it asked. “Be calm. We are helping you.”

A shaft of sunlight spilled into the cave as the tree-spirit let its gate ajar. The false Aekino and Zera squirmed out. The roots knotted shut again. Soon thereafter, shouts and yells could be faintly heard from outside. These noises of alarm and pursuit dwindled, faded, and gave way to silence.

* * * * *

The battle ended when it had scarcely begun. Fetek and Thorwald had struggled briefly with the young Dragon-Bloods. The southerner with the strange blade fell. And then Li took the sword, and the field of battle filled with light, and fire, and corpses.

Thorwald watched Li chase the last two Terrestrials into the trees. She ran with preternatural grace despite her wounds; it was clear that she would catch her prey. The northman surveyed the carnage. The burning blade had cut cleanly through jade and flesh and bone, leaving limbs and cloven torsos strewn like a child’s fallen blocks.

He prodded the head of the Terrestrials’ leader. It rolled a few inches, then came up short against a stone. “Tell me, Dynast,” he asked, “does a Dragon-Blooded ever run?”

Fetek came up behind him. “What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Thorwald shrugged. He kicked the head again; it rolled down the slope, banging against rocks and roots until it vanished into a stand of tall weeds.

“What is that weapon?”

“I don’t know.”

They waited there for a time. Li finally appeared below, cloaked in light and smeared with blood, bearing the new blade bundled in her cloak. She came among her comrades, but her eyes were leagues away.

Thorwald rested a hand on her shoulder. “I should have let that rider go by,” he said.

“I think it was destiny,” said Li. She sighed; she would not look up. “These things do not happen by chance.”

“Maybe not.” Thorwald shrugged. What would come, he thought, would come. He turned his back on the carnage and, with his comrades, made his way north once more.

* * * * *

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Our heroes traveled onward through the day. When the time came, they rested; and Thorwald slept, and as he slept, he dreamed. He dreamed of a palace of alabaster and green chrysoprase, a palace filled with ten thousand wonders. There, in the palace of Makarios, within a vault of mirrors, he spurned the offers of timeless Strephon, the Turning Wheel, that which draws forth justice and vengeance from the dooms of the past. He was not the first of his comrades to be contacted thus, nor would he be the last; for it was written in the stars of Malfeas that, in the end, one of these four heroes would come to an accord with the princes of Hell. Whether that accord would free the Yozis or seal their doom, none might say; for not every future has been written, and even the wisest cannot see all things. The tale of Creation is still being told, and who can say how it will end?”

Ranko

02-14-2004, 02:59 AM

Quendalon, you rock on toast.

You really made my Saturday morning :)

+ any chance for a few spoilers/teasers on Burning Tiger? Pretty please?

Quendalon

02-16-2004, 12:02 PM

The chamber was quiet for a time, two figures on one side of the room considering two much larger silhouettes on the other. Outside, the din of men in armor running and shouting, and the sounds of horses' hooves could plainly be heard. The forest smells of old wood and layers of dead leaves hung thick around them, and Zera remembered a time when that would have made him feel at home.

It had been a long time since he had a home, and there was nowhere to hide from the storms that raged in his heart and mind. The Unconquered Sun had stretched his hand out and changed Zera's life forever, and ever since he had only known frustration, sorrow, and pain. He and his companions traveled, and behind them was a trail of broken bodies and wanton destruction.

His hand still clutched the haft of his bow, and the knuckles grew white around the polished wood. His hands began to shake, and his brother Tepet Aekino glanced at him worriedly. "Brother, perhaps you should sit down... " Zera said nothing, only standing and turning his harsh gaze inward.

Across the room, the Tree-spirit and Bear-spirit of the wood examined the two Solars, expressions revealing nothing of how they felt to have the Sun's Children in their presence again. The Bear-spirit rumbled to its venerable companion in the ancient language spirits shared.

"Oakbrother, the Breakers of the World come again. Where once they were wise and powerful, now they are young and directionless. They will wreak great havoc amongst our wood."

"Mmmmmmm...", the Tree-spirit had a voice like the creaking of an ancient oak in the wind, "perhaps this is so, Ursa. Perhaps they will learn, in time."

"Forgive me if I do not have your patience, or your faith. We could end the threat... " His teeth glinted in the pale light of the chamber, his intentions clear as a bell.

"Mmmmmm... no need for us to get involved." There was a long pause. "No, these saplings should have a bit more time in the sun before we pass judgment on them. We have see and survived much, and they are freshly sprung from the acorn."

Tepet Aekino watched his brother and shook his head, worry creasing the perfection of his features. Zera seemed like a stranger, especially since they decided to fulfill the oath to the Lady Idris. Pulling his bow on these spirits, in their home no less, was completely incongruent with what he knew of the man.

His passion was always something that Aekino could understand and relate to. They disagreed about much, but their hearts were set on similar goals. To see Zera become this surly, mocking shell of himself was something Aekino didn't plan to put up with any longer.

The rumblings of Spirit-speak cut off abruptly, as a sound like a whip-crack resounded through the woody chamber. Zera raised a hand and touched his rapidly reddening cheek gingerly. He raised his eyes, and met the angry gaze of his Twilight companion.

"How dare you? How dare you act like a wayward child in the home of those who would protect and succor us? Waving your bow about and treating these spirits like plague-bearing lepers? I know you are exhausted, I know you are frustrated and full of sorrow and shame. So am I! We have hurt innocent people and made poor decisions. You can stand there and sulk, but I intend to set them right, if I'm able! Now, give me that bow, go off to that corner and get some sleep!"

Zera could do nothing but gape as Aekino wrested the weapon from his grip, and gave him a hard shove towards a corner shaded by heavy leaves and thick roots. He found himself slumping to the ground and squeezing his eyes shut, somehow not willing to stand up to Aekino's withering glare. Barely-remembered exhaustion crept over him, and he slept.

* * * * *

He raised a hand to wipe a thick film of sweat from his brow, and forced himself to put one boot in front of the other. The sun was a blazing white ball in a cloudless sky, and a barren sea of dunes lay all around him. He stepped over the bleached bones of some animal, and thirst scraped his throat mercilessly.

Thorns burned and screamed in his mind as he walked. Mara wept bitterly and asked over and over what she'd done wrong. Nala and Grey Mantle begged him to repay their long faith with good deeds, Cessair smiled her perfect smile and tore his soul from his chest with the fairest fingers he'd ever seen. Soldiers died by the score as he glanced to either side, people with friends and family that had done him no real wrong. Kuro the Raven snarled at him, and fired burning arrows of pure sunlight into his side. His father stared disapprovingly, while his mother and sister lay behind him, grinning men violating them as they threatened them with cruel knives.

Each vision made the walking man flinch, and the last drove him to his knees, the sun-baked sand raising blisters on the flesh beneath his ragged breeches. He slumped forward, his cheek burned and his mouth filled with sand.

"Child."

The voice was as deep as a canyon and musical as a masterwork harp. It reverberated through the empty landscape, and coursed through Zera's body. He rolled weakly onto his back, and was face-to-face with the unforgiving Sun.

"Dear child. Your soul is full of anger, your heart is a garden sown only with dust. Blood soaks your hands. Your mind is unquiet."

Zera's lips pulled back in a snarl. He spit sand from his mouth and pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled uncertainly, but pushed his head back to stare into the blinding whiteness above him.

"DAMN YOU! You miserable, bloodthirsty, wretch of a god! I didn't ask for this! Why is this weight mine to carry? When can I rest? When does the agony stop? You filthy, unfeeling bastard! Damn you!"

With the last curse, the rage drained out of Zera, and his strength followed suit. He collapsed to the dusty ground, and shivered. Sobs wracked his chest, though no moisture remained for tears.

The Sun made no reply. It simply beat overhead, the heat rising in waves from the dunes and burning the Night Caste's skin. It remained like this for a time - whether it was ten minutes or ten days, the man could not discern.

"I... I... am... sorry." Cracked lips forced the words from a parched throat. "I... have... failed. Do... as... you wi... will."

The world flashed and burned, every atom of his body seeming to fly apart, and all was black. Zera Thisse opened his eyes, and all was blackness around him, above and below. Before him there was a wooden frame, filled with sand. A sandbox, Zera thought. I played in one as a boy.

As he thought about childhood games, he noticed the small boy crouched at the far end of the sandbox. His skin was an odd pale yellow color, and his hair was like burnished gold. The boy looked up at him with dark eyes, and motioned him over.

Zera stepped carefully over the wooden partition, and into the sand. Something about sand brought back an unpleasant feeling, but he couldn't remember. He shook it off, and crouched next to the boy. The child was hovering over a small wooden carving of a man, lying on its back in the sand. Zera remembered, and stared at the child with trepidation.

"No fear. No worries. At your ease, child." Zera felt his anxiety wash away, and the tumult in his heart seemed small and insignificant.

"The figure is you. You are lost in the desert, thirsty and tired and alone. You are wounded and directionless."

Zera nodded. It was all true. The god-child gave him a sympathetic smile. It added a figure, and two more behind the first. "Now, you are not alone."

Again Zera nodded, understanding coming to him. He could no longer shut his brothers out. They were his only friends, his only hope for survival. As much as they needed him, he must admit that he needed them as much, if not more.

"At this moment, the four of you are alone, and you still wander the wilderness. This is necessary. One must stand in darkness, in order to strive for the light. My children are divided, so that they may find the joy of reunion. You are given impossible tasks, in order to surmount that which you know as yourself, and become what you are truly meant to be."

The child reached up, and brushed the tears running down Zera's grizzled face away. His hands still on Zera's cheeks, it pulled his face down, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Zera's caste mark flared to life, burning strong and proud.

"You are well named, Night Caste. There will always be darkness inside you. There will always be places you will never let me reach. Nevertheless, you are my child, and I love you. Children stumble before they walk. They struggle before they can talk. I do not begrudge you these growing pains. I know what you will become. Have faith in me, Zera Thisse. Know this -your name and those of your Circle will be known to the Ages past... you will earn your place in the histories of your kind. Go now... your brother worries."

Zera's eyes flared open. Aekino was crouched over him, wiping at the corners of his eyes with a silk handkerchief. His face was a mask of concern.

"You were crying in your sleep, Zera. I've... I've never seen you weep. Are you well?"

The proud archer pulled himself to an upright position, rested his head on his brother's shoulder, and wept for what had gone before. Aekino held him for a long time.

Ursa and Oakbrother watched, and nodded. The lesson had been learned. Above, the sounds of men faded into the distance...

Sparrowhawk

02-16-2004, 01:23 PM

WOW.

It sounds like you have some great players there, Quendalon. Accourse, you aren't a shabby ST either. :D

Now, a couple of questions:

You occasionally insert cutscenes of stuff that the PCs aren't privy to into your session write-ups. Things like that meeting of Sidereals, or the "happenings around Creation" summary, which featured the guy who would soon bring Burning Tiger to Li. Do you add these into the story, or do you play them out at the table?

Also, you've said before that you frequently have your players play the parts of NPCs when their characters are split up. Who amongst the NPCs has been played by your players (as opposed to you?) I'm looking at those nature spirits, and I see that there are three of them - the same number of player characters are seperated from Zera and Aekino. :)

Finally, some comments on the story itself. It seems like the PCs are in trouble. Did their setting the Queen Cessair free open a can of worms that was really best left closed, and that they will be really sorry for later? Was that Sidereal meeting an example of their Great Curse in effect? (I.E. are they underestimating the threat of a powerful demon roaming the Scavenger lands just a little?) Oh, and who's Dindra Dinesh? Was that the healer in the tower that they met after the misadventure in the tomb?

Quendalon

02-16-2004, 04:16 PM

More comments, yay!

Ranko: I don't want to give out any spoilers about Burning Tiger, because Li's player checks this thread regularly. If you're just interested in stats, well, it's an orichalcum and red jade Grand Daiklave. (Spd -2, Acc +3, Dam +11L, Def +1) It has no attunment cost, and it grants its wielder two additional points of permanent Conviction and Valor.

Sparrowhawk: Cutscenes written in italics, those listed as "Mother Cypress Speaks", are generally monologues delivered at the start of the session. Cutscenes that are part of the summary proper, like Vir's strategy discussion with his advisors, are played out at the table.

Nearly all of my NPCs have been played by PCs at some point or another, and in fact, I've never actually played most of them; I have the players run NPCs as much as possible. It helps to keep the players occupied when they're not in a scene. For instance, as you've rightly guessed, the nature-spirits were all run by the players. Li's player ran the tree, Thorwald's player ran the raccoon, and Fetek's player ran the bear. (That was actually a particularly unusual incident; I couldn't think of what NPCs that Zera and Aekino would meet at that point, so I just said there were three figures standing there, and told the players to decide what the NPCs were. I have great players. :) )

Yeah, setting Cessair free opened up a whole can of worms that would otherwise have stayed closed for some time to come. And Dandra Dinesh is indeed the healer of the Tower of Barbs.

One more interlude to post, and then I'll have to write the summary for session 19. I really need to start on that...

- Eric

Ranko

02-16-2004, 04:23 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon
Ranko: I don't want to give out any spoilers about Burning Tiger, because Li's player checks this thread regularly. If you're just interested in stats, well, it's an orichalcum and red jade Grand Daiklave. (Spd -2, Acc +3, Dam +11L, Def +1) It has no attunment cost, and it grants its wielder two additional points of permanent Conviction and Valor.

Well, I recently realised that you are a few sessions behind on the updates; so I was askin for sword previews, not actual spoilers.

But thanks for the reply; keep up the good work, and post the next part ASAbloodyP ;)

Quendalon

02-18-2004, 10:35 AM

On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand that seized the fire?
-William Blake, “The Tyger”

***

Li returned to the dream of the sword. All around was grey mist and the sword rose and fell in her hands. Phantoms of smoke and shadow formed before her and she cut them down smoothly; her body and mind moving in perfect concert with the sword. She was the sword, and the sword was she.

When she woke, she realized she was in the forest. The last Exalt of the Wyld Hunt party was transfixed on her sword, pinned against a great oak, his black jade breastplate shattered. He was dead. She withdrew the massive blade and the body of the Dynast crumpled amongst the roots with a clatter. Blood dripped from the sword and she realized she was not holding Radiance or Brilliance but a grand daiklave of orichalcum and red jade.

Burning Tiger. She threw the bloody thing to the ground, impaling its point in the soft turf, and collapsed before it, the pain of her wounds reasserting their presence.

We are one. It whispered in her mind and she could only shudder in horror. The mists of the dream were swirling away as if before a fierce wind and her memories became perfectly clear. Six Dragon-Bloods lay fallen in her wake and she could picture each of their faces as she had cut them down, the fear and terror in each one’s eyes and the reflection of her own terrible face. She remembered laughing with joy as she slaughtered them.

We are one.

No! I...

She could barely breathe. The sword still flickered with red-gold fire, standing upright in the earth. Her own anima still blazed around her. She realized with a start that her anima and that of the sword moved together, two heat-less fires burning as one. She started to panic, almost hyperventilating.

We are one. It spoke to her again and she almost cried. I don’t want you! I don’t need you!

We are one, another voice spoke in her mind, but not the sword.

***

Wudi stood with Li at the water’s edge, the surf washing over their bare feet. Overhead, the gulls screeched and wheeled in the sparkling sunlight.

“We are one, Li,” Wudi said. He looked down at the young orphan girl. “Look around you. What can you see?”

Li looked but hesitated to answer. She didn’t understand what he was asking. “What can I see…?”

Wudi nodded patiently. “Yes, what do you see? What are the things around you?”

“Well, there’s… ah… you. And the village down the beach. And the seagulls. The sea. The beach itself. The mountain and the trees. Other islands, far away on the horizon.”

“Good. Now, answer me this: am I the sea?”

“Are you…the sea?” Her confusion was plain upon her face.

“Am I the sea?”

“No, you’re you.”

“Where do I end and where does the sea begin?” He gestured to his feet, the waves playing around them.

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” he said, and leaned down to cup the salt water in one hand. He held it up. “Is this the sea?” he asked.

“It is a part of the sea.”

Wudi let the water run from his hand; then licked a few remaining drops. “Is the sea in me now that I have swallowed it?”

“Yes?” she said tentatively.

“So the sea has become part of me and I part of it, true?”

“You haven’t become part of the sea. You just drank a few drops of seawater.”

“The sea is within me. But it is also out there.” He gestured across the waves. “If you were to travel to a distant land, far from the sea, you would still remember it, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Does that mean the sea is within you? A part of you?”

Li did not answer. Her young face scrunched up in thought.

“What about the village? The mountain? The sky? The birds? Me? You will remember all these things and even should you somehow forget, each of them will have shaped you. Each of them is part of you. And you, too, are part of each of these things. Your breath has disturbed the breezes in the air. Your feet have changed the course of the waves. Your presence has marked the village and villagers. Everything in Creation is interlocked. You cannot help but be one with every thing around you.”

Li nodded, understanding coming to her. “We are one.”

Wudi smiled.

***

We are one, the sword whispered, and Li could not deny it again.

She dragged herself to her feet. The red-gold flames around her and Burning Tiger had flickered low. By the fading light, she looked around, located the clearing where she had left Thorvald and Fetek. She looked down again at the sword.

We are one, she thought. But you will not master me. She reached for it but something within her was repelled by the sight of the congealing blood all along its length. Burning Tiger had nothing of the purity of her Radiance and Brilliance, only the fierce power that called to her and shook her to her core. Taking her cloak, she wrapped it up and made her way back.

YerMum

02-19-2004, 04:28 AM

I can tell that Li is going to go through a whole lot of pain because of that sword. Great job!

Li of Orchid

02-19-2004, 04:23 PM

It hurtssss usss! It burnsss usss! The precioussss....

Ranko

02-19-2004, 05:40 PM

Stop being all angsty over the sword, and make Q write the next session.

Pretty actualy plays, preciousss actual playsss, come to Sme... errr, Ranko....

Quendalon

02-27-2004, 11:11 AM

(This is a placeholder, on the off chance that Thorwald's player submits a certain interlude that he's agreed to write. The write-up for Session 19 will go up this afternoon. - Eric)

Quendalon

02-27-2004, 03:28 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Welcome, my little starlings. You have come for another story. What tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of the city of Dazari, whose towers of silver and ice were infused with intelligence by the lords of the First Age? Would you know of how the city god of Dazari sought to gain a soul, and of how it took the form of a mortal to wander the world? Would you hear, too, of how the god of Dazari fell in love with a demon prince, and of how the god brought its city to Malfeas to join its beloved, dragging a million screaming mortals with it into Hell? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the end of the Second Age?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, of how they fled the Iron Tower after they freed the faerie queen Cessair, and of what dooms arose in the dark days of Calibration.”

* * * * *

Time passed in the dank of the cave. The spirits, tree and bear, grumbled and moaned softly through the slow hours. Worn down by travel and fatigue, Tepet Aekino curled into a ball in a nest of roots, covered himself with his cloak, and slept.

He slept, and he dreamed. He dreamed a sublime palace of alabaster and green chrysoprase, filled with a thousand wonders. Books and scrolls lay heaped with talking skulls and memory-stones; wolves of living copper capered with ribbons of jade fire. And at a table carved from a single sapphire, there sat the figure of a youth with hair of copper and eyes of all colors.

Aekino knew him, for he had studied the lore of sorcery, and he knew a demon when he saw one. The two greeted one another. The demon gestured to a chair of ivory and gold, offering repose.

“Thank you, Makarios,” said the Dynast in his dream. “Your palace is most sublime.”

“Thank you.” The demon youth smiled, and the dream-incense coiled lazily around him. “I see that you are learned in our ways; so we need not dawdle with explanations. I have a thing that may interest you.”

Aekino accepted the parchment from the demon. He turned it over in his hands; he could see what it was, but its details would not come clear. “This appears to be a map.”

“Indeed. I have drawn it forth from the skein of fantasies that coils through the airs of the Heptagram. It depicts a route to the edge of the world, where a book of power may be found. Or, more precisely, three books. I am sure you know of what I speak…”

“Why don’t you spell it out for me?” The sorcerer narrowed his eyes above his smile. “Just so that there will be no misunderstanding.”

“Of course. The first of the three books contains the spells of the Terrestrial Circle.” Makarios grinned with feline self-satisfaction. “The second contains the spells of the Celestial Circle, and the third contains the spells of the Solar Circle. I trust that you understand the nature of this thing?”

“Yes, I do. And what price do you ask for these books?”

“For the map, good Aekino, for the map… I require only three nights’ worth of dreams, from one upon whom you might place your sigil.”

Aekino sighed. The thing in question was truly a treasure beyond price. “But I cannot accept your offer… at least not at this time. I must consider it at length.”

“Of course.”

“It’s just a shame,” he added flirtatiously, “that I won’t remember your eyes.”

“You are kind,” said Makarios with equanimity. “And cleverer than your companions, I should think. But surely, that makes it all the easier to comprehend the value of what I offer.”

“This is true. Nonetheless, it seems improbable that you can grant me such a thing. Are there others with whom you have made such bargains, who have come away with that which they desired?”

Makarios raised a perfect metallic eyebrow. “Do you ask for references?”

“Yes.”

“I could give you some, but they are mostly long dead. It has been some time since someone attracted my attention.”

Aekino preened; he knew when he was being flattered, and enjoyed it. “Alas,” he replied, “that is not my only objection. Dreams are treacherous things, and the master of dreams must be treacherous indeed. I wish to cast no aspersions on your honor, but what guarantee do I have that you will uphold your end of the bargain? You are – and I mean no offense by this – a demon.”

“None taken. After all, you are a demon as well.” The demon-youth gestured vaguely, encompassing the massed treasures, the palace, or perhaps the world beyond its walls. “I thank you for your words, but I am not the master of dreams, and this… is not a dream.”

In the end, Aekino refused the offer. Makarios then informed him that there was another who would speak with him, and sent him through halls and corridors to a high tower, looking out over the demon city. There, a swarm of golden dragonflies entered through many windows, their wings glittering in the light of the green sun. The swarm became a gaunt white-haired woman, her eyes orbs of carved amber with insectile shapes locked within. He knew this for Langlaua, That Which Preserves, a demon prince of some power.

She brought him to a minaret that looked out, not on the demon city, but on a sprawling city beneath a blue sky, its streets teeming with people, its docks brimming with rainbow-sailed junks. This was the Imperial City, where incense rose from Immaculate temples and bells rang in the courtyards of Dynastic manors and citadels.

“This is your true home,” she said. “The body travels, but the heart remains.”

Aekino looked out with longing, but said nothing.

“This place, this Scarlet Empire, is doomed,” she said. “Destiny itself conspires against your home, your Realm, the society and civilization that you know. In the battles that are to come, that which you love shall change beyond recognition. But if I choose, I may lay my touch upon your Scarlet Realm, and it shall endure.”

“Your offer is vague.”

“I do not think so. But you shall have time to consider it, in dreams; for you shall not remember this in waking life. Come to me again, in dreams, for here I shall remain. I shall be waiting…”

* * * * *

Zera shook Aekino awake. The Dynast wiped his eyes, brushed away dirt and leaf-mould, as his friend said, “Wake up. We have company.”

The roots squirmed where they blocked the cave entrance. A small black shape squeezed in through that blue gap. As the entrance knotted itself shut once more, the visitor flapped its wings in the amber radiance that bathed the cave. It was a raven-spirit, its eyes alert.

It came, it said, from the Court of Secrets, and it bore tidings to the spirit Oakbrother who ruled the cave and some stretch of the woodland above. It spoke of a dark force moving upon the land, a foul stench of demons that gathered itself in two places: in the hills to the east, and to the west, in the city of Tul Tuin.

“I told you,” the bear-spirit grumbled to his tree-brother, “you should never have let them found that city.”

Aekino brooded over this news. Zera took it with greater poise; a fire lit behind his eyes. “We have done much evil,” said the ranger of Thorns. “It is time to counter some of that.”

The raven-spirit eyed Zera. “I have known this one,” it croaked. “He has spoken thus before.”

“Did you know me, in the time before?” demanded Zera. “Did you know Kuro the Raven?”

“You come from the same place and of the same flock,” it said cryptically. “Now I must fly, for there are others that must hear grim news.”

“Fly well,” said the tree-spirit, as it loosed the root-bindings and let the raven fly free.

There was some discussion amongst those in the cave, both Solars and spirits, as to what this meant, this gathering of dark forces, this invocation of Infernal power. Clearly this was a dreadful thing, though the spirits of the wild found the threat to the forest far more dire than that which loomed over the city of Tul Tuin.

“We do not have time for this,” grumbled the bear-spirit. It had merely stopped for a time on its way to a gathering of the Herb Court, and had no wish to become drawn into these events.

“Then I will say it plain,” Zera said. “I will banish this evil, or die trying.”

“Well, you’re in the mood for grand declarations,” the Dynast sarcastically noted. “Will you swear an oath?”

“You have my oath.”

Aekino groaned; he had only been jesting. “This binds us all!”

* * * * *

Muffled shouting penetrated the cave from outside. The tree-spirit leaned down. “Your soldiers,” it whispered, “they are here.”

“Anathema!” howled a voice from outside.

Aekino rose, stepped towards the root-barred entrance. “That’s Ledaal Rivander.”

Zera nodded grimly. He strung his bow with one swift motion. “Open the door.”

The tree-spirit shook its head. “Let there be no fighting in my home,” it moaned; and the cave entrance remained stubbornly closed.

“I have no quarrel with you!” shouted Rivander from outside. “But fire burns, and I will burn this whole forest down if you don’t open up!”

The roots unwound, and sunlight filtered in from above. The Solars peered out. The ravine floor lay only a few yards below; Rivander stood there, resplendent in a scarlet robe, encircled by soldiers clad in leather and bamboo. The general Shield Willow stood nearby, thin and lethal as a blade. Above, archers lined the far lip of the ravine.

Rivander peered up at them. “Come out and drop your weapons! I’ve been sent to take you alive!”

“Sure,” Zera replied, “I’ll give you my arrows, one at a time!”

“Shield Willow!” Aekino’s voice rang with sincerity. “Surely this is all just some misunderstanding?”

“Don’t be foolish, Lord Aekino,” replied that noble general curtly. “We know what you’ve done, what you’re responsible for. You will come before my lord Vir for judgment.”

Rivander shook his head at her. “These demons have great magic powers,” he said to her. “Don’t speak to them; they can cloud your mind with their words. Let me send a message that they’ll understand.” And with that, he flung two objects upward. They landed with meaty thumps inside the cave: the severed halves of the raccoon-spirit’s corpse, scorched by fire and pierced by blades.

“Come down,” barked Shield Willow. “Resist! Please!” laughed Ledaal Rivander.

Aekino made one last attempt at reason. “Do you not know of the demon in the wilderness?”

“Yes,” sneered Rivander. “I see you!”

* * * * *

Aekino and Zera put their heads together. Rivander ranted. Aekino nodded; Zera drew his bow.

With one smooth motion, Zera leaned out of the cave mouth and sent an arrow between Rivander’s legs, ripping through the crotch of his garments, its fletching tickling his nether parts. Rivander howled. And in a whirl of Essence, Aekino and Zera tumbled up along the ravine wall like spiders or feathers, eddying up amidst a clatter of poorly aimed arrows and spears.

At the top of the ravine, Aekino swung his staff a few times to sweep startled soldiers out of the way; then he and Zera bounded up into the treetops. As they leapt westward through the branches, Rivander crested the ravine’s edge, sparks zipping from his feet as he climbed upon air. Within moments, he was hot on the trail of his Solar quarry. Soldiers hollered at one another as they scurried overland in the Exalts’ wake.

The Sun’s children could not shake their pursuer. Zera’s arrows cut branches out from under him; he ran on air to catch the next branch. Zera shot Rivander with arrows; the Dragon-Blood deflected them with his bare hands. And still he followed.

“Did your father send you after us?” Aekino paused to shout at their pursuer. “Would he approve of this expedition of yours?”

“My father?” Rivander was incensed. Fire flew around him as he ran, setting yellowed leaves afire. “He is useless! A worthless old man, fit only to warm his seat and mumble in court! His Wyld Hunt is dead and gone. I will kill you myself!”

Arrows flickered back and forth through the trees. A couple of Tul Tuin scouts managed to keep pace with the Princes of the Earth, but their arrows were easily dodged or deflected by Aekino’s black jade staff, and Zera easily downed them when he returned their fire. But they distracted our heroes long enough for their master to close the distance. Even as Zera sank arrows into his flesh, Rivander landed on his branch and hit him three times, bruising and scorching the archer and almost tumbling him to the earth below.

A shower of leaves came down from above. Rivander looked up. Aekino fell upon him with the leaves, and struck him with his Havoc staff! Rivander tumbled to the earth! Reeling from the pummeling he’d just received, Zera caught his balance, then nailed the Dragon-Blood to the ground with an arrow through the arm. But more soldiers came into view at that moment, bows in hand; and our heroes turned and ran on through the trees.

“You can run!” roared Rivander at the fleeing branch-runners. “But you can never hide!”

* * * * *

Somewhere to the north, the young heroes Li of Orchid and Thorwald of Stonehold rested in their camp. Thorwald watched his comrade with a curious eye. She had told him of the blade named Burning Tiger, and of the strange bond that existed between them. For once, she had slept well; but the dreams that had haunted her sleep seemed now to have crossed into waking life. She would not touch the blade. It lay wrapped in bloodstained cloth at her side, for though she would not touch it, neither would she be parted from it.

As they rested, the elemental named Fourth Breeze came among them. It descended from the lower air, escorting two spirits into the presence of he who had once been his master.

The first of the spirits was a mighty thunderbird, cloaked in sparks and wind, its form melting from avian to human and back again. “I am Fanged Gasp!” it crackled. “And we have come here as emissaries.”

The second spirit took the shape of a green man with beard and hair of dripping emerald and gold moss. “Fanged Gasp speaks correctly,” it chuckled. “I am Two Hemlocks, and we come from the Spirit Courts of the East, from the Court of Five Winds and the Herb Court.”

Thorwald shook his head. “Emissaries come to see kings,” he replied. “And I am no king.”

“Why do you deny your power? Your power?” sparked Fanged Gasp, while Two Hemlocks added, “You are a Prince of the Earth, as are your companions. You are all kings of Creation.”

“Why do you come to us?” Thorwald bore his suspicions openly. “What do you want?”

“We are tied to these lands,” the tree-spirit replied, “and there is much amiss.”

The thunderbird shook its shifting head, and feathers eddied and swirled like mist in a wind. “We have come to take your measure, your measure!” it croaked. “We would know your purpose in these lands, these lands!”

The Zenith shrugged. “I have come to protect my brothers,” he said. “And to destroy the armies of the dead in Kaihan.”

“A blasphemous place!” Thunder rumbled as the storm-spirit spoke. “But do you want nothing for your own? Your own?”

“I want nothing.”

“You must want something! Something!” Thunder rumbled through the glade. “Care you for treasure? Or glory? Or to be a hero, saving the lives of mortals? Mortals?”

Thorwald laughed harshly. “I care not for the lives of others.”

“You care not about other life?! Other life!” The storm-spirit railed at Thorwald, pressing him for some other answer, some explanation of what drove him, of what he really wanted. But the northman stood firm in his bloody-minded refusal. So Fanged Gasp turned to its fellow emissary. “Gauge him,” it said, “and the silent one,” indicating Li. “She speaks not.”

Two Hemlocks nodded. “It is that silence I respect.”

In her own soft manner, Li spoke. “There are dark things in this world. Demons and the walking dead. They must be defeated.”

Two Hemlocks smirked at its comrade: “You see, they do have goals.” This only served to further irritate the storm-spirit: “They did not say it when I asked him!”

Fetek returned from his scouting. He regarded the spirits with a cool eye. “Who are your friends?” he asked Thorwald.

Fanged Gasp sputtered. “We are not friends!”

Thorwald shrugged. “Tell this Last Gasp –”

“It is Fanged Gasp!”

“Last Gasp will be your name –”

The others intervened to prevent a brawl.

* * * * *

“So will you not drive off the demons of the wood?” The spirits had explained how dark powers gathered to the west, over Tul Tuin, and to the east, over the woods and hills. Fanged Gasp frothed over the Solars’ stubbornness. “Will you not do battle? Do battle?”

Thorwald spoke. “I only fight to honor my ancestors. I care nothing for others. All these people, these city folk – they are weak!” He shook his head, exasperated by the entire discussion. “There is no goal to be had in this empty world. There is no meaning. There is only honor, and the keeping of one’s word. That is all.”

“And what of you, swordswoman?”

Li shrugged, her face in repose. “My brother speaks for me.”

* * * * *

Defeated at last by Thorwald’s obduracy and Li’s silence, the spirit emissaries departed, returning to the Herb Court and the Court of Five Winds. Our heroes sat in silence for a time amidst the sounds and smells of night, watching their small fire dance.

“We have let ourselves grow distracted,” said Li into the quiet, “set away from the course we have meant to take.”

Fetek scratched his scruffy chin. He had missed much of the debate between the Solars and the spirits, but he found it easy to prioritize those parts that he had heard. “Did they mention a demon in the forest?”

“Perhaps.” Thorwald sat as stolid as a stone. “It means nothing to me. I do not care what happens to the world.”

The Lunar observed him with a skeptical eye. “You are more like my siblings,” he said, “than you would like to admit.”

The northman scowled. He prodded the fire with a stick. Sparks flew upward. “Why do you travel with us, Fetek?”

“Because I am curious. You are unique in the world. The spirits sang of your coming, and your passing causes ripples in Creation wherever you go.”

“It should not be that way.”

“Whether or not it should, that is the way it is.”

* * * * *

“Did they ever say what they wanted?” Fetek asked.

“To destroy the demon, I expect.” Li’s golden swords blazed through the glade as she practiced, cutting at shadows. Her wounds were healing with remarkable speed. The daiklave Blazing Tiger lay wrapped in her cloak. She still would not touch the thing without need.

“The spirits want the unity that Blessed Wind once brought,” said Thorwald. “But it brings nothing but sorrow.”

“If so,” Fetek inquired, “why seek it?”

Calmly, Li slashed at the darkness. “Even mortal men seek that which makes them sorry.”

Thorwald nodded. “This is true.”

* * * * *

Aekino and Zera had pressed eastward for hours. They had lost their pursuers amidst the soaring trees, the tangled thickets, the ridges and gullies and tumbling streams of the wild lands that lay east and northeast of Tul Tuin. They camped amid the snarled branches of a fallen tree. At Aekino’s insistence, Zera consented to a few hours of sleep.

And as Zera slept, he dreamed; and as with his comrades before him, his dream brought him to the palace of Makarios. There he walked among the racks of shimmering bows and glittering blades, the display cases strewn with jeweled keys and rune-carved manacles, until he reached the sapphire table where the demon merchant awaited him.

“Here is a thing,” said the merchant after introductions were exchanged, “that I believe you will find most interesting.” He brought forth a box carved from sleek black jade, and opened it to reveal a phial brimming with some luminous fluid. “It is a liquid distilled from the dreams of a desert people and their memories of the sun. It has two properties: that of healing the sickness of the living, and that of bringing harm upon the dead.”

“And what price do you place on this treasure, oh demon?” Zera’s face bore a dubious expression.

“I require only that you place my mark upon the head of a dreamer, to provide me with three nights’ worth of dreams. Three nights only, and you may give me your own dreams, or those of another. Perhaps your friend the swordswoman, whose dreams seem to trouble her; or perhaps the dreams of a stranger. It matters not.”

“And how will I get hold of it, if I agree? Will it just appear?”

“It will appear somewhere convenient. Perhaps in your pouch, or before you, as you emerge from sleep. It will be unmistakable.” The demon offered a charming smile. “I will even throw in the box.”

“It’s tempting,” the archer observed, “but it’s too much of a gamble. The house always wins.”

Makarios bridled. “I am a merchant,” he replied smoothly. “If I sell, I win. When you buy an orange on the street, is that a gamble?”

“Perhaps not.” Zera came to a decision. “Very well, I accept your terms. Done.”

“When you wake, all knowledge of my sigil shall come to you. As I have said, you may give it to anyone.”

Zera pointed to his own forehead. “It will be mine.”

* * * * *

“There is another who would speak with you,” said the demon merchant. He showed Zera to a door. The door led to a stair, one that climbed high amidst galleries and towers. This brought him to a pale minaret that loomed above a convoluted landscape of brass and basalt, high above the seething hordes that pulsed through the streets and corridors of the demon city, all bathed in the light of the green metal sun.

“Greetings.”

Zera wheeled at the sound of that warm, amused voice. The speaker leaned rakishly against the parapet. His hair was auburn, his eyes burning emeralds. Each and every ornament in his panoply of brass drew the eye with the stridency of a mountain of jade, or a beautiful woman, or a sword pointed at the heart. He bowed ironically.

“I am Ligier,” he said. “Welcome to my city. Please, make yourself comfortable. I have a proposal that you may find… agreeable.”

* * * * *

Aekino and Zera continued on to the east. The raven-spirit found them; it guided them; and as light and dark passed them by, they met with their comrades in the eastern hills. Li, Thorwald and Fetek had chosen to stop the evil from entering the world, and they agreed that they would stop it in the wooded hills, for they cared more for the spirits of the wood than for the folk of the city, and they deemed that the Dragon-Blooded master of Tul Tuin could handle his own problems.

Our heroes rejoiced to be reunited. They embraced, then spoke of their shared mission: to cast back the demons that would intrude upon the wholesome green reaches of Creation. They cast sympathetic eyes upon Li, learning as they did of how she was haunted by her new blade. But they had little time to think. They shouldered their gear and pressed on into the night.

It was the hour before midnight, on the last night of Calibration. They could feel the shadow of Infernal power rising like an oily tide. Ahead lay a ridge where sentries stood silhouetted against a fiery glow. In a trice, Zera’s arrows cleared the sentinels away. Aekino gripped his staff; Li drew the blade named Burning Tiger. Our heroes climbed to the top of the rise, and looked down.

They looked down into a hollow carved out of nightmare. Demonic figures cavorted amidst gnarled brazen trees and stands of black stone. Dark, greasy pools bubbled and rippled with unnatural patterns. At the center of the declivity, there stood a ring of menhirs to which cowering captives were tied. Hooded figures circled, chanting around an old man tied to an altar. The air twisted above that altar as something unholy tried to claw its way into the world.

Burning Tiger caught fire in Li’s hands. Flame filled her, obliterating thought. She charged down into the valley, where the demons waited. Her friends could do nothing but follow.

* * * * *

Mother Cypress speaks:
“In the city of Tul Tuin, deep within the Tower of Winds, the lord Ledaal Vir wiped the blood from his hands and turned away from the ruined thing that had once been a thief. The Violet Mask Brotherhood had risen up in a wave of assassination and mayhem, distracting his patrols at this crucial moment when dark forces threatened his city. But it was almost too late. He climbed the stair to his own chambers, stepped onto the balcony, and looked out over his city. Fires blazed through the night. Banners of smoke rose up to swallow the stars.

“And in catacombs carved out beneath the city, in deep places forgotten by those above, robed figures chanted the names of their ancient gods, the Yozis and demons that had once ruled Creation, who might yet rule again. Their instruments of black metal, knives and staves and runes, blazed with a terrible potency. And in the ritual chamber, men and women and children lay chained to slabs of stone, feeling the cold edges of the grooves along which sacrificial blood was to flow, and they prayed for deliverance. But that deliverance was not to come…”

Quendalon

03-01-2004, 12:04 PM

Li knew that Burning Tiger had come to her because it was the will of Heaven. There could be no other explanation, just as there was no other explanation for why four Solar Exalted who had been one Circle in the First Age would find each other again from across the width and breadth of Creation.

That didn't make it any easier, of course. It was a terrible burden, this tremendous ancient daiklave. Though it was feather-light in her hands, it weighed on her mind and her spirit incessantly. Her nightmares were gone but only because they had been realized in the waking world.

The battlefield no longer held the peace it once had for her. Li now wondered if that peace had ever truly existed, or if she had deceived herself. She had thought of herself as the eye of a storm, the placid core of a raging maelstrom. But had it all been illusion? When she took up Burning Tiger, she had hunted and killed the Dragon-Bloods to the last man. Would it have been any different without the sword?

She knew she had to master the fury of the sword and of the long-dead Katsuro. There was no other choice for her; the hunger for death that took her over every time she grasped its hilt was a challenge to everything she was. She would bring Burning Tiger to heel or she would die as its slave.

In a strange way she found she loved the ancient, bloody weapon. She hated it too, but it was inextricably part of her now. She would no more abandon it than she would her brothers.

All these things passed through Li of Orchid's mind even as her body moved, practically of its own volition. Burning Tiger blazed in her hands and below her, the valley was filled with demons.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, as she raised the daiklave, these things are pointless. Perhaps I will die here, now, and be free of concerns such as these until my next incarnation. That would certainly be easier.

She banished the weakness from her mind; she would not allow herself an easy solution. She intended to win here.

She charged.

Quendalon

03-02-2004, 11:56 AM

It was a rare moment when he and his entire Circle seemed resolved to a task in thought and in deed, but this was such a moment. As Thorvald stared down at the demon horde in front of them, he knew there was no other choice. It was fight or die. More than likely it was fight AND die.

The jade sword flew to his hand, its weight not so burdensome as in the past. He stared down at the broken shapes below him and the twisted form of the thing in the center.

These things must die. This we can at least agree on. This we can at least ALL agree on. They call us Anathema but these are the true Anathema!

As ever, Li charged first. But he was not far behind.

* * * * *

“DEMON!!!” They screamed at him as they fell back.

Thorvald turned and his jaw dropped. The figure that stood in the town hall was not the man he once knew. Sarl Bright Eyes was young, handsome and cocky with dancing honey colored eyes and it was only those eyes that gave way his true identity, though they danced no more. The rest of him was worse, his golden hair had turned white, his face once fair was darkened and lined with wrinkles and his oft-smug countenance lined with a confused terror.

“It is Sarl!!” Someone else cried but then the breath caught in his throat and he stepped back.

Thorvald was the first to make his way through the crowd of retreating villagers, his iron sword was out and pointed at the stumbling figure of Sarl Brighteyes. As the villagers pulled back, Sarl looked at them with eyes that seemed to not see what was happening around him. He has no idea where he is. Thorvald realized as he saw Sarl stop a few steps from the well. He had the look of a man woken from a dream and not sure if what he was seeing was real or not.

“He is touched by the Fair Folk,Thorvald!” Rak the Horsekeeper warned. “Be careful!”

At this others began to murmur. “He is cursed.” One man said and others began to take up the cry in hushed whispers. Cursed, Bewitched, Anathema. Soon everyone was whispering as Sarl held his hands up and stared at them as he was seeing them for the first time.

Thorvald was within 10 paces when all of a sudden Sarl’s head jerked up and his eyes bored straight into him. Those golden eyes, once full of insolent mischief were now hollow yet possessed of an intensity that they never knew in life.

“Thorvald…” He spoke his voice sounding like stones grating together. “Thorvald….what is happening. Where are they?”

Thorvald said nothing. He merely pointed his sword at Sarl and held it there. Only now he noticed the extent of the young ranger’s ordeal. He was cut on the arms and face and bruised probably from a fall and his clothes were in tatters. Already he could see the blue at the ends of his fingers for he had lost his gloves. The cold had already started to kill him. It was no wonder. His patrol was overdue a fortnight and he was the only man to return. How he survived was a mystery.

But it was no mystery to the others. The whispers of Anathema and Cursed were even quieter than when they started but no less powerful. Thorvald stared at Sarl, or rather the thing Sarl became and held his sword out in front of him.

Perhaps he is just hurt. How he survived is a mystery but it is not impossible. A man might survive if he had the will. I should give him the test of cold iron.

But to do so he would have to let the thing inside his reach, if Sarl was indeed tainted that small distance could be the difference between life and death.

The shouts continued.

“Thorvald, strike him down! Don’t wait!!” Therjak the sheeptender called out. “He is possessed.”

Sarl! A voice cried out from within. It is NO creature it is Sarl! And almost as if to confirm this, the figure in front of him stretched a trembling hand out towards him, ice hung off his arm and it seemed as if even his fingernails were thin sheets of ice.

Without thinking, Thorvald struck.His greatsword clove Sarl from shoulder to sternum and he fell to his knees. Before he died, he looked up at Thorvald with a look of mild surprise that was more a look one gave a man who he bumped into accidentally than to man who had just shoved a sword in his gut. The look was there only for an instant before Sarl’s eyes fluttered and he fell back, his legs twitching once before he died. Thorvald pulled his blade from the body of Sarl, for he knew now that it was Sarl and for a moment all that could be heard was the wind, a distant eagle and the sound of steel grating against bone. Several dogs came forward and sniffed at the corpse.

The dogs... Thorvald realized looking at the body. The dogs were not barking. Why didn’t I listen?

He did not know how much time passed before other rangers were there weapons in hand. The other fighting men were in the longhouse when it all happened. When they ran up and saw the scene they shouldered past the anxious villagers who were telling their accounts of the demon slaying and came to him. The body was shortly borne away and he answered all questions as best he could. When it was all said and done there was a quick burning, stern talk of the importance of vigilance and a clap on his back for a job well done.

That night, Thorvald brooded. He sat in the longhouse alone staring into the dying embers of the fire in one of the outer hearths. Earlier he had gone to his uncle to voice his doubts but his uncle dismissed them as easily as he would dismiss him as a child when he would ask for something foolish.

“It seems that Sarl was not tainted.” He spoke his voice as ever was gruff and his words blunt. “But what of it? If you tested him and he WAS tainted it might have been YOU burned along with him and the dead gods knows who else. You erred, but anyone else would have made the same error in your place.”

“Even my father?” Thorvald had asked.

Something strange passed in his uncles eyes and his countenance grew stern. “Your father…” He began. “…your father Thorvald would have killed him even if he KNEW he was untainted.”

“But…”

“You saw him yourself Thorvald. Whatever happened in those mountains had broken him. He may have survived yes, but his mind was gone. He was a walking deadman though his heart still beat. You did him a mercy boy. No one will hold it against you.”

And his uncle was right. Not only did no one blame him for Sarl’s death, almost everyone still believed that he WAS somehow touched by the Fair Folk or possessed. Only the other rangers knew the truth and they dismissed it as little more than an unfortunate accident “Some truths,” His uncle told him putting his hand up on his shoulder “Some truths only a warrior can embrace.”

But this thought did not comfort him. Thorvald stared into the fire and saw Sarl’s face in the flames. What had happened to him up in those mountains to make him old and destroy his spirit? Sarl was a mischievous, thieving, fool who thought more about sticking his cock in virgin daughters than he did in ticking his sword in the bellies of the Fair Folk. He was selfish, prankish, irritating and there were many nights when he had to run for his life after he went one insult too far. Once Thorvald lifted him bodily and hurled him down the steps of the hall after he caught him cheating at Iron and Stones. The fall broke three of his ribs and his arm but not long after he was taken to the wise woman and patched up, Sarl limped back into the longhouse made a jest about the perils of gambling and resumed playing like nothing happened. The man who came back from the mountains was nothing like him. Thorvald knew that the longhouse would be a more quiet, subdued place without his jests, bawdy songs and ingratiating smile.

I knew… Thorvald thought gritting his teeth. I knew in my heart he was not taken. Why did I kill him? Why didn’t I trust my instincts?

He remembered then the eyes. The people hiding behind him, waiting for him…wanting for him to strike Sarl down, the curses of anathema that ran through the crowd. And in an instant he realized the truth.

I did what was expected. I did what was expected but not what was right. In the heat of the moment I did not want to weigh my judgment against the wishes of my people. They were convinced he was taken and so was I. He angrily hurled a chip of a fire log into the hearth and saw as the fire crackled and spit flecks of dust into the air.

Never again… Thorvald swore. Never again will I let my eyes see a demon where a man stands.

Or a man where a demon stands… the flames seemed to say as the hearthfire kept him company through the cold night.

YerMum

03-03-2004, 02:50 AM

no point trying to decide which character is coolest, they're ALL rockin!

I'll have to have the kill bill soundtrack on when I read the writeup of the battle tho :D

Quendalon

03-07-2004, 10:01 AM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Welcome, my little starlings. You have come for another story. What tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of how Yalen of Greenwheel sold his sister to the Walker in Darkness for lore and power, and of how she returned ten years later as a deathknight to extract her revenge upon him? No? Would you rather hear the tale of how the demon Janequin rebelled against her master, how she fled to Creation to live among mortals, and of what stratagems her master used to regain her loyalties? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s own children, and of the turning of the Age?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of how they did battle with demons on the last night of Calibration.”

Our heroes hurled themselves into battle. Li leapt down the slope, she and her sword howling in unison, and Thorwald followed in her wake. Golden fires blazed around Aekino as he called forth the Death of Obsidian Butterflies, which he sent out along his comrades’ flank, shredding flesh and shattering bone in a glittering swath of devastation.

Fetek and Zera ran leftward along the ridge, eliminating an additional pair of sentries. They watched as demons streamed away from their end of the valley, towards where Li and Thorwald had plunged into the midst of a demon swarm. Fetek peered into the valley with the eyes of Luna. Then he reeled back, and stood stunned for a long moment by what he saw. A vortex of malignant Essence spiraled up from the circle of stones at the center of the valley, forming a tunnel; and at the far end of that tunnel, he could see the twisted forms of the demon world, foremost among them a demonic shape that pulled and tore at his mind, one that clawed at the fabric of the world, struggling to break through.

Fetek shook his head to clear it. He waved away Zera’s questions and offers of aid. And as golden fires flared around Li and Thorwald, sending the demons reeling in confusion, Fetek charged forward into the near-empty stretch of slope beneath. Golden bolts of solar Essence leapt in profusion from Zera’s bow to clear the way.

Seen up close, many of the defenders proved to be human. Accoutered as bandits and soldiers and militia, each wore a living helmet: an iridescent demon-creature, half beetle and half octopus, whose tentacles penetrated their hosts through ears, nostrils, mouths, or even through holes that pierced the neck and throat. These were the most numerous of the defenders, but also the weakest, and they fell in waves before Zera’s blazing arrows and Li and Thorwald’s swords.

Other foes proved more puissant. Gnarled, twisted elementals lashed out with brazen branches and fists of black stone. Spiders pulsed with vivid, shimmering colors as they skittered across folded space. Cowled shapes ebbed and surged, their waxen bodies melting and reforming around the Solars’ blades. One lashed out with a pale, glittering tentacle that wrapped around Li’s throat, but a few cuts from Burning Tiger set it aflame. A pillar of fire, it thrashed away into the night.

In the midst of the press, Li spotted the hulking figure that bore a green spear. She cut her way through to him. He laughed; green fire blazed from his eyes. It was Urei, one of the survivors of Rei’s band of demon hunters, but he was no longer himself, for the spear ruled him.

“At last,” he laughed in a voice not his own. “It is the Solar Exalted. But you are too little, too late.”

She did not speak, for in that moment, she knew nothing but the fury of the sword. She cut at him, the air shrieking as she tore it asunder, but the green spear turned the sword aside. Then the spear flashed forward, and blood bubbled from Li’s mouth as the demon-weapon pierced her lung.

The three heroes encircled the wielder of the green spear, and the demons and elementals drew back from the duel. Essence blazed as Li employed ‘Hummingbird Takes Flight,’ but the demon spear turned it aside with ease, as it turned aside Thorwald’s sword and Aekino’s spear. Then it struck through Li’s belly. She doubled over, coughing up gore.

The demon spear laughed through Urei’s mouth. A shadow of the man showed through his eyes then, full of human fear and pain, for an instant before the green fires returned. But that instant was enough. Li roared with blood fury; Burning Tiger screamed against the night. In a flare of blinding Essence, they sheared Urei’s arms away at the elbow. The green fire faded from his eyes. He fell to his knees as blood spurted from his stumps. He moaned; he screamed. “Help me.”

Li ignored his plight; her bloodlust showed only that he was no longer a threat, and she turned her efforts to hacking at the fallen spear. Thorwald inclined his head in acknowledgement of a fallen ally and fallen foe. With a single blow he severed Urei’s head, ending his suffering. Aekino looked away.

The swordswoman from Orchid howled as she chopped at the spear of green light where it lay upon the blood- and ichor-stained earth. Green and gold sparks spat forth where her sword struck the spear. The spear whined and twitched. Then it shot away, streaking up the slope and then into the sky, where it struck the clouds in a spreading scarlet stain.

The demons that ringed our heroes hesitated for but a moment as their champion fled. Then they drew closer, and a wave of dark shapes closed around the light.

Fetek, for his part, charged through the demons before him and into the ring of stones. At its center, four cowled figures stood chanting around a stone altar, upon which there lay a drugged-looking old man. The chanters paid him no mind, dedicated as they were to opening the path for their master. But a weighty shape loomed out of the dark to interpose itself between the Lunar and the infernalists. Gray as granite, the demon rode upon her own shadow as if it were a horse. Shadow flowed up her body to form black mail, congealed in her hands as hammer and axe of darkness. This was Sekai, the Shadow-Rider, and Fetek reeled back under the force of her blows.

While the two struggled, Zera slipped past and into the circle of stones. He hesitated, overwhelmed by choices: should he aid Fetek against the demon? Should he strike down the four chanters at the altar? Or should he free those tied to the stones as sacrifices? He chose the latter path, and moved from stone to stone, slicing away ropes. He saw that two were Dragon-Blooded by the elemental coronas that whirled around them as they strained at their bonds. One, a young boy, helplessly spattered Zera with spinning sand and pebbles; the other, a girl cloaked in a wind of green leaves, smote Zera on the back of the head with a stick when his back was turned.

“Ow!” Zera roared at the girl over the chanting and the howls of battle. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to help you?” Her eyes wide with fear, she only clutched the stick tighter as she backed away. And Fetek flew past him, hurled by the demoness Sekai, and struck one of the upright stones with a bone-jarring thud.

The archer from Thorns edged away from the demoness. He dodged this way and that. He flipped back and up, landing atop a stone; and as Fetek leapt for Sekai’s throat with a roar, Zera decided to end things quickly; he chose the foremost of the chanters in the circle, whose flesh gleamed with silvery spines and who bore a great open book, and shot an arrow at her throat.

Something fleshy boiled up from the collar of her garment and covered the woman’s throat, and the arrow shattered against it. She coughed, swayed, and then continued chanting. “Crap,” said Zera.

Corrupted elementals rained blows down upon Li and Thorwald and Aekino. Aekino laughed as his skin shimmered with golden light, the power of the Sun armoring him, and allowed his foes to strike him. He refused to admit weakness even when his ribs cracked under the weight of stony fists. Aekino lashed out about him with his black jade staff, Havoc in the Dragon Palace, and its blows echoed with the sound of thunder. But black stone fists bruised him and corroded brass leaves slashed him, until he had no choice but to dodge and evade those who attacked him. And Li coughed up blood even as she parried and struck.

Then the spirit Fourth Breeze descended among them, a blade of lightning and ice in its hand, to fight at their side. “Master,” it said to Thorwald, “the spirits of wind and leaf have come. They are ready to aid you in this battle. There will be a price; but if you say the word, they will come.”

“Then let them come!” Thorwald, who not long before had refused to treat with the spirits, now roared his demands to the sky. “Let them do battle with our ancient enemies!”

And the spirits came.

The thunderbird Fanged Gasp descended from the clouds, and the fires of the storm swirled around him like Heaven’s own blazing banners. Elementals and small gods fell like divine rain, and the demons fell back under their withering onslaught. The agatae were torn from the sky and fell like crushed flowers. Demons and warped elementals wrestled with the servants of the winds. Spirits of secrets flowed among the shadows and pounced upon demons. The woodlands themselves seemed to move, to overflow the ridges and pour down into the valley like a green tide. Two figures in scarlet armor followed them like feathers on a breeze, surrounded by auras of ruby and topaz, and demons fell around them.

The demons pulled away from our heroes as they battled this new threat. Li turned, looking for foes, and her eyes lit upon Thorwald. Her eyes blazed with the fire of bloodlust… but she mastered herself, and the fires died. She lowered Burning Tiger’s point to the earth.

Aekino pointed to the circle of stones. Thorwald nodded. “Let’s go.”

As they ran across the ruined vale, pursued by the two in scarlet armor, Zera shot the lead chanter in the head. Her head snapped back, but again, the fleshy armor that underlay her garments poured up to protect her. When it withdrew, her cowl had fallen back, revealing the demonic mark that pulsed and squirmed upon her brow. Zera frowned.

Fetek grappled the shadow-rider and flung her outside the circle, there to deal with the wind-spirits that had arrived. He then leapt across the altar to eviscerate three of the chanters. Blood arced in all directions.

The leader of the infernalists continued to chant. “Urnammu!” she screamed into the wind. “Crushing Weight of Shadows! I open the way! Come to us!” Zera squinted, shifted his aim. He shot the book. It screamed! Blood spurted from the book; the infernalist dropped it. She tried to continue the summoning, but the power was no longer within her grasp. The dark vortex above her tottered. The air throbbed as a dark presence made one final effort to push its way into the world… and failed. The vortex collapsed, as did she.

Fetek leapt for her throat. She pulled moonsilver needles from her flesh and flung them, space twisting around them so their path could not be blocked. Fetek’s blow tore cloth from her torso, and a bit of blood, revealing the perronelle-demon that still served her as living armor.

Li and Thorwald and Aekino joined their brothers in the circle, illuminating it with the blinding fires of their animas. They closed in on the ritualist, but the demoness Sekai leapt in before them. The infernalist climbed up upon Sekai’s shadow, and the pair bounded off into the night. The pair in red armor burst through the circle in pursuit.

Our heroes stood there for a time, panting and nursing their wounds.

They spotted the mysterious red-armored figures returning, their animas glowing like jewels. Aekino went out to meet them, to greet them and thank them for their aid, and (hopefully!) to learn who they were. His comrades followed in his wake. He spread his arms in a gesture of peace, and opened his mouth to speak.

The first of the red-clad ones raised its swords. Realizing his peril too late, Aekino started to lift his own staff in defense, but the figure moved too swiftly, more swiftly even than Li. He stared at the gleam of his own anima upon the deadly blades, and knew that he would die.

But a staff did block that death-blow. The other red-clad figure had parried with the same blinding speed, driving the swords into the dirt. The two regarded one another, and an unspoken communication passed between them.

Aekino sputtered, his mind in turmoil as panic surfaced and sank in an instant. He found words. “On your way here, you seemed to be on the side of Creation.”

The second figure nodded. “Yes,” it said. “This once, a respite.” It pointed to the circle of stones, site of the broken ritual. “For this.”

Aekino nodded, his mouth dry. “Thank you,” he said. “But –”

Before he could speak further, the two figures had vanished into the dark. They were visible for a moment only as motes of light, yellow and red, climbing and cresting the valley ridge; and then they were gone.

* * * * *

Our heroes watched as the small gods and elementals of wind, wood and secrets finished off the demons that had guarded the rite, thankful that no true battle-demons had stood against them there. They cut the old man free of the altar, noting by the bluish cast of his skin that he must be an Air Aspect of notable age; they offered food to the Earth Aspect boy, who took it and ran off into the dark.

They picked up the old man and carried him off. They sought some place of safety to camp for the night. Thorwald looked around at the ruins around them, the black stone and brass, the blood and ichor, the bodies of demons and wind-spirits slain in the fray. He looked up at the black overcast. “What we need now,” he observed in his gravely voice, “is some rain, to cleanse this place.”

Within seconds, a light rain started to fall, its cool wetness wiping away the vale’s unwholesome warmth. Aekino peered upward sourly. “Convenient,” he said.

They made their way across the field of dead. Finding dead Urei, Li leant down to close the man’s eyes. Thorwald muttered something about the poor fellow’s soul; he called upon the power of the Sun, and set the corpse afire and the dead soul free.

They moved on. Climbing the ridge, Aekino nudged Li. “Why did you look like you saw a ghost, there at the end?”

Li recollected the face of the infernalist in that last moment of battle, distorted as it was by fury and spines of moonsilver. “I recognized Darien Tal’s daughter.”

“Ah.” The Dynast mulled that over. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“Yes,” observed Zera, drifting up behind them. “We must go back to Tul Tuin.”

Elemental

03-07-2004, 05:12 PM

WOW.

I'm lost for words. So just assume I give you some gushing and effusive praise in this post.

YerMum

03-08-2004, 01:48 AM

bounce bounce bounce bounce!

Sparrowhawk

03-08-2004, 04:23 PM

That was extremely cool. I'm struck wordless by the whole thing. Good job!

Ranko

03-09-2004, 09:06 AM

I am back to my hit and post tactics here. But I watch very carefully if your thread has any new posts.

Do I need to say anything more?

Yes, I do - next!

Quendalon

03-09-2004, 01:17 PM

Thank you all for the praise! I should probably say something about how most of the praise is owed to my players, but I'll take all the credit instead, because I have no shame. :)

There are no player submissions in the pipeline, except possibly for the Thorwald/Strephon dream sequence from session 18. I'm working on the summary for session 21 right now. With luck, it'll go up today or tomorrow. Note that it contains a scene that's kinda sorta borderline R-rated. For those what likes their music, the scene in question was played to the sound of Flying Saucer Attack's "Dust."

- Eric

ZeraThisse

03-09-2004, 01:52 PM

I say this in my defense - what you are about to read wasn't my player's fault. Faerie Queens are pure, black, unadulterated evil. Especially when they bring a friend.

And the praise does indeed belong to Quendalon. He is a rockin' ST.

Ranko

03-09-2004, 11:34 PM

When I say this, I bet I say it for a lot of others (and witha tear or twenty in my eye):
I wannna play withyouguys!!!

YerMum

03-10-2004, 02:38 AM

Originally posted by ZeraThisse
I say this in my defense - what you are about to read wasn't my player's fault. Faerie Queens are pure, black, unadulterated evil. Especially when they bring a friend.

And the praise does indeed belong to Quendalon. He is a rockin' ST.

don't I know it, we've just spent a few weeks trying to deprogram one of our circle, at least we caught her when she was *ahem* vulnerable and didn't give her a chance to defend herself... mutter mutter mutter damn them there fae!

Quendalon

03-10-2004, 12:08 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Welcome, my little nestlings. I see you’re here for a tale. What would you hear of tonight? Would you hear the tale of Benjala Buran, who fell in love with a cloud-spirit as he watched the skies one summer’s day? Would you hear of how he battled with Heaven to preserve his lover beyond her natural span? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of the dawn of the new Age?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the children of the Sun, of where they went and what they did in the new year.”

* * * * *

The Sun’s children rested in their camp on the first day of the new year. They kept watch against such demons as might have survived the previous night’s doings, and sought to recover their strength. Thorwald prodded at his cracked ribs, and Li helped pick corroded leaves of brass out of Aekino’s lacerated back. The old Dragon-Blood they’d rescued from the altar lay curled in a corner, recuperating from his drugged stupor.

A silver-eyed eagle settled upon a stone. It changed shape, became Fetek. He looked glum. “Tul Tuin is, as predicted, a smoking ruin.” He told them of the alien architecture of black stone and brass that had spread across the slopes below the Tower of Winds, of the cinders and wreckage strewn through the lower quarters, of the mortals that still lingered in those quarters and the demons that crawled, walked, fluttered and flapped amidst the streets and battlements of the intruding demon towers.

Zera regarded his comrades. “What now?”

“We still need to go to Idris,” said Aekino sourly, “to fulfill our obligations.”

“Sadly,” Fetek observed, “the faerie queen is our only ally.”

Aekino nodded. “And her daughter.”

“By rights, we should send word to the Blessed Isle,” Fetek added, though his dubious expression belied his words. Zera laughed.

Our heroes discussed their options for a time. Where should they go next, and what plans should they try? Some wished to press on into Kaihan and retrieve their grave goods; others proposed to attack the demons in Tul Tuin immediately. But Zera’s opinion ruled the day; he proposed to go to Idris and force the queen of that place to fulfill her end of their bargain, to provide the aid promised them in exchange for freeing her mother, the faerie Cessair.

Eventually, the old Dragon-Blood awoke. He proved cranky. He asked questions. Aekino sought to lull him with half-answers, describing how they’d lucked onto the infernal ritual and freed him. The old man asked how they’d opposed demons on their own, and why they’d dared; Aekino prattled on about the aid they’d received from the spirits and elementals of wind and wood.

“Child,” said the Dragon-Blood, “don’t mince words with me. I am many centuries older than you. Tell me what is really going on.”

Zera smirked. “Yes, Aekino,” he said snidely, earning some black looks, “he is many centuries older than you. Don’t mince words with him.”

Thorwald spoke up. “We are demon hunters, old man.”

The others built on the half-truth, spinning a yarn that proved agreeable enough to the old man. He told them that his name was Master Ro, and spoke of how he’d been ambushed in his manse, the Well of Ashes, a month ago and held prisoner by the demon cult. He offered them wealth and magic if they would help him clear out any demons or other usurpers who might have moved into the manse in his absence; but as their route to Idris took them northward and the manse lay to the south, they turned him down.

They traveled on for the next day, albeit slowed by their many injuries. They stopped briefly in a village to obtain arrows and trail rations. They continued on toward Idris, sticking to the edge of the forest, passing blot-stones still crusted with sacrifices of milk, honey and blood, watching fields and farmhouses through a screen of trees.

Zera drew Li aside to ‘scout.’ He whispered in her ear: “Li, this troubles me. I want to get your advice. He is an old Dragon-Blooded, yes?”

“Yes.”

“He will discover our identity sooner or later. We will be forced to do battle with demons, or Forty-Four Devil Blossoms, and our caste marks will be revealed.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“This is madness.” Zera kicked at the undergrowth. “If we want to have any chance of gaining his trust, or even of getting through this without having to kill the old fool, we’re going to have to tell him before he figures it out on his own.”

“Are you sure this is wise?”

“It is prudent. We did save his life. I think he has the right to know.”

Li regarded the sunlight as it slanted through the trees. “You aren’t going to ask Thorwald and Aekino?”

“How? Will I take everyone out ‘scouting’?” He spat.

When they made camp for the evening, and Master Ro went to the nearby brook to perform his ablutions, Zera addressed his comrades: “I spoke to Li, and she agrees. Li… she has a grand daiklave on her back. This Dragon-Blood is old and wise, to have lived so long. He will see what we are, and it would be best for us to show him ourselves.”

“And what if he cuts our throats in the night?” Thorwald demanded.

“He must have a clue by now, and he hasn’t slit our throats yet.”

“It is a waste of time trying to deceive him,” stated Fetek, and the others agreed. So they waited until the freshly scrubbed Master Ro returned, and then they told him.

* * * * *

Master Ro took things reasonably well. There was some confusion around this, as it took our heroes some time to grasp the fact that Ro was not a Dynast; he had never seen the Blessed Isle, nor studied the lore of the Immaculate Order. His discomfort around the Anathema paled in comparison to his distaste for the Fair Folk. Upon learning of Cessair’s release, he balked at traveling to Idris, and only consented to accompany our heroes after much persuasion.

The elder Dragon-Blood also showed little interest in the demonic infestation of Tul Tuin. Aekino glared at him. “How can you be so disinterested?” he barked. “These are your own people!”

“They are not my people,” Ro pouted. “I already told you, I’m not a Dynast. I’m from Halta.”

“Bah! Excuses!” grumbled Thorwald. “You southerners have no sense of community.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The Dragon-Blood glared crankily. “I said I’m from Halta. That’s in the North.”

Thorwald grinned. “You are all southerners to me.”

* * * * *

While the others harangued Master Ro, Fetek quietly drew Aekino aside. “I have a favor to ask,” said the No-Moon. “I would like you to teach me Emerald Countermagic.”

The Dynast arched an eyebrow. Inwardly, he smiled; at last, that smug, sorcerous Lunar had come begging to him! “Ah… I think it would be best,” he said, “to wait until we reach Idris. I would like the opportunity to discuss the matter before committing to such an action.”

“I think it would be best to do this before we engage the faerie queen,” Fetek riposted. “This would help me to better protect your Circle.”

“Hm.” Aekino pursed his lips before proceeding. “When we have asked you about your background in the past, you have been less than forthcoming. You must understand… it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t know you.”

Fetek shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

* * * * *

Fetek told Aekino of his childhood, of life as a priestess’ son in a small village in the East. He told of how the pale man came, the Earth-prince of the Realm, to subdue his people’s gods and crush those who would give them worship. He told of how his parents had sent him into the cellar beneath the temple; of how the cellar collapsed, trapping him as he heard his neighbors, friends, and family all die above; of how he dug at the dirt for days, his hands raw and bleeding; of how Luna came to him, there in the stale and earthy dark, to give him the strength that set him free.

Aekino looked at him with new respect, mingled with pity. “Did any of your family survive?”

“I don’t know.” Fetek spoke impassively, as if discussing the weather.

“Do you know who the pale man was? The Earth Aspect?”

“No. I had never seen him before. But he wore this symbol.” Fetek drew the sign in the dirt. Aekino swallowed. It was the Tepet mon. His family’s sign.

Aekino brought forth his family sash to show Fetek. He explained the connection. The Lunar snarled.

“I am sorry for what happened,” Aekino said, his hands raised to placate the Moon-child. “I am sorry for what he did. I know what they’re like; I left the Blessed Isle to get away from them.” This was not strictly the truth, but Aekino preferred not to have his throat torn out by an enraged Lunar warrior, thank you very much.

After a pause, full of leaf-scent and birdsong, Aekino went on. “You might want to think about this, the next time you’re fighting soldiers. These men and women have families, even as you did. They love their families, who also love them. They know the same sorrow over a loved one’s death.”

Fetek brushed the matter aside. With regard to this single obsession, he was implacable. “Do you know this man? This Earth Aspect?”

“No.” Even if he had known the fellow, Aekino might have thought twice about sharing the knowledge. Whoever it was, revealing his identity to Fetek would mean the man’s death.

* * * * *

Our heroes discussed many things on their journey to Idris. They spoke of the wonders of the Southern deserts, which none of them but Zera had seen. They spoke of the dead, of the nature and meaning of death, and of how the Deathlords had twisted death’s sacred nature into an abomination. They spoke of what they might face in Idris itself, and of whether Queen Idris would honor their deal, with Thorwald staking yet another week of drinks on his mistrust of the queen. And quietly, apart from the others, Aekino asked Fetek as to the whereabouts of Dancing Water, his Lunar lover from the First Age, whose presence still weighed on his soul after their sole encounter at the foot of the Iron Tower.

Then they came to Idris, and entered its walls along with a stream of refugees from Tul Tuin. They moved through the crowd in search of lodgings, but few vacancies were to be had; many of those who had left Tul Tuin had wealth enough to find housing, and there was little space available.

Skirting between a garbage heap and a fruit-seller’s stall, Thorwald spat. “Look at that,” he said, pointing at a tiny storefront where a dwarfish blue Fair Folk crouched, mending a boot. “This is a horrible place. I cannot believe that they suffer the Fair Folk to live, let alone live alongside them.”

“I don’t think so.” Zera gestured. “See how many of the people shy away from them? I think the people here like the Fair Folk little more than you or I. I think they fear them.”

“Then they do not fear them enough.”

* * * * *

They spoke briefly with some refugees, to learn what had transpired in Tul Tuin. They learned little more than what they already knew. Riots and burning had begun early on the last night of Calibration, with the city guard and Ledaal soldiers fighting with gangs in the dock district. Then the black towers rose, and the demons came forth. The family they spoke with knew no more. Thorwald gave them some silver. Other refugees then swarmed around him, asking for a handout; thus did Thorwald learn about panhandling.

Our heroes made their way to the low, sprawling palace of Idris. Guards fetched the queen’s grandson, Erlend, who exhibited remarkably little pleasure at their arrival. The Circle agreed to leave their weapons at the gate, some agreeing with poorer grace than others. They agreed not to fight within the palace; in Thorwald’s case, he amended that to agreeing not to start anything, while making clear that if someone else started a fight, he’d be sure to finish it.

After losing an exchange of verbal jabs with Zera, Erlend escorted the Circle to a guest suite, muttering about how Zera was “the most annoying little man I ever met.” Our heroes spent some time cleaning themselves up, which mostly involved waiting for Aekino to get out of the bath and stop using up all the hot water, after which they attended court in their best dress. There, surrounded by the court and the bodyguard of wolf-headed faeries, sat the faerie queen Cessair, the Fair Folk they’d freed from the Iron Tower. The faerie noble Orlàm stood at her side.

“Your pardon, lady,” the Dynast observed after performing an obeisance, “but we had hoped to meet with Queen Idris.”

Cessair smiled. The Circle reeled before the force of her presence, and her merest glance all but turned Zera’s knees to water. “My daughter no longer holds authority here,” she said. “You may address your concerns to me.”

Thorwald grimaced. Little as he liked faerie half-breeds such as Idris, he reserved his hate for the Fair Folk themselves. But he addressed the queen nonetheless. “We had a deal. We freed you so that you could return here. Now uphold your side of the bargain! Give us the forces we agreed on, to destroy the dead of Kaihan!”

“I made no deal.” She lounged upon her throne, ignoring the threat implicit in Thorwald’s anger. “Your arrangement was with my daughter, not with me. I am certainly willing to negotiate,” she added, glancing at the enthralled Zera, “but I owe you nothing.”

Thorwald raged at Cessair for her refusal to honor her daughter’s pact. She smiled and egged him on, as she and her new consort Orlàm drew sustenance from his wrath. She even had her daughter Idris brought forth to address her accusers.

“You promised your aid if we brought your mother to you!” shouted Thorwald. “You gave your word. I expect you to honor it!”

Idris looked back at him sulkily. “And what would you have me do?” she asked. “I have no power now, no army.” She glared at her mother. “Would you have me walk with you, alone, into the shadowland, just to die?”

“Yes! I expected no better from her, but you are part human. You have nothing left to you but your word. What value does your life have without it?”

Li placed a hand on Thorwald’s shoulder. “Enough, brother. Release her from her oath.” He gave her a hard look, then nodded curtly.

“Perhaps,” suggested Aekino, “we could continue this discussion in private?”

The faerie queen nodded. “Very well, then. Leave now.” She gestured to the mob of courtiers. “All of you.” Within moments, only Cessair, her faerie guards, and the Circle remained.

Aekino and Thorwald each pressed the fae queen to grant them aid. She smiled and smiled, but she would not be swayed. She had ruled in these lands for centuries before Ledaal Vir usurped her throne, she said, and she knew how to deal with supernatural threats. She would not act recklessly. She brushed off Aekino’s insistence that she must move before the demons and the restless dead caught her between hammer and anvil; there would be time enough to plan before that happened, she said. And through all this, Zera watched her hungrily, white-knuckled, torn between the desire to strike her down and the desire to worship her, to embrace her, to be her slave.

Cessair regarded Zera with all of her attention. He grew weak. “Ah, Zera Thisse. Now, if you were to stay the night with me in my chambers… I might be inclined to look favorably upon your petition.”

Thorwald’s face reddened. Veins stood out in his neck and forehead. “No!” he shouted; but giving the lie to the northman’s words, Zera stumbled toward the queen, his eyes glazed with lust. Li and Thorwald grabbed him before he could cast himself down before the throne. As Li manhandled the archer out of the room, followed by their fellows, Thorwald snapped out, “This audience is over.”

Our heroes gathered their possessions from the guest suite and made their way out into the cool autumn evening. Mingling with the crowd, they could feel the nervous, subdued mood of the townsfolk, not wholly unlike their own. Zera looked up at the night. “It seems ungrateful to leave, don’t you think?”

“There is nothing for us here,” Li replied.

* * * * *

Light poured thickly from open windows, pursued by shouts and the buzz of low conversation. A chaplet of wilted flowers dangled from the sign reading “The Crown of Roses.” Our heroes entered the inn. Near the back, they spotted a familiar face: Rei of Nechara. After driving off her table-mates with a half-drawn sword and some harsh words, she smiled at our heroes and invited them to join her.

“It’s good to see you’re still alive,” she said.

“Likewise,” Zera replied. “Barkeep! A week of drinks for my friends!”

Fetek arched his brows. “How much is a week of drinks?”

“Not enough!”

Various greetings followed, along with a discussion of who’d done what and gone where. Rei slid a pouch across the table to Aekino; it held rings and a pendant of orichalcum, which she’d found upon her return to the Tomb of the Anathema. She brushed off thanks for the gift, observing that she was rich now as a result of raiding that tomb, and wouldn’t miss a few bits of demon-gold.

“I wasn’t the only one down there,” she added. “There was this nutty old woman rooting around down there, too. She had some kind of Essence weapon, like one of Kurokami’s toys. Here, look, she left me a souvenir.” She rolled up her sleeve to show a burn scar that cut across her upper arm.

“Was she a Lookshyer?” asked Zera, gesturing. “Hazel-eyed, with long gray hair?”

“That’s the one. She said she’d killed already to get as far as she had, and she’d damn sure kill again.”

Zera sighed. “We’ve met her before.”

“You have?” Recognition dawned. “Oh yeah, that old woman from the barge-trip here? Yeah, that might have been her.” She nodded. “I’m pretty sure of it.”

“Did you kill her?” Aekino inquired.

“Nah. She was in that inner chamber; I figured you’d picked it clean, so why fight over it?”

* * * * *

Our heroes settled in for some hard drinking. They relaxed and unwound a bit, enjoying this occasion for companionable conversation. It would be some time before they realized that Zera (sneaky, sneaky Zera!) had gone away. For all his easy banter, his mind remained in turmoil. How could that Fair Folk woman get inside his head like that? How could she make him love her, need her, like that? He couldn’t allow it. She had to die.

He slipped through the town like a shadow. Shopkeepers and refugees looked right through him as he made his way up the streets toward the silhouette of the grove-capped palace hill. Guards stared past him, unseeing, as he circled the palace walls. He leapt in silence onto the timbered roof. He made his way among the slates and gables. There, he thought, regarding dim blue windows. That must be the queen’s chambers.

He slipped in through an open window. There, amidst dim light. He padded softly past draped velvet, book leather, mahogany. Down the corridor, he heard. Moaning. Panting. He stopped his ears, pulled his kerchief down over his eyes, clutched Thorwald’s iron necklace. The witch would not enchant him.

Zera followed the sounds, faint and muffled through his earplugs. Soft sighs; sweet low moans; the slip of flesh on flesh. He crept closer, an iron knife in his sweaty grip. There, in the bedroom. Vague shapes moved beyond his blindfold. Limbs tangled and intermingled; the perfumes of sex and lust thickened the air. Desire quickened and surged inside him; he quashed it. He raised the blade.

CRACK! A whip twined around his wrist. The knife went tumbling, clattered on the oaken floor. Soft hands drew away the blindfold. There, lying amidst tumbled sheets, lay the faerie queen, her whole body bare to his gaze. His control shattered.

She beckoned to him.

He came.

* * * * *

Aekino raised his mug. He paused. “Where’s Zera?”

Li raked the bar with her gaze. She cursed. “He’s gone.”

“Where is he?” asked the Dynast. But Li had already left the table. Repeating the question, Aekino followed her out the door.

“He’s gone to the palace.” Li pointed along the empty street. “He has gone to her.”

They ran to the palace. Of Zera, there was no sign; so they entered the palace as before, surrendering their arms to the guardsman with ill grace. They meandered briefly in search of the queen’s chambers, for where else might their brother be found?

Aekino flirted shamelessly with a servant in order to gain passage to the queen’s suite. Unfortunately, a pair of guards bearing bronze-tipped pikes stood on watch outside of her door. “We wish to see the queen,” Aekino suggested.

The guards proved less pliable to the Dynast’s not inconsiderable charms. “Her Majesty is currently with one of her companions,” one observed. “Perhaps you can see her once you’re done.”

Seething inwardly, Aekino replied, “She has asked us to join her and her ‘companion.’ Please let us past, so that we may, ah, do our duty.”

“I’m sorry, but we’ve had no orders to admit anyone else. You’re welcome to wait.”

“Thank you. We’ll come back later.”

The two backed down the hallway. As they turned a corner, Li hissed, “We need a plan.”

“Well,” mused Aekino, “we are going to have to knock out the guards…”

“And then, we kill the queen?”

The Dynast regarded his comrade with some surprise. This seemed out of character. “Only if we need to, to free Zera.”

The western swordswoman stretched lazily, looking lethal even without her swords. “Are you sure I can try and kill the faerie queen?”

Aekino gave her another odd look. “Yes.”

The two of them returned to the queen’s door. The guards greeted them again. Then, as one, our heroes struck at the guards with feet and fists. Aekino’s victim dropped senseless from a blow to the head; Li’s barely avoided a crushed windpipe, and managed a shout of “Guards!” before joining her companion in unconsciousness.

The Solars smashed the door open and pelted inside. Li seized a guard’s pike; she edged deeper into the softly lit suite. Aekino started piling furniture in front of the door. From somewhere among the corridors, he could hear the shouts and calls of the palace constabulary.

Li burst into the queen’s bedchamber. Cessair had kept her daughter’s luxuries; blue-tinged lamps shone upon silk and silver and jade. They shone also upon Zera’s heaped garments. The canopies of the massive four-poster bed were parted. Zera lay there, his body entwined with those of Cessair and of her consort’s leman, the green-haired courtesan Silver Jade.

Zera was the last to notice the intrusion. Brushing his hair from his face, he looked up at Li with a blurry smile. “Why are you here?” he inquired.

“The deathlord of Thorns is attacking,” Li replied, utterly deadpan. “He is at the gate with his undead juggernaut and a legion of ten thousand zombies.”

“That is far from funny, sister.” The archer levered himself up on one elbow, peering over the crook of the faerie queen’s knee. “As you can see, I am aggressively negotiating in our favor.”

“I am sorry to cut your negotiation short.”

Aekino burst in. He gaped at the ménage à trois. Finding his tongue, he said, “The guards are almost here. Come on, Zera!” He moved to the bed, grabbed Zera by the shoulders. And then… well, indulgence had always been Aekino’s greatest vice. He ran his hands over exposed flesh; he sighed; his eyes rolled back in his head. In a trice, he had joined the others in the massive bed.

For Li, that was the last straw. She leapt up onto the bedpost, the pike flashing in her hands. Essence cracked and flared as she lunged directly down at the faerie queen’s heart.

Cessair twisted aside, but not swiftly enough, entangled as she was with her lovers. The bronze blade of the pike sank into her side in a spray of colorless blood. She screamed! The sound stabbed deep into the minds of everyone there, like rusty spikes through the ears. Zera clutched his head; Aekino moaned. Li ignored the sound; she stabbed again at the faerie queen, but not before a web of glittering gossamer armor spread across Cessair’s body, softening the blow. The queen then leapt up to another bedpost, tearing a swath of cloth from the canopy and swirling it before her to baffle and entangle Li’s weapon.

The queen’s scream continued on, gripping them in a pitiless vise of noise and pain. Li spared a glance at the others. Silver Jade crouched in a corner, clutching her whip in one hand and holding a chair as a shield in the other. Aekino and Zera were watching the battle (or just the faerie queen?) with hypnotized fascination. “Aekino and Zera!” hissed Li. “Get out of here!”

Aekino shook himself free of his lustful trance. He seized Zera by the arm. “Break out of it! We’ve got to get out of here!”

Zera said nothing, even as Li caught his pants on the tip of her pike and flung them into his face. He kept ogling Cessair, but he did put his pants on. Aekino dragged him to the balcony.

Guards funneled into the room. Bronze pikes gleamed. Cessair stopped screaming. And Li tossed the pike aside, leapt down to the balcony, and yanked her brothers out over the railing, into the dark.

* * * * *

Our heroes stopped at the palace’s front gate only long enough for Li to render the gate-guards unconscious and retrieve her swords and Aekino’s staff. Then they ran through the streets to the Crown of Roses. They found the place wrecked: windows shattered, chairs and tables smashed, beer and mead pooled everywhere, patrons littered all across the floor and out on the street. Thorwald and Fetek were clapping each other on the shoulder for a bar brawl well fought.

Seeing Zera half-naked and without his iron necklace, Thorwald immediately intuited what had happened. He snarled at his comrade. “Tell me you didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!”

“What happened?” asked Fetek.

Aekino shook his head tiredly. “He went back to her.”

Thorwald looked ready to explode into a loud tirade, but Li cut him off. “Cessair’s soldiers will be here soon. We must go now.”

It took them only a moment to gather their things and make for the south gate. (Zera’s total lack of any possessions other than his pants made this a little easier.) They stopped briefly at a stable, where Thorwald obtained horses by threat of force. “Bloody thief you are!” cried the younger of the two grooms, and, “The queen will hear of this!” shouted the older.

Thorwald laughed. “Tell her that Thorwald of Stonehold took them.”

Soon they were out of town, riding hard to the south. Luna smiled down at them, a slim silver grin that mocked all their frailties. Li slumped in her saddle. The weight of everyone’s foolishness weighed heavily on her, her own most of all. She sighed. “I do not think we will be welcome here anymore.”

Aekino snorted. “For good reason. And good riddance.”

Fetek looked wistfully up at the moon. “Our list of allies grows short.”

“Our list of allies,” muttered Li, “was painfully short to begin with.” And she would say no more.

The woods hulked blackly to their left; the river ran silver and laughing to their right. They followed the road between.

YerMum

03-11-2004, 03:51 AM

yup, damn them thar fae!

alexandria2000

03-11-2004, 05:16 AM

Where's a pan-dimensional mallet to SLUG Zera with...holy cats!

Tepet Aekino

03-12-2004, 02:53 PM

I would like to invite you all to note the future inclusion of some interesting but...risque adventures. I don't know what came over me.

Please forgive my Little Brother Zera Thisse. He is an exitable person and has little exposure to more enlightened and refined people. I understand the struggle. He makes it difficult. You have NO idea.

Enjoy!

Zera Thisse

03-16-2004, 10:23 AM

Is it wrong to fill a Circle-mate full of Fiery Arrows?

Quendalon

03-16-2004, 12:09 PM

The five Exalted rode hard out of Idris, the inhuman shriek of Cessair still ringing softly in their ears. Betrayal had followed betrayal and yet again the Chosen of the Sun and Luna had been forced to flee from those who would have been allies. Li had wounded Cessair brutally but she and her brothers had wounded her pride worse. The fey queen’s spear-wound would heal but she would undoubtedly nurse her grudge against them, especially against Li, who had sought to slay her, and against Aekino and Zera, who had in the end, spurned her. Another enemy left behind. If only she had Burning Tiger in hand when she confronted Cessair—

She shook the thought away fiercely. The grand daiklaive weighing on her back seemed to pulse in approval of her bloody thoughts.

Li breathed carefully, measuring her breaths to the rhythm of her horse and the night wind whipping past her face. She looked around at her brothers and at Fetek, who was very nearly a brother to them as well. It seemed every one of them was being tested constantly; not just their strength of their arms but the strength of their will.

We have grown distracted, she thought to herself. We have turned away from the purpose we were meant for, the purpose that brought us to this demon-haunted land.

It was not truly surprising, she reflected, that our paths should have been so easily turned aside. For the first time in their lives, every one of them possessed power, true power to affect change and to take what they wanted. Before her own Exaltation, Li’s world had been bounded by the shores of Orchid and the wide ocean. Only the touch of the Unconquered Sun had transported her beyond those boundaries. She knew now it was much the same for each of her brothers, in their own way. Thorvald’s people lived a bleak and dreary existence, a life of constant struggle which they fully expected to end with pain, death and even damnation. Zera Thisse had been a poor man and a peasant in Thorns, a benighted and oppressed city even before the coming of the Mask of Winters. Even Aekino, a privileged son of the Dynasty, was bound by his family ties and relegated to a lesser station without the blessing of the Dragons in his veins. Now, each of them had thrown away those bonds, each believing in some way that they were now free to chart their own destiny across the face of Creation.

What fools we have been, she thought. We have merely exchanged our old bonds for new ones. We have ignored the responsibilities of our stations and acted selfishly, impulsively, and much pain and suffering has been the result.

She resolved that moment not to continue down that road. Often, she had held her silence while her brothers discussed and debated and made decisions, and she had gone along despite misgivings, because she had trusted their judgement. Now her trust in their judgement and her own was breaking apart in the face of the consequences of their actions.

No, she resolved. We will not become the Anathema that our old selves became. We must remain true to our purpose. Our enemies are clear: the dead of Kaihan. The demons haunting the land and their lord in Tul Tuin. The Mask of Winters. All else is distraction and temptation away from our true path. She knew it in her heart and she knew her brothers knew it as well.

It was time to begin acting as Exalted, not Anathema.

Quendalon

03-22-2004, 05:40 PM

My apologies for the delay in providing new session summaries. Work has been really busy, and Li's player accidentally nuked my home computer, so I haven't quite had the chance to finish writing the session 22 writeup. With luck it'll be ready before I leave for I-Con this Friday.

- Eric

Li of Orchid

03-22-2004, 06:00 PM

Yes, but soon it will be fixed and better than ever. No more crappy Windows ME. Everyone here should know how important scourging the evil of ME is, I'm sure they won't mind waiting. ;)

Quendalon

03-23-2004, 05:54 PM

In the Plain of Triumph, a single voice could shout and its echo would be heard for days. But today it was not a lone voice. As the light of dawn peered in the eastern horizon, two hundred men, women and children stood and together and in unison, their voices caused even the surrounding mountains to tremble.

“STONEHOLD!!!!!”

Every year during the God’s Time the Storm Clan had gathered in the Valley of Triumph and shouted their defiance of the Anathema. They had no rituals to protect their foodstore, promote fertility or placate spirits. Instead they gathered together in plain view, when the evil was strongest, and shouted, daring spirit, Fair Folk and fallen alike to come to their deaths.

The ancient war cry of the Storm Clan was only four hundred years old but its origins, like the roots of a tree, were far older. A thousand years ago, when the Storm Clan’s ancestors arrived at the Edge of Creation, they set themselves to the task of building a mighty fortress that they named simply Stonehold.

It was a marvel of achievement that rivaled any of the wonders of the First Age. It was carved out of the very face of the Great Mountain almost near the top. Stone gave it strength and durability to withstand the passage of time while iron walls made it impossible for the Fair Folk to storm it in large numbers. In addition, pacts with earth and air spirits kept the Keep safe from the unceasing winds, constant avalanches and frequent lightning storms that battered the mountain.

Stonehold was built high on the mountain for three reasons. The first so that it could look out along the entirety of the north from the Frozen Mountains to the Plains of Ice. The second reason was to make it unassailable and impossible to surround. But the third reason was the most important, and that is that it served to challenge the Storm Clan.

There were no creature comforts in Stonehold. No soft beds, no easy protection from the wind. There were no tunnels or passages leading in or out; there wasn’t even so much as a main gate, for it was felt that even iron doors compromised the integrity of the walls. The only way to enter or leave the keep was to climb over its iron walls. If a warrior was too tired, weak or wounded to make the climb, he was left outside to die.

Stonehold stood invincible and impregnable. It repelled every assault for over 500 years. To the Storm Clan, it was the symbol of their strength and determination. To its enemies, it was an emblem of fear and hatred. Ceaselessly, the servants of the Anathema tried to destroy it, but the walls easily held against any physical or magical assault. The wards that protected the Keep were too strong.

But that which protected Stonehold eventually was its downfall. With one carefully planned and deliberate act a single traitor undid these wards, breaking centuries old pacts with spirits and elementals who in response turned their full fury against the keep. Rockslides, avalanches, fierce winds rained down on the mighty fortress killing almost half its defenders. Decimated and without protection, the keep fell easily to the invading Fair Folk.

The Storm Clan would have died then and there were it not for the heroic leadership of Rejvald the Keeper. Uniting the tattered remnants of the people, he mercilessly drove the Fair Folk back to the Edge of Creation. After the trouble passed, the Storm Clan lamented the fall of their great stone keep but even more they lamented their arrogance. They had become complacent. Their false belief in the utter impregnability of their keep caused them to lose their age-old vigilance. Angered, they turned their backs on the magic of the First Age, and Rejvald the Keeper declared that from that moment on, all the charms of the Anathema were forbidden.

And so, Stonehold was abandoned, never to be rebuilt. But its ruins served as a lesson to all of the folly that lay in relying more on stone and Essence than on courage and determination. To this day the ruins stand as a reminder of the price of complacency.

Once ever so often, seasoned warriors will forgo their own name and title in favor of the name of the Fallen Keep. By declaring themselves Warriors of Stonehold, they in effect swear undying allegiance to the war against the Anathema.

“STONEHOLD!!!”

Thorvald and Franya stood together and hurled the word like a weapon into the wind. When the God’s Time was over, they would climb the Great Mountain together and there, at the top, they would scale the cold iron walls of the Fallen Keep and sleep for a fortnight in its walls, daring all the dangers of the Keep, be they beast, spirit or Anathema. And together they would return, not as Thorvald One Eye and Franya Stone Finder, but as Thorvald of Stonehold and Franya of Stonehold. Warriors bound by destiny and to each other.

Quendalon

03-25-2004, 12:36 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Welcome, children. So my little flock has flown back to hear one of my stories, eh? And what would you hear of tonight? Would you hear the tale of the Golden Children, born of the Exalted of Sun and Moon in the First Age? Would you hear of how the Dragon-Blooded slaughtered those children with their parents in the Usurpation, and of how a special few were given immortality and a place in Heaven, from which they might forever watch Creation for their parents’ rebirth? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of the turning of the Age?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the children of the Sun, and of their doings in the new year.”

* * * * *

Our heroes rode through the night and into the day. They looked over their shoulders, fearing pursuit from Idris, and slipped into the woods and fields to avoid passing through villages along their route. But no one stopped them; no dust rose behind them other than their own.

Their mounts panted with the exertion, their flanks lathered with sweat and foam caking at their lips. The Circle slowed, then stopped, so that the horses might rest. One by one they dismounted to walk their steeds along the road to the south.

Thorwald shaded his eyes with his hand. He watched the sun’s rays slant through the clouds, shimmering amid a haze of pollen and wind-borne leaves. He breathed deep of the crisp autumn air. “Let us camp.”

“Yes, older brother.” Aekino trailed his staff lazily through the dust. Its golden dragons seemed to stir fitfully in their bed of black jade. He looked sidewise at Zera and said, “Tell me, younger brother, do you think you had time to father a child on her?”

Zera scrunched up his face in irritation. He still wore nothing but his trousers and a cloak borrowed from Li, having left all else behind in Cessair’s bedchamber. Patches of sunburned skin glowed an angry red. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Aekino.” Thorwald loomed at the Dynast’s side, a mountain of muscle and slow burn. “I do not think that you are taking this seriously.”

“But I am serious.” Aekino met his comrade’s eyes. “And if you could see things as I do, through the eyes of a father, you would understand just how serious I am.”

“Bah! A Fair Folk’s brats are not children. They are things. Abominations.”

“What, like Martin? Tanith? They are also her children.”

Thorwald flushed. “That is different!”

“No, they’re not.” Aekino grew irritable; how could this barbarian lunkhead miss the point? “Their Essence is different from ours, yes, but that doesn’t make them alien.”

“Aekino, it is you who do not understand!” The northman looked like he wanted to hit something, or someone. “The Fair Folk are not like us. My people’s lore stretches back a thousand years. We have met the Fair Folk many times. And every time we meet, they are the same: soul-stealing monsters from beyond the edge of the world! They are not like men; they are evil creatures by nature. Chaos and destruction follow wherever they go!”

“You are biased by your upbringing. You can’t open your eyes to see what is actually before you. Think, Thorwald: what about us?”

“What about us?” Thorwald grimaced, nonplussed. “That is different!”

“No, it isn’t! Think of this region. It suffers from our presence! We are like,” he flailed for a metaphor, “like great boulders tossed into ponds. We came here and everything changed, because of our mistakes. Our lack of forethought has brought chaos and destruction. How is that different?”

“You exaggerate,” interrupted Zera with his characteristic drawl. “Not everything we’ve done has been a mistake. After all, without our intervention, there would be two demon princes in the world, not just one. And while I know you’d rather debate every little thing to death, we have to make decisions eventually. Or would you rather sit and wait for the Wyld Hunt?”

Distant birds cried in the trees, filling the silence. Then Thorwald spoke, more subdued: “Maybe all that has happened was inevitable.”

“Inevitable?” Zera shook his head in disbelief. “Now there’s a good excuse.”

* * * * *

Our heroes considered finding Master Ro and accepting his offer of magical aid in exchange for cleansing his Manse, the Well of Ashes, of whatever beings had moved into it since his capture. But they had no way of finding Ro since he left them in Idris. In any case, the route to the Well of Ashes passed by the Monastery of the Red Butterfly, where the Immaculate Shima trained her outcaste students, and that scarcely seemed a good place to visit.

Aekino poked at a spot on the map. “I wonder what’s become of Brinlack?” he asked, pointing to a town just across the water from Tul Tuin. They’d taken a ferry from there on their first journey to the area. “It must be difficult for them.”

Zera shrugged. “I’m more concerned with the people of Tul Tuin,” he said. “And with getting myself some clothes.”

Nonetheless, the idea of visiting Brinlack quickly took root. It was a town of no small size, they had no enemies there that they knew of, and it would give them a good view of what had happened to Tul Tuin. Furthermore, Zera’s visions had shown that the town was built on the ruins of the city that he, in his former incarnation of Kuro the Raven, had once ruled.

That afternoon, after leading their mounts across the cool splashing of a knee-deep creek, they stopped at a farmhouse at the edge of a village. There they spoke to a couple of farmers, offering them good silver in hopes of procuring a bow and some new garments for Zera.

“I’m sorry,” said the husband, “but we have nothing for you.”

The wife nodded vigorously. “Those people from Tul Tuin, they’ve been coming through for days, and they had more coin than clothes. We’ve already sold off everything we can spare. You can ask around, but I ‘spect it’s the same.”

Thorwald gave them a shrewd look. “If you have nothing, that is understandable. But if you have anything, even old rags, we will purchase them. As you can see, my friend is none too discerning.”

Though their money had run short, our heroes scraped up a few silver coins, in exchange for which they got a handful of old rags and a barn to sleep in for the night. Zera smoldered quietly as he wound scraps of cloth around his feet as a substitute for boots. Later, peering through the farmhouse’s distant window, he saw the farmers count out stacks of coins, but he kept that to himself. Better to let the farmers cheat him, he thought, than for an enraged Thorwald to tear them apart.

The Circle kept watches that night, just in case some enemy came upon them, for they had many enemies in this land. On his watch, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight looked out upon the moonlit field; and there he saw a matchstick figure lurching all ‘round the borders of that plot of ground, a staff over its shoulder, kicking up chaff and dead leaves to drift on the autumn wind. Silently, the Lunar stalked the figure. It proved to be a scarecrow-spirit, bearing its stand upon its shoulder, walking the borders of the field it guarded.

“Hello, Breath-of-Midnight,” it said with a grin. (Its face could hold no other expression.)

“You know me?”

“I know many things. As do you. Perhaps you’d care to swap a secret or two?”

The field-spirit asked a few small things, and offered some interesting tidbits in exchange. Here’s what it sounded like, more or less:

“Two days ago, a dark woman on a dark horse rode west from here.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. But that could mean anything.”

“Indeed.”

“Something else I’ve heard; the Wyld Hunt chases a man with a giant daiklave.”

“You don’t say?”

“Oh, I do. Could be true, could be untrue.”

“It’s not true anymore.”

* * * * *

Come the morning, the scarecrow was firmly placed at the middle of the field, showing no sign that it might be anything other that what it appeared. As our heroes gnawed on a breakfast of late fruits and stale bread, Fetek tersely explained what had transpired in the night. “I have been given information,” he said. And, making a rather large assumption, “Forty-Four Devil Blossoms rides to the west.”

Our heroes debated what this might mean. Why would their deathknight nemesis have passed this way, moving ahead of them rather than following them, as opposed to her usual way? And where might she be going? They could come to no conclusion; but the discussion jogged Zera’s memory, recalling to him a ruined bridge that lay to the west.

The thing was old and green, perhaps dating back to the First Age, and its wreckage spanned the river. The River of Willows rushed cold and swift through the stone pilings and rubble. Though no one could cross the bridge any more, and only the smallest of ships could pass through the gaps in the debris, it found a new purpose as a crude weir, and fisherfolk gathered about it in their quaint little boats.

Aekino regarded the river. It was broad, swift and deep. “How are we going to get across? Some of us can leap from stone to stone, but it’s something that no mortal could do. It would attract attention.”

“Easy enough,” Fetek observed, taking the form of a pike and diving into the waters.

“An excellent suggestion!” Thorwald dove into the water after him.

Li, Aekino and Zera watched them splash away. Aekino raised up his staff in both hands; Li fingered her blades, one of which exceeded her in length. Swim with all that gear, they thought? Not likely.

The fisherfolk wondered a bit as three figures leapt like crickets from piling to piling, dancing lightly over the algae-slick stones, gliding like birds over gaps no mortal could cross. They wondered, too, as the third figure slipped and fell, and at the uproarious laughter that drifted up from downstream: “Ha ha ha! Zera has fallen in the water!”

But, like peasants all across Creation, they simply assumed that any such strangeness must be the work of spirits. They returned to their hooks and lines and nets, and forgot all about it.

* * * * *

That night, Zera took a bit of charcoal from the fire and drew the sigil of Makarios upon his forehead. He covered it with his kerchief, curled up amid crackling leaves at the edge of the firelight, and slept. He slept without dreams.

Quendalon

03-25-2004, 12:37 PM

By the time Thorwald had gotten bored of ragging Zera for taking a dive and being swept a mile downriver, it was the next day, and our heroes had come close to the town of Brinlack. It lay within and around the walls of Old Brinlack, where Kuro the Raven had ruled hundreds of years ago, before the war with Tul Tuin and the coming of the Wyld Hunt. Now wooden palisades filled the gaps in the town’s shattered walls, which lay tumbled in mossy, lichenous heaps. Smoke rose from farmhouse chimneys and burning leaves. And out across the water, a tangle of alien towers loomed bleakly above the skyline of Tul Tuin.

A handful of town guards stood by the town’s north gate. Their spears and buff jackets were well tended, but their conduct left much to be desired. Aekino approached them, to inquire as to recent events in Tul Tuin. A particularly smug guardsman smirked insouciantly, sizing up the Dynast’s ragged and travel-worn finery. “In case you haven’t heard, ‘Your Highness,’ Tul Tuin has fallen.”

“Who rules here now?” interjected Fetek.

“The right honorable Mayor, Stone Rain, rules here… he has for quite some time.”

After a few more moments of cranky interaction, the watch captain arrived. He regarded the visitors with a more cautious eye. “May I have your name, sir?”

The Twilight preened. “Tepet Aekino.”

The captain blanched. He slapped the guardsman, hard. “Tepet!” he hissed furiously in the man’s ear. “He’s from the Realm!”

“So sorry, sir,” replied the guardsman, flinching.

After taking pains to mollify Aekino, the guard captain informed our heroes of suck knowledge as had drifted out of Tul Tuin with its wrack of refugees. A demon cult now ruled the city, it was said; power had fallen to the Easterners, while the Northerners and Realm-folk had mostly fled.

“And what of Ledaal Vir?”

“There are a thousand rumors,” the captain said, “but no one knows for sure. I am sorry.”

Apologizing again for the inconvenience, the guard captain placed the offending guardsman, one Torram by name, at our heroes’ disposal for the rest of the day. Sheepishly, the fellow led our heroes into town. He showed them the sights, such as they were; the high old buildings that still remained from the old time, the pools and weed-gardens that nestled amid the rubble, the homes and shops built from antique carved stones.

“Why are we keeping this one?” asked Fetek, voice pitched low.

Aekino smiled. “To fetch and carry, of course.”

Our heroes took only a brief moment to deposit their gear at an inn. Then they went to visit the mayor of the town. Why? Aekino wished to do so, and the others did not challenge him. The reasons will shortly become obvious, so:

They went to the Brinlack Manse in the last hour of the afternoon. It rose in blocky tiers of living wood draped in vines. Reddish light blazed over its battlements, where a few last lonely bees buzzed amidst the musky leaves. They entered, their passage facilitated by Aekino’s family name, and met with the mayor in his office on the highest tier. Stone Rain resembled a retired wrestler, balding and bearded, his fat underlaid with muscle. He greeted Aekino with respect, and answered his questions gruffly but civilly. He even agreed to a private conference with the Dynast and his retinue, without his guards.

“Excuse me for being so blunt,” he asked, “but are you a Prince of the Earth?”

“I appreciate your candor,” answered Aekino with a proud smile. “See for yourself.” And his castemark blazed with gold.

The mayor’s eyes grew wide as saucers. He gaped. Then he threw himself to the ground, kowtowing and groveling madly. “Great one!” he moaned. “Oh, forgive me, mighty lord. I did not know who you were.”

Our heroes questioned Stone Rain. He claimed to follow the “old ways,” the worship of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind, whose cult still perpetuated itself among the Easterners of the region despite the efforts of Cessair and, later, Vir, to stamp it out. Like most of the cult’s adherents, he believed the Solars to be demons, but revered them nonetheless. Perhaps this was the source of demon-worship in these parts? In any case, he told them more of what had transpired in Tul Tuin. Another, darker branch of the demon cult now ruled there, under the auspices of the Darien family.

The mayor offered our heroes the hospitality of the Manse, and any resources they might require. “My quarters are yours,” he told Aekino, and, “My wife is yours.” Aekino boggled; Zera Thisse laughed that the Dynast would have no use for her.

Our heroes settled in with aplomb. Having adhered to the asceticism of necessity for far too long, Aekino threw himself wholeheartedly into indulgence. He immersed himself in every luxury available in a small town like Brinlack, all in the context of a small floating orgy. The others rolled their eyes at the parade of servants trailing into and out of Aekino’s room. Li, for her part, meditated and practiced the art of the sword; Thorwald wandered the town, speaking to such Northmen as he could find, and finding a certain unexpected affection for an older woman; and Zera threw himself into preparations for their next journey, acquiring food, weapons and horses.

And where was Fetek, the last member of our Circle? He was on the wing, in eagle’s form, soaring away from the crumbling, green-tangled walls of the town, out over the rushing waters of the River of Willows, and toward the black and silent towers that intertwined in what remained of the city of Tul Tuin.

Through the afternoon, the Lunar stalked through the lower streets of the old city in the forms of rat and dog. Rubble and rubbish concealed him, masking his movements. The city stank of smoke and garbage and human waste. A few late looters picked through the detritus of homes and offices already sluiced by rioters, while others lurked in corners and alleyways to pursue other avenues of illegality. But some few citizens continued with ordinary business. Seedy public houses remained open to sell food and drink, looters-turned-peddlers spread their wares on soot-stained blankets, and the occasional artisan’s workshop clattered with business. Everyone bore weapons, though, and many surrounded themselves with proto-feudal constellations of armed assistants, bodyguards, former soldiers and thugs.

Raised voices emerged from a stone building that might once have been a counting house. Softly, rat-Fetek crept inside. There, amidst the drips and the damp and the dim sputtering lamps, a handful of worshippers sat before their priest, a stocky fellow whose black cassock and cylindrical hat bore the sign of a green and golden sun.

“Once, I was just a man,” said the priest, his voice gravely with smoke. “In that life, I worked mortal iron among other men. But now the light of our goddess fills me! Now I work words and souls, to bring others into the light of our lady’s truth. Once I was named Gray Mantle, but that name has burned away. Now I am Morning’s Promise, and I bring to you my namesake: my promise of a new dawn in the arms of our lady, the great Queen Amalion, bride of the Unconquered Sun.”

Fetek edged forward to drink in every word. He recognized the name of a demon prince; how, he wondered, could such a creature claim any connection with the Unconquered Sun? The priest, red-faced, took a sip of beer and continued with his sermon. “Our lady has spoken. She tells us that the children of the Unconquered Sun now walk among us, as they have not done since the day of Blessed Wind. Let it be known that the children of Sun and Moon are the blessed of Amalion. Give them your hospitality. Bring them before the Queen, that they might rejoice in her immortal presence.”

The Lunar wondered at this. He continued to watch as the priest ended his homily with what sounded like a rote dismissal: “Make peace with your neighbor. Make sure that the world trembles at your message.” Then the congregation dispersed and went out into the night.

Gray Mantle and his men patrolled the darkling streets of the ruined city. Along their route, they came across a fracas where others of their cult had subdued a Northerner family that had apparently defiled a Yozi shrine. The demon priest addressed them furiously; he cursed their ignorance of his goddess, and demanded their conversion to the true path. “Your souls depend upon it!” he shouted.

“No,” groaned a Northerner through her bloody, broken mouth. “Cessair has returned. She will protect us, and give us strength.”

“Repent!” frothed Gray Mantle. “Acknowledge the lady Amalion as the one true goddess! Abandon your blasphemy… or die!”

As one of the cultists put a sword to a girl’s throat, Fetek snapped. Taking on his great beast-man form, he surged forward into the midst of the cult soldiers. Bones cracked; bodies flew; hot blood spattered on cold stones. Just as the sword-bearing cultist sliced the girl’s neck open, Fetek disemboweled the man, strewing his guts to the five winds.

Then there were only the echoes of the fleeing survivors, escaping Northerners and a few wounded cultists lurching away down side streets, and Gray Mantle’s feeble whines as Fetek knelt heavily upon him. Blood dripped onto the priest from the Lunar’s gory antlers.

“Mercy!” The man wept pitifully, but Fetek felt no compassion. “Mercy! Please, Moon-child, spare me! Please, come with me to the Queen. She wishes to see you. She will give you everything!”

“She has nothing I want.”

Gray Mantle twitched helplessly, like a hare in the jaws of a tiger. “She will make you a Power!”

Fetek smiled, and the priest quailed to see it, for it was a cold and cruel smile, with nothing of humanity in it. “I am already a Power.”

* * * * *

Fetek let the man run off. He seemed too small, too weak, to be worth killing. Instead, he winged back to the town of Brinlack to speak to the Solars. He settled on Zera’s window-sill, where he returned to his own shape. “Where is the Descending Sun?” he said to the archer. “We need to talk.”

“The Descending Sun,” replied Zera sourly, “is diving into a couple of serving maids.”

Zera listened quietly to Fetek’s reconnaissance. Quietly, at least, until the name ‘Gray Mantle’ came up. He remembered how old Nala had asked the peddler Gray Mantle to bring him and Thorwald out of Tul Tuin just a few months earlier. He remembered their discomforting reverence; he remembered how, like Stone Rain, they had spoken of upholding the old ways. His eyes narrowed.

He burst in on Aekino. The Dynast was enjoying their host’s hospitality to the full; though Zera’s entrance startled the bevy of youthful masseurs and attendants, Aekino himself simply sighed in contentment as he savored a candied plum. “Why, Zera. It’s so nice of you to join me. I’d been wondering when you’d find time to relax.”

Zera fumed. He glared. He explained tersely what was going on in Tul Tuin, with Fetek speaking up to fill in the gaps. Aekino stretched languorously. “Amalion, eh?” He trailed his fingers along a young woman’s thigh, then accepted a puff from an opium pipe. “I’ve never had sex with her…” He yawned. “So I don’t really care.”

Sparks crackled around Zera’s angry squint. “Since you don’t understand, I’ll spell it out for you. All that happens there, happens in our name. And I am not going to allow that to go on.”

“Oh, I understand. But really, we can’t think of going anywhere until we’ve had time to heal.” Aekino gestured to the servants massaging his shoulders and feet. “And I’m doing the best that I can. Mm, a little more gently, dear. Yes, right there; that’s the spot.”

“They said they seek the children of the Sun.” Fetek regarded the scene with leashed distaste. “We can expect assassination attempts, kidnapping attempts. If we linger here, we will be asking for trouble.”

Zera nodded. “But if we move on to Kaihan, they’ll hear about it. They can move in behind us, catch us in a vise.”

Theatrically, Aekino fluttered a red-lacquered fan. “Why don’t you all discuss the matter, and tell me later what you’ve decided.”

“Tell you later?” Zera boggled. “You don’t want to discuss it? That’s the most uncharacteristic thing you’ve ever said.”

“Oh, relax. You’re too tense! Come on over, join me on the bed. There’s room enough for two, and these boys have the most marvelous hands.”

“There’s no time for peace.” Zera clenched his fists. “When the hand of the Unconquered Sun came upon us, we ran out of time for that.”

“You’re very pretty when you’re angry.”

Zera stormed out. Fetek gave the scene one last, cold look before he followed. Aekino, for his part, enjoyed another candied plum. “Don’t let them bother you, my dears. Come closer, and I’ll show you something…”

* * * * *

Matters proceeded apace for the next few days. Aekino would not be moved, so his fellows set about finishing their preparations so that they could be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Fetek, for instance, procured himself the finest horse that could be had, rode it out of town, and killed it to drink its heart’s blood. Zera enjoyed the tender ministrations of a healer that Thorwald sent to him, after telling the fellow that Zera liked pain. And Thorwald himself took the orichalcum trinkets that Aekino had entrusted to him, and gave them to Stone Rain in repayment of hospitality. He also apologized to the man for Aekino’s excessive use of the mayor’s personal resources. “If Lord Tepet gets a child on my wife,” said Stone Rain, “it will only bring honor and prestige to my family.” Thorwald’s reply is best left to the imagination.

Zera healed. Li danced with the sword. Fetek hunted. Aekino indulged. And Thorwald dallied with his woman, giving her and her children the last of his funds, their parting strangely sad for the little time they’d shared.

The sun shone palely on the morning of their departure. Aekino staggered into the courtyard where his comrades had gathered, ready to leave with or without him. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath noxious. He seemed dazed. “How long have I been here?”

Fetek assessed him clinically. “Four days.”

“Four days!” He shook his head in confusion, denial. He approached Zera with a weakly feigned jaunty swagger. “I trust I’m not too tardy?”

“No. You had five more minutes.”

“Oh, good.”

They made their way down to the docks, where they found a familiar old ferryman to haul them and their horses across the water. They helped the deaf old fellow pole the ferry, and disembarked a little ways south of Tul Tuin. There, they spotted clumps of refugees on the road. They were surprised to find that the refugees were not fleeing from Tul Tuin, but rather, were fleeing to that city.

“Why are you coming here?” Thorwald, as always, was brusque. “There are demons in this city. You should not be here.”

The mother of the household, her baby strapped to her back, shrugged. Lines of hunger and fatigue creased her features. “Demons they may be, but we’ll take our chances,” she grunted. “Better that than the slavers of Longcorner. They burned our village, took all our neighbors and relatives to the Guild pens. We heard what happened here. Now that Prince Vir is gone, Longcorner’s gone to war.”

Diffidently, Aekino approached. “You may yet find shelter at the Tower of Winds,” he said, pressing the last of his silver into the woman’s hand. “Give my name at the gate – Tepet Aekino – and if my family still rules there, you will have sanctuary.”

* * * * *

They made good time, skirting the city as they moved through farms and groves, feeling the chill of the twisted demon towers that sprawled to their west. Local folk peered out of windows and doors to watch them pass. Then they moved into the forest. They camped upon a hillside as the first stars appeared.

They watched the fire’s glow; they listened to its crackle. “Three days,” said Zera Thisse. “Three days lost… three days.” He prodded the glowing embers with a stick. “I suppose that leaving earlier would have been dreadfully inconvenient.”

“I couldn’t help myself.” Tepet Aekino pleaded with his brother. “I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t even try.” He wiped moistness from his eyes. “I don’t even remember. I never felt like that before. I used to make the others, the Dragon-Blooded, feel that way. That was my job. But I never felt it myself. It was never me.”

Zera sighed. “I’m not here to berate you,” he said. “But I am stretched to my limit.”

“I know. I held you, that night, when you wept.”

“Yes.” Zera waved away the memory. “I can’t have you break down. The others depend on you. When we reach Kaihan, things will go from difficult to impossible. You must have all your wits about you.”

Aekino laughed weakly. “If you’re going to die, you need to have some fun. I, I enjoy riding with you. You should also try to find some pleasure in the journey. Relax. Close your eyes. Enjoy it for what it is.”

“Hah.” Zera stared off into the distance. “Aekino. Do you know what I see when I close my eyes?”

“No…”

“You should. You saw it, too.” The archer stared into the fire. “I see my father lying in a pool of his own gore. I see those bastards, my own countrymen, raping my mother and my sister. I see it over and over again, whenever I rest, whenever I try to sleep.”

“I also fear for my own family. I have a wife on the Blessed Isle; I have children. But you can’t let it eat you up inside, Zera. You can’t let it consume your every moment. Enjoy the time you have.”

“Deal with things in your own way. Leave me to mine.” Zera frowned. The firelight cast strange, hollow shadows across his face. “Three days is too long.”

Eventually Aekino slept. The stars, like hours, turned. Later that night, Zera took a second watch with Thorwald. The archer showed the northman a treasure: a black jade box, containing a vial full of shining liquid.

“I bargained for it in a dream,” he said. “It has the power to destroy the dead.”

“I had the same dream,” replied Thorwald slowly. “There was a demon with copper hair and glowing eyes. He offered to sell me weapons. I refused them. They are accursed things.”

“Maybe so. But I will deal with whatever I must to get weapons like these.”

“Let us hope that it is what you think it is, and that you have not been fooled.”

Zera grinned. “If I am cheated, I’ll find a way to get my own back.”

* * * * *

They continued on their way, to the north and east, past many troubles. They watched airships buzz far overhead, the flying eyes of Lookshy watching the darkness that crawled through Tul Tuin. They fought demons and brigands and the strange monsters that dwelt in the East, things that lurked in cave and wood and hungered for living flesh.

In the last range of hills before the land sloped down to Kaihan, they saw ravens circle to their right. “That’s strange,” murmured Zera. He fingered his fine new bow, all of Eastern yew, gauging distances with a keen eye. “Let’s take a look.”

Our heroes climbed the sharp and stony slope, among stunted trees and jagged cracks in the rock. They reached the top of the ridge. And they looked down into the valley below, but it was filled with mist from edge to edge; and at its center, there rose a great dragon-backed temple, roofed in gold and silver and jade.

Winston Smith

03-25-2004, 01:59 PM

Reading these summaries inspires me to try very hard to make my Exalted game as great as this one is. I look forward to your new entries every week. Great job and thank you very much.

Arbane the Terrible

03-25-2004, 10:46 PM

Very cool stuff, as always.

I wonder if those two red-clad Sidereals are still lurking about? They've surely got their work cut out for them...

Quendalon

03-29-2004, 04:31 PM

Thanks for the kind words! I try and keep the stories both entertaining and informative.

Those two Sidereals are currently at [location deleted], where they're still being debriefed after their little dust-up with the Solars. I expect they'll show up again at the most inopportune time.

Oh, and a shout out to Urbwar and to Thor Olavsrud, whom I met at I-Con this past weekend. Good luck to them in their future Exalted endeavors!

- Eric

Quendalon

03-29-2004, 04:32 PM

The fires crackled in both hearth and firing pits alike and the whole of the clan stood enraptured as the Frozen Tongue finished his tale. Thorvald almost forgot where he was and it was only when Franya accidentally bumped him in the arm that he snapped back to attention.

“…And so Thanandar the Grim died that day and the Fair Folk rejoiced. But though they broke his body and spilt his blood, they could not break his word. And it said that the tree he bound himself to stands to this day and his spirit looms over the valley still.”

The story ended and the gathered people cheered. Some had smiles, some tears but all gave praise to Geldicar Frozen Tongue for in over 40 winters, no man among the Storm Clan rivaled him in tale telling. As the Old Frozen Tongue rose leaning heavily on his staff, Thorvald tried to catch a glance of the old man as he walked out of the hall, the copper plates on his chest jingling as his staff thudded against the hard wooden floor of the Long Hall. The story of Thanandar the Grim, who swore to never fall in battle, was one of his favorites.

“Boy!” A thick deep voice boomed through the hall. “What are you doing still here?”

Thorvald turned and looked up at the massive figure of his Uncle Einar, smock and hammer still in his hand. Though it was well into the night, Einar Arms of Thunder was still at work trying to get weapns and armor ready for the patrol that had to leave in the dawn.

“I was listening to the story, uncle.” Thorvald replied.

“The story is over.” His uncle grunted matter-of-factly. “Get your worthless arse back to the bellows. We have patrols going out tomorrow and I have shields that need resetting and helms that needs have dents hammered out. Do you want our warriors to get their already feeble brains splattered all over the place? Not everyone has a head made of rocks like you. Get moving before I break it open for you!”

Thorvald could hear the laughs and the hooting of the men sitting by the central hearth.

“Oh, leave him be, Einar!” One of the men laughed. “Do you want the boy to grow up foul and soot-stained like his uncle?”

“Don’t encourage this boy,” Einar growled turning on the group. “Especially not YOU fools! If you weren’t so incompetent I wouldn’t have to fix your armor all the time.”

“You should be happy to do it,” a sullen old ranger grunted. “While you cower in your forge fixing armor, we are out there fighting.”

“Hah! Out there failing you mean. A greater bunch of incompetents I have never seen. Half of you run better than you fight, and the other half grovel better than they run, Especially YOU, Qorl. I’ve never seen your armor damaged anywhere but in the rear!”

A torrent of laughter exploded throughout the great hall. Thorvald jumped up to his feet and ran to the forge as quickly as he could, knowing what would happen if his uncle had to tell him twice.

And so, he passed another night working feverishly with his uncle. But his mind was on the stories the old Frozen Tongue had told. He thought of Thanandar the Grim who swore an oath never to fall to their enemies but was betrayed by his closest friend and ambushed by the Fair Folk. Thanandar fought and killed over a thousand before his wounds took their toll, but he refused to give the Fair Folk the pleasure of seeing him forsworn. He tied himself to the Iron Tree with his magical belt so that when he died he would remain standing. Try as they might, his enemies could not undo the knot and so, though he died, he did not fall.

One day I will be remembered as one of the great heroes of our people.

And so he continued his work, fueled by dreams of valor and the fate of champions.

urbwar

03-29-2004, 05:28 PM

Originally posted by Quendalon

Oh, and a shout out to Urbwar and to Thor Olavsrud, whom I met at I-Con this past weekend. Good luck to them in their future Exalted endeavors!

- Eric

Eric,

You so rocked this weekend! Keep up the good work with this Exalted game!

Li of Orchid

03-31-2004, 08:18 AM

Originally posted by Arbane the Terrible
I wonder if those two red-clad Sidereals are still lurking about? They've surely got their work cut out for them...

Oh, screw those guys. We have enough people who want to manipulate, harm or murder us. ;-P

Quendalon

04-01-2004, 10:20 AM

From the writings of Li of Orchid.

* * * * *

“The Way lies in conflict.”

All things can be defined not only by what they are, but by what they are not. Tension inevitably arises between opposites. Day cannot be night. Up cannot be down. Life cannot be death. Things can change and alternate into their opposites, or synthesize with their opposites and become something new. In a single instant, a thing is what it is and it is opposed by what it is not. This is what is called conflict.

It may be said that peace is in opposition to conflict, or harmony; but this is a ridiculous statement. If peace opposes, does it not create conflict and thus invalidate itself? Rather say that peace is the result of harmonious conflict.

The day may oppose the night but it is not to say that one seeks to conquer and destroy the other. The concepts of victory or defeat are meaningless in harmonious conflict. Day cannot exist without night to define what it is not.

Conflict is the name for the force that creates change. Change is the Way of Creation. Thus, the Way lies in conflict.

Mastery of harmonious conflict requires a still and untroubled mind. The movements of the Five Elements occur not because the Elements think but because they act upon their natures. Fire does not say to itself, “Now I will rise up.” Water does not say, “Now I will flow downwards.” Wood does not say, “Now I will grow.” Air does not say, “Now I will blow across the land.” Earth does not say, “Now I will settle.” A master of harmonious conflict, like the elements, knows without knowing and acts as one with his thoughts. The gap between conception and action is sometimes very large. It is in this gap that one can lose the Way. When the Way is lost, conflict devolves into mere violence, without purpose or need.

Therefore, to master conflict, banish all thoughts of victory versus defeat. Banish all thoughts of life versus death. Banish all thoughts of glory or honors, humiliation or shame. Seek knowledge of the self and knowledge of the non-self. Live with simplicity and virtue. Understand with the depths of your spirit the essence of conflict. When the gap between conception and action narrows, the Way is close.

* * * * *

“Sword, No-Sword”

The true secret of swordsmanship is that there is no sword. It is common to think that some swords are better than others: swords of Western iron are inferior; swords of Southern bronze are soft; swords forged by the Northmen are too heavy; and so on. This is a very wrong way to think because it makes a swordsman depend on a specific weapon. One will become used to using a particular sword of a particular make but when confronted with a situation where that sword becomes useless, one cannot respond and will die. For instance, it is inappropriate to use a large sword in thick woods or indoors. A swordsman who knows only large swords will be defeated if he does battle in a low-ceilinged room. Thus, one must adopt the “no-sword attitude.”

It is true that some swords are objectively superior to others, as a result of craftsmanship, material and other considerations. In close quarters, a short sword is more suitable than a large sword. Some swords have good balance while others do not. Some swords are well-made and sturdy while others are brittle and dull. Ultimately, these are minor considerations.

What is a sword but an extension of the fighting will? A sword cannot fight on its own. Without a hand to wield it, a sword is useless. A will is required to grasp a sword in hand and to bring it to battle. This is simple but easy to overlook. It naturally follows that the sword itself is ultimately unimportant. Only the will of the wielder is what matters. Thus, there is no sword. There is only the swordsman.

This is the secret of the “no-sword attitude.”

* * * * *

“There is no defeat.”

When one is confronted with battle there is often the attitude that one must win at any cost. This is a false thought and must be banished from the mind to achieve the Way. It is natural to want to live and to want to win. And yet these urges are so often contradictory. Sometimes death lies in victory and life lies in defeat. People are not all-wise and so what seems like victory at the moment may later be revealed as defeat. Ultimately, the distinction between victory and defeat is a worthless judgment. The result of a battle should not valued for what is accomplished but what is learned. A so-called victory is meaningless if it is effortless to attain. If one can gain insight into the Way from their struggle, even if one is wounded unto death, then there is no defeat.

Quendalon

04-05-2004, 09:17 AM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Welcome, children. So my little flock has flown back to hear one of my stories, eh? And what would you hear of tonight? Would you hear of the Prince of the Star of the Golden Door, and of how he married a mortal against the will of his lord, the Constellation of the Rising Smoke? Would you learn of how his lord barred him from Creation, and of what trials he and his love underwent to reunite? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of the fall of the Scarlet Realm?

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the children of the Sun, and of their journey to the shadowland of Kaihan.”

* * * * *

“This cannot be natural.” Zera looked down into the mist-filled valley. Other than the glittering temple roof of bright metal and jade, rising up from the whiteness like a dragon from the deep, all lay concealed beneath the blanket of fog.

“It is lovely,” said Aekino. “I think it may be worth taking time to investigate. After all, the neighbors of Kaihan may know something of what lies within the shadowland.”

“I admit curiosity,” said the archer. Thorwald nodded, adding, “We should learn if they are friend or foe; it would be best not to leave enemies at our back.” And so they made their way down the ridge, leading their horses across gravel and scree to a faint path amid thistle, bracken and stone.

Our heroes descended into the lake of mist. Everything grew faint and cool and damp. Gusts of whiteness rolled past them. Then they were through, and the trail continued downward beneath a luminous canopy of white, into a green valley of quaint farmhouses encircling the central temple.

Thorwald stopped. Planting his great feet upon the trail, he surveyed the place with a critical sneer. “I like this not.”

“They are shielding this place,” Fetek observed. Aekino agreed, muttering something about the proximity of the shadowlands. But Thorwald shook his head. “I think it is to conceal demons,” the Northman mused.

“If there are demons here,” observed Zera, “they conceal themselves well.” He gestured to the peasant folk bent over in the fields, sowing the earth with winter wheat, and to the handful of ducks and chickens that pecked about in their enclosures. “And if that is the case, it matters little where we go, for we’re bound to bed down with hidden demons and have our throats cut in our sleep.”

“That is characteristically dour,” Aekino complained.

Zera smiled. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

They made their way down among the pale greens and rich browns of the valley. Nearby, a blond young Northman prodded at some stubborn weeds with his hoe. Thorwald approached him: “You there.”

“Oh… hail!” The young man wiped his brow and waved. “Well met, stranger!”

“We are travelers,” Thorwald rumbled, stating the obvious. “We seek hospitality. May we tie our horses here?”

“Sure!” The fellow leaned upon the hoe. “I’d be glad to help. My name’s Olsn.”

“I am Thorwald.” The Zenith hesitated; he regarded his horse, but the beast had little to offer to the conversation. “You realize,” he said to Olsn, “that your entire village is surrounded by mist.”

Olsn laughed. “Of course it is!”

Thorwald blinked, not expecting such casual acceptance. “Have you ever left this valley?” he said at last.

“What a silly question! Of course not.”

The rest of the Circle had approached by this point. Olsn greeted them with equal pleasure, though he seemed a bit surprised and intimidated at seeing so many new faces. Travelers, it seemed, were quite rare in this place. In response to their questions, he acknowledged that he had once lived on a farm near the town of Idris. Some years earlier, as a youth, he had fled to escape bondage to an ill-tempered landowner and the hazards of bandits, slavers, demons and hobgoblins that troubled these lands. Life was pleasant here, he said, in this Valley of Miraculous Mist, and the valley’s god, the Sage of the Lilac Garden, let no evil enter past the bounds of the mist.

Over in the next field, a small, dark fellow, an older Easterner, spotted the gathering. He set aside his sowing to approach. “Visitors,” he said with a frown. “How unfortunate.”

Olsn laughed. “This is my neighbor, Jasreen Cora. Don’t mind him, he’s just a little sour. It’s his way.”

Aekino greeted the Easterner politely. “I hope we aren’t inconveniencing you in some way,” he said. “We are just passing through.”

Cora shook his head. “Not anymore. You can’t leave… and don’t think I’m stopping you either.

“I knew I smelled witchcraft,” Fetek muttered.

“It’s true,” admitted Olsn. “No one leaves the Valley of Miraculous Mist. But believe me, it’s not a curse, it’s a blessing. We have everything here that we could possibly need.”

“Such a wonderful golden prison,” said Cora bitterly.

“It’s not a prison, Cora!”

“Stop squabbling, you two,” snapped Thorwald. “Where do we find this Sage of the Lilac Garden?”

“There in the Palace of Seven Golden Clouds,” the younger Northman said. “Why?”

“We are going to have a talk with your god.” Thorwald’s eyes blazed. “He cannot keep us prisoner here.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about it. But really, the Valley is a wonderful place. You will learn to enjoy it here.”

“We have obligations,” said Li of Orchid.

Thorwald grimaced. Gold fire flashed from his eyes; the farmers stepped back from his righteous rage. “We are going to leave,” he said. “And if your god stands in our way, he will regret it. I will tear down his palace around his ears!”

The farmers stepped back. They did not know what they faced, but they felt the Zenith’s power in their bones. Pale beneath his freckles, Olsn protested weakly. “Please… our lives are good here. Don’t destroy our way of life.”

“We have no intention of breaking your mist,” sneered Fetek.

The farmer turned again to Thorwald, who snarled, “What is the matter with you? You call yourself a Northman? What is so scary out there, that you would cower here?”

“Um… the walking dead, hungry ghosts, bandits, monsters, and the Fair Folk.”

Zera folded his arms across his chest. “Look. All things being equal, we don’t want to take your paradise away. We just want to leave and go about our business.”

So they left the farmers behind and approached the mighty palace-temple that sprawled across the center of the valley, its low and sinuous wings surrounding a massive hall whose ascending walls vanished into the mist above. Hedges and flowering trees wound around its intricately carved and ornamented walls.

“My friends,” asked Li of her fellows, “what shall we say to this Sage?”

Fetek smiled coldly. “We’ll say, ‘Let us out or you will regret it.’”

“And if he says no?”

“Then he will regret it.”

They crossed a green sward flanked by roses and honeysuckle, then followed a crushed gravel path of pale gray and green to a broad, shaded portico. Golden dragons curled around the silver half-moon gates. The gates swung open to reveal a small, furred shape robed in pale green and lavender, bearing a massive tome in its arms. This was Wei Ming, an old chipmunk-spirit, and majordomo to the Sage of the Lilac Garden. “Greetings,” it chattered. “Welcome to the Palace of Seven Golden Clouds.”

Aekino bowed, hands clasped respectfully before him. “Greetings, noble spirit. We have come to speak to the Sage.”

The godling twitched. “You must first pay his price,” it said. “You must sign away a secret.”

“I am not familiar with that custom.”

“It is very simple.” Wei Ming proferred the tome. “Here, in the register, you must write down a secret. Any secret, great or small. Then you may never speak of it; it remains secret, for you have given it to the Sage. Then you may enter, enjoy his hospitality. That is our way.”

Thorwald grumbled about the necessity of such a thing, but the Circle quickly consented to write a few little secrets into the god’s register, hoping that a god of secrets would surely know such things as would make an audience with him worth their while. Each wrote in turn into the book, except for Thorwald; he did not yet know how to read or write, and so he muttered his secret into Wei Ming’s ear, that the spirit might write in his stead.

Here are the secrets they wrote:

“I am jealous of my elder brother’s closeness to my eldest child, Daran.” – Tepet Aekino

“In the tomb of Blessed Wind and Kuro the Raven, I succumbed to my fear.” – Thorwald

“I sold three days of dreams to the demon Makarios for an item to help me gain revenge.” – Zera Thisse

“On the beach of black sand, I wanted to accept the spirit’s offer. Only fear stopped me.” – Li of Orchid

“I am afraid of the Earth Aspect that killed my family. Very afraid.” – Fetek Breath-of-Midnight

The spirit closed the book and, making small noises, led the Circle to a sumptuous parlor where they could wait to see the Sage. They puttered around for a few moments, discussing the strangeness of the place and the prospect of stealing a few valuable knick-knacks from the shelves to fill their nigh-empty purses. Then Wei Ming returned. He led them down a long, twisting hall, past doors and corridors, to a mazy courtyard filled with the swirl and scent of lilac blossoms.

There, among lattices drooping heavily with lilacs, there stood a tall man in fluttering robes of lilac marked with yellow and gold. His inhumanly long fingers plucked and pruned the flowering bushes; his eyes glittered with indeterminate color. This was the Sage of the Lilac Garden, and he greeted our heroes most cordially. “Welcome, oh you children of the Sun, to this, my home.”

“Greetings, oh Sage,” the Dynast replied in the Old Tongue. “We come to you in supplication, for we seek knowledge.”

“You are the children of the Sun,” said the god, “and you are always welcome in my temple. You may stay as long as you wish, and avail yourselves of my hospitality. But if you seek knowledge from me, you must understand that I cannot surrender my secrets lightly. Should you desire common knowledge, that I shall provide at no cost; but should you desire secrets, you must surrender secrets of your own to me, that I may maintain the balance.”

“And what sort of secrets do you require, oh Sage?”

“Any secret will do; but the greater the secret, and the fewer who know it, the more do I treasure it. You have each already signed away a secret in my register. To learn of my secrets, you must sign more of your secrets away to me, each according to their value, under the eye of Heaven.”

Aekino eyed his fellows, some of who shifted uneasily as they listened to the words of the Sage. “I fear that we had not entirely expected this, oh Sage. Would it be improper for us to take some time to consider your offer?”

“Not at all. Please, allow Wei Ming to lead you to your suites. As I have said, you are always welcome beneath my roof.”

Our heroes retired to the suites allotted to them, to refresh themselves and to speak of the offer before them. “This exchange of secrets… it’s really quite interesting,” said Aekino. “It’s a gift, in its way. It makes one look into one’s secret heart.”

Fetek shook his head. “That is not why he does it. He belongs to the Court of Secrets.”

“His reasons are unimportant.”

“No. He gets power from them.”

“At least,” interjected Thorwald, “he didn’t ask for gold. Of that, we have very little.”

They discussed what they might ask the Sage. By what means might the lords of the dead be slain? Was Forty-Four Devil Blossoms aligned with the Prince Resplendent, or was there politics even among the dead? (“In death there is power,” observed Fetek, “and where there is power, there is politics.”) Did our heroes even intend on pursuing the venture to Kaihan, or would they go back to Tul Tuin, and so would it be better to inquire about demons or the walking dead?

Later, after their debate had ground to a halt, our heroes attended the Sage in one of the palace’s many rooms. There is little we can say of what transpired in their discourse; this should come as no surprise, for the Sage ranked highly among the gods of secrets, and the Court of Secrets holds its treasures tightly. I can say that the Solars offered up four more of their secrets, writing them into the Sage’s register. This is what they wrote:

“When I was a child, I accidentally set my uncle’s barn on fire. And I never told him, because I did not want to get beaten. He never did find out who did it.” – Thorwald

“I had hoped that the demon was really taking my mother.” – Tepet Aekino

“I was happy to kill Urei.” – Li of Orchid

“I accidentally allowed a child to die, because I let emotion get in the way of my duty.” – Zera Thisse

As to the sum of their questions and the purpose behind them… Thorwald asked no questions, signing away a secret only to demonstrate that he had no fear of doing so. Li inquired as to the disposition of her parents, learning only that her mother was a princess in the East, and her father a being outside of Fate, where both know dwelt. Aekino sought knowledge of Kaihan and its lords, but the Sage proved to know little of the greater secrets he desired, for the lords of the dead dwelt beyond the borders of Creation and outside the knowledge of the Sage. Likewise, he sought to learn how the demon queen Amalion might be destroyed or banished. The Sage averred that Amalion had two forms, that of a woman and that of a high palace or other building, and that she could be in many places at once; he said that her building form would require mighty forces to level, and that while her human form might be more vulnerable, finding it within the labyrinth of her building would be difficult. As for Zera, well, he wanted to know by what means a dweller in the Valley of Mysterious Mists might be set free.

“You want to free Cora?” hissed Aekino. “He’s just a farmer. There are many others who need help. Why fixate on this one?”

Zera glared. “Where you see a farmer, Aekino, I see a person. I will not ignore his needs just because there are others who may also need my help.”

“Show some decorum, Children of the Sun,” snapped Fetek.

As it happened, the price by which one who dwells in the Valley might be set free did not cost a secret, so Zera asked another, more cryptic question: “Did the person who traveled with me to Gem still lived, and if that person did live, might she be found?”

“She still lives,” said the Sage, “and she is in Nexus.” With this, Zera was satisfied.

When they were done, Aekino politely thanked the Sage in the Old Tongue, after which the Circle left his presence and departed from the temple.

“I am disappointed in you, Descending Sun,” Fetek said to Aekino, as they walked out into the evening glow of the mist. The Dynast merely raised an eyebrow, so Fetek continued: “I say this to you because you should know better. Would you squabble in front of the Empress? In front of a king? This is a god.”

“You are right,” said the Twilight. He hung his head in shame.

They visited the farmer Olsn to collect their horses. Then they stopped by his neighbor Cora’s house. Cora poked his head out nervously. “Yes?”

Zera stepped forward. “I have spoken with the Sage on your behalf.”

Cora looked slightly ill. “Who are you people, anyway?”

“That’s not important. We have learned that you can leave the valley. But to do so, you must go to the temple and allow the Sage to take your voice.”

“My voice?” The fellow put his hand to his throat.

Zera nodded. “You don’t have to do it. But if you do, then you can leave.”

“I… I need to speak to my wife about this. But thank you.” Cora stepped back inside, closed the oaken door. Faintly, the Circle could hear the sounds of argument from within. “Do you want to stay here forever?” Cora shouted. Shrilly, his wife replied, “Don’t you think it will be hard enough outside without a voice?”

They led their horses off. “I bet you they do not leave,” said Thorwald to his brother Zera.

“They have a choice now.”

“Do you hear that woman’s voice?” laughed Thorwald. “I would leave in a heartbeat.”

* * * * *

After leaving the Valley of Mysterious Mists behind them, our heroes crested the last of the hills, to see the slope stretch out before them into a twilit plain. Faint sparkles of village and town glinted in the gathering dark. “We should make camp,” said Thorwald, “and continue on tomorrow.” And so it was; they slept for a night, then made their way onward in the morning, Their route took them toward a village that lay at the edge of the shadowland, a mere day’s journey away. Kaihan lay as a dark blot upon the landscape beyond.

“What sort of people,” asked Li as they rode, “would dwell at the edge of the lands of the dead?”

Thorwald shrugged. It was warm for autumn; dust caked itself upon his skin. “They are either traitors or slaves. Either way, we cannot trust them.”

“It is not a matter of trust,” replied Zera Thisse. “It is a matter of how much subterfuge we need.”

Our heroes talked as they traveled. I will not go deeply into their arguments, their outbursts, at this time. Suffice it to say that there were harsh words exchanged, at least in the matter of the ongoing animosity that ever bubbled up between the patrician Tepet Aekino and the earthier Zera Thisse. Thorwald’s gift of precious orichalcum to their host Stone Rain did not go unmentioned, either, though it was always hard to hold a grudge against the Northman; after all, had he known that he was giving away wealth equaling the worth of a small kingdom, well, surely he would have done otherwise, eh?

It was late in the day when they reached the small village at the edge of the shadowland. A few houses and barns lay scattered among fields newly sown with winter wheat; a pair of oxcarts stood empty at the verge of a road that led west toward another town in the distance.

Keen-eyed as always, Zera noted some oddities about the place. The farmers working in the fields wore long coats of a mottled green-brown color. Scarecrows of the same green-brown coloring hung in rows before each farmhouse. As they rode past one of the fields, Thorwald split off from the others, trotting his horse over to a farmer who fought a particularly tenacious weed with his hoe. “You there,” said Thorwald.

The farmer looked up. She brushed away a stray lock of hair, but continued with her hoeing. Her jacket, Thorwald observed, was of leather, but living ivy grew from pockets at hem and cuffs, winding their way up around sleeve and torso to the neck.

“What’s that?” Thorwald asked.

The woman shrugged. “A hoe,” she observed laconically.

“No, not that.”

“Oh… Greenline ivy.” Seeing that she’d get no peace until she answered in full, she gave her hoeing a rest. “It keeps the ghosts away.”

“Does it really keep the ghosts away?”

“Yes.”

“And where do you get it?”

She pointed along the road to the west. “In Greenline. The Matrons make it, in the temple.”

“Thank you.” Thorwald left her to rejoin his fellows, to whom he related the conversation. They marveled at the notion. “Farmers are perhaps the most superstitious people in creation,” Zera observed.

“Yes,” replied Thorwald, “but they’re not always wrong.”

Fetek stopped by one of the farmhouses. The ‘scarecrows’ proved to be more of the ivy-covered coats, hung out on wooden frames to catch the sun and the rain. Using certain magics at his command, the Lunar communed with the living plants. “That ivy does, in fact, keep the ghosts away.”

Thorwald grunted. “Then we should get some.”

So they followed the dirt road to the west. They reached the small town of Greenline by sundown. A two-storied wooden temple dominated the handful of houses and shops that comprised the place. Rutted tracks showed that the town did regular commerce with the shadowland, a thing also evidenced by a certain level of wealth unusual in a small border town such as this.

Aekino went to the temple with his brothers. There, he wielded the Tepet family name like a weapon, commanding the white-robed Matrons to yield five of the ivy-wrapped buff jackets for a mere pittance. As it happens, all that remained to our heroes was a pittance, and so they came away with only enough money for a night’s stay at the town’s inn, with rough peasant stew and turnip beer. Zera made an awful face at the taste of the stuff.

“To think!” said Thorwald, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “This may be the last thing you drink.”

Zera winced. “To think.”

They woke up early the next morning. Ere the sun had risen, they had settled accounts with the innkeeper, who agreed to hold and keep their horses for a few days at least. They set off at dawn, into the shadowland. The air hung heavy and gray upon them, beneath a leaden sky. The road grew broader, clearer, as they traveled. They met no other travelers, though others watched them from a distance: ghost farmers, toiling in their sterile fields, raising ghost wheat and phantom rice.

As the sun crossed the sky, the distant city of Kaihan loomed larger and larger. It hulked and glittered like some loathsome insect. Soon twilight loomed, casting the city’s shadows across the colorless shadowland. They could see the city’s stone walls and towers, patched in many places and in others, crumbling. Before them, great gates opened wide to disgorge a troop of ghost riders on skeletal horses.

“Who goes there?” shouted the leader, clad in armor of black steel and bone.

“We have come to see your master,” Aekino called back. He wrapped a cologne-drenched scarf across his nose and mouth. “Let us pass, if you please.”

They bandied words back and forth for a moment longer. Soon thereafter, Autumn’s Breath, captain of the dead troop, escorted the Circle into the city of Kaihan.

Our heroes marveled at the city of the dead. What did they expect to see? Aisles of moldering bones? Legions of zombies frothing to taste living flesh? Silence and stillness? What they saw differed from all of their expectations. The ghosts of the dead walked and spoke like the living, and they aped the works of the living with consummate perfection. Dead citizens haggled with dead merchants over goods that the dead should not need; dead artisans worked cloth and metal and wood; dead patrons ate ghost food and quaffed ghost ale at taverns and market stalls. Dead children laughed and played games in the street, the marks of their deaths clear upon them.

They moved toward the center of the city, among well-maintained buildings of granite and marble. They passed a great building of glass, long and flat as a door resting upon its edge, its upper stories still glinting with the last rays of the sun. They passed through the outer gates of the Manse of Kaihan, entering a vast courtyard where scales of ghost soldiers drilled with the bow and with the spear. And through the inner gates they went, down halls and corridors, to the great hall where, once, the outcaste Ral Therin had sat a throne and ruled a mighty kingdom.

None could see the face of he who now sat upon the throne, for he wore weighty armor of orichalcum, of the sort favored in the First Age. Its feathered engravings seemed strangely dulled, as if even the Sun’s sacred metal were not proof against the corrosive darkness of the dead lands. Visions flitted through Tepet Aekino’s brain, visions in which he forged a masterwork of sorcerous mail, the Invincible Armor of the Resplendent Golden Phoenix; and he gnashed his teeth to see it worn by one of the lords of the dead.

Aekino strode forward across the floor of that great chamber, where an imperial guard of ghost archers and halberdiers watched him through dead eyes. The ivy upon his enchanted coat wilted as he approached the throne. “Greetings,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I presume I address the Prince Resplendent?”

“Of course.” The voice of the prince was that of a tradesman, coarse and somewhat nasal, filled with self-assurance and amusement. “I am the Prince Resplendent in the Ruin of Ages. Who are you, and what brings you to my hall?”

“We are those whose possessions you have taken.” Aekino glared, the pretense of diplomacy all but abandoned. “We want them back.”

“Do you now?” The Prince stretched; he hooked one leg over the arm of the throne with a metallic clunk. “What makes you think I have whatever baubles you may have lost?”

“You left a note, now didn’t you? We read your little riddle. We came for our grave goods. And we want them back. Now.”

“Well now, that’s not for me to say, is it? If you want your little trinkets, you’ll have to go to the Wisdom.”

“Who is the Wisdom?”

“Why, he rules the Library. You’re lucky he’s in town right now. You want to see him? Autumn’s Breath will take you to him. After that, well, after that you’re on your own.” The Prince gestured nonchalantly, dismissing the Circle.

His face taut, Aekino stomped back to rejoin the others, and they all followed the dead captain out of the palace. Autumn’s Breath and her contingent led the Circle among the stony buildings of the dead city, to the edge of the great glass slab that now towered above them, its pebbled surface shimmering in patches with red and gold light. There they waited for our heroes to enter the Library.

As they passed the gates of the Library, Aekino recalled a thing from an ancient grimoire that he once had read. He met Fetek’s eyes, and that worthy one nodded, for he too recalled the writings of the ancient ones who had trucked with demons. “Orabilis,” the Twilight whispered. “The End of All Wisdom.”

Thorwald cast a puzzled gaze upon the shelves and lecterns, the racks of scrolls, the hooded shapes that moved here and there through the stacks. “Who is this Orabilis?”

“Later.” Aekino shuddered. “Later.”

They addressed one of the cloaked librarians, seeking directions to the place of the Wisdom. The librarian took up a lamp and led them up stairs and ramps, past room after room filled with texts, to a single door, to which it pointed. Our heroes knocked upon the door. Hearing no response, they looked at one another; then they entered.

A small, slight figure, cloaked in gray, sat behind a massive desk of black wood and tarnished silver. It cast back its hood, revealing a gaunt shape of a man, disfigured by the slick scars of countless burns all over its scalp and face. It looked upon Tepet Aekino. With some difficulty, as if it attempted a thing not done for centuries, it smiled. It spoke.

“Sister.”

Quendalon

04-08-2004, 11:35 PM

The gentle breezes of springtime passed through the leaves, making branches and flowers dance and the buckles of armor and saddle jingle lightly. The young man sat astride his roan mare easily, a full length ahead of the mounted party of soldiers, pennants of the Imperial Realm flapping behind them. The wind brought him the sound of their low voices, as they discussed the various pros and cons of following an “untrained peasant child” into the wilderness.

Suddenly, hardened warriors were gasping and struggling to free heavy chopping swords and daiklaves from scabbards as the brush to their left rustled noisily. The young man grinned as he watched the covey of quail burst from the cover of the juniper bush and dart off to the south. The soldiers gaped, and faces quickly became crimson under faceguards and oaths muttered in rueful disgust.

Zera Thisse held up his mare, and allowed the Scale of Realm soldiers to catch up. The Scale was only one-fifth of a full Talon, but the Talonlord had personally taken command. He was a Wood-aspected Dragon Blood, and he alone seemed as comfortable in the wild as the boy from Thorns.

“Young man, would you ride ahead with me for a time?” Zera blinked for a moment, and nodded with as much grace as he could muster. “Excellent. Bannerman Doma, you take command, and put out a rear guard of five. Mya, that’s your duty. Move out.” The second Dragon-Blood led her four into the trees behind them as Ledaal Corvan adjusted a strap of his green jade breastplate, and prodded his black Marukani war-charger into motion. Zera followed wordlessly.

They rode ahead in silence for a time, and the songs of robins and blue jays blended with the dull plodding of the horse hooves. Zera stole glances at the tall, impassive Imperial, and found it hard to suppress a wave of grudging respect. There was no love lost between him and the denizens of the Blessed Isle, but this man held himself with such dignity and confidence that it was difficult indeed to find even a shred of contempt for him. Zera doubted very much that this man had ever seen the inside of a House Cynis orgy-house.

Corvan turned his head, long greenish hair swirling around his tanned face as he regarded Zera with piercing brown eyes. “The men only see a child. I know you’ve heard their grumblings, and I can hardly summon a decent apology for their words. My superiors know well of your deeds, and their recommendation is not something I take lightly. Know that I trust you to find our quarry.” Zera stared in utter shock. This was not what he was expecting. His respect for the man grew by the moment.

“I’ll do my best, Lord Corvan. Can you tell me a little more about this man? Perhaps what is so urgent about this chase? If I’m in danger, and since we track a Dragon-Blood, I know I am, it is hardly unfair to ask what I’m getting myself into.”

Ledaal Corvan smiled inwardly. This youth had courage to spare, though he didn’t have the slightest grip on tact or propriety. He rather reminded Corvan of himself as a lad. He turned the possibilities over in his mind, and decided to let the lad in on what he was getting himself into.

----

The apartment that Zera had recently bought for himself was on Harlequin Street, which was not the best neighborhood in Thorns, but it was well above the squalid districts where the beggars and cutpurses spent their dreary days. It was also a sight more comfortable than the logger’s cabin where he grew up. The building itself was well-cut stone, on a marble foundation. The windowpanes held actual glass, and were surrounded by intricate carvings of fanciful animals and mythical heroes.

Carved mahogany stairs curved around the back of the building, and climbed up the length of the structure, ending at each level in a small terrace. Zera lived on the second floor, and he made his way up the stairs and through the heavy oaken door, into his carpeted sitting room. He tossed his travel-stained cloak over a chair and flopped into sheepskin-covered armchair in front of the hearth, and let out a sigh.

This last trip had been long indeed, all the way to the city of Nexus. It was his first time there, and the experience had contained its share of ups and downs. He had been hired by a representative of the Guild to track a band of horse thieves, and they had cleverly thought to hide themselves right under the Guild’s nose. Nexus was where the Guild made its headquarters, and the thieves’ clever ruse was rather embarrassing to the organization. He had been paid rather well, but also cautioned to keep quiet on pain of a rather gruesome death. That was no problem to Zera; he never released the details of his work. He had a reputation to uphold.

----

The day disappeared into darkness, and Zera busied himself with making a fire and preparing the evening meal. He had been gone for almost a month, and it had been awhile since he had a decent meal. As he cooked a stew of beans and lamb, he realized it had also been some time since he had seen his family. His father would be proud to hear of this latest exploit, and it would do well to soothe his mother’s fears. She never liked him doing this kind of work, even though it provided a rather nice home for them as well. His mother seemed to think it would get him in trouble someday. Zera grinned as he added spices and a touch of salt.

An insistent knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts, and he knocked over the shaker of salt. Cursing quietly, he set the newly emptied shaker on the table and rushed to the front room. “Who goes there?” Zera asked with more than a touch of irritation . “Open in the name of the Scarlet Empress, and the Realm.” That is never a good thing, Zera thought. I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.

The heavy door swung open, revealing three armed figures, silhouetted in the light of the torch-brackets at the corners of the terrace. The tall man at the front of the group spoke, his voice calm and self-assured. It was not the voice that demanded he open the door. “Are you the man known as Zera Thisse? The tracker and woodsman?” Zera nodded, eyes narrowed. “We have need of your services. May we come in?”

----

Zera sat in the wooden chair, glancing quietly at the officer sitting in his armchair, holding a teacup delicately despite the impressive size of his hand. The two lesser officers, one male and one female, stood like statues at either side of the front door. It was hard not to feel a little trapped.

“So, let me see if I have the right of this, Lord Ledaal Corvan. You want me to track a traitor to the Realm, who is headed south, and is known to have some kind of dangerous First Age item or weapon. If I agree to this task, I cannot abandon the chase even if all of my escort dies, or my fee is forfeited and I am declared a traitor myself. If I speak of anything I see or hear, I am a traitor and will be tracked and executed. Did I forget anything?”

The woman at the door grinned sardonically, but Zera’s slightly sarcastic tone did nothing to ruffle the Talonlord sitting rigidly in the armchair. “Quite correct, Master Thisse, though you did neglect one point I stressed earlier. For the duration of this excursion, you are to consider yourself under my command, as if you were enrolled in the ranks of my Talon. You are clear on that, yes?”

Zera nodded, reluctantly. This was going to be a long, long journey.

----

The marketplaces of Thorns were already buzzing by the time the sun cleared the horizon, and Zera was already among the stalls and yelling vendors, picking his way among the throng to the familiar shops he frequented before long journeys. It was always an exhilarating affair; he loved long journeys and preparing for them was almost as much fun as actually going. Today was a different story, however.

Ledaal Mya walked by his side, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly at this backwoods city market. She was of a height with Zera, and her chin-length, light blue hair highlighted her Air-aspect. Her face and hands had more than one scar, but there was genuine beauty underneath. If she was a Guild caravan guard or a mercenary, Zera would have tried to work his charms on her. A common tavern quote in Thorns, being so close to the Blessed Isle, came to mind. “You can take the woman out of the Realm, but you can’t take the Realm out of the woman.” Observing her contempt of these people, HIS people, he knew that she was one pretty woman he would never share a bed with.

It was a rare occurrence that Zera had a sizable budget to prepare a journey with, so he stretched it to the limit. He bought two good packhorses, traveling rations for a month, a brand new bow and several quivers of arrows, a map of the Southern reaches, and many other necessities. Mya remained largely silent, only adding minor suggestions to the list, and doling out the jade when the time came. When all was bought and paid for, they met Ledaal Corvan and the other twenty-four soldiers at the edge of the city, all the men already mounted and armored in brightly shining steel and jade. Mya quickly strapped on her own blue jade breastplate and sheathed a silver-hilted daiklave behind her back, and mounted a chestnut-colored stallion. As the sun hit its noontime peak, the journey began.

----

Six days had passed, and the last vestiges of civilization had been left behind. The trail had been picked up, and the Ledaal soldiers followed the youth from Thorns deeper into the wilderness. As Mya and her scouts checked the backtrail, Lord Corvan and Zera Thisse rode at the head of the column, and they talked as they rode, keeping their voices judiciously low.

“Master Thisse, the man that we are tracking is a traitor to the Realm, as I have said. His name is Ledaal Derelann, and he was the once the commander of the Legion I serve. He is a master of tactics and warfare, an implacable enemy in combat himself, and is one of the most dangerous men I know personally.” Corvan stopped to watch Zera’s reaction, and when he was satisfied that Zera wasn’t going to run in terror, he continued. “ He somehow came into possession of an artifact of the First Age, I believe after defeating a bandit lord and his rabble. Nevertheless, he discovered that it was only a portion of the true artifact that he possessed. I believe it is a staff of some length when completely assembled, and it is divided into four wand-sized sections. The first section, we have discovered to our sorrow, can affect or completely change the thoughts of men and Dragon-blooded alike. He has succumbed to the artifact’s power himself, and is now bent on amassing his own personal army and attaining some goal we have been unable to ascertain.”

“He has followers already, Lord Corvan. I can already tell by the tracks.” Zera replied, outwardly the picture of self-assurance and calm. Inside, fear began to gnaw at his belly. This was out of his league, and there would be a great deal of blood before the end. He found himself thinking of his family, and his cozy little home. He began to wonder if he’d see either again.

Corvan nodded grimly. “It is as I feared. My superiors only sent a Scale so as not to attract attention. Mya and myself are the only two blessed by the Dragons, and I fear it may not be enough. I am uncertain that all twenty-five will even live long enough to see this battle. There is much wild land between us and Derelann’s destination.”

“Where is our quarry headed, anyway? How can we be sure that he’s going anywhere in particular?” Zera asked with a quizzical look.

“Young man, we of the Ledaal clan have the wisest of councilors and advisors, men and women who can consult the stars themselves for the answers to any dilemma or quandary. They have informed us that Master Derelann has found two pieces of the artifact. The third is in the old sections of Chiaroscuro, in the districts plagued by hungry ghosts and the sadness of the Contagion. It is there we travel. If we are not in time, we must reach the city of Gem itself. It is there the fourth piece resides, in the deepest tunnels below the mountain.”

“Why don’t we just make directly for Gem, Lord Corvan? He’ll have to come to us if he wants the last piece of the staff. Wouldn’t it be better if we held it in our possession, and he had to chase us instead of the other way around?”

The venerable Dragon-blood smiled at the boy. “That is not entirely a bad line of thought, young man, but there are flaws to consider. We have no idea what the individual pieces of the artifact are capable of, beyond the first. The fact that Derelann possesses two of the wands already worries me greatly. If he comes directly for us, bearing three of the four, who knows what powers he can bring to bear on us?”

Zera nodded thoughtfully, fear beginning to creep into his eyes, when the furious pounding of hoofbeats behind them pulled both men’s attention. Ledaal Mya charged into sight from over a tree-lined hill, accompanied by only two men and two empty-saddled horses. “Hobgoblin ambush, my Lord!” she yelled as she and her escort joined the column, and wheeled their horses around. “Goral and Tain took arrows, Lord Corvan. They won’t be returning.” The Talonlord nodded and spat an oath. “How many, and how close?” Mya grimaced. “They are moments behind us. There are about fifty or so, easily double our number. They have bowmen and some even have mounts and lances. This won’t be easy.”

----

There was only scant moments to array their forces at the top of the hill before they began to hear the whooping and screaming of the hobgoblin bandits accompanied by pounding hooves and the warning cries of the birds above. Eleven of the men presented a solid line of heavy shields and gleaming lances, arrayed in perfect formation, and another ten pulled short horsebows from saddle cases, and nocked armor-piercing arrows.

Ledaal Corvan drew his daiklave, as did Mya next to him. He turned to Zera Thisse. “Young man, you may want to find a safe vantage point. This won’t be completely without danger.” Mya smirked. “Don’t worry about me, Lord Corvan. I’ve fought a hobgoblin or two in my travels.” This time, Corvan shared Mya’s disbelieving smile. “Very well. Be careful.” They turned to watch the slavering humanoids advancing to the bottom of the ridge. Zera glanced quickly about, settled on a large oak tree, and hoisted himself onto the lower branches. He quickly found a vantage point higher in the tree, unslung his bow, and waited.

The hobgoblins reached the bottom of the hill, and paused. Silence hung over the forest for almost a full minute, and one large, armor-clad hobgoblin pushed his way to the front. “Toss weapons down. We too many.” He grinned, saliva dripping from his protruding fangs as he gripped a heavy chopping sword with both knobby hands. “Surrender and give us jade, we let you live.” The mass of panting humanoids behind him grinned and muttered jokes to each other in their rough language. The way they caressed sword hilts and bowstaves in anticipation gave their leader the lie.

“The Scale will open fire on my command.” Corvan’s voice rang out with authority. “I give you this chance to retreat, hobgoblin. You will not get another. Do you accept?” The hobgoblin leader sneered and barked a command to his men. They drew swords or leveled lances, and the rest nocked arrows to bows. The silence returned for an eternity, the tension knotting the muscles of man and goblin alike, and the hobgoblin’s next sharp command rang out like a shot from a firewand. The mass of hobgoblins hurled themselves screaming up the grassy hill, the latter ranks sending black-shafted, cruelly-barbed arrows ahead of them.

The wave of arrows clashed against the steel of tower shields, and a single Ledaal lancer fell from her horse with a shaft protruding from her leg. “The Scale will fire!” Corvan’s command rang out, and was immediately answered by the twang of bowstrings. Black-clad hobgoblins went down, howling and clutching at pale ashwood shafts, as their brethren leaped over their fallen forms or pushed the staggering wounded out of the way. The keening throng met the lancers with a clash of steel and the screaming of the combatants, a mindless and desperate noise.

The archers dropped their bows as the goblins advanced, and drew narrow stabbing swords, and surged forth to meet those who broke the lancers’ line. The weight of the goblins’ line pushed quite a few past even the swordsmen, and it was these who had no chance at all. Mya and Lord Corvan stood roughly ten feet apart, and worked the massive daiklaves with the ease of men with wooden practice swords. Wherever those awesome and terrible blades whirled, flesh and bone was rent and blackish blood spattered and gouted along the grass.

Zera chose his shots carefully, as the opposite forces surged back and forth chaotically. Doma clashed with three sword-wielding goblins, parrying blow after blow with his heavy war-axe and steadily falling back. He never saw the goblin to his left drawing back its bow for the shot it could not miss. Zera did, however, and the goblin went down with an arrow protruding from its eye. Another shot took the horse out from under a hobgoblin lancer, tumbling the creature to the grassy earth, where two swordsmen skewered it and ran onward. He cast his eyes about, and noticed the lancerwoman who had gone down in the first flight of arrows, surrounded by four goblins. No one else could hope to get to her in time.

He leapt from the branch, letting two throwing knives fly as he hurtled towards the ground. Two slavering hobgoblins sunk to the ground screaming, hilts blossoming from their throats as Zera hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet and drawing his shortsword and dagger just in time to parry the next goblin’s swing. He parried again and ducked as the fourth goblin swung a flanged mace at his head.

Behind him, the lancers had dropped their pikes and drawn sword or axe, and the battle had joined in earnest. Heat rose in waves from the battle, and the din was nigh unbearable. Men and women had gone down screaming, and a full third of the hobgoblin host lay on the grass unmoving. Corvan and Mya were now back to back, as the human line had splintered into pockets of soldiers covering each other’s backs, as the throng of goblins swept among them.

Zera worked sword and dagger methodically, fear completely lost in the rush of adrenaline and the ecstasy of knowing that for at least that one moment, he was still alive. Aleia, the wounded solider, had pulled herself to her feet and put her back to a tree trunk, using the lance-stave like a quarterstaff, fending off the blows of two goblins as Zera fought to reach her. He caught her gaze for the merest moment, and she gave a tight smile in thanks.

He turned back to the goblins he was battling, and even as he snuck the dagger through one’s defenses and plunged it into the goblin’s throat, he saw the armored leader push its way towards him and Aleia. He had seen his share of melee combat, but he was an archer in truth. Zera didn’t believe he would survive fighting this hobgoblin hand to hand. Either way, his shortsword and dagger weren’t much of a defense against the heavy-bladed, barbed spear the goblin carried. He watched the goblin leader plunge the spear point into a lancer nearby, splitting the steel breastplate as it entered. The man went down without a sound, eyes already glazed over in death. That is no ordinary spear, Zera thought. Just bloody wonderful.

He fell back before the last goblin’s mace swings, reaching the tree Aleia leaned against. She eyed the leader and frowned. “That one’ll spit the both of us like coneys. You know that.” Zera actually found the breath to laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Aleia. Just for that, I’ll kill him myself.” Aleia laughed herself, and swept the butt of the lance under the mace-wielder’s legs, tripping him and allowing Zera to get the killing stroke. She continued the motion upwards and sunk the point into the chest of the hobgoblin before her.

The leader motioned its two bodyguards into the fray ahead, and eyed the pair with obvious relish. It paused ten feet away and grinned, speaking to them in broken Low Realm. “Hurt woman and little boy with kitchen knife. This not be easier.” Zera and Aleia shared a defeated glance, and raised their weapons to die fighting. The leader raised his wicked spear, and took his first step forward. Before the pair’s startled eyes, a slew of dark green, leafy vines sprung forth from the earth and wrapped around the goblin’s legs.

Aleia whipped her head around to see Lord Corvan lowering his hand, and Mya striding forward. A gust of howling wind tore through the trees, pulling leaves from branches and uprooting bushes from the earth as it ripped the spear from the goblin’s grip. The leader’s reddish, porcine eyes widened in fear and horror, and it began to stammer brokenly for mercy. Corvan cast a glance back at the steel-clad men and women laying in the grass, and nodded to Mya. She raised her bloody daiklave, and whipped it down violently. The stammering ceased abruptly, with a wet tearing sound. Zera looked around with a start, and realized there were no more hobgoblins standing. Men and women wearily leaned on lances and two of the archers were busy gathering the mounts of the fallen soldiers. It was over.

----

“Did you get a count, Bannerman?” Corvan asked as he pulled off his breastplate, dabbing a cloth against a jagged cut along his shoulder. “Aye, that I did, my Lord.” Doma shook his head. “Too many. Nine all told. Rollen, Cormic, Daye and Yolanda among the lancers, and Gia, Claye, Par, Torander, and Halima among the archers.” Corvan nodded, his mouth a grim twist. “Mark them on the roll, and get them buried post haste. No need to leave hungry ghosts in our wake.” Doma nodded and scurried off, his voice raised in shouts of command.

Corvan turned to Mya and Zera, standing off to his side. “We need to press harder. We can’t afford to take losses like this if we are to accomplish this mission. I mean to make the mountains in two days.” Zera opened his mouth to protest, but Mya laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. It was what Lord Corvan wanted, and he was a man who got what he asked for. Zera sighed and nodded slowly. “We can do it, if we press the horses hard, and don’t stop for more than one meal a day. There are passes in the mountains marked on the map I bought, and we can make it to Kirighast two or three days after we’re through, if the weather holds in the passes.”

The Talonlord considered the boy from Thorns for a moment. “How old are you, young man?” Zera raised an eyebrow at the unexpected question. “I have seen sixteen winters, my Lord. Why?” Corvan frowned at the answer, but nodded his head as if he already knew the answer. “So young to ask you this, but with Cormic, Tain, and Goral dead, I don’t have many men left who can scout. It’s dangerous duty, and you aren’t actually a solider, but I may ask it of you. Are you up to it, young man?”

Zera sighed, and nodded once. “It’ll make actually tracking Lord Derelann somewhat harder, but I do see the need. You can count on me, Lord Corvan.” The Talonlord stared intently at the boy, catching his gaze like a hawk snatches up a mouse. “I certainly hope so. There’s a lot of lives riding on your ability to do both. Now, help the others make camp and get yourself some sleep. We leave before first light. Doma will let you know when your watch comes up.” Corvan strode off, carrying his breastplate under his arm and showing no one the worry he had in his heart.

----

The night was old when Doma shook Zera awake. “You’ve got the duty, boy. Aleia’s your partner. You two have the west side of camp. Keep your eyes open and I’ll see you in the morning.” With a gruff nod and a hint of a knowing smile, he drifted among the sleeping forms to his bedroll.

Zera rolled up his blankets and tied them with twine, and ghosted his way among the sleeping soldiers to the west side of the camp. Aleia grinned at him as he approached, her hand toying with the rough bandage around her left thigh. “I never got to properly thank you for saving my life, farmboy.” She grinned wolfishly. “Come on over here. I’ll help you get some of that hay out of your hair.” Zera smirked. “Hay? I live in a city, soldier. And I can probably show you a thing or two myself.”

He closed the distance, and smiled to himself. At least this journey wasn’t going to be a complete waste of time. They glanced around to make sure everyone was sleeping, and gave a cursory sweep of the woods around them. “Looks clear to me, farmboy.” Aleia laughed and took off her helmet, letting light-blonde hair spill to her shoulders. Zera unslung his bow and quiver and tossed them aside. “Looks clear, solider-girl.” The night grew old indeed, and Zera was shown more gratitude then even he thought necessary. No, this journey wasn’t without merit after all.

Some hours later, he made his way back to his bedroll and drifted off to sleep. He had no idea how much worse the journey was actually going to get…

Quendalon

04-10-2004, 04:42 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Ah, children, children! Come closer, come closer, let me tell you a tale! And what tale shall I tell… Would you hear of the Seven Swans of Mirlak, blessed by the gods to choose one child in a generation to be a hero for the weak and the oppressed? Would you hear of how the Thaumatarch of Tessen-O bound the Seven Swans into her service, and of how she perverted their blessing for her own ends? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of the turning of the Age?

“Well then… gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the children of the Sun, and of what they did in the dead city of Kaihan.”

* * * * *

“I am not your sister,” said Tepet Aekino.

“Oh, but you were.” The Wisdom straightened in his baroque chair of old iron and bone. Despite his weak and frail appearance, the Circle stood back from the black miasma of power that billowed forth from his twisted frame as if from a glacial chasm. He eyed each of them. “I know you. I know each of you. You were Sharn Larenn once, circlemate, sister… and you?” His gaze shifted, eyes darting within the scarred hollows of their sockets. “You were Katsuro the Righteous, scourge of mortal rebels and of the Fair Folk, scythe of a thousand fields of battle. And you? You were Blessed Wind, briefly; and before that, you were Ambrani Rao, mighty and wise, the architect of all our woe.”

The Dynast shook his head. “I am not Sharn Larenn.”

“As you would have it.” The Wisdom spoke flatly, his words dry and drained of emotion, like the salt bed of a dead sea. “Once, you were Sharn Larenn. We were of the same Circle. But that was another time. You may not remember it. The visions are slow to take hold. Perhaps you are too young to recall; but they shall take root, in time.”

“You are missing the point. That was another person, another life. I have her memories, her power; but I am my own person. I have my own soul.”

“Indeed, you have your own soul. But the sun-soul that was of Sharn Larenn, that is yours as well. You
have two higher souls now; and in time, they shall become one.”

Aekino gritted his teeth. “None of this is important. What is important, is that we have come for what is
rightfully ours. You have stolen our grave goods. You will give them back, now.”

The Wisdom shrugged. “You claim not to be the Solar Exalted of old, yet you claim their goods as your own? As you would have it; it matters not to me. But as it is said, possession is four-fifths of the law. I do hold artifacts of ancient power in my vaults. Some of them belonged to you in your earlier incarnations. What will you do for me, that I should give these things to you?”

Hesitation. “What do you want?”

“I lack that interest in world affairs that bedevils certain of my brethren.” Despite his general lack of affect, the Wisdom spoke the word ‘brethren’ with distaste. “Nonetheless, there are certain things that you might do for me, certain boons you might grant, that would win you the things that you desire. For instance, you might choose to owe me a favor, a debt that I might call in the future. Alternatively, you might yield up your god-shard for a time, that I might study it for my researches.”

Thorwald grunted incredulously. “You can do such a thing?”

“Indeed. There exist certain vessels that were used long ago in the Betrayal to contain the shards of the Exalted, removing them from the cycle of reincarnation. Some of these vessels have come into my possession. I can remove such a shard, store it in a vessel, and return it after a period of, shall we say, forty days.”

“I think not,” said the Dynast. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” The Wisdom steepled fingers slick with scars. “There are certain artifacts of power, lost texts of occult lore, and the like, that lie scattered across Creation. Some of them would be of value to me in my work. You might retrieve such things and bring them here to me. Lastly… there are those among my brethren that are… aberrant. Dangerous. Their wild, reckless behavior threatens the stability of the current order. This I cannot abide. You may act as my agents in this regard, to investigate their activities and act against their schemes.”

“Aberrant? Dangerous? I am curious,” Aekino asked superciliously, “by what standard do you judge your fellows?”

“Life and death,” the Wisdom began, “are two sides of the same coin. Life is the root, death the flower. Death is the surrender of the flesh to rebirth, to immortality; it is an escape from the chains of blood and breath. It is the gateway to the perfection of eternity. And those who live cross the veil in their own time, upon their own terms, and it is not for us to speed the way. But there are those among my brethren,” he spat the word, “who would hurry the living wholesale upon the path to the dead. These careless murders cut short the flowering of life; they endanger the dead by incurring the wrath of the living.”

“Your pardon,” interrupted Zera Thisse. His eyes glittered with calculation. “There is one among your brethren who has attacked the city of Thorns…”

“Yes, the one who calls himself the Mask of Winters. He is one of those whom I speak of.”

The archer smiled. “Yes. Thank you. That is the name I sought. You are fortunate in this regard; I will do anything against the Mask of Winters.”

“Why are we dealing with this creature?” demanded Thorwald, his jaw clenched. “It is a robber of graves, a thief that slinks in the night! We should take what we want, not bargain to do its bidding! I should cut it apart right now before it speaks another lying word!”

“Strike me, then,” said the Wisdom, its voice as flat as ever. “You cannot kill me. You are incapable of it. You lack both the wit and the strength.”

Thorwald’s eyes bulged. Before he could draw a blade, Aekino placed a hand on his shoulder, saying, “That’s enough, big brother. Don’t let him bait you.” The Northman grumbled, but refrained from a smiting. Aekino turned back to their dark host and said, “All right, Wisdom. We’ve played your game. We’ve followed your trail of breadcrumbs, and we’ll do what we must to recover what you’ve stolen from us. And I’m sure ours isn’t the only grave you’ve robbed. You are clearly a thief, and we have no reason to trust your word. I think you should give us something.”

“And why should I just give you these things?”

“As a sign of good faith. To show us that you mean what you say, that you have what you claim. Bring out one of our artifacts. Then, maybe, we’ll think about your offer.”

The Wisdom stared at the sorcerer. Seconds passed, hissing sands through the hourglass of Time, before he spoke. “Very well. I shall fetch a thing from the vaults. You may wait here for my return.”

The Wisdom departed, and his choking grayness flowed out in his wake.

Li was the first to break the silence. “We should not be here,” she said. “We should not make deals with the darkness.”

Zera smiled. “Who better to tell us how to take down a deathlord than a deathlord?”

“It is a demon.”

“I have to disagree. I have seen enough of the dead to know one when I see one.”

“He spoke of being circlemates with Sharn Larenn,” interjected Aekino. “Perhaps he was once as we were.”

“Perhaps some part of him was,” Li replied. “It matters not. He is now among the ancient evils of the world. We waste time negotiating with him. We should leave.”

“Why leave?” rumbled Thorwald. “There are five of us and one of him. Do we not have swords, and the strength to wield them? We should destroy him!”

“That’s not why we’re here,” said Aekino.”

Li blinked. “Then why are we here?”

“To get the power we need,” Zera answered, “to free Tul Tuin.”

“Then let’s take it!” Thorwald pounded on a table so hard that dust puffed up from the grain. “Let’s fight for it and let’s take it!”

Zera shook his head. “We would die.”

Aekino spoke quickly before Thorwald could interject further. “There’s a lot of information we can gather here,” the Dynast said. “In just the last few minutes, we’ve learned more about the dead than we have in all the months before.”

Li’s eyes narrowed. “And what price shall we pay for that knowledge?”

“There are things we can learn,” Zera replied, “items we can gain, that will mitigate whatever price we have to pay.”

Thorwald grew incensed. “Out of principle we should not deal with this thing!” he roared. “Out of principle! It robs the graves of the dead! And now it tries to twist us into doing its dirty work for it. It is worse than the Fair Folk! Let us kill it, take what it has stolen, and burn this place to the ground!”

“I am willing to deal with this Wisdom character,” said Zera. “But he had best hold to his side of the bargain, or I will pull his library down around his ears. I am tired of diplomacy. We are dealing with a thief on his own terms, and I do not like it.”

Fetek sighed. He had found a niche among the shelves, deep in shadow, of the sort in which he liked to lurk; but he leaned out to speak. “It is foolish to risk your life against certain destruction for the sake of things. When a thousand years have gone by, your possessions will still be here… and you will be stronger.”

So went the debate. Our heroes were still talking when the Wisdom returned. They fell silent and watched as the deathlord lay a long, cloth-wrapped object upon a table. The wrapping fell open, and Zera gasped. He recognized the thing thus exposed: a bow of lucent black jade, inlaid with swirling filigree of green jade and orichalcum, wrapped with an unstrung bowstring woven from some unknown Behemoth’s mane. He reached out.

“You favored this weapon in your last incarnation,” said the deathlord to the entranced Zera Thisse. “It is, of course, not one that you wielded in the First Age. Kuro the Raven claimed it from a tomb she robbed, as with all the rest of her panoply. It is called the Bow of Sixty-Seven Precious Venoms.”

“It’s wonderful,” said the archer. His eyes traced the patterns of filigree, the subtly inlaid script in the Old Tongue that he could not read. His fingers slid over every surface, touching, feeling.

The Wisdom continued. “You will, of course, take the bow and depart with it, giving nothing in return. It is no surprise.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Aekino crossly.

“You will take what is offered to you as your due. You will deny any obligation to one whom you consider morally inferior to yourself. You are of the Celestial Exalted. It is in your nature.”

Oh, there were angry words then, from Aekino, from Thorwald. Their words did not intimidate the Wisdom, but they did strike some chord deep within, for he spoke softly of times past, of the horrors that the Solar Exalted wrought.

“You accuse me,” demanded Thorwald, “of the deeds of Blessed Wind?”

“Blessed Wind?” The ancient ghost’s mouth twisted. “Blessed Wind was nothing. A mote. A spark. A flash in the storm of years. He came long after the Betrayal. No. You were Ambrani Rao. Mighty among the Solar Exalted. Master of the Solar Deliberative. You presided over all our kind in those days, over the black centuries of corruption and mayhem. It was your blindness, your faithlessness, your arrogant pride, that led us to the Betrayal.”

Thorwald paled. Visions sleeted through his mind; flying over strange landscapes in ships of ivory and jade, leading congregations to prayer before mighty altars of gold, standing in stern judgment among his peers, armies marching, cities burning, a shadow across the sun… He stepped back. The Wisdom’s red eyes raked the others in silent challenge.

“But you are young,” continued the Wisdom relentlessly. “You have not yet come into your full strength. Perhaps it will be some time yet before the darkness within you overcomes what you now are.”

“Is that why you want to take our essence?” said Thorwald. “To become what you once were?”

“I cannot. I am the shadow of my former self, not the substance. The sun-shard must become one, not only with the spirit, but the flesh, of which I have none. It was taken from me with blades and with fire. Now only my higher self remains, perfected through death and time. The sun and the flesh are not for me. No, I have other uses for the thing, should you still wish to offer it.”

There came then a brief silence. Aekino broke it. “Friends,” he said, “if I might speak privately with our host?”

The others complied. Those who sat, arose; and they departed and waited outside the door.

“What is your name?” asked the Dynast.

“I am known,” the shade replied, “as That Immaculate Wisdom Which Dwells in the Ashes of the Word. Why do you ask?”

“I have something to say to you, Dweller in Ashes,” said the Dynast.

“And what is that?”

“Just this: you are the most pathetic creature I have ever met. You whine and prattle on about how poorly you have been treated, about the good old days and the bad old days. And all you do is cower here in your library. You disgust me.”

The Wisdom seemed unruffled. “Is that all you wished to say?”

“Yes. We will discuss your offer. But until then, we are done.” And Aekino swept out of the room.

They wound their way back through the bowels of the glass library, along its twisting corridors and down its knotted stairs. And as they walked, they spoke softly of their meeting with the master of the place.

“You know, Li,” said Zera Thisse, “you had that creature all wrong. It didn’t steal our grave goods. It was protecting them… from us.” He shook his head in wonderment. “You know what our former incarnations did. It’s not just the stories of Anathema. It’s our own memories. Given what we did then, how is anyone to know if we can be trusted with such power now?”

Li shrugged. They entered into the grand foyer at the library’s base; they stepped out into the gray and starlit street.

“He did say one thing that was true, at the end,” continued Zera. “We need to do something grandiose. We need to become who we were.”

Li shook her head in crisp negation. “Accomplishment is an illusion. What you do is what you do. Who you are is who you are.”

The Circle settled around the library steps for a good old knock-down, drag-out argument about the nature of the dead, the uncertainty of evil, and their own plans (or lack thereof) for the future. Thorwald, having no taste for pointless debate, went out for a walk. It is, perhaps, fortunate that Li followed him. For when he wandered past a pack of ghost children, and one of the children chucked a rock and hit him in the head, he would have slaughtered them all in a sudden flare of mindless rage, had Li not restrained him.

The northman stormed back into the library. Surprised by his sudden change of demeanor, and worried about what it might portend, the others followed. Thorwald pressed one of the ghost-librarians into service, demanding to be taken back to the Wisdom. Upon entering the Wisdom’s study, he said, “You want to take the Sun’s power from me?”

“Perhaps. Do you offer it?”

“I may yet. I never wanted that power. I do not need it! It has brought nothing but trouble. But I need to know the truth.” He grimaced. “You have the spear that Blessed Wind carried in battle.”

The Wisdom nodded. “It is called Diamond Fire. Ambrani Rao held it, long ago.”

“I want to see it. I want to touch it. Bring it to me.”

The deathlord shrugged. “Very well.” And he departed.

Time passed. The Wisdom returned, the spear wrapped in gray cloth. He unrolled it, and revealed a thing of unguessable splendor. The orichalcum haft of the spear gleamed like a sunbeam in a darkened room; at the tip, a fist-sized diamond blazed at the heart of a sunburst cage of orichalcum blades. Thorwald stretched out his hand. He hesitated; blood flowed as he bit his lip, fearful of what dread memories might come to him at its touch.

He grasped it. He shivered as the visions came, sweeping over him in waves of years.

Sweat prickled on his forehead as he set the thing down again. “That is what I came for,” he said. And he left.

* * * * *

Some time later, as they gathered once more at the entrance to the library, Li asked, “Where is Fetek?” Soon, with the aid of the librarians, they found the Lunar ensconced in a large reading room, poring over histories of the First Age.

“How did you find this place?” inquired a curious Aekino.

“I asked a librarian,” Fetek replied. He didn’t bother to look up.

The Twilight and the Lunar immersed themselves in the texts. The others puttered around, poking desultorily at books written in languages they could not read, speaking in low tones of their plans, their fears. Finally, Fetek looked up from the books. “There is so much we can learn,” he said, “if we stay a day or two. Your names figure prominently in the histories.”

Zera shook his head. “Every day we wait, more innocent people die in Tul Tuin.”

“Knowledge is power, Iron Wolf. There are fragments of demon lore here, references to the demon that rules in Tul Tuin. That knowledge will save lives.”

“All right.” Zera mused as he paced the book-lined gallery that stood a few feet above the reading room floor. “I think we should stay the night. That will give you time to get some more information on what we’re dealing with.”

Aekino nodded. “You can go if you want, and do whatever you need to do. Fetek and I will stay here and read. We’ll meet here tomorrow.”

“Be careful,” warned the archer as he strung his gleaming new bow with palpable satisfaction.

“What, are you worried to leave us alone with the Wisdom?”

“I trust the Wisdom implicitly. But I don’t trust the Prince Resplendent as far as I can throw his horse.”

* * * * *

So Thorwald, Li and Zera went off their own ways, to explore the city of the dead. Fetek and Aekino remained in the library to pore over works of ancient lore, writings from the lost years of the First Age.

Zera stalked alone with his thoughts. Thorwald and Li, for their part, walked through a well-to-do quarter of the dead city, where ghosts mingled and made merry in taverns and open-air courtyards, lit by lanterns and pale corpse-lights that blotted out the starry sky. Some of the dead bore terrible wounds, while others seemed whole, and yet a few other folk bore the marks of life – living folk reveling among the dead.

Thorwald spotted an armed figure in the crowd, one who followed them along their route. He immediately confronted the fellow, who proved to be a guard assigned to assure his safety in the city, and with whom he had a most interesting conversation. The ghost soldier, one Owen by name, spoke of death and courage in ways resembling Thorwald's own attitudes. It troubled the northman mightily to speak with one among the dead who seemed much like the living, one who seemed to be a kindred spirit.

“I am confused,” said Thorwald afterwards. “Everything I’ve come to believe is slipping away, and there is no stable ground for me to stand on. What am I without my hatred for the Fallen?”

Li clasped his shoulder in a gesture of support. “Your hatred is not you,” she replied. “Neither are your oaths, or the strength of your arms, or your solar fire or your power. There is something deeper within you, more true than all those things.”

Thorwald slumped, gray on gray, in the shadow of a stone wall. “I’ve tried to keep true to the ways of my people. But they were wrong about the dead. What else might they have been wrong about?”

“I know you, and I know of your people. They were right about some things. They know the value of an oath, and the value of virtue.”

“There is nothing certain in this world,” Thorwald murmured. “Not even an oath. I was wrong. Even your word can be taken from you.”

“Your choices,” said Li with a smile, “can never be taken. They are always your own.”

* * * * *

Come the pale, watery dawn, the wanderers returned to the library. Fetek and Aekino greeted them from where they sat at opposite ends of the reading room. They seemed relieved at their comrades’ arrival, for it broke the tension that had arisen between them as a result of certain things they had read.

“So, what’s new?” Zera inquired ingenuously. “Found anything interesting?”

“Well,” mumbled Aekino, “there seems to have been some… involvement between ourselves and the demon.” He went on to explain how, in the First Age, Fetek’s prior incarnation had been married to the demon Amalion, and Sharn Larenn had attempted to come between them.

“In the end,” he concluded, “Ambrani Rao dissolved the marriage. Amalion withdrew from Creation, and Five Moons –”

“That’s him?” asked Zera, gesturing toward Fetek.

Aekino nodded. “Yes. And he returned to Ambrani Rao’s side.”

“So. Let me get this straight,” said the snickering Zera, pointing at his Circlemates. “You were married to a demon, and you wanted to sleep with the demon, and you broke everything up?”

“Whoever this Ambrani character was,” rumbled Thorwald, “he did her a favor. Every marriage I ever heard of ended badly.”

Fetek and Aekino went on to explain such few fragments of lore they had encountered regarding Amalion, regarding her multiple nature, her architectural gifts, her romantic attachments, and her involvement in the creation of the Imperial Manse. They mused on the implications of their discoveries for some time.

“It would seem,” Fetek observed, “that some demons are sympathetic to Creation.”

Aekino looked up from an intricate architectural diagram. “At the very least, some were more socially acceptable than others.”

“So not all demons are bad?” Once again, Thorwald cut to the heart of the matter.

“Some are certainly worse than others,” said Zera. “We made the right choice about which summoning to stop. When you think about that other demon, Amalion seems almost friendly and peaceful by comparison. The real trouble is her cult. We may not be able to drive her off, but we can stop the cult that’s acting in her name.”

They proposed plans – should they try and destroy Amalion? Destroy her cult? Convince her to leave Creation, as she did when her marriage to Five Moons ended? And what would take the place of the cult – would the cult worship them instead?

“We should not be worshipped by men,” said Thorwald.

Aekino smiled and leaned back in his chair. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be served by them.”

This led to yet another heated discussion between Aekino and Zera. The archer from Thorns accused his brother of callousness toward those of less prestigious birth, while the Dynast claimed that he felt it best to avoid intervening in the affair of others unless the downtrodden had the strength and wit to ask for it.

“And if they never ask?” Zera twitched with aggravation. “I will never stand by the wayside while others need help. Aekino, you disgust me completely. But then, I’ve come to expect nothing more from one with your upbringing.”

“I resent the implication that I’m sheltered by my upbringing.”

“You are!”

* * * * *

Ghosts came to deliver platters of freshly baked bread and other foods, and likewise jars of wine, all from the living world rather than that of the dead. “Courtesy of Ral Therin,” they said, naming one whom Aekino recognized as the outcaste who had founded the city of Kaihan in the wake of the Contagion, some five centuries earlier. They suspended their arguments while they ate. Speaking more calmly of plans, they realized that it would be ill to leave now, because they would not reach the border of the shadowland until nightfall, when the borders would touch the Underworld. They would wait until evening, then make their way out of the city.

“Will that be enough time to learn what you need?” Thorwald gestured to the walls of books and scrolls that filled this one room in the great library.

Fetek shook his head. “It will never be enough.”

“Hmph. In the future, it will be best to learn to see words on paper.”

Aekino looked up from his reading. “I’ll teach you.”

But Aekino found himself unable to tear himself away from some rather embarrassing accounts of the life of Sharn Larenn (depicting her as a helpless, weepy figure, prone to days-long bouts of hysteria when her talents were most needed), and so Thorwald wandered off again. When he returned, he seemed full of good cheer. “I’ve come to bring good news to you,” he said. “I bring you more time.”

“What do you mean?” – Aekino.

Thorwald grinned. “I have spoken to the Wisdom. He has tried to frighten me with his ghost stories, but I have showed him that I fear nothing! I have agreed to his terms. He shall take my shard for forty days. This should give you the time you need.”

Faces fell; eyes rolled. Aekino spoke neutrally: “Did you say you’d do it now?”

“No, but I could.”

“I would really rather you didn’t.”

Li’s eyes moved in their nest of tattoos, locking with Thorwald’s own. “And what has the Wisdom offered you in exchange, brother?”

The northman’s grin grew broader. “He tried to offer me the spear. But I refused it. My price was that no one may be given the spear. It must be taken.”

Dumbfounded stares. “Could you trot that by me again?” coughed Aekino.

“I think I spoke clearly. He will not give me the spear. Instead, I shall win it from him in battle.”

Fetek licked his lips as he considered his words. “And how does this benefit you, Pillar of the Sun?”

Thorwald cracked his knuckles. “It will allow me to prove my strength. I am not some soft Southerner, to take such a thing as a gift.”

“I see. So it will be foolish and strong.”

“I am in awe,” marveled Zera with a straight face. “It is very brave.”

Li approached. “Are you not worried about what he might do to your shard?”

“Hah!” Thorwald seemed amused. “What could he possibly do?”

“That’s an open question,” said Fetek.

Aekino nodded. “The possibilities are horrific.”

“I don’t see how this is any business of yours, anyway,” snorted the northman.

“This affects all of us!”

Thorwald and Aekino began to argue. Thorwald knocked a book out of Aekino’s hand. Aekino got in his face. Thorwald tilted his head to the side, sizing up his Twilight comrade. “So… is it going to be a fight?”

“If it needs to be.”

“I think,” said Fetek quietly as Thorwald slammed Aekino through a table, “that this place is affecting people’s minds.”

* * * * *

After that? Well, Aekino and Fetek and Li managed to subdue Thorwald. But upon awakening, the Zenith proved just as stubborn, argumentative and violent, and another fight broke out. By the time the fight moved out into the street, the reading room was a shambles of shattered shelves, shredded books, and fluttering sheets of parchment.

Li left them struggling on the steps, with Fetek holding a red-faced Thorwald in a hammerlock, and climbed the many stairs to the Wisdom’s study. The deathlord looked up, his scarred face as impassive as Li’s own.

“Respected elder,” said the swordswoman. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

The Wisdom nodded, but said nothing.

“I wish to apologize,” Li continued. “My companions have damaged some of your property – ”

“Show me.”

They descended through the twisting ways of the library, all worn stone and uneven glass, to the reading room. There, the Wisdom gestured, and the heaps of broken books and shelving ignited with a pale and colorless flame. Gray light blazed as everything burned to ash. The Wisdom gestured again, and the ashes swirled upward and took form again, restoring themselves as parchment and ink, leather and wood, books and shelves restored as if they had never been harmed.

Li bowed respectfully. Then she left to rejoin her comrades.

They made their way out of the city with some difficulty, as Thorwald needed constant distraction, lest he attempt to assault the ghosts of the city. The ghostly captain, Autumn’s Breath, led her company of dead cavalry at a good distance – a fortunate thing, for Thorwald might well have rushed them if they had come close. They passed by the farms and villages of the shadowland, and reached the border shortly before the dawn.

“Why do we not leave now?” asked Thorwald.

“If we leave before dawn,” Aekino replied, “we shall be trapped in the Underworld.”

Thorwald considered this. “Well,” he asked, “are there things to fight in the Underworld?”

“No.”

So they waited. The sun rose. And they left the gray shadowland behind, and emerged into the clean, sweet light of day.

HeWhoSpeaksOfDarkn

04-10-2004, 08:59 PM

That writing and story is truly beautiful.

Ranko

04-11-2004, 01:56 AM

Is it me or are the installments longer in comming?

Great work as was expected. And for the record, when you left us with the "Sister" cliffhanger, I wanted to post rude stuff, and fly overe there to make you tell me what happened next. :)

I just hope that my game will be as cool.

Quendalon

04-12-2004, 10:44 AM

Thanks for the compliments, guys!

Yes, the installments have been taking quite some time. We've missed a week or two recently, but that hasn't helped me to catch up with the session summaries. We played session 26 last week, and session 27 is slated for this Thursday. Hopefully I'll catch up one of these days, rather than falling further behind.

There are a few player-written interludes available for the next couple of sessions, including Fetek's first interlude and a continuation of Zera's long-ago adventures in the South. I'll post that stuff over the next few days, and with luck you'll see Session 25 by Friday.

- Eric

Quendalon

04-14-2004, 08:58 AM

In the demon-wrought library, the darkness of Kaihan washed over Breath-of-Midnight. Five-Moons, the name echoed through his mind. Five-Moons, lover of Amalion, it was strange to see those words on the pages of these ancient books, written about him... but not... him.

Tall and swarthy, he studied his handsome refection. He fastidiously adjusted his dark, silken tunic and combed his long mustachios. Just as carefully, he shifted the color of his eyes and the length of his hair and a myriad of other, tiny details. Tonight everything had to be perfect. Tonight was the Festival of Luna Resplendent, when the Lady shines most brightly upon her Favored Ones. And tonight, after years away, he would be reunited with his beloved.

Startled, he jumped. Fetek was not accustomed to these visions. The Chosen of the Unconquered Sun seemed plagued by their past; he had believed himself above that. But in his heart, he feared now that that was simple arrogance. He turned to speak of this to the Descending Sun, Tepet Aekino, who sat beside him, sharing the book that spoke of his past.

He whirled on the dance floor, his radiant bride in his arms. While Five-Moons battled the Wyld Folk in the East, Amalion had been busy advising those Solars of the Twilight Caste on the construction of a great Manse on the Blessed Isle, one that would help keep the cursed Fey from Creation. Pride welled up in his heart as he looked upon the demon whom he called his wife.

But in this grand ballroom, all was not well. Although he turned his face to Amalion, he sensed the presence of another. And, she was most unwelcome this happy night.

Like a cloud obscuring the moon’s fair light, Sharn Larenn entered the hall. She looked about, her eyes filled with false mirth, until they fell upon Five-Moons. She moved away from those with whom she had been speaking and watched him as he danced a graceful mazurka. Petty jealousy poured from her like rancid oil. Through the whole of the evening her venomous glare followed Five-Moons and his spouse, a black flaw in an otherwise perfect celebration.

Breath-of-Midnight’s eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed as Tepet Aekino’s head slowly turned to meet his gaze. After a moment, they both returned to the book. They read in silence of the lives of these Exalted, of the fashioning of the great maul Thundering Triumph, of the Battle of Leiji Plain, of the razing of Mudanjiang.

Mudanjiang was in flames. A crimson glow flooded the moonless night, lighting the deep darkness. In what was once the marketplace, tongues of flame writhed reflected in the moonsilver armor of an enraged form - half man, half serpent. All around him, Essence raced as his anima blazed with great silver dragons dancing through ever-shifting runes of grey and blue. He strode through the ruined streets seeking his prey, the bitch Larenn.

For what seemed like the ten-thousandth time, they had challenged one another. Magics high and low had flown between them, while men and spirits ran in fear and the breath of Hesiesh devoured the town. This would be the end, though. Five-Moons tired of this. He tired of Larenn; her constant plottings and interference. Tonight, he thought, flexing his talons, he would put a stop to it.

Once again, the two Exalted looked at one another. Fetek struggled to keep his expression placid as he careful gathered up the various tomes he had been researching and slowly moved down the table, away from the Descending Sun. He was confused, disturbed, but Tepet Aekino seemed to take it in stride. Indeed, the Twilight seemed almost dismissive. With a look, Aekino reminded Fetek of his own words, spoken in conversation not that long ago: “You Children of the Sun live too much in the past. The past is over, only the future matters.” Breath-of-Midnight sighed, softly. Easy words, he now realized. Easy words.

Quendalon

04-19-2004, 09:21 AM

I continue to fall behind with the session write-ups. But conveniently, my players continue to postpone sessions, so I'm breaking even so far. :) Hopefully the next summary will go up this afternoon.

Also, my players are very sad that their characters have not been praised lately. They want to hear from their fans!

- Eric

Ranko

04-19-2004, 04:50 PM

Your players are obviously spoiled rotten, and you need new ones. I nominate myself :D

Oh, and feel free to inster random praise here.

Quendalon

04-20-2004, 02:40 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Ah, children, children! Come closer, come closer, let me tell you a tale! And what tale shall I tell today? Would you hear of the Ghost Princes of the City of the Scarlet Well, betrayed unto death by their wicked stepmother, and of how they fought one another for the right to be reborn and avenge themselves upon their slayer? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of the turning of the Age?

“Well then… gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the children of the Sun, and of their departure from the dead city of Kaihan.”

* * * * *

As the red-fingered dawn clambered out of the abyss of night, our heroes strode out of the shadowland and into the light of the living world. Within minutes, they entered the town of Greenline, with its quaint farms and houses wrapped in ivy, its shrines to little gods, its oaks rustling in the cool wind with their last few red and orange leaves. The rich scent of freshly baked bread spread from open doors and rose from chimneys.

Our heroes spent the morning in town. They returned their coats of ivy to the Matrons of the town, who reimbursed them with ill grace. They warmed themselves in the town’s one cozy inn, banishing the chill air of autumn with steaming porridge, hot buttered bread and mulled wine. And by noon, they’d reclaimed their horses from the innkeeper and started on the road west and south, leading first to Idris and then to the city of Tul Tuin.

They walked on through the afternoon, leading the horses along a dirt road rutted with wagon tracks. The long walk in the sun prompted them to sweat despite the chill winds that presaged the coming winter. Zera looked over his shoulder at the others. “So,” he asked, “what do we plan to do when we get to Tul Tuin, exactly?”

Li swept a lock of hair away from her tattooed face. “That is an excellent question, Zera Thisse.”

They spoke for some time as they walked. How would they deal with the demon queen Amalion, they wondered? What of the Tal family, whose demonological experiments had brought one demon prince into the world, and would have brought another had the Exalted not been present to prevent it? Did they have the power to call forth more such demons? How would they conduct themselves once they entered the manse that was Amalion? Would Aekino and Thorwald be endangered by the role played by their former incarnations in dissolving the marriage of Five Moons (Fetek’s former incarnation) and Amalion in the First Age? How would they counter Amalion’s power to bewitch one forever with a smile?

“If one has another whom one loves,” observed Aekino, “bewitchment is more difficult.”

Zera glowered. The memory of Cessair’s face drifted before his mind’s eye, obscuring the crisp afternoon sunlight. “Not so.”

“I stand corrected.”

They walked on among potholes and weeds. Wooded hills loomed to their left; the shadowland receded greyly to their right. Some ways ahead, the forest drew a green line across their path.

“I am curious to meet her,” said Fetek.

Aekino eyed the Lunar, seeking the truth behind the youth’s impassive façade. “You are afraid,” he replied.

“Perhaps.”

“You have not met her,” said the Twilight with a small smile. “That was another. Now who is living in the past?”

Fetek shrugged. “We are the sum of our memories, living or dead.”

“Well,” observed Zera snidely, “there is an old saying: ‘Curiosity killed the stag-horned Lunar.’”

“Indeed. I need only consider the Iron Wolf running naked through the street to recall it.”

They moved on to specific plans, of visiting Brinlack once more, of traveling slyly into Tul Tuin to take the priest Gray Mantle as their captive. Thorwald grew bored of all this talk. He mounted his horse and rode west along the road, towards the trees that loomed starkly amid their westering shadows. His impatience rode him fiercely, and he gave that ferocity rein of his own mount, pressing it harder, driving it faster than a horse ought to go.

Keen-eyed Zera observed this. Unwilling to let his comrade ride off alone, he mounted up in turn and set his steed galloping after. Being smaller and lighter, he could drive his own horse faster than the massive Northerner, and he caught up before the edge of the wood. “What are you doing?” he cried into the wind.

Thorwald looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“You’re killing that animal!”

“Then I will kill it. And then I will walk.”

“What did it do to you?” demanded Zera. Drawing up alongside of Thorwald, he made a grab for the reins, but the Northman thrust his hand aside.

“Do that again,” Thorwald snarled, “and I’ll kill you.”

“Listen to yourself!” Zera tried to catch his comrade’s eye, but failed. “Give me the reins!”

Thorwald stubbornly refused to speak further, and pressed his horse even harder. Sighing, Zera dropped back to rejoin the others. “Another black mood has fallen upon our brother,” he told them. “He said he’d kill me if I touched his reins. I’d rather let him drive that horse into the ground than have us draw steel against each other.”

Li turned her head to watch sunset colors gather in the west. “I think there is something wrong with us.”

“I think you’re right.”

So the Solars asked Fetek, the shapeshifter, to follow Thorwald and keep him from harm. Well, except for Aekino, whose first instinct was to have Fetek fetch Thorwald back; but the others knew better than to try and bring their comrade to heel like an errant schoolboy. Acquiescing, Fetek took the form of an eagle and winged off to the west.

As full night fell, Thorwald abandoned both road and horse; the road seemed too indirect a route for his taste, and riding his foundering steed among darkened trees would be too slow. Now in the form of an owl, Fetek followed him through the dark.

Thorwald crunched through fallen leaves. His mind tumbling with thoughts of violence and glory, he paid little attention to his environment. But Fetek, as he wafted through the dark, heard the croak of raitons; he saw another figure following the Northman, a slim, dark shape bounding amidst the branches. Forty-Four Devil Blossoms!

Fetek dove at the deathknight. At the last moment, he took on his battle-form, half stag and half man, to knock his foe to the ground; but she dodged nimbly out of the way, and as he fell past, she launched an arrow that shone with cold blue light that pierced Fetek’s side and chilled him to the bone.

Even Thorwald couldn’t miss this! He stopped, turned, and laughed at the prospect of battle. He charged! As Fetek started shredding the raitons that dove at him, Thorwald leapt up to chop off the branch that his foe stood upon; but she danced back onto the stump of the tree limb, and cut him for good measure on his way back down. And as he landed, one of the walking dead stepped out from behind the tree and stabbed at him with a spear!

The battle blazed fast and furious. Though they inflicted a few more small wounds, the ambushers found themselves driven back by Fetek’s strength and Thorwald’s burning Solar light. Fetek tore a hole in Forty-Four Devil Blossoms’ soulsteel breastplate, and she fled into the trees. Thorwald gleefully hacked down the walking dead; the malevolent essence of the ghost Zerus poured cackling from its mouth and followed the deathknight into the dark.

Surrounded by a blazing bonfire of golden light, Thorwald began to track the deathknight by following the rot that her banner of black flames left among the boughs. Fetek accompanied him. The rest of the Circle arrived after an hour or so, drawn by the slowly fading beacon of Thorwald’s anima.

“What’s happened?” demanded Zera of his hard-eyed Zenith companion.

“If you are truly my sworn brothers,” came the reply, “you will not try to stop me.”

Aekino gawked at the shadows carved into the forest night by Thorwald’s anima. He tried to follow the Northman’s gaze into the forest canopy. “What are you doing?”

Thorwald said nothing, so Fetek replied for him: “Forty-Four Devil Blossoms attacked us.”

“Following her trail, eh?” Zera soothed his horse as he led it in Thorwald’s wake. His wood-wise eyes caught the same marks that his comrade pursued, and he caught the same rough scent of rot. “It’s already getting thinner,” he said. “We’re not going to be able to track her for long. We’ll be off course, and we still won’t have Devil Blossoms.”

Thorwald grunted. “I will track her as long as chance exists.”

“Chance doesn’t really exist.”

“There is a chance!” snarled Thorwald.

“She’s a gnat, big brother,” Zera replied. “Furthermore, she is a cowardly gnat.” Slyly, he added, “There is greater danger in Tul Tuin.”

Thorwald finally halted; the trail was so faint that he could scarcely follow it, even with his anima blazing bright. He ground his teeth. “I shit on Creation and the whore that calved your master!” he screamed into the night, that his words might reach the ears of Forty-Four Devil Blossoms. “Come out and fight! Your luck will run out, demon – I need only get my hands on you but once! Then I shall find your master, chain him to my horse, and drag him through the whole of Creation forever!”

No reply came; only the mocking cry of a raiton. So Thorwald and Zera went back to the road, over an hour distant, to retrieve their horses, with the hope that Forty-Four Devil Blossoms might seek to ambush them. The others shadowed them, that they might surprise the deathknight in her ambush; but she was too crafty, and did not show herself that night. They pressed on through the dark.

Even come the dawn, Thorwald would not rest. He would march on until he reached Brinlack, he said, where they might gather an army and storm Tul Tuin. Zera recognized that his comrade had come unhinged, as he had before in their travels; and so he led the Circle in a circuitous route, leading them this way or that to the most inconvenient crossing-point of rivers and gorges, guiding them into twisting caves and ravines, misdirecting them in the night when the woodland canopy concealed the stars, in the hopes that his companion’s madness would ebb ere they arrived among civilized folk. For what harm might the Northman do in his madness?

As they traveled, they encountered wolves and panthers, bandits and wild men, but all slunk away before their wrath. A maddened grizzly bear succumbed to Thorwald’s insensate strength, crushed by his mighty arms as he squeezed out life and blood and breath. But on the fourth day, real opposition presented itself: a score of hobgoblins! Clad in raw and bloody gossamer, these oak-jawed, jet-tusked creatures howled as they rattled sabers of brass and bone. Spears and arrows rained down from their ambuscade upon the five heroes, followed by a tide of goblin flesh.

Foolish creatures! Twenty against five were no good odds against the Celestial Exalted. Li danced along tree limbs to drop into their midst, the great blade Burning Tiger howling its bloodsong in the fires of her anima. Thorwald and Fetek drove forward upon the flanks, while Zera fired arrows of golden light into the pack. And as shocked and bleeding hobgoblins sought to flee, there stood Aekino with his black jade staff to crack their skulls and lay their corpses upon the earth.

But three hobgoblins had fled at the first touch of Li’s anima. Pierced to the core by the stabbing rays of golden light, they ran before Aekino could move to stop them, and vanished into the trees. But Thorwald would let no enemy escape alive! In the depths of battle-madness, he leapt heedlessly after the runaway Fair Folk. His fellows took up the reins of the surviving horses. The chase began.

Hours passed. The sun rode into the west, pursued by dark-cloaked stars astride chill winds. As the sun touched the horizon, our heroes burst into a broad clearing amidst the woods, marked by a lone hill at its center. The fleeing hobgoblins reached the hill, where they passed through a momentary opening limned with firelight. They vanished then, leaving neither mark nor trace of their passage.

Thorwald advanced upon the hill as if he would level it with a stare. Worn with fatigue, his comrades followed. Aekino sat slumped in his horse’s saddle, led by Li; Fetek slumbered in mouse-shape within Zera’s pocket. Zera left the horses with Li and followed Thorwald up the hillside.

They probed the barren slope as the sun sank in a blaze of color. Then they spotted it – there! – the faint but indisputable outline of a stone door, cunningly concealed amidst the native rock. Thorwald pounded upon it.

A voice echoed through the stone: “Go away!”

“Come out, you Fair Folk abomination!” Thorwald’s face distorted with rage. Orange light burst around his hands, and he began to smash his fists upon the stone. Frightened squeals came from behind the stone as he pounded upon it with loud, juddering thuds. Puffs of dust arose; the stone door cracked, and cracked again. It sank in an inch, and then another. Then it fell inward with a crunch, revealing a torch-lit stair. With a ringing noise, the bronze bar that had secured the door fell away in two halves and clattered down the stair.

And as the sunset failed, so too did the madness of Thorwald of Stonehold. He stepped back from the broken door and slumped beneath the weight of fatigue. Shaking his head in confusion at the past four days of outrage, he allowed Zera to lead him back to the others.

“Let’s make camp,” said Zera as he leaned Thorwald against a low boulder.

“What if they come out?” Li asked.

“They won’t. Would you?”

The night thickened, chilled. A few late crickets chirped. Thorwald leaned back against cool, damp stone. “That was foolish of me,” he said at last. “I should not have touched that door bare-handed.”

“You’ve been foolish for days,” replied Zera kindly. “Don’t continue to do so. Li and I will take first watch.”

Thorwald nodded, once, and slept. Zera built up a small fire, and as they sat by its warmth, Zera regaled Li with a tale of his journey into the South, and of how he and his companions of that time did battle with hobgoblins. After midnight, they left the watch to Fetek and Aekino; the former circled as an owl as the latter watched the stars for portents. Their vigil was disturbed by the faint sounds of drum and pipe from within the hill; and later, by the grinding shut of the stone portal, and the clatter and thud of hammers as those dwelling within the hill sealed the door against further intrusion.

The next morning proved to be much more relaxed. Our heroes lazed about their campsite as they breakfasted on rabbit stew with stale bread dumplings. They all agreed that there was no further cause for a forced march. “We’ll go to Brinlack,” said Zera. “We’ll spend a day of rest with Stone Rain, and then we’ll decide what to do next. There’s been too much rushing lately. There will be no haste, and no mistakes.”

Aekino blew on his steaming spoon. “You speak wisdom,” he replied. “And from what I’ve seen in the stars, the slow path is the only one that leads to success.”

“Is that what you were doing, looking at the stars?” Zera grinned. “I thought you were just a little loopy.”

“We can learn much from the stars. Though it is difficult of late; Heaven itself is in disarray.”

“Well, then maybe we can score some bonus points with Heaven by cleaning up on earth.”

They broke camp. Before they left, Thorwald walked alone to the faerie hill. He leaned up against the stone doors and whispered, “I know where you live now.” Then they left.

Progressing west and south, they led their horses out of the hills. The woods parted to reveal the farming villages along the River of Willows. In the afternoon they came to a fishing village over a day’s travel from Tul Tuin. An old man sunned himself upon the dock; on the river, a few small boats drifted with the current or rowed laboriously against it, though most simply bobbed at anchor as they seined the water for eels, sturgeon, bream and trout.

“If we buy a boat,” said Zera, “we can cross here and travel on to Brinlack.”

“We have little money,” Li noted.

Fetek smirked. “We can always sell them a ‘horse,’” he suggested, pointing to himself. He’d taken on the form of a horse enough times in their recent travels to make his point perfectly clear.

“No,” Zera replied sharply. “These are poor folk. We won’t scam them.”

As they approached the sleepy village, the old man on the pier jumped up in alarm and ducked into a house. It slammed, followed by the wooden clack of the man barring the door.

“What is wrong with that man?” wondered Thorwald.

“Look at us,” Li of Orchid replied, pointing to their numerous weapons, their ragged garb. “We look like bandits. It is no wonder that these people fear for their lives.”

“Bah! They have nothing to fear!” The Northman walked up to the house and pounded on the door. “Old man! We wish to purchase your boat!”

A muffled yelp came from inside. “Please, don’t hurt me!”

“I just want to talk to you!” shouted the exasperated Zenith. “Now open the damn door before I smash it in!”

When the old man poked his wan face out, Thorwald explained that he and his companions desired a boat. The old man fearfully replied that all of the boats were on the river. Thorwald offered to chop firewood in exchange for a boat trip; fully expecting death at the hands of these ‘bandits’ if he failed to comply, the old man hurriedly agreed, closed and barred the door once more, and hid underneath his bed.

At sunset, the fisherfolk brought their boats back to the village and began to unload their scaly catch. A hard, wiry woman in late middle age led them to confront the strangers. Thorwald stepped forward again, and explained quite firmly that he had made a deal with her husband, that he had chopped down three trees and piled up the wood, and that the villagers owed him passage to Tul Tuin.

“We cannot do that,” the woman said, mastering her fear. “It is too risky to go down to the city, now that the demons have come. And in any case, it would take days to bring you there and then bring our boats back against the current. We would lose our catch.”

“What of it?” Thorwald was incensed. “We had a bargain. What, should I pay you more?”

“You could not pay me enough to go to Tul Tuin.”

Thorwald grimaced and clenched his fists in inarticulate anger. The woman, perhaps fearing for her life, stepped back a pace. Fetek and Zera advanced on their companion. “Pillar of the Sun,” said Fetek, “this is unseemly.”

Zera nodded. “Just leave them alone,” he said, laying a hand on Thorwald’s shoulder. “We won’t make them starve.”

The Northman shrugged off the hand. He yanked a hatchet from his belt and waved it before him; the woman took another step back, as did her fellow fisherfolk. “I will give you this hatchet!” he roared. “Look at its fine workmanship! It was forged in the North. You will not see another like it in these lands. Just bring us to Tul Tuin.”

The woman shook her head. Grim-faced, their catch forgotten, the fisherfolk at her side gripped oars and gaffs with white knuckles. “The opposite bank is as far as I will go.”

Zera stepped in front of his brawny companion. He spread his hands peaceably. “That will be fine.”

The archer of Thorns apologized profusely to the fisherfolk. Fetek slipped away and, as the others led their horses onto small boats reeking of fish guts, he took owl form and glided silently across the river. He waited there as Zera thanked the fishers again and gave them the very last of his coin. He rejoined them as they started on the southern trail, winding along the base of the low cliffs along the river’s west bank.

As they continued on beneath fleeting clouds in a starry sky, Zera approached Thorwald. The larger man grunted. “What do you want?”

“What was that about?” It was Zera’s turn to be incensed. “What you did back there bordered on bullying.”

The Northman shrugged. “We were just haggling.”

“They thought we were dangerous bandits. She thought she was lucky to escape with her life.”

“That’s not how things work in the North. These people are weak, to scare so easily.”

Zera sighed. “For them to spend two or three days to make our travel a little easier, would make it harder for their whole village.”

“Well, her husband should have thought of that before he made a deal!”

The archer rolled his eyes. “You have an answer for everything.”

Within two days, our heroes had passed the tumbled walls of Brinlack and settled into the suites provided them by the mayor Stone Rain. Thorwald quickly disappeared to spend time with his woman, while Li of Orchid found an isolated pagoda, once a temple to the god named Fading Fire, where she could practice her swordplay and write of her meditations on the Way of the Sword and the Nine-Fold Path.

Aekino went into the Brinlack Manse, whose walls of living wood had shed their last yellow leaves. The guards knew him and let him pass. He settled into the mayor’s office, behind the desk, and propped his feet thereon.

“My lord,” said Stone Rain, “how may I serve you?”

Aekino smiled serenely. This, he thought, was more like it.

As the mayor stood there, Aekino asked him many questions regarding the military strength of Brinlack, the status of Tul Tuin, the fate of Ledaal Vir, and of the military forces of Longcorner. The answers were not entirely pleasing. Brinlack had only a few hundred guardsmen and full-time militia, and though every mortal within its crumbling old walls could fight, they were not trained soldiers. Tul Tuin had fallen wholly to the demons; the Vir mon flew no more over the Tower of Winds, replaced by that of the Darien family. Vir’s own fate was not known; rumors said that he had died defending the Tower, or that he had been captured by the demons for some lingering fate, or that he had led his surviving forces to the Monastery of the Red Butterfly, where they prepared a counterstrike that would retake the city. And while Longcorner’s armies had not yet marched, slaving parties from that city had come as close as a day’s walk from Tul Tuin.

Recalling that Ledaal Vir bore the Hearthstone from the Brinlack Manse, the Dynast went to the central chamber of the Manse to see what he might learn about the prince’s fate. No new Hearthstone grew upon the pedestal of living wood. An attempt to attune to the Manse met with failure. Aekino smiled. Perhaps Vir lived yet.

The last of the circle, Zera Thisse and Fetek Breath-of-Midnight, crossed the river that night. The deaf old ferryman left them well south of the city; they watched him paddle slowly off into the dark, struggling on in the face of the current. Then they stalked toward the city gates, that they might enter Tul Tuin in secret and spy on its new masters.

Zera Thisse slipped through the gate like a shadow, and the guards took no notice of his passing. And who would suspect Fetek Breath-of-Midnight in his many forms, as one dog or rat skulking among many in this ruin of a city?

They moved through alleys and across rooftops, past the light and blare of taverns crowded with the city’s riff-raff, skirting rubble-choked doorways where squatters peered beetle-like from doorways, avoiding the avenues where prostitutes and hawkers of looted goods still hawked their wares in the dim glow of torches and stars.

None saw them as they entered the counting-house temple where Gray Mantle had sermonized before his congregation. Rats roved amidst puddles; water dripped upon sodden sunburst banners reeking of mold. It seemed that Gray Mantle had not returned since his altercation with Fetek some weeks earlier.

They turned away with that place. A fine rain drizzled down from thickening clouds. Their meandering route led them to the dock district, where burned-out warehouses lay crumpled and black. Zera recalled the place where the woman Nala had first introduced him and Thorwald to Gray Mantle. So he led Fetek there, to where a low stair led to a basement, a row of doors to wretched little apartments. But something was different; flowers lay strewn at the top of the stair, colored by the dull blaze of candles in paper lanterns.

Fetek curled his nose in a mixture of wonderment and disdain. “They are worshipping her.”

“Or the place where she met us,” replied Zera.

They went down into the basement. Flowers lay scattered here as well, crushed beneath passing feet. At the end of the short hall, light gleamed from beneath Nala’s door. Zera drew a dead man’s visage over his own, lest he be recognized. He tried the door. It was not locked.

The room looked much the same as before: a wooden chest, a straw pallet, a chair. A muffled figure knelt before a candlelit shrine. The shrine bore the sign of the Sun, flanked with lesser signs of the Moon and the demon queen Amalion. The woman wore black robes embroidered with a sunburst in green and gold. Her eyes were pale, her dark hair thick with gray. This was Nala.

After a few moments, she glanced up from her devotions. Her eyes widened at the sight of two strangers in her chamber, but she showed no fear. “Welcome. Can I help you?”

“Yes,” said Zera in a dead man’s voice. “We are looking for Gray Mantle.”

“Oh, you mean you are looking for Morning’s Promise?” she replied, naming the new name that Gray Mantle had taken as a priest of the demon queen. “Why do you seek him?”

“We are agents of those you serve.”

She shook her head. “He is being punished,” she observed sadly. “He broke his vows; he acted cruelly and in haste.”

“Does he live?”

“Yes. I hope that he learns from his punishment, and comes back to us.”

Zera nodded impatiently. “Our masters seek him. So we have to find him; to do otherwise would be more than our hides are worth.”

“Then I had best take you to him,” she replied. Her old bones still obeyed her; she rose to her feet and took up an ordinary-looking walking stick.

“Remember, Nala, this is a matter of utmost secrecy,” hissed Zera into her ear as she closed the door behind her and stepped out into the basement hall. “It is not for us to question them.”

Nonplussed, the aging priestess led them out into the drizzle. Her walking stick clacked upon the damp cobbles. “It is so sad,” she said eventually, “that Morning’s Promise came to where he did.” Faintly, the lightning flickered overhead. “He was never meant for this. The promise of power overcame him. He became cruel. He found joy in the punishment of heresy, when we should find joy in redemption.” Clack, clack went her stick as they walked up the street, turning a corner toward the high city where black demon towers glistened. “It is so sad.”

The wind and the rain rose in sheets, then died down again, until it merely drizzled upon trickles and puddles when the avenue they climbed opened into Tul Tuin’s high bazaar. A few guards roved among the dripping, empty stalls, or poked at gaping doorways with their spears. There, in an open space amid the wrack of the market, a cage of bronze hung from a gibbet. It swayed there, creaking, as a lightning flash revealed the hunched shape inside, leaning its head back to drink the rainwater as it fell.

“Morning’s Promise,” said Nala kindly. “You have guests.”

Walt

04-20-2004, 03:08 PM

This continues to be wicked cool.

Carry on. :)

Walt

Ranko

04-20-2004, 03:32 PM

Finnaly, the eagerly avaited write up.

Insert even more sucking up to, as I have no more words of praise, but will do anything to speed up the new ones.

Elemental

04-20-2004, 03:34 PM

Well, there's some praise coming from this quarter, for sure.

Something I notice is that the characters do a lot of butting heads. How do you manage that without any acrimony developing between players (which from my experience, can happen too easily)?

Also, this forum (http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/forumdisplay.php?f=14) could be a good place to treat a new audience to this story (it's not limited to d20-system based accounts).

Li of Orchid

04-21-2004, 06:17 AM

We are all good friends, so all the bickering is strictly in-character. Man, this is nothing. You should see it when we play Vampire.

Quendalon

04-22-2004, 10:29 AM

“Virtue is strength.”

It is common for men without virtue to mock and ridicule the virtuous. “Why do you act this way?” they ask. “Why hobble oneself with restrictive behavior? Act as you would and be free.” But this is a false thought. The inherent value of virtue lies not in freedom but in strength. It is easy to give in to one’s urges and base desires. It is easy to be seduced by luxury, by fine foods and by beautiful flesh. It is easy to indulge in bloodlust or anger or hatred. But that which is easy to attain has little value. Jade is the most precious thing within the cities of men but jade is not easy to obtain. Jade is rare. Jade is difficult to mine. Jade is soft yet brittle and requires great skill to work. Likewise, virtue is rare, difficult to cultivate and brittle as unworked jade. Like jade, it is also beautiful and precious, in part because of these things but mainly for its own sake.

All things in Creation are transient, therefore their value ultimately diminishes and disappears. Forego the trappings of luxury and eschew excess. It is the nature of that which is excessive to diminish and that which is lacking to increase. To obtain stability and order, walk the middle path and thereby avoid the swinging of fate’s pendulum. By living simply and maintaining one’s solemn word, one’s path can become constant amidst the ever-shifting tides of Creation. The Way is found herein.

Though it can be difficult to do what is right, rather than what is convenient, to act virtuously is to cultivate one’s strength. No one ever says, “He has done what everyone can do, therefore he is a hero.”

Quendalon

04-24-2004, 12:23 AM

In Brinlack, as Aekino bandied words with the Mayor Stone Rain, as Thorwald brooded in his quarters, as Zera and Fetek stole into demon-haunted Tul Tuin, Li of Orchid sat in her chamber and wrote.

* * * * *

“The sword of the mind”

Will is the sword of the mind. Oftentimes, men do not act as they will but as their desires dictate. Everyone has felt the desire to act in a way they know will be unwise, or painful, or contrary to their values. These desires are like foes on a battlefield. The only way to overcome them is to acknowledge them, understand them, and then to cut them down with the sword of the mind.

All great warriors know that knowledge of one’s foe is required in order to achieve victory. Therefore, do not deny the existence of one’s base desires for to do so gives them free reign within one’s spirit. That is like pretending an enemy army does not exist and letting it range across one’s lands unopposed. Acknowledge the existence of these enemies but do not allow them to persist and influence one’s actions.

Work constantly to sharpen the sword of the mind. When the will is strong, nothing can be denied it. Weakness, doubt and sorrow fall away. Only through constant struggle against base desires and instincts can this be achieved.

Ranko

04-24-2004, 03:00 AM

These short writeups are not doing their jobs properly.

Game more! Write more!

Quendalon

04-25-2004, 07:18 PM

Walt, Ranko, Elemental: thank you for the kind words! Have no fear, more summaries will go up soon. I'm working on the session 26 writeup now, and hopefully it will go up tonight or tomorrow. Session 27 is a bear, though... lots of heavy conversation with other PCs and an important NPC, and it can be pretty hard to reconstruct those conversations. But I'll do my best. :)

- Eric

Quendalon

04-27-2004, 12:08 AM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Hello, children. So, you have come for another tale. And what tale would you hear tonight? Would you hear the tale of Hamza of Kirighast, of the Varang folk who worship the stars? Would you hear of how she lived as an outcast, an untouchable, simply because none knew the moment of her birth? Would you hear, too, of how she bargained with a child of the Maidens to gain an auspicious horoscope for herself and for her daughter; and of how that debt was repaid? But no… I see you’d rather hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of the coming of the Third Age…

“Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the children of the Sun, and of their mission to the city of Tul Tuin.”

* * * * *

A flash of lightning caught Gray Mantle’s face. Rain trickled like tears along the creases in his face and dripped from his ragged beard. He sagged feebly against the bars of the cage.

Zera looked to the old priestess. “Bring him down, please.”

Nala shook her head. “I cannot,” she replied. “He is being punished. To bring him down would be to take the steel from the furnace before its time. An ill-tempered metal will break when tested. He has bent under pressure before; that is why he is here.”

Fetek pursed his lips. Why did she prattle on so? “Just bring him down.”

“I assure you, Lady Nala, that he shall be punished.” A small smile appeared at the corner of Zera’s mouth. “Our masters shall see that he is properly harrowed.”

Her eyes widened. “I do not wish to harrow him. I want him to learn.”

The archer stepped forward, his mien menacing in the flickering storm-light. “I hate to remind you of this, Lady Nala, and I have no wish to embarrass you, but this is not about your wishes. This is about the needs of our masters. We are their direct representatives.”

“But… it is not about my wishes,” replied the old priestess. “It is about what he needs.”

Zera sighed. “He is coming with us,” he said firmly. “Tonight.”

“I am sorry I cannot make you understand.”

He shrugged. “Bring him down,” he said, and Fetek complied, untangling the chain that supported the cage and letting it down with a slow, juddering clatter.

“It is such a shame that you would ruin him.” A brilliant lightning flash caught Nala’s sorrowful look. “He had a chance; a chance at redemption.”

Zera seemed unconvinced. “What a shame.”

Gray Mantle groaned as Fetek pulled him from the cage. He staggered as atrophied muscles struggled to remember their function. “What is going on?”

“Silence,” hissed the archer in the poor fellow’s ear, “is your best path.”

The priestess Nala offered to accompany our heroes on their way, but Zera rebuffed her. A guard approached then, drawn by the unusual activity around the prisoner. “I will need to see your papers,” he said.

“Papers?” Zera snorted. “My masters don’t deal in papers.”

The guard grasped a whistle that hung about his neck, but before he could blow it, Fetek knocked him out with a flung rock. The Lunar then took on the shape of a fine steed. Dragging Gray Mantle with him, Zera mounted his equine companion. He put a knife to the priest’s throat. “You say one word,” he snapped, “and I’ll gut you like a fish.”

Gray Mantle had no reply.

So our heroes rode away down the darkened streets. Fetek’s keen eyes found the path despite the darkness and the misty rain, navigating by the dull glow of indoor lamps and the brief, bright flashes of lightning above; his sure hooves never slipped upon the water racing over the slick cobbles. If there were any pursuit, they outraced it. They reached the south gate of Tul Tuin in moments. They did not stop for the guards’ shouts; when the guards leveled pikes, Fetek leaped over their heads, and kept his footing when he splashed into the pool of mud outside the gate. A moment later, they were gone.

A chill wind parted the clouds as they rode. The rain died. They found a small village where the fisherfolk stood watch against raiders, and bargained for passage across the river. Watching for signs of pursuit, Zera spotted a strange glassy glint from the riverbank behind them. He recalled the strange viewing device that the scavenger lord Kurokami had used, and shivered in the cold; surely, someone watched them go. But he could do nothing about it, so he let the matter go. The stars slowly turned as they landed on the west bank of the River of Willows and made their way north to Brinlack.

Upon their arrival at the Brinlack Manse, Zera sent a servant to summon the rest of the Circle. Thorwald could not be found, but Aekino and Li came to Zera’s quarters. When they arrived, Zera threw his prisoner to the ground before them. “This is Gray Mantle,” he said.

The Dynast nodded. “So this is the person I have heard so much about! But,” he added, peering at the marks of privation upon the man’s body, “he does not seem to have been treated well.”

“That was not us,” the archer of Thorns replied. “He was being punished. By the Lady Nala.”

“Is that what’s happened?” Aekino scratched his chin thoughtfully. “He does seem rather rough around the edges.”

Zera shrugged. “Well, he’s here if you have any questions for him.”

“I see.”

“What now?” asked Li of Orchid. “Would you place him in the dungeon?”

“That would help to avoid talk,” replied a smiling Zera.

The swordswoman frowned. “Did you not drag him in through the front door?”

“Oh, no… we all walked.”

“In a town like this,” Fetek observed, “you could flay him alive, and no one would do anything.”

Zera nodded. “Well then. Let’s get started. Does anyone have any questions?”

With a polite gesture, Aekino stepped back and left the floor to Zera. “Please proceed.”

The archer knelt by their prisoner and slapped him twice across the face. “Gray Mantle,” he said harshly. “Gray Mantle… look upon my face.”

The gaunt, battered priest groaned and winced in the light of the lamps. Zera slapped him again. The man tried to speak, but no words emerged. Li shook her head, disgusted. She turned away; she walked out. No one noticed her departure, so intent were they on what knowledge they might wring from their prisoner.

“He seems parched,” noted Fetek, and he brought over a jug of water. Gray Mantle lapped at it until he could speak. “Thank you, Prince of the Earth,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” said the Lunar. He stepped back, leaving the matter to the cold glare of Zera Thisse.

Gray Mantle looked from face to face. Uncomprehending, he fixed on the face of Zera Thisse, whom he recognized as one of the Solar Anathema, those that his cult worshipped as gods. “If I can serve…” he said, his voice faltering. “I have tried to serve…”

Zera stared daggers at him. “With pain and death?”

“But I… I thought you would want to convert your foes –”

“Stop.” The archer drew up a chair and slouched over its back like a tiger upon a rock. “Let me give you a little historical lesson,” he said. “Our kind has been hunted for a very long time. Maybe a thousand years. And we’ve been hunted for good reason; we’ve done some very evil things.” His tone grew sharper. “You only worsen our name.”

The priest looked up at his captors with dawning fear. They smiled down at him; someone cracked their knuckles. And the questions began.

* * * * *

Aekino, Fetek and Zera gathered on the balcony. Dead leaves danced by on a chill breeze, black against the glow of false dawn.

“This has been useful,” said Zera Thisse. He looked to his Lunar companion. “Now it remains to decide what to do with Gray Mantle. You’ve seen what he’s done.”

“I agree with Li,” Fetek replied. “It would be best to leave him in the dungeon.”

Aekino nodded. “I think he should sit in darkness and contemplate his actions.”

They returned to the suite. There, they called upon a guard sergeant, a brawny, tattooed fellow with the pale green hair common to certain barbarian tribes of the farthest East. They instructed him to deliver the priest to a cell where he might meditate upon the error of his ways.

Gray Mantle groveled before them. “You are merciful, my lords,” he whined. “You have –”

“We have not shown mercy yet.” Aekino prodded the priest with his sandal. “Go and meditate as you have been instructed. Do not address us again.”

With the involuntary departure of the priest, our heroes sat about and discussed their plans over a pot of rice wine. Despite the possibility that the new owners of the Tower of Winds might now know about its hidden entrance, Zera thought the attempt worthwhile. The others concurred. “Still,” remarked Aekino, “this must be subordinate to our main goal. Dealing with Amalion is paramount.”

Fetek pursed his lips. He spoke intently. “What do we wish to accomplish with Amalion?”

“Why, we…” Aekino paused. “Where’s Li?”

“She left,” Zera replied. “Quite a while ago. I don’t think she wanted to watch us torture him.”

The Dynast sputtered. “What, torture? What did she think we were going to do?”

“She has been moody of late,” said the Lunar, as if that explained everything. “She still has her dreams.”

“Ah, of course. She still carries the sword.”

“Where is Thorwald?”

Zera smirked. “He’s probably drowning himself in ale in some tavern somewhere. I’m sure we’ll see him in the morning. I’d say we should wait till then before we discuss anything further.”

So they slept. The next morning, all five heroes of the Circle gathered together, there in the living manse of wood, to break their fast and to prepare for their venture to Tul Tuin.

“So. What do we want to accomplish,” repeated Fetek, “with Amalion?”

Aekino delicately spread fresh butter across a slice of bread. “We wish to convince her to leave, of course. She was summoned in an... unclean way.”

“But how may we convince her to leave?” Li sipped tea from a porcelain cup. “I thought that demons liked to be in Creation.”

“There are many reasons they prefer Creation to their own home.”

“And what if she bewitches you and Fetek again?” Zera gestured with a biscuit spread with smoked eel. “Will we fight you as well as her?”

Thorwald snorted. “They won’t fall for her wiles.”

“It’s not so easy as that.” Zera leaned across the table to fix Fetek with an earnest gaze. “If your shard is anything like ours, then some part of you still loves her.”

“I can’t speak for either of you, but my identity is my own,” snapped Aekino. “I have had a real lover for a dozen years. That should hold off her unnatural charms. And if not…” He shrugged. “If not, then things will go poorly.”

“Can she be killed?” demanded Thorwald. “If it comes down to that.”

“In theory,” Li replied.

Aekino gestured grandly with his teacup, glad at the opportunity to pontificate. “The building in which she dwells is Amalion, in a metaphysical way,” he expounded. “Sufficient harm to the structure of the building itself may be enough to drive her off.”

“How can she be a person and a building?” Thorwald waved a forkful of eggs; crumbs spattered across the table. “That makes no sense.”

They continued to talk throughout the morning. They discussed what Aekino had learned from Stone Rain, of how the city of Longcorner raided the villages to the south for slaves to sell to the Guild, and of whether they might put that to a stop. They considered the state of the city, with its small allotment of guards, its eager but ill-trained militia, and its ruined walls patched with log palisades, of only marginal use against a real military threat. They discussed the knowledge wrung from Gray Mantle, of how the city’s population now was mostly comprised of the cultists, with their perverted worship of the Unconquered Sun and of demons, and the city’s underworld denizens, the thieves, bandits, gangsters and thugs who had not fled with the rest of the populace, but remained to loot the city and exercise their worst impulses on behalf of the most militant of the priests. They considered, too, their tactics for their raid upon the Tower of Winds to capture Darien Tal and his daughter, who they hoped might grant them some knowledge that would assist them in banishing the demon queen Amalion. The consensus was that Fetek and Thorwald would attempt to slip into the Tower through the hidden entrance, to capture the Dariens and hustle them out of the city.

So, in the early afternoon, Thorwald and Fetek walked north of the town of Brinlack, along the narrow band of scrub that lay between the river and the cliffs. Thorwald then swam across the swift, chill current with powerful strokes, while Fetek outpaced him in the form of a river fish. Upon the far side, they came to the rocky promontory upon which the Tower of Winds perched; and Thorwald led his companion to the hidden place where lay the tunnel into the stone warren far beneath the Tower’s base.

Only it was no longer hidden. The brush that had concealed the entrance had been slashed and torn away. The ground had been beaten into mud, and crushed grasses marked the path of many feet. Cautiously, they peered within, and there amidst the dirt of the tunnel floor they saw the booted tracks of many men fleeing the tunnel, along with massive, clawed prints that were decidedly inhuman.

“Vir’s forces left this way,” rumbled Thorwald.

Fetek nodded. “I would say so. And demons pursued them. Blood apes.”

“The demons came back, after.” Thorwald probed at the tracks. “We can investigate.”

And they did, moving into the darkness of the passages that underlay the Manse. The northman’s caste mark cast a clean golden glow upon the rough rock of the walls, upon leaf-strewn dirt that gave way to stone. A strange, savage howl echoed through the tunnels. Another shriek answered it from somewhere deep within.

“They have heard us.” Grimacing, Thorwald shifted his grip upon his daiklave. The pale jade shimmered like a ghost.

Fetek peered into the shadows that lurked beyond the golden glow. “What do you wish to do?”

“Destroy all of them… but that is not something we can do right now.”

“In any case, it will make stealthy infiltration impossible.”

Thorwald nodded. “Go back. Get the others. I will wait for you outside the entrance.”

“Outside?” The Lunar frowned. “That does not seem like a good idea. You may be seen.”

“It will be fine.”

Fetek sighed. “If that is your wish, oh Pillar of the Sun,” he said. And he went away, leaving Thorwald to linger amid the rocks at the base of the high, stony hill.

Crossing the river on eagle’s wings, Fetek came to the others in the late afternoon as they were discussing Ledaal Vir’s fate.

“Vir may have gone to Longcorner,” Li suggested, “where his son Tristen holds some authority.”

Zera smirked nastily as he retorted, “Or maybe Tristen had Vir killed.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” frowned Aekino. “Tristen seemed loyal.”

“You’re just saying that because – Fetek. Where is Thorwald?”

“He is waiting for you.”

So they gathered up their things, trekked a little ways north, and ferried themselves across the River of Willows. They reached the hidden entrance as the sun was setting. There they found a cranky-looking Thorwald sitting on a rock. “What took you so long?” he grumbled.

Zera smiled easily. “How’s it going? … Don’t look now, but we’re being watched.”

“That’s no surprise,” muttered Aekino. “We are not known for stealth.”

“Off to my left, in the forest – no, don’t look, Thorwald! – there’s a glint, like glass. We saw it when we were bringing Gray Mantle across the river.” He tilted his head slightly. “No… no, it’s gone now.”

“It looks like we were noticed noticing.”

Fetek stretched; his neck made little cracking sounds. “Should we check it out?”

“No,” replied Zera. “This isn’t the time. We have a plan.”

So they went east and south, around the base of the promontory, to where the curtain wall that abutted the base of the Tower met with the city wall, and farther still until they reached the city’s east gate, closed now against the evening.

“We could have killed the apes first,” Thorwald observed as they walked, “and then gone into the city.”

Aekino shook his head. “No, we can’t go into the city all bloody and wounded,” he replied. “It would be bad for our image.”

“We could scare them off.”

“Blood-apes don’t scare easily.”

The Northman pondered this for a moment. “So, instead of sneaking, we go in through the front door.”

“Yeah.” Zera smiled. “I thought you’d like it.”

“Hmph. It is foolish. But it will do.”

They approached the heavy wooden gate, behind which the air glowed with torchlight. The air was thick, wet and chill, its silence disturbed only by the muted scrape of their boots upon the road, and the chirp of thrushes migrating by night.

Thorwald stopped a few yards from the gate. He looked up. “We will look awfully foolish if they do not let us in.”

“Then we’ll make them let us in,” Zera replied.

The Northman grinned. “Now you’re talking!”

He approached the gate with his caste mark afire. He raised his fist; Essence boiled around it like molten copper. “Open the gate!” he roared.

And so they did.

Our heroes stepped into the foggy streets of the city, all of them shining with the light of Sun and Moon. The guards and other nearby folk dropped to their knees. “Oh mighty demons!” they gasped, and “Bless us, Anathema!”

The Exalts advanced, surrounded by a corona of metallic light at whose edges the cultists pressed close like shadows. Zera stared straight ahead, but he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, “You know, this whole ‘Demon Prince’ thing is starting to get old.”

Fetek smiled. “What’s in a name?”

They made their way up the city’s sloping streets to the brazier-lit bazaar, where a handful of vendors and seedy customers knelt before the newcomers, staring. From there they progressed into the upper city, where the fine homes and manors of the wealthy had been transformed into alien towers of black stone and brass. There, amidst the demonic architecture that had assaulted the city, they saw a single cathedral of basalt whose elegant lines drew the eye like true love. Fetek shivered. “Amalion,” he whispered.

And they climbed out of that dismal place, where demons peered down from high black windows, onto the road to the Tower of Winds. The endless wind that circled the tower buffeted them; they passed through, and approached the fortress that sprawled at the tower’s base. The guards, bearing the badge of the green and gold sun, saluted and unbarred the gate.

“This is borderline insulting,” murmured Zera Thisse.

The courtyard bore the marks of battle and the scent of smoke. The gardens had been burned; a black stump thrust up where once had stood the cherry tree. A few guardsmen diced in the corners, or drank, or practiced desultory maneuvers. Something large and insectile glimmered through a doorway with terrible beauty.

Finding a chamberlain, our heroes easily arranged an escort to Darien Tal’s chambers; it seemed that he had chosen Ledaal Vir’s chambers for his own. The guards at the chamber door actually made a reluctant effort to prevent entry, but intimidating them proved easy. Thorwald pounded on the door.

“Go away!” Tal’s voice drifted through the door. “I’m busy!”

Thorwald pounded again. “You will let us in.”

“It’s you!” Clearly, Tal recognized the Northman’s voice. Given prior circumstances, it’s no surprise that he didn’t sound happy.

Before Thorwald could smash the door down, Zera knelt before the lock and twiddled at the mechanism with a knife. It took no time at all for the lock to pop open, and another second to jiggle at the doorjamb to dislodge the bolt.

The Circle marched into the opulent bedchamber. There, amidst the polished woods and leather-bound books and the carvings of marble and jade, in the silk-curtained bed that once was Vir’s, the fat merchant lay with a woman. He fumbled at a bedsheet to wrap around his hirsute body, while she smiled and drew a yellow robe across her shoulders.

“Get out of my… room…” Tal’s snarls died down to a choking wheeze as he realized that the annoying travelers he recalled from the Dayshield’s Daughter were Anathema. He sputtered wordlessly as anger and resentment wrestled with religion and self-preservation.

Aekino ignored him. He inclined his head respectfully to the woman. “Greetings, Auguinare,” he said courteously. For by her luminous violet eyes, her glossy black hair, and the six fingers upon each of her hands, he had recognized her from certain demonological texts that he had studied in his youth.

“You know her?” asked Thorwald.

“Her name is Auguinare. She is one of Amalion’s daughters.”

“I see.”

The Dynast turned back to Auguinare. With a pleasant smile, he said, “Lady, we will be speaking to your paramour about some difficult matters. It might be best for you if you were to find yourself elsewhere.”

“Of course.” She smiled back. “I’m gone.” And she was.

All attention now focused upon Darien Tal. He backed away from our heroes, stuttering and stammering, as he glanced at their blazing caste marks, their stern and unrelenting faces. “Listen… ah, great ones… I know we had some troubles in the past, but surely, ah, we can put that behind us…”

“Put a robe on.” Aekino spat. “You disgust me.”

Zera curled his fingers around his dagger’s hilt. “We have some questions that you might be able to answer,” he said silkily. “Your answers might have some influence upon your continued state of good health.”

“Now… now listen here!” The merchant-turned-cult leader belted on a robe with shaking hands. “You, you can’t just walk in like this and give orders!”

“Want to bet?” With a quick shove, Zera knocked Tal to the ground, then placed a booted foot on his chest. “We are Anathema. We’ll do anything we damn well please. Now, we are going to ask you some questions, and you are going to answer them. Understood?”

“Perfectly.” The merchant’s face had turned a greasy white, contrasting sharply with the chamber’s dark green carpet. “I am… at your service, my lords.”

Zera smirked. “Good. I assume you can tell me the names of all of the members of your cult?”

“Not all… I know most of the important ones by name…”

“Good. You’ll recite them, and I’ll have a scribe sent to take notes.” The archer chucked the supine Tal under the chin with the tip of his boot. “Now, your daughter. Where is she?”

Tal sputtered. “She’s got nothing to do with this! I, we’ve tried to keep her out of the business. Leave her out of this!”

“Your daughter tried to summon a demon. A very powerful one. I think she has a lot to do with this.”

“She…” The merchant seemed to deflate. His eyes roved the scrollwork on the ceiling. “That wasn’t her. It was not my daughter.”

Zera applied a bit more pressure. “Try again.”

“No, you don’t understand! There is a power that comes upon her, a haunting… she is unaware of it. It descends on her at Calibration, at the dark of the moon. It came from my great-grandmother… Gisla. She made a pact, long ago… the source of our family’s wealth. She has attached herself to my daughter… my daughter…” His voice dissolved into a pathetic blubbering.

“Get up,” snapped Zera. The merchant obeyed, trembling. “Lead us to your daughter.”

Darien Tal led the way down the stairs. The Circle conversed as they followed him. “It’s been a month since they seized power,” muttered Aekino, turning up his nose. “That’s a long time for Auguinare to sleep with that obese, hairy creature.”

“Demons have different standards of beauty than our own,” Fetek replied.

“More likely, it’s in payment for his help in summoning them,” interjected Zera sardonically. “In any case, what are we to do with him? Should we have Thorwald throw him out the window?”

“I’m in favor of that,” said Aekino. “He should die.”

“That seems too good for him, too easy. He killed Ledaal Amaya, and he tried to kill us. He has even twisted his own family.”

Li brushed back a stray lock of hair from her eyes. Her fingers toyed absently with the hilt of Burning Tiger that gleamed behind her shoulder. “Perhaps we should chase them all out of the city,” she mused. “And then go to join with Ledaal Vir, to drive the demons out by force of arms.”

“Not if he’s gone to the Monastery of the Red Butterfly,” Aekino replied. “The monks wouldn’t allow it.”

“Now that we have the Dariens,” spoke Zera, “we should consider what we’re to do with Amalion.”

“Well.” Aekino stroked his chin as an elder would a long white beard. “What arguments may we muster against her presence?”

“I have a sword,” Li replied. “It is a compelling argument.”

“Before we go to such lengths, I am curious what we might learn from her about the workings of the Essence…”

Fetek coughed. “I will not harm her.”

“I know,” Zera answered. “I hope we will not have to.”

They reached their destination. Tal knocked. “Gisla, my dear, please open the door. You have guests.”

A young, pretty girl opened the door. She bore little resemblance to her father, with her fair skin, snub nose, and nut-brown hair with just a hint of green in it. Were one to imagine her face pierced by a hundred moonsilver needles, a demonic sigil crackling upon her brow, and eyes blazing with inhuman fury, she would indeed be the creature that the Circle had stopped from conjuring a demon prince; but she bore no such marks. Her mouth formed a neat little “o” as she regarded the Anathema.

“Where is your lore?” blurted Thorwald. “Your books of vile sorcery; where are they?”

“I…” She fluttered her eyelashes in what seemed honest confusion. “I don’t have any lore! I have a diary…”

“Enough, brother.” Zera grasped the northman’s shoulder. “She doesn’t know.”

“What’s going on?” The girl clutched at her nightgown, as if she feared ravishment by the Exalted.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Zera sought to appear solicitous. “Why don’t you pack a bag with your things. You can meet your father down in the courtyard; the guards will escort him there.” A quick glare toward the door facilitated this state of affairs.

“Am I going on a journey?”

“Not far,” he assured her. “You’ll be staying with your father.”

And so she would. Our heroes made their divine nature eminently clear to the guards in the tower, and after the bowing and scraping, they instructed the guards to lock Darien Tal and his daughter into one of the servants’ chambers until told otherwise, and to keep constant guard to ensure that they did not escape.

They went out, then, into the night, past the guards and the agata and the endless wind, down into the place of black towers. There, they crunched over broken stone as they brought gold fire to the twisting streets. The air smelled of old smoke and of frost. Constellations winked overhead, drawing their cloaks of cirrus close against the cold.

Amalion loomed before them, her basalt spires gleaming with brass, her perfect buttresses spread wide in welcome. Like candles they came; tiny sparks of silver and gold. The darkness pressed in around them.

Ranko

04-27-2004, 01:32 AM

Rock on!

Cool session.

Arbane the Terrible

04-27-2004, 10:57 AM

I can't wait to see what happens next.

Li of Orchid

04-27-2004, 01:11 PM

Originally posted by Arbane the Terrible
I can't wait to see what happens next.

We beat her down and kicked her butt back to Malfeas. "What did the five Exalted say to the face? SLAP!"

Quendalon

04-30-2004, 12:58 PM

Zera Thisse watched as the wind coursed along the vast, empty plains and danced among the willowy grasses and the late-blooming beds of wildflowers. He couldn’t help but smile at the dizzying array of colors and shapes. It was the only mirth he’d found in days, perhaps weeks.

It was now a month since the terrible battle with the hobgoblins, and the mountains had been left behind them. That leg of the trip was long and arduous, as men and packhorses alike balked at the precarious paths cut through the unforgiving rock. Tempers flared and fights broke out, verbal and otherwise. Archers squabbled with lancers, common soldiers grumbled about their commander’s orders, and even Lord Corvan and Lady Mya would argue about the best course, quietly and when they thought no one could hear. Zera was always good at not being noticed, and he learned a thing or two from those discussions.

He had been wrapped in his blanket roll one night in the mountains, and the camp was subdued and quiet. Snow blustered around them, carried down from the peaks and keeping the soldiers huddled under inadequate cloaks and bedrolls. The two Dragon-Blooded officers were off a ways, and didn’t realize the same wind that brought the snow also carried their words to Zera’s ears.

* * * * *

“Lord Corvan, I have said nothing about any of this, as of yet. I have done my best to keep morale up, but I’m not the only one at the end of my rope. We are only a scale, my Lord, and bloodied at that!” Ledaal Mya ranted, her bright blue eyes flashing with anger. “ We still have hundreds of miles to cover before we even reach Chiaroscuro, and there’s any number of things that can take us down between here and there. Supposing we survive those, there’s still a city full of hungry ghosts!” She ceased momentarily, seemingly catching her breath to begin again.

“Enough, Lieutanant. That’s quiet enough.” The voice of Lord Ledaal Corvan was enough to make steel seem pliable. “If any of the men hear this, they’ll flee and be back on their way to the Blessed Isle before you could blink.”

Mya had the good graces to show the proper chagrin. She stared past the fires and the sleeping forms of the camp, out towards the other side of the mountains. Snow drifted around her and caught in the strands of blue hair that escaped her helmet. “My Lord. Please. Tell me why. I would follow you anywhere, die where you asked me, but I want to know why this operation isn’t at proper strength. We should be at the head of a full legion right now.”

The silence grew between them, as Corvan turned to stare in the same direction. South and west. Zera huddled under his thin blanket and tried to keep his breathing slow and even. Just when he thought that Corvan would leave the question unanswered, his voice just barely reached his ears.

“Politics.” Ledaal Corvan spat the word like an oath. “I’ve never cared for them, but I am swept along nevertheless because of my station. My uncle, Ledaal Traven, was furious when he heard that I was to be awarded The House of One Hundred Gardens as a gift upon my retirement. I have done much for the family, won many battles, but in this it counts as nothing.”

Mya gasped angrily. “My Lord, we are all being sent to die because your Uncle desires a Manse ? That’s all there is to this? All these men sacrificed, for that!” He nodded in return, sadness glinting in his eyes. “There was nothing I could do to stop it, Lieutenant. He called in a favor that dates back to before you were alive. It made sense to the family – a small party succeeding and drawing less attention that could be used against us. A simple ruse, and I had no defense. Should we actually succeed, as admittedly unlikely as that is, I would not be surprised if we must deal with assassins in the South.”

Zera quietly goggled in surprise, the cold and his empty belly forgotten. Could the mighty Dynasty really be this cruel? He knew that the Great Houses waged a quiet war on each other, but he never knew that such things happened within a single House. Ledaal Corvan was a great man and a legendary solider, and he was being sent to die over some house in the countryside? It made the country-bred boy sick to his stomach, only slightly more so because he knew that if these men and women died, he likely would as well. He shook his head, forgetting his ruse of slumber.

Mya’s eyes narrowed, and she pointed at the archer’s prone form. Lord Corvan’s eyes caught the movement, but he shook his head, even as he lowered his voice. “He won’t flee, that one. If something happens to me, you are to trust him as I have.” Mya grimaced, but nodded. She didn’t seem to have much choice about anything at all these days...

* * * * *

Zera Thisse shook himself out of his reverie, as the sound of horse hooves signaled someone’s approach from behind him. He knew it was one of the two Dynasts, because the only soldier that talked to him was Aleia, and her horse was too small to make that kind of racket. He didn’t move a muscle, not wanting to lose the calm the beauty around him summoned.

He heard the rider rein in the horse just to his left, and there was silence for a few moments. The voice that spoke was not the voice he was expecting. “This reminds me of the Ventus Prefecture. North of the Imperial City. It’s beautiful there... my family had a hunting lodge. Before I Exalted, I would play amongst the flowers and pretend that I was the Scarlet Empress.” The voice was wistful, under the harsh soldier’s tone.

He glanced to his side, then, and saw Ledaal Mya swing down off her horse to stand next to him. He’d heard she was about thirty years old, but she honestly looked no older than he did. A strange thing to notice, all of a sudden. He kept his silence, a little taken aback by the Dynast’s sudden openness.

“I know you heard what I did that night, up on the mountain. You know this is a suicide mission.” Zera nodded, turning to stare at the waving flowers and grasses again. “That’s true, Lieutenant. I did hear, and I do know that. What, did you expect me to run crying back to Thorns?” Zera wheeled around, anger pulling the corners of his mouth into a sneer. “Courage is not only the domain of the Dragon-Blooded, my Lady.”

The blue-eyed Imperial grinned slightly, flipping the reins of her war charger idly. She stared at the young man from Thorns, taking in the travel-stained clothing, the calluses on his hand, the look in his eyes that made him seem older, and realized she was seeing him for the first time as a person, instead of a stereotypical Threshold barbarian. “I never said you were a coward. No one can say that, but I know that Lord Corvan would release you from your oath if you asked him. You have your family to consider.”

Zera’s face colored with embarrassment. “I apologize. I misjudged you, and it won’t happen again. As far as my family goes, they know what I do. It’s better for them to know that I died trying to stop someone dangerous, then for them to know that I ran from something I swore I’d do.” He folded his arms and waited for the mockery to commence. It was a cliché sentiment, but he felt it to his bones nevertheless.

She met his gaze, and held it for a long time. “Then in this, we are agreed. We will see this to the end. No matter what.” She extended a mailed hand towards the young archer, her face set and humorless. He reached out with his own, and took her hand in his, nodding. “No matter what.”. Turning from each other, they stared at the fields for a long time, lost in memories and thought.

A week later, the bedraggled and hungry Scale found their way to the villages outside Kirighast, farmers and traveling peddlers alike ceasing their labors to wipe their brows and point at the soldiers bearing the banner of the Realm. The party made their way into the city itself, and rested for several days. The soldiers took their ease in the taverns, swilling ale and recounting the battle with the hobgoblins for anyone who would listen. Aleia attempted to drag Zera off several times during their stay, but he found himself oddly reluctant. She gave over with only slight teasing, and would make her way into the city to have what fun she could. The feeling of foreboding had made its way to the soldiers, though they didn’t understand the whole of it.

Zera largely kept to himself, wandering the streets of the city by day and finding smaller, quiet taverns to spend his evenings in. Their third night in Kirghast, the last as it happened to be, was the night he found himself in the common room of The Wild Plains Rose, listening to a dark-skinned woman playing a bittern. He played a bit of the flute himself, and the sound of music was exactly what he wanted to hear.

He was tired of the marching and the camping and the bad food and the orders of Dynasts. The small tavern reminded him of the village inns back home, and he found himself taking his flute from his pack. He was no virtuoso, but it was something he found he missed doing, and when the bittern player took her break for dinner, Zera was surprised to find himself approaching the innkeeper.

“Good evening, Mistress. I know that you have a musician, but I was wondering if I may play my flute for your patrons. I don’t want any money and I’ll pay for my drinks. I just want to play.”

The grey-haired, round-cheeked woman in her apron raised an eyebrow when he declined payment, and she nodded. “As long as you can hit a note or two, I have no trouble with it.” She nodded towards the platform. “Be my guest.”

Zera dragged a stool up to the platform and sat down, dusting off the tin shaft of his flute. He cleared his throat, and raised the flute to his lips, and found his throat suddenly dry as a desert. Ledaal Corvan sat at the front table, having come in when Zera’s attention was elsewhere. He nodded. “Do you take requests?” Zera nodded nervously. “Do you know ‘The Fields of Melevhil’?”. Zera nodded again, and licked his lips. He began to play.

Lord Ledaal Corvan listened raptly to the first strains of music, the lilting sound of tragedy and loss that only songs about battle could attain. He stood, and closed his eyes as he went to stand next to his conscripted archer and scout. The words poured forth in a rich, warm bass.

<blockquote>
“The banners waved o’er our heads, and the sun was shining high,
Our lances blazed like torchlight, as we marched on side by side,
The horses pranced and ladies danced, and we went off to die.

Our wives and husbands cheered us, as wives and husbands will,
They swore we’d be victorious, but we knew better still,
The bands all played and children sang, as we marched to Melevhil.

We marched a thousand miles, and we marched a thousand more,
Our bellies all were empty, are bodies worn and sore,
But still we marched to Melevhil, to wage our bloody war.

The drums kept us all in line, and bannermen did shout,
‘Lo! Before you lies the battlefield, now be what you’re about!’
At the sound of horns, our lances drawn, ready for the rout.

The Dragon-Blooded took the field, o’er a hundred strong,
The ‘Striders took the vanguard, to sing their deadly song,
If we but knew how very few would live to see the dawn.

The Seventh Legion took the field, the Empress they’d deny,
And Melevhil and Nathir men drew up by their side,
The clouds began to gather, and rain fell from the sky.

The fighting men were sodden, the field churned into mud,
And silence hung for moments, each thinking of his love,
Then vicious noise of battle joined, and fields ran red with blood.

They came at us with lances, and things of bygone Age,
We met their every single charge, but couldn’t meet their rage,
With guts and wit, they boxed us in, and the field became a cage.

With Nathir-men to flank us, we had nowhere to go,
They swore to never taste defeat, and that day they made it so,
And this, my friends, did spell the end of the Empress’s Own.

We came to fill our better’s greed, and paid the butcher’s bill
Our wives and husbands mourned, as wives and husbands will
I remember still, the thousands killed, on the Field of Melevhil.
</blockquote>

The song ended, and the crowd clapped their approval. The innkeeper nodded and bade the barmaids bring the pair fresh drinks. The bittern player had come back, and eyed the pair with a touch of irritation – her playing had certainly not elicited such a response.

As the fresh mugs were set down beside them, Zera met Lord Corvan’s face, grim and full of determination. “We’re marching to our own Melevhil, aren’t we?” Corvan met him stare for stare for a long moment. “Finish your drink and get some sleep, young man. We leave with first light.” Zera drank his ale, and was not surprised that it tasted just like ashes.

Quendalon

05-03-2004, 12:42 PM

6. “Cutting the Wavecrest”

When I was a child, training in the Way of the Sword, I would often practice “Cutting the Wavecrest.” I would stand waist-deep in the sea and as waves approached, I would cut at their crests. This serves several purposes. It develops balance and speed. Waves approach the shore at different times, in different ways. Each is unique and each requires its own particular cut; because of this, it is truer to the Way of Conflict than rote repetition of kata. As one performs the cut, the wave crashes over, upsetting balance. In this, it is a reminder that what follows the cut is as important as what preceeds as well as the cut itself. One must always be mindful of the results of their actions.

The technique of “Cutting the Wavecrest” is simple to practice but not easy to master. A swordsman who masters it can sever the crest of a wave as easily as severing a man’s head. He moves with the smooth grace and the infinite power of the entire sea.

* * * * *

7. “Two Wills”

Some men are confused by their own Will. They say, “I believe that such-and-such is the right thing to do, yet a part of me says that it is wrong. Which is my True Will? Which are my base instincts?”

All men have two Wills, a True Will and a False Will. The True Will is born of virtue, of hardship and challenge, and in it lies the Way. The False Will drives a man to commit evil, to do wrong, to act contrary to the Way. How to tell if the Will is true or false?

Wisdom and virtue forge the True Will. Ignorance and indulgence in worldly desires feed the False Will. Therefore, forgo the things of the world; renounce desire. Cultivate wisdom and act with virtue. These things forge the True Will and suppress the False. Confusion will fade and disappear and all things will become clear in the Way.

Do not treasure worldly things, for they are illusions and transient. You may have riches but riches may be lost. You may have power but power may be overthrown. You may have beauty but age destroys the flower of youth. You may have knowledge but knowledge may be forgotten.

The Way is eternally created and eternally destroyed. It changes from moment to moment and never is what it was. Thus it is truly immortal. When one’s Will is in accord with the Way, therein lies enlightenment.

* * * * *

8. “The Will and Virtue”

Virtue is natural, like the elements of Creation. One who is compassionate, temperate, filled with conviction and valorous, encompasses the width of the world. They are immutable and invincible as the axis of Creation.

Compassion is like the sea of the West. Water flows to find the lowest point. Compassion likewise, always flows to the most downtrodden and pitiable. Be like water in your compassion: fill the cups of those whose cups are empty.

Temperance is like the forest of the East. The trees are patient and do not hurry. They rise in stately fashion towards the sun and root themselves deep in the earth. In this way, the temperate are firmly planted and strong within their hearts. They do not rush hither and yon and when they act it is with foresight and wisdom.

Conviction is like the fire of the South. Fire burns that which it can consume. Full of energy and light, it drives away the cold. Men may use fire to create and to destroy. Conviction is the fire of the spirit, which drive men to create and drives men to destroy. The strength of conviction is the strength of fire but be wary lest you are burned.

Valor is like the cold wind of the North. Wind is insubstantial yet ever-present. It gives breath to men’s lungs. It can be gentle and simple or mighty enough to tear down cities. Valor is like the wind for it has no substance and cannot be seen, only judged by the effects it produces. A man of great valor is like a thunderstorm that can bring the life-giving rain or terrible thunder to destroy.

Together, every virtue builds the Will, which is like the Mountain that anchors Creation. All things flow from a man’s Will and the Will flows from a man’s virtues. Thus, the Way is in virtue; act with virtue and know it within one’s heart and the Will is made True. When truth is strengthened, the Way is near.

YerMum

05-04-2004, 03:04 AM

:eek:

< keanu >

woah, cool!

< /keanu >

Quendalon

05-06-2004, 07:14 PM

Sitting next to the fire, Thorvald brooded. The night was warm, clear and dry, but that did little to assuage his mood. His companions kept their distance, giving him time to compose himself. The black mood had only just passed from him and they knew he would need time.

It came suddenly and lasted a long time, during which he had pushed himself beyond endurance, almost killing his horse and tiring out his companions in the process. Only one impulse crossed his mind: DESTROY. Destroy my enemies.

The details were a blur. But he remembered Forty-Four Devil Blossoms most of all. Once again she had tried to kill one of his brethren, and once again she fled before he could but get his hands on her. He remembered chasing her and the foul gremlins that fled into the mountain, but he remembered other things.

“You have not slept well, Thorvald.” Calm, patient and motionless, Li stood before him.

“I…am fine.” Thorvald whispered, but when he tried to look at her, he could not. All he could think of was the unthinkable, what he did not wanted think of… a thick disgusting bile rose in his throat and he did his best to conceal it.

“Are you all right?”

He tried to look at her again, but a wave of nausea gripped him. Li moved to steady him, and before he could stop, he found himself recoiling from her touch. Instantly, she noticed something amiss, perhaps even guessed at what he was trying to hide. Yet if it caused her any pain or anger, Thorvald could not tell. As ever, her face was a mask of calm. She inclined her head slightly as she left him to his thoughts.

He tried his best to control the panic inside of him, but could not.

“Your father was born of this earth,” the sage had said to Li. “But your mother came from outside Creation.”

And he could not forget those words. Once again he tried to force himself to look at her, and the urge to vomit gripped him. He bent his head and beat his fist into the ground as his mind raced.

“It means nothing. NOTHING,” he whispered. But his thoughts spoke differently.

She is one of the Fair Folk!!! FAIR FOLK!!! You traveled with her, ate with her, fought with her and she is one of them!!!

And you are a demon. You are both demons!!

We are not!!!

You are both anathema. What of it? It means nothing what you were or she was.

He caught Zera Thisse looking over at him with a look of concerned understanding. Ashamed, he averted his eyes.

Sometime later, as always, Zera came to him, put a firm hand on his shoulder, and waited for some time before speaking.

“Are you all right?”

There was quiet for a time before Thorvald spoke.

“I am fine,” he said simply.

“You know you almost drove your horse into the ground.”

Thorvald remembered it well. He felt badly about it, and felt even worse when Zera had tried to stop him by grabbing the reins not once, but twice.

“If you touch my reins again. I will kill you.”

That is what he had said. And he felt shame burning within him. He looked at Zera Thisse and felt his temper flare.

“I am fine, Zera Thisse!” he snapped, turning away from his friend. “Go away already. I am no cripple or child, or a woman who needs his wounds mended or his heart tended to! I am fine! Now leave me be, by all the Dead Gods!!!”

Instantly he regretted his irritability. It was his intention to apologize, but somehow only anger came.

Zera Thisse’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment he studied his companion. Finally, at length he nodded, rose and walked away. Thorvald raised his head to say something but could not find the words. He growled irritably and kicked at the ground at his feet and continued to stare into the fire.

* * * * *

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Kuro asked, grabbing the whip from his hands.

Annoyed, he looked down at Kuro the Raven. She was staring up at him, her determined eyes like twin flecks of steel and ice. At his feet, the thunder spirit lay whimpering, its translucent flesh marred, torn and bleeding from the blows he had savagely rained down upon it.

“Get out of my way, woman!!” He exclaimed. “This thing will pay for what it has done to this village!!!”

“He has paid enough!” Kuro returned. “A few flooded ditches, ruined crops and blown-down huts are no justification for killing him! He’s just a young thunder spirit! He knows no better!”

“Then I will teach it better!” With a grunt he batted Kuro aside and aimed a kick at the terrified wind spirit. No larger than a youth of ten winters, it huddled in ball at his feet and flinched as his foot exploded into its midsection. Where an ordinary man would have cried out as bones broke, the spirit only made the sound of a thin light wind blowing through a crack in a window, and he heard a rumbling sound and the wetness of rain on his foot.

“Stop it. What are you doing??”

“Get out of my way, Kuro!!” He kicked at it again, and both of them were splashed by cool rainwater.

“Stop it, you big fool!!” she cried out, grabbing his arm. “You are killing him!”

“Get off me!!” he roared, and with a fierce push he sent her hurtling roughly to the ground. “I WILL TEACH HIM! I WILL TEACH HIM NOT TO LAUGH AT ME!!! I WILL TEACH HIM TO OBEY ME WHEN I TELL HIM TO STOP!!”

“Yes. Teach him.” Kuro snapped her eyes flaring. “Teach him everything!! Teach him whatever you want!!! BLESSED WIND!”

And when she spat his name out it struck him with the very force of thunder. In it was all the anger, admonition and outrage over his actions. And as he stared into her eyes, he saw it… her defiance, her hatred. She had always defied him!! Undermined him! Always she sought to embarrass him. Humiliate him! Like now, in front of these villagers he had saved!! Using his very name as a weapon against him! As if he was being unworthy of it!! She had always done this!! Always!! Fool!! Fool!! She called me a fool!!!!

He lifted the whip to strike at her but their eyes met. There was not the slightest shred of fear in them, no anger and no hatred. As he made to bring the whip down she did not flinch or even blink. She just sat on the ground next to the whimpering spirit and looked deep in his eyes, awaiting his fury. He stopped. He stopped, but as he did so, he stared past her, beyond her and right into her. He looked deep into her clear impenetrable eyes and there in the midst of the strange mercurial yet unfathomable calm of the woman he loved, he felt his rage pass. It flowed from him like a blood-drenched cloak that slid off his body, leaving him naked and bereft of all dignity.

And when he looked around, he saw the villagers huddled on the ground and in fear. Women desperately clutched their children to their bodies as they wailed and cried in the midst of their broken village. He saw men looking at him with confusion and carefully hidden anger. They were all kneeling and they all were terrified. All around them the ruins of the village served as testament to what he could now see around him.

The village was destroyed. If any structure of lasting importance still stood, it would not for much longer. Fences, homes, granaries and tools were smashed beyond repair. Broken barrels, buckets and vegetables, mulch and grain were littered everywhere, along with feed and dead livestock. The animals that survived fled the village and were scattered throughout the rolling hills in the distance, and those that were wounded or trapped in collapsed barns wailed fitfully. Blessed Wind looked around and saw that even the well and the bridge were destroyed - utterly ruined in the fight. Grain stored for the hard winter was lying in the street, and rats were already in it, devouring what these people had worked so hard for. Being farmers, their immediate instinct was to fight for the grain, but his presence kept them rooted to the ground.

He had come here to stop the raging spirit that was tormenting this place with flash floods and constant battering winds, but he knew that it was not the spirit who had wrecked such havoc.

How did this happen? He had asked the spirit to stop, but it did not heed him. Then he ordered it, but it laughed at him. And then he felt a blind and uncontrollable rage, and the desire to hurt the spirit for insulting him. But the fight was over before it started. If it was his goal to drive it away, he succeeded instantly. It immediately gave into his might, but he did not stop. He could not stop. He kicked, beat and hammered it and as it tried to flee. He let nothing stand in his way, not people, not the dwellings, nothing.

And as he stared down at the spirit he saw that it was dying. Numb, he stared at it as it muttered and whimpered fearfully, begging him for mercy. And through it all, as his mind tried its hardest to avoid it, the truth like an unquenchable fire became plain to see.

He looked down at Kuro and the whip fell out of his nerveless hands. She did notice what he noticed; her attention was entirely on him. She sat up, her eyes never leaving him, and when he sank down onto his hands and knees beside her, she was there, cradling his head against her neck as his tortured sobs racked his body.

“I did this,” he screamed. And as Kuro held him, she felt his body tremble as he wept uncontrollably.

“I did this, Kuro… It was me… it was me…”

“Ssshhhhhhhhh,” she whispered. “Ssssshhhhhhhhh.” He sank into her arms, helplessly, and she clutched at him tighter, barely supporting his weight.

“It’s not your fault,” she soothed, as she gently stroked his hair. “It’s not your fault.”

But if he could hear her words, she did not know. As the storm clouds began to gather, she knelt there in the wetness that was the dying spirit’s lifeblood as her lover, Blessed Wind, clutched at her like a hurt child. She held him in her arms, kissed his face and hair, and tried everything to bring comfort to him, but could not. Nothing worked. She sang, whispered soothing Charms, tried everything she knew and did not know, everything that had never ever failed to bring light and laughter to him, and it was not enough.

“What is happening to me?” he blurted, his tears running down her chest. “What… is… ha… happening to… muh… me?”

Beneath the grim stormy skies, under the fearful eyes of the villagers, Kuro the Raven clutched at her lover, Blessed Wind. She held back her own tears for the sake of the man who had been her own pillar of strength for so long, yet never realized it. She took in his sorrow and his surrender and felt a strange stabbing pain in her chest.

Together, they both shrunk like pebbles under the vast and timeless burden of inevitability.

Quendalon

05-10-2004, 02:02 PM

Okay, here's the skinny: We've had to postpone Session 28 twice now, but we should get to play this Thursday. Fetek's player has promised to inflict grievous bodily harm on anyone who cancels out this time around; we'll see if that helps.

The write-up for Session 27 is still in progress. It's a long one, with lots of important dialogue. Fortunately, some of the players kept notes during the session, and I finally got the notes today. I have hope that I'll finally catch up on the session write-ups this time around.

Lastly, there's a chance that I may get a freelance job working on an RPG supplement. (yay!) Unfortunately, it's not an Exalted supplement, so I'm going to have to take time away from the game to work on it. This will translate to longer intervals between sessions. (boo!) Nonetheless, I'll try and keep y'all entertained in the interim. I hope that my players will keep up the slack with more of their own writings, all of which are pretty damn good.

That's it for today. Catch y'all later!

- Eric

Quendalon

05-14-2004, 12:35 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Welcome, my little night-birds. What brings you here upon your little black wings? Have you come for a tale? Yes… so I shall tell you a tale, my little birds. Settle down, yes, yes… what tale shall I tell tonight? Shall I tell you the tale of how the gods railed against the oppression of the Primordials; and of how, when the Primordials refused their petition, they sent the god Rua to carry their case to Cytherea, the Mother of Creation? Would you learn of how Rua fulfilled that doom, nevermore to be seen again, and what resulted from his sacrifice? Or shall I tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of the doom of the Second Age?

“Then come closer, my children. Gather round, and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of those bright, shining heroes, and how they confronted the demon Amalion within her lair.”

* * * * *

Boots clicked on wet stone. Clouds scudded wetly across the sea of stars. Our heroes approached the dark silhouette of Amalion.

They halted upon her broad, shallow stair. Her doors loomed above. Li of Orchid turned her face up to the misty drizzle that wafted down from the firmament; Thorwald sniffed at the cold wind.

“Li,” said Aekino, and, “Zera. Might I speak with you a moment?”

“Certainly,” they said, and, “Sure. What’s up?” They stepped aside to confer, with their comrades’ stares pressing hard upon their backs.

“We have some cause to hope,” said the Dynast to his companions, “that Amalion remains sympathetic to Creation. But we also have cause to fear that she will hold a grudge against Thorwald and myself for what happened between us in our former incarnations. She may try to harm us, or keep us captive. And there is no way of telling what she’ll do with Fetek.”

The others nodded, so Aekino continued: “If we are imprisoned, there’s no use in your being captured as well. Instead, I want you to go to the Tower of Winds. See what you can do from there.”

“I will.” Li inclined her head in acknowledgement.

Zera sighed heavily. “I will agree,” he said. “But I don’t like the idea of leaving you three alone.”

“I don’t like it either,” the Dynast replied. “But I want you two to stick together.”

The swordswoman nodded. “We will. But for now, we have pressing business within.”

They turned back to their brethren. Fetek eyed the Twilight coldly, his arms crossed over his chest. “And what have you decided?”

Aekino blinked ingenuously. “What decision is that?”

“Come off it, Aekino,” grated the young Lunar. “I am not a child.”

Zera Thisse stepped forward, smiling. “We were simply discussing some contingencies in case we run into problems,” he said smoothly. “In case we get tangled up in an old passion play.”

“And you saw the need to conceal it from me.”

“Oh, as to that,” said Aekino, “if I sought to conceal a conversation from you, I would not have held it right in front of you.”

“Then perhaps it was a purposeful insult,” Fetek stated.

“My brothers,” said Li. She gazed up at the convoluted spires, the elaborate façade of basalt and brass that rose before them. “Let us concern ourselves with what matters.”

She resumed her climb up the wet black steps. Her brothers walked at her side.

* * * * *

The massive stone doors stood ajar, dripping with dark water. Thorwald pulled them wide. Within, they entered a cavernous space, a vastly echoing hall where black columns supported a distant vaulted ceiling. High windows glimmered with starlight; shadows fluttered between them, and the place echoed faintly with the beating of wings.

A sliver of white light gleamed in the distance. They approached it. Stark shadows crossed their path as they past row after row of columns. The sliver grew into a wide passage, floor to ceiling, set within the far wall.

The white light fractured into rainbows. The nave of the cathedral Amalion spread itself before them in a glory of jeweled light. A hundred massive lamps of colored glass shone with hues of ruby, topaz, amethyst and sapphire; shafts of green radiance spilled from tall windows on either side, illuminating row upon row of benches where scattered figures knelt at prayer. Some were human, some inhuman, and others muffled beyond identification.

Countless doors and archways pierced the walls of the titanic chamber. Between them, figures worshipped at candle-strewn altars, where threads of incense smoke rose upward to join a roiling gray cloud that hid the ceiling. They walked back and forth, mostly ignoring each other, at their own mysterious errands.

At the far end of the nave, steps rose in glittering lines of obsidian and brass to the chancel. Towering stone icons of a veiled, motherly figure raised their hands in benediction over a black stone altar. Fumes of sandalwood and myrrh drifted up to the smoky canopy above. Neither priest nor acolyte stood there, nor did the congregation approach that dark altar.

The Circle looked about in discomfited awe. Thorwald shook it off first. He approached an older woman who knelt at a pew. “Where is Amalion?” he demanded.

The woman gazed back, wide-eyed. “She is all around us,” she said vaguely.

The Northman shook his head. He stalked forward along the central aisle. “Amalion!” he roared. “Where are you? Do not hide from us. Show yourself!”

His words echoed through the vastness of the space, rolling off the walls and resounding off the hidden ceiling. Dozens of distant figures turned to stare. And as his voice echoed into the heights, it shifted, grew high and clear. “Show yourself,” it giggled overhead, soft and warm and feminine. “Show yourself.”

Thorwald gnashed his teeth. He strode up the aisle, past blazing prismatic lamps and columns of basalt, and climbed glistening steps to the chancel. There, he drew his pear-blossom daiklave and pounded its hilt upon the altar.

“Amalion!” he shouted. (Boom! Boom! went the echoes of jade on stone.) “Here we stand! We have gathered here to speak with you. Why do you hide? What are you waiting for?”

His gaze fell upon an open door to the left of the altar. He felt certain that it had not been there a moment ago, when last his eyes had chanced that way. He smiled. “That’s more like it,” he said, and led the way.

They trooped through the door, one after another, into a narrow corridor of featureless basalt. The way jogged to the right; green light gleamed ahead.

They emerged onto a balustraded gallery floored with pale pink marble. It encircled a hollow shaft thirty yards across, where rays of green light fell from somewhere above. Sculpture-filled niches and stylized sofas flanked doors and archways that led to unknown rooms; curving stairways climbed up and down the walls of the shaft to other galleries.

A muted silence lingered. Dust swirled emerald in the falling light. With a shrug, Thorwald led the way up a stair to another gallery, much the same as the first. A beaded curtain rustled; he passed through.

They entered a sitting room rich with violet wallpaper with teakwood trim, illuminated by glass lamps of blue and green. Elegant wooden chairs, upholstered in silk, gathered around a table spread with wine cups and jars of intoxicant powders.

A pleasant-looking middle-aged woman sat across the table. She wore a robe of lavender silk; a strange silken half-mask covered the lower half of her face. She tilted her head, and a starry window framed her profile.

“Welcome,” she said in a warm voice. “Please, come in. Make yourselves comfortable.” From the crinkle at the corner of her eyes, she seemed to be smiling; but her mouth could not be seen.

This was Amalion.

* * * * *

Aekino, Fetek and Zera seated themselves; Thorwald and Li stubbornly stood, refusing to accept demonic hospitality. The demon queen clapped her hands, and a figure wholly muffled in lavender cloth brought a tray laden with fine porcelain cups and a steaming pot of tea. Aekino graciously accepted a cup. He sipped.

“It is pleasant to see you all again,” said the demon queen. “I have not seen you for perhaps five hundred years,” she said to Zera Thisse, “and the rest of you, I have not seen for over a thousand. It has been too long.” As she said this, her eyes lingered on Fetek; shyly, he looked away. “It is good of you to come.”

“Indeed,” said Aekino. “I fear that we have much to discuss.”

“Ah.” She paused. “I see that you have much on your mind, Sharn Larenn - ”

“My name is Tepet Aekino now,” the Dynast admonished.

Amalion nodded. “Of course. I do not mean to offend. Perhaps you might introduce the rest of your companions, by such names as they now hold?”

So Aekino made introductions, and the demoness politely acknowledged each of her guests, with Fetek receiving the greatest attention. Aekino maintained a steady stream of small talk, supported occasionally by Zera Thisse. Fetek sat uncomfortably, Thorwald glowered, and Li remained inscrutable.

“Now we must discuss the matter of your presence here.” The Dynast set down his cup with a click.

“Certainly,” the demoness replied. Again, she seemed to smile beneath her half-mask. “But surely you will first avail yourself of my hospitality? A bath, fresh garments, a warm meal; these things will refresh you. Then we may speak of more weighty matters.”

“I will be glad to accept your offer,” he replied with a grin. “After all, I never trust anyone better dressed than myself.”

Standing, Aekino passed through a door indicated by his host, entering a hall with five doors, each of which bore a plaque graven with the name of a member of his Circle. He entered the room bearing his own name, where he found a large, luxurious room equipped with a feather bed, a steaming sunken bath, and a wardrobe brimming with garments of velvet, satin and silk. Stripping away his soiled garments, he sank into the hot water with a sigh.

* * * * *

Shortly thereafter, Zera and Fetek excused themselves from the parlor and found their own rooms, which, while less extravagant than the Dynast’s, were pleasant nonetheless. This left Thorwald and Li alone with Amalion.

The demoness watched them carefully as she sipped tea through a hollow reed. Setting down her cup, she asked, “Do you feel ill at ease?”

“No,” grunted the Northman. Li remained silent.

Amalion sighed. “Your silence makes me uncomfortable,” she observed. “Were it not ungracious of me, I might even be offended.”

Thorwald shook his head. “I am here, Amalion,” he replied. “That is more than I ever thought that I would give.” After a pause, he continued, “I know you, I think. But I do not understand how, or why.”

“I see that you are new to this. If you wish, I can tell you something of what you are; of who you were.”

“You know that I will be wary of what you say.”

Her eyes crinkled with humor. “Suit yourself,” she replied. She leaned back in her chair, her hands loosely folded in her lap. For all that she was a demon, she looked as human as they, and this discomfited them.

“There are few like the Exalted,” she began, “in all of Creation. You merge a higher power with base matter, flesh with spirit. You resemble us more than almost any other creature in this world. Perhaps that is part of why the Great Betrayal stung as much as it did. But I suppose that is beside the point.”

“What point?” demanded the Zenith.

She smiled. “You have two higher souls,” she said. “A mortal soul, and a divine one – a fragment of your god, a shard of celestial potency. This shard, this second soul, has been around for a long time. It has been many people; it has lived many lives.”

Thorwald grunted. “Ambrani Rao.”

“Yes. Once, you were Ambrani Rao. Leader of the Solar Deliberative; foremost among your kind.” She regarded the Solar thoughtfully. “I did not know him well. But I do recognize his nature: Judgmental. Stubborn. Inflexible. Much like your own, for the shards seek to merge with kindred souls. You are not he, but you are as he was; you would not have been chosen otherwise.”

“I find all this difficult to accept. I am Thorwald.”

“You are also Ambrani Rao.”

“How can this be?” he demanded stubbornly.

She shrugged. “Self-knowledge is not necessary to one’s being. What has happened is the way of your kind. Like finds like. The shard that once possessed Ambrani Rao sought a host, one that fitted its nature and need. It found you; and it was satisfied.”

“I tell you this. I do not think well of your kind, or mine.”

“I have heard you say something similar in another life.” Amalion sighed. “I am not surprised.”

Thorwald seemed unimpressed. “So you say.”

“There are others who can tell you the same. A few of your kind have survived the long centuries since your fall. They have scattered to the corners of creation, but they are there. I know of three of them; there may be more. But they are few. I am surprised to see so many of you here. All of the rest have been caught, trapped; removed from the cycle of reincarnation.”

This, at last, spurred Li to speak. “How is this possible?”

The demon queen made an ambiguous gesture. “There were devices, vessels, crafted to hold the divine souls. Over the years, most of your kind have been bound in this way. Only a vanishing few continue on to be reborn.”

“So we are not the first to come back.”

“Certainly not!” Amalion exhibited surprise at the question. “Your kind are always reborn after death. Your celestial soul finds a new body, a new host, and you return to the world, as you have; as a being both young and old, both inexperienced and eternal. You are so different when you are young, so full of hopes and dreams.” She breathed deeply. “And then you change. The power is always too great. It is sad. But what can you do? And after all, perhaps this time, things will be different. Your kind does the impossible often enough.”

* * * * *

Fetek crouched upon the edge of the bed. His fists knotted together; his elbows dug into his knees. He paid no heed to the riches around him, for all his thoughts turned inward, toward the future and the past.

He looked up as Zera slipped softly into the room. The archer had discarded the old clothing he’d picked up in Brinlack, and wore instead a fashionable suit of green silk and brown leather, coupled with the finest boots that either of them had ever seen. Zera pulled up a chair. “You’re going to have to come out sometime.”

It took the Lunar some time to compose his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “I don’t know why we’re trying to make her leave.”

“We don’t know for sure that we’ll go that route,” Zera replied soothingly. “We’ll see.”

“She could be a great help in consolidating a power base,” Fetek persisted. “She can raise Manses with a wave of her hand.”

“Thorwald and Li aren’t likely to agree.”

Fetek shook his head eagerly. “I can convince Li.”

“We don’t even know her motives.”

“I remember her,” the Lunar youth replied, as if that explained everything.

“Memory is a funny thing.” Zera smiled. “We remember what we wish to remember.”

Time passed. There was a strange hollowness to the silence. The sheets smelled of violets.

“I think I love her,” said Fetek.

Zera nodded. His eyes were understanding. “I have been possessed of the same condition. I think I saw this coming.”

“I think I’ve always loved her.”

“Love is what it is. But if you do love her, make sure you love her for what she is.”

“She is a potential advantage for us,” Fetek said, returning doggedly to his thesis. “The Circle has spent far too much time throwing away advantages.”

“It’s what we do,” replied Zera cynically.

“Then perhaps it’s time to stop.”

Zera sighed deeply. “All right. Let’s assume that, by some miracle, the other three come around. What then?”

“I am sure that she will give over her power over the city,” the Lunar youth replied. “She has no interest in it.”

“If she has no ambition, then we might let her stay. But beings who possess immense power tend to want to use it.”

“She will use it for us,” Fetek insisted. “It is her nature to create, not to destroy.”

Zera’s lip twisted. “Who says that we’re fit to use her power? All we do is destroy.”

“She will provide balance to that part of our nature. It is your destiny to rule, Iron Wolf.”

“It was my destiny to die near Thorns,” Zera replied. He shrugged at the notion. “Most of what you’ve said is what you hope, not what you think.”

Zera smiled then, and rose from his seat. He clapped Fetek companionably on the shoulder. “Put something nice on,” he said. “Let’s go outside.”

* * * * *

Tepet Aekino emerged first from the guest suites. He glittered in gold-embroidered robes of saffron, rose and cobalt blue.

“Were the accommodations to your liking?” inquired the demoness.

He nodded. “They were exquisite. All that I now require is tea and conversation.”

“Certainly.” She clapped her hands, and another lavender-swathed servant arrived with a fresh pot of tea. As it departed, Amalion added, “We were just discussing the nature of identity.”

The Twilight blew upon his steaming tea. “I am not surprised; that has been a matter of some interest of late.”

“Your friend Thorwald has many firm opinions on the subject.”

Aekino smiled. “Yes. He is a bastion of strength amid our differing natures.”

“And your friend Li is most closed-mouthed.”

“Indeed?” The Dynast eyed the swordswoman with mock disapproval. “You were silent the whole time?”

Li shrugged. “It is not my nature to say overmuch.”

“You are given to understatement,” Aekino replied affectionately.

“And what,” asked the demoness, “are your thoughts?”

“On what subject?”

“Why, whatever you please.”

“I have no memory of Creation before my time,” he lied. “I am concerned solely with the state of Creation as it now stands.”

“No one is ever truly satisfied with the current state of affairs,” she replied with some amusement.

“This is indeed true, on balance. But my concerns lie more with the negative.”

Amalion gave an exaggerated sigh. “You mince words, Tepet Aekino. You are too subtle; or perhaps this old mind grows weary.”

“As you would,” he replied. “There are many things I would change.”

“And I am sure that there are many things you would wish to stay the same. What is it that you would change?”

Aekino shrugged. “Opinion means nothing without the power to make it real.”

Zera arrived then, and Fetek with him; and Amalion’s eyes smiled. “Well then,” she said. “Shall we go down to dinner?”

* * * * *

The demoness led them through another door, beyond which lay a broad, low hall carpeted in darkest red, where paintings and murals hung upon walls paneled in mahogany. As they followed the winding hall and descended a flight of shallow stairs, the Circle marveled at depictions of cities and coastlines that struck chords of memory deep within. Meru’s shining towers glittered upon the brow of the Imperial Mountain in a drift of golden airships; reptilian figures stalked through sunlight and shadow amidst thick green foliage; with blades of ice and flame, Katsuro the Righteous dueled a prince of the Fair Folk upon a rocky, twisted shore.

They passed a great mural then, where an army of Exalts and mortals battled countless demons beneath a writhing sky. Ambrani Rao raised his diamond spear in the thick of the fray; his hair was dark and his face unlined, in that battle at the beginning of days. And beyond the battle lay a door; and beyond that door, an elegant dining room.

Our heroes settled themselves at the table. Thorwald and Li experienced some difficulty, as the massive blades they bore upon their backs made it difficult to seat themselves comfortably. Aekino sat at the queen’s right hand, to most easily speak with her; Fetek sat at her left hand, and she glanced that way often.

Doors disgorged a number of lavender-swathed servitors, who brought forth trays of steaming bread and bowls of a crab and rose-petal soup. Tepet Aekino complimented the hostess on the quality of the food, and began a steady stream of small talk to fill what might otherwise have been an awkward gathering, for while Zera occasionally interjected a comment, Fetek seemed too embarrassed to speak, whilst Thorwald and Li maintained a stony silence.

* * * * *

When the last bite of sugared quince had been eaten, when the last plate had been removed, Amalion led our heroes out of the dining room. The route they followed wound down a narrow stair, then passed a glass wall beyond which strange plants grew in a courtyard full of green light. Beyond that, they entered the sitting room once again… through the same door they had entered through the first time, a door that should have let in from a completely different place. And they had gone downstairs in both directions. Thorwald scowled, a chill running down his spine. This was unnatural.

They sat. “So,” said the demon queen. “What is it that I can do for you?” She gestured to the table. “Would you care for tea, perhaps? Candied dates?”

Aekino pursed his lips. Where would he begin? Finally he said, “How did you feel, when you heard the call from Creation?”

“It is nice to have additional perspective.” Was she smiling? “I have already been in Creation for some time. But I heard rumors… that some of the Celestial Exalted had returned to the world, to the East. It seemed likely that some might be old friends.” She leaned back, and her wicker chair creaked comfortably. “I like to stretch myself. It’s pleasant. The yellow sun, blue sky, fixed stars… I already experience them, but… it’s really very hard to translate into your understanding. I enjoy being here. The existence of my kind is somewhat cramped.”

Zera leaned forward intently. “Are you stretched to your liking, or do you think you may need to stretch some more?”

“Oh, I don’t need to. I’m capable of quite a lot.” Her voice took a sardonic turn. “Including self-control.”

“Well, where I’m from, we’re simple, direct folk, so let me get to the point. Do you have anything to do with the Darien woman?”

“Gisla?” She cocked her head. “I don’t know much about her. She’s not one of mine. She has been touched by another of my kind; one somewhat less congenial than myself.”

“Well, we’ve taken it upon ourselves to deal with some of the less congenial ones.” Zera smirked. “Just so you understand us.”

“Perfectly.”

“Are you aware that some of the humans left in this city are worshipping you?”

She nodded. “Yes, of course. It’s quite satisfying. Even refreshing.”

The archer frowned. “Then you’re aware of the things they are doing in your name?”

“Certainly.” She eyed the disapproving faces around her. “Let me try and phrase this in a way you may understand. Have you ever had a pet, Zera Thisse?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Well then. When you have, say, a cat… while it is in your house, you can keep an eye on it, and keep it out of trouble. But when the cat leaves your house, where it can wander as it will and do as it will, then beyond a certain point, keeping watch on the cat becomes more trouble than it is worth. You become the servant to the cat.”

Zera’s eyes narrowed. “If we’re going to use that metaphor… once, a neighbor of ours had a dog that went rabid. We killed it.”

“Well, of course!” Amalion nodded. “That only makes sense.”

“Really.” Zera frowned, nonplussed.

“They come to me,” she continued, “and they worship me. I tell them to live as they will, to build as they will. But mortals… they will be mortals. They are flawed. Deficient. I could force them, but… the effort involved would be overwhelming. I made some effort to settle matters when they arrived, to bring the aberrant elements into line.” She sighed. “Things will settle down in time.”

Aekino eyed a candied date. “So, I take it you would not mind if we were to deal with your more unruly worshippers in our own way?”

“Of course not. Do what you will… I receive prayer enough elsewhere, where I may walk more freely in the world than I do here.”

“Your cult has done a number of unpleasant things,” the Dynast replied, nibbling. “And in doing so, they have drawn attention from neighboring states, states who have cast their eyes in this direction.”

“You speak of Lookshy.”

“Yes.” Aekino regarded her smugly. “There are rumors that they plan to bring a First Age weapon to bear against you.”

Amalion shrugged. “If this happens, it happens.”

Aekino bit his lip. “The collateral damage would be…”

“… unacceptable,” finished Zera.

“So.” Amalion straightened in her chair. They had reached the point that the conversation had, till this point, danced around. “You are asking me to leave.”

“I am asking you for your own good,” stated the Dynast. “And the good of your people.”

“And what if I leave?” Her voice was skeptical. “What then? I have… sources of information, still. My priests, my worshippers, they tell me that Longcorner gathers its forces even now. Should I leave, they will invade, and the people of whom you speak become slaves.” She paused thoughtfully. “But then, slavery is acceptable in your realm, I believe. What are your feelings on the subject of slavery?”

Zera’s eyes flooded with dark memories. “We will not let them be enslaved,” he snapped.

“Perhaps,” said Aekino loftily, “we should consider the matter of bondage in the abstract, and the nature of control.”

The demoness stirred the tea in her cup. Despite having been poured many minutes earlier, it continued to steam. “You are a Dynast of the Scarlet Realm, are you not?” she enquired rhetorically. “The politics there are labyrinthine, yes?”

“That is something of an understatement.”

“They are not labyrinthine here.” She set her saucer down on the table’s black lacquer with an audible click. “Please speak plainly.”

Tepet Aekino flushed. “I am speaking plainly. … For me,” he added belatedly.

“I see.” Amalion turned her face away; a blatant snub. “So, Zera Thisse…”

“There is no call to insult me,” the Dynast hissed.

The demoness shrugged. “You are my guest,” she murmured. “Therefore, I show restraint. Let us leave it at that.”

Visions danced through Aekino’s inner eye, of his former life as Sharn Larenn, whose meddling helped to end Amalion’s marriage to Five Moons. “Very well,” he muttered, fuming.

Having waited with some patience through the byplay, Zera leaned forward and spoke: “All right. Let’s get back to business.” He locked eyes with Amalion. “You are different from most of your kin. We have no problem with you,” he added, ignoring Thorwald’s glare, “but your presence will cause great damage. If Lookshy brings its weapon to bear, the results will be unpleasant.”

“I have my defenses,” Amalion replied, unfazed. “If they send an airship against me, I will tear it from the sky.”

Aekino leapt back into the verbal fray. “That would only make them martyrs. It ruins our own good names, and draws even more negative attention from the rest of Creation. We only want peace here.”

“You don’t have to remain here.”

“We’ve already been here,” he persisted. “We’ve brought all sorts of harm to these people, both through our actions and through inaction. We are obligated to fix the mess we’ve caused. And if we are to do any good henceforth, we need to clear our names, and disentangle ourselves from your cultists’ beliefs.”

“Why don’t you just leave?” The demoness seemed honestly puzzled. “Then you need not have anything to do with me, nor will your reputation be further tangled with my own.”

“And what happens to our reputation then?”

Zera shook his head at his comrade’s obsession with appearances. “Let me interrupt,” he interrupted. “Are you wed to this place? There are vast expanses of the Threshold that you could move to…”

“The ways are difficult to open,” she replied. “And there are only so many places where I may be called. The fabric of Creation has worn thin in this place. We have reached out to it many times over the centuries, and it has grown easier to cross the veil. Also,” she added, glancing at Fetek, “you are here. I am interested in you, and I would stay and learn more about you, if I might.”

The conversation pattered on for a few more minutes. Thorwald continued to fume; Li remained impassive; Fetek squirmed uncomfortably. Finally, Aekino observed that it was time for them to retire, and that they would adjourn to the Tower of Winds. They would come back the next day, he said, to resolve matters.

“I will stay,” said Fetek. And that was that.

Quendalon

05-14-2004, 04:20 PM

A short, dark hall led the Solars back to the cavernous, prismatic nave of Amalion. They ignored her worshippers huddled in devotion and prayer. They walked in silence through the bright places and the dark places, until they emerged from her doors into the blue radiance before the dawn.

Zera Thisse spoke. “We need to gather our defenses. We need to undo the damage done here in our name. And in hers.”

“Agreed,” affirmed the Dynast. “But before we go any further,” he addressed Thorwald and Li, “you two were awfully silent.”

Li shrugged. Her hair fluttered in the autumn breeze, framing a face as immobile as patterned Tuchara porcelain. “I had nothing to say.”

Aekino looked to Thorwald. “And you?”

Thorwald glared at the dark stones beneath his feet. “I have made my feelings plain. I do not like it.”

“You do not like… what, exactly?”

“Any of it.”

“Be that as it may,” interrupted Zera, “we may have to do something about these people.” It disturbed him that his comrades so often failed to focus upon the common folk.

“We should send them to Brinlack,” Thorwald replied. He had grown fond of the town; its people lived simple lives, elected their leaders, and raised weapons in their own defense.

Aekino gestured at the black towers. “I actually think that Tul Tuin is safer for them.”

Thorwald grunted. “How?”

“If Lookshy attacks, it will be better for them here. In fact, we should bring the people of Brinlack here as well.”

“That makes no sense. Why bring them here if this place is going to be attacked?”

The Dynast gave his comrade an appraising look. Was this feigned stupidity, or was his northern companion too dense to grasp his meaning? “The city walls here are intact. Brinlack’s walls are broken; they cannot withstand a siege. If we bring them here, the Brinlack folk can help defend Tul Tuin from attack.”

“Wait.” Thorwald stopped dead. An angry flush crept up his neck, making his face seem gray in the pre-dawn light. “You mean to say that you see Lookshy as the enemy?”

“Well, of course. They want to take over this region.”

The northman’s eyes bugged. “They wish to destroy the demon!”

Aekino sighed heavily. This was not going well. “The demon is neutral. It will neither help nor hinder.”

“She is a demon!” Thorwald glared at the Dynast. His fists clenched reflexively. “She has tainted this place through her foul powers. And you worry about men attacking other men? That has happened since the dawn of time! So what if these people are enslaved? That is a far better fate than what this thing has in store for them!”

Aekino sneered. “Your judgmentality does not benefit the rest of us.”

“And yours does? You constantly make decisions based on your own selfish interests. And everything you have done is wrong!”

“Wait. Stop.” This direct assault discomfited the Twilight. “What has brought this on? Are you angry with me?”

Thorwald stared at the ground. His face burned red in the edges of dawn light.

Aekino stepped close. “Look at me,” he demanded.

“Do not speak to me thus. To think, that is has come to this.” The northman’s voice rose; it echoed among the black towers, where scaled and feathered shapes watched from high, shadowed niches. “Had I known what you were really like, I would never have taken an oath of brotherhood with you. Look at you! Consorting with the dead and demons, wearing a demon’s clothes, and caring more for the well-being of demons and the dead than those we are sworn to protect!”

Thorwald spat on the ground and turned away.

“We will speak when this tantrum has passed,” Aekino called after him.

* * * * *

Candles burned. Silks rippled like dark water.

“We have so much to discuss,” Amalion said. “We have so much to learn about each other, in your new life.”

She reached out to touch his hand. He jerked away, as if stung.

“I...” His face reddened. He looked away.

He regarded the demon with apprehension. Five Moons faded away, receding into the recesses of his soul, until only the boy remained.

“You are uncomfortable.” Amalion watched him sympathetically. “Perhaps you need some rest.”

Fetek fled to the bedchamber. He wrapped the blankets around him. The candle flames flickered for hours before he slept.

* * * * *

Leaving Aekino behind, Zera caught up to his departing companion. Li followed in their wake.

“Where are you going?” the archer demanded.

“I am going to Brinlack! To help men, and not the Fair Folk, or the dead, or now demons!”

“What about the people here?”

“What about them? I will have nothing to do with this infested place!” Thorwald shook his shaggy head. “So much care for a place that is already befouled, while perfectly good people that we can help huddle in fear in Brinlack and other places. A demon soils this place, yet none of you blink an eye. And now you want to fight those who wish to rid this place of the demon! If these invaders wish to destroy this place, they are welcome to it. In fact, I will help them!”

Zera could scarcely believe his ears. “And you’ll let the people who live here die in the crossfire?”

“They have their choice! Let them fight this demon, if they do not wish to die for her. Or they can flee. If they don’t, they are in league with her, and I refuse to help those who worship demons!” The northman gnashed his teeth. “You have tricked me! All of you have tricked me. If I had known what any of you were, lovers of the Fair Folk, sympathizers with the dead, and collaborators with demons, I never would have entered this oath.”

They glared at each other. Zera dropped his gaze first. With a gloomy shake of the head, he returned to Aekino, and the two made their way back toward the Tower of Winds.

Thorwald continued west, cutting across the city toward the river. Li approached him. “Thorwald…”

“Get away from me.” The Zenith rounded upon his comrade. “You are no different. Of all my brethren, we are more kin than the others. Yet, what are you? A half Fair Folk abomination.” Spittle gathered at the corners of his beard. “I have tried. I have tried to accept these things. But no more! No more! Wherever I turn, I dishonor myself! But no more!”

He stormed off. She followed him as he trekked past the demon towers, into the lower city where folk dwelt in the burnt-out husks of homes and warehouses. The sun gazed down from its morning perch as he reached the river’s edge. Water swirled past the jagged stumps of the wharves; the scent of smoke clung faintly to the blackened ribs of dead ships.

Thorwald gazed into the water. Li gazed at Thorwald.

The Northman looked up. Across the water, the gray and brown peaks of Stonegarden rose starkly from the morning mist. “For what it is worth, Li, I am sorry,” he said. “I am ashamed. We have traveled together for so long, and yet, I cannot forget what I heard in the Sage’s garden. I cannot reconcile the thing from beyond creation with the true and faithful friend that you have been.” He shook his head gloomily. “I would rather see this city destroyed, by men at least. Old habits die hard; I cannot let go of my oath to my people.”

“None of this seems right to me,” the swordswoman replied. “Perhaps it is better if we go away, you and I. There are other places, other fights, that will be cleaner and lead to less sorrow.”

“You mean, you would come with me? After all I have said?”

“I do not know what I am. But that does not change anything between us.”

Thorwald slumped to the ground. He buried his face in his hands. “I am ashamed. You have offered me true friendship, and I repay you with words of insult.”

A long silence followed.

“Go back, Li. Go back to our brothers. I do not want you to abandon them. I must fight Amalion, and banish her if I can. If they persist in trying to aid her, I may have to face them as enemies on the battlefield. I don’t want you to be a part of that.”

“I will fight by your side.”

“It might take time,” Thorwald persisted. “Centuries, if Fetek is right about us. It is not the southerners’ fault. They did not ask for this.”

“Take as long as you must.”

“Whatever I do, I must break an oath, whether to my people or to the Circle.” He sighed. “But I have a choice. I see that now. When the time comes, I will do what I must.”

“What will be, will be,” Li said softly. He could barely hear her words over the rush of the river. “And you may be surprised to discover what our brothers may do in the end.”

* * * * *

Zera rejoined Aekino. As the sun started its rise, they emerged from the places of black stone and brass and made their way up toward the Tower of Winds.

“It is in Thorwald’s nature to lead,” Zera was saying. “For the longest time, he’s been content to follow your lead or mine. It’s good to see him finally striking out on his own.”

Aekino snorted. “It’s poor timing, and a poor reason. He’s thinking irrationally. How long do you think it will be until he masters himself?”

“Patience is our only ally. This will all blow over, once we can convince Amalion to leave.”

“We have to convince Fetek first. He’s, what, sixteen years old? He’s at that age where he thinks he knows best.”

“Have you been in love in this incarnation?” asked Zera. He raised a hand to ward off an angry outburst from the Dynast. “I ask without malice… but you have to understand. He loves her. He does not want to leave her, or for her to leave.” He shrugged. “This may be as far as he travels with us. These things happen.”

They passed through the circling winds.

* * * * *

Thorwald and Zera crossed the river. Upon returning to Brinlack, at Thorwald’s insistence, they joined in laboring to rebuild the old city wall. A guardsman’s abortive attempt to slay the Anathema failed before it began. Thorwald only laughed as the man fled into the wilds outside the wall. Violence was a clean, cold wind; the prospect refreshed him.

Aekino and Zera returned to the Tower of Winds. They learned, to their frustration, that Darien Tal and Darien Gisla had escaped in the night, fleeing upon the back of a shining wasp-demon in the midnight hour. They set out to consolidate their position; Zera began to organize the guards and other staff, while Aekino rummaged through Ledaal Vir’s study and the astrologer Ikari’s workroom, seeking useful lore.

* * * * *

Fetek dreamed of Amalion. She wore his mother’s face.

She feared for his safety. He did not wish her to leave.

“If you ask me to stay,” she said, “then I will stay.”

“Please stay,” he pleaded.

“Then I will stay.”

* * * * *

That afternoon, Zera set out from the Tower. He would cross the river to Brinlack, there to speak with Thorwald and Li. As he descended the road that wound down from the Tower to the city below, he met with Fetek. They spoke briefly about such things as had recently transpired. And they spoke of Amalion.

“She’s no danger to us,” said the Lunar. “She can help us. She has lots of power, and she’ll place it at our disposal. She can raise Manses with a wave of her hand! We have nothing to fear from Lookshy with her at our back.”

Zera shook his head. “We already have reason to believe that she’s set Darien Tal and her daughter free.”

“I don’t think she would do that.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Zera placed a friendly hand on Fetek’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. But for all our sakes, and for the sake of the people who live here, she is going to have to go.”

* * * * *

“Descending Sun.”

Aekino looked up from the occult diagrams of the Black Treatise, which he had dredged up from the mound of books and papers that Darien Tal had left strewn across Ledaal Vir’s desk. It’s my desk now, he thought. He regarded his guest peevishly. “Fetek. It would have been more polite if you’d announced your presence.”

“I’ve spoken with the Iron Wolf.”

“You mean… ?”

“I’m not sure I can tell you anything that you’ll want to hear.”

The Twilight frowned. He drummed his fingers on parchment. “Your perceptions are colored by the past. For all that she is, for all that you desire her, Amalion remains a demon.”

Fetek bit his lip. “She can help us. She wants to help. And,” he added slyly, “we can learn so much from her. She knows more about Essence than you can imagine. She designed the Imperial Manse itself. Think what you could do with that kind of knowledge.”

“I would regret losing that knowledge. But that makes no difference. She has to go, Fetek. You have to ask her to leave.”

“She offered to leave, last night. I asked her to stay.”

“Sometimes a person has to make painful choices,” the Dynast replied. “But that is part of becoming a man.”

“Maybe.” Fetek turned to the window. “I’ll think about it,” he said, climbing onto the sill. “I need to think.”

The Lunar leapt out onto the wind.

The evening darkened. Aekino returned to his studies. And an eagle winged south beneath the sunset and early stars. Farms and forest drifted away behind him; but his choices followed, and he could not shake them loose.

Packrat

05-14-2004, 04:54 PM

Wow.. I have been reading this since the start with extreme interest, and it can only really be described as awesome.

Keep up the good work on everyone's behalf, and please keep up the posts so that I can enjoy it through proxy.

Ranko

05-14-2004, 05:00 PM

I loved Zera part II.

Oh, and Quendalon, next time you post an update please add some ranting on how great you guys are doing, how you should write & play more and stuff, you did a great job for us fans :)

Rockin stuff!

I want to be your friend. :)

Quendalon

05-18-2004, 08:35 PM

Packrat, welcome! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Don't worry, we plan to keep playing, and I plan to keep writing. I fear that the entries may get shorter, if only for my own sanity and to maintain something resembling a social life. Then again, I've threatened to write shorter entries before, and nothing's come of it yet. :)

Ranko, we're doing great! In fact, I've decided we should play more, and that I should write more, and stuff. ;)

- Eric

YerMum

05-19-2004, 02:28 AM

Originally posted by Quendalon
Packrat, welcome! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Don't worry, we plan to keep playing, and I plan to keep writing. I fear that the entries may get shorter, if only for my own sanity and to maintain something resembling a social life. Then again, I've threatened to write shorter entries before, and nothing's come of it yet. :)

Ranko, we're doing great! In fact, I've decided we should play more, and that I should write more, and stuff. ;)

- Eric

get back to work eric! less posting, more playing and writing!

;)

Ranko

05-19-2004, 07:19 AM

Originally posted by YerMum
get back to work eric! less posting, more playing and writing!

Sound of a whip cracking in the background.

I support YerMum. Play slaves! Write!

Tepet Aekino

05-19-2004, 11:33 AM

Originally posted by Ranko
Sound of a whip cracking in the background.

I support YerMum. Play slaves! Write!

Gentlemen,

Much as I approve of the use of a whip in the recreational sense, I must object to being referred to as a slave.

I am NOBODY's slave.

You would do best to recall that in any of our future dealings. Oh, and please don't refer to the others that way, either. They're just touchy (for commoners).

Thank you.

Now please return to praising ourselves and our exploits. You will find that I and my ST, brothers and sister respond well to both compliments and the occasional bribe (be it jade, women, men, drink, jewels...you get the idea).

Good boys. ;)

alexandria2000

05-19-2004, 11:37 AM

I haven't checked this in several months, thus I am nearly 100 posts behind! :(

Partially because this game embarrasses the hell out of me whenever I read it - no way can anything I GM live up to what you folks are doing at your table.

But one day, oh, one day.....!

Keep it up, folks!

-A2K

Ranko

05-19-2004, 03:03 PM

Originally posted by Tepet Aekino
Much as I approve of the use of a whip in the recreational sense, I must object to being referred to as a slave.

Pleas submit you complaint to the alleged slave reference in writen form, triplicate, with at least three witnesses signed with you.

Now stop posting and go play.

Oh, and Alexandria, my suggestion (and plan) is to simply steal everything, including the playgroup if needed :)

Arbane the Terrible

05-19-2004, 03:14 PM

Originally posted by Ranko
Oh, and Alexandria, my suggestion (and plan) is to simply steal everything, including the playgroup if needed :)

I'll get the tranq gun. You get the van. :D

HeWhoSpeaksOfDarkn

05-19-2004, 05:38 PM

I just want to say i love the "Mother Cypress speaks" part at the begining of each session. just tons of cool images and ideas. It sparks the imagination.

Ranko

05-19-2004, 09:56 PM

Originally posted by Arbane the Terrible
I'll get the tranq gun. You get the van. :D

Van is ready. As is the plane. And the non-extaradition country.

I'd put a smily, but will not, on the odd chance they get scared. Because I might be a crazy rich guy with no gaming group.

Or a crazy stalker.

;)

Li of Orchid

05-20-2004, 06:13 AM

Boys, as long as you provide me with a place to live and food, I'll gladly play Exalted for you until Doomsday. No abduction necessary. Beats working. :D

Quendalon

05-20-2004, 02:44 PM

Fetek dreamt.

He sat alone, on his bed in the small room that was his before his Exaltation. With Lila, his young gray cat, sleeping soundly at his feet, he pored over the scrolls his father had given him to study. It was here that he had always felt safe and content. The memory had always brought him happiness, even during the first difficult months after Luna had touched him.

He heard a knock at his door and his mother entered the chamber, illuminated by the flickering lamplight. But, there was something odd… She was different than Fetek remembered; she stood taller, her bearing was more regal. Her ageless eyes glittered from the depths of her veil.

And his heart told him this was not a dream.

The demon Amalion, the Manse of Echoes Ascending, who Breath-of-Midnight had met but a few hours before, for whom he felt a bewildering love that transcended his knowing, sat down beside him. For a long moment, they sat in silence. Then slowly, with care, the demon turned to the boy.

“I hope I do not intrude,” said Amalion.

“No, of course not,” stammered Fetek, turning his eyes away. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“I am glad of that,” replied Amalion, smiling behind her veil. “There is much we must discuss, I fear. Your companions do not want me here, and my presence brings unwanted attention from the south.”

Fetek drew an unsteady breath. “I think I can convince the Solars that you should stay. I know you would be a strong ally; I can convince them of that. Together we can defeat Lookshy – I… I am not afraid of their weapon.”

Amalion smiled again and shook her head, “I do not think that you will be able to convince all of the Solars. Thorwald of Stonehold…”

“Don’t worry about Thorwald. I will convince him,” growled Breath-of-Midnight through sharpened teeth, “however I have to.”

The demon gazed at the boy for a moment, “You must remember that this is not the only place in Creation that I am.” She reached to place her hand on Fetek’s arm. At her soft touch, the memories and emotions of a thousand years boiled up in the young Lunar’s mind, raging like a wildfire. Breath-of-Midnight, the Chosen of Luna, Child of the Hidden Moon, wrapped his arms around his knees and hid his face, its heat betraying his confusion.

“Ah…” Amalion sighed. “Again I forget the ways of your kind. Although you have lived many lives, you do not yet know much of life.” Her voice was dark, her eyes shaded with melancholy, “You are not ready. Perhaps I should go.” She stood slowly and faced the boy who was once the man she loved.

Tenderly she spoke, “I will do whatever you wish. Should I stay, or should I leave this place?”

Fetek looked up into her eyes and for a time there was silence. Then, in a small voice, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight answered, “Stay. Please.”

“You must think carefully, for there will be many consequences if I am to stay. As I said, I am already in Creation elsewhere. My presence here may endanger you, and your friends as well. But if you wish me to stay, then I will stay.”

“I know.” Calling upon his courage to steady him, Fetek drew himself up. “And I accept the consequences.” His eyes flashed silver in the faint light, “I don’t want you to go.”

She looked at him with shining eyes and whispered, “Then I will stay.”

Once more she approached the young man, and he did not draw back. Amalion leaned down and kissed Fetek Breath-of-Midnight on the forehead with a warmth undimmed by her veil. Then, as she stood once more, darkness descended.

YerMum

05-21-2004, 03:39 AM

*sniff* ohhhh yeahhhhh

:D

Quendalon

05-24-2004, 08:47 AM

Mother Cypress speaks:
“Welcome, my little night-birds. What brings you here upon your little black wings? Have you come for a tale? Yes… so I shall tell you a tale, my little birds. Settle down, yes, yes… what tale shall I tell tonight? Would you hear of the love that grew between Ambrani Rao and Catandra the Golden, in the halcyon days of the First Age? Would you hear of how they quarreled over a point of doctrine, and of the darkness that grew in the silence between them? Or shall I tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of the doom of the Second Age?

“Then come closer, my children. Gather round, and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of those bright, shining heroes, and how they dealt with the demon Amalion.”

* * * * *

The eagle flew south through the night. Overhead, the moon gleamed like a fishhook cast into the sea of stars. To the right, the River of Willows shone like a black and silver serpent, slithering and hissing its way to the Yellow River and the sea.

Sparks of yellow and orange glimmered in the forest dark. There: soldiers camped at the edge of a village. The eagle dipped among bare trees. It became an owl; the owl became a mouse. It scurried past sentries, slid through campfire shadows. A pink tail vanished through a tent-flap.

Screams. Flesh tore wetly. The captain of the garrison died in seconds, followed by his guards, his aides. Drenched in blood, the Lunar rampaged through the camp, and wherever it went, the mortals died and died. Only a handful survived, fleeing into the village or into the night. The villagers wailed and screamed.

The Lunar became an eagle once again, and flew off into the south. Its thirst for killing had not yet been slaked.

* * * * *

The ruined temple stood atop the cliffs along the west bank of the River of Willows. To the south, amidst terraces green with winter wheat, the town of Brinlack sprawled within its own ruined walls, an overgrown remnant of centuries past. Looking out over the town, one saw hollow shells of buildings overrun with ivy and vines, pavements webbed green with weeds, courtyards thick with leafless trees. The townsfolk milled like ants among the inhabited sections, preparing for winter.

Li of Orchid and Thorwald of Stonehold stood upon a balcony at the edge of the temple grounds. Behind them, the stone face of the pagoda shimmered in the morning sun, its carvings blurred by centuries of rain and storm. Below them, the river chuckled and tumbled; an icy breeze rose from it to ruffle their hair.

“We cannot just march in and kill Amalion,” said the Northman. They had been discussing strategy. “It would take an army to break her walls.” He looked out across the water, to the black towers that rose in the ruins of Tul Tuin. “What is her plan?”

Li shrugged. “Who can know the minds of such creatures?”

“What will Lookshy do? What is the nature of their weapon?”

“Who can say? I have heard stories of the skill of their warriors and the power of their weapons; but they are but stories.”

“Can they succeed?”

“Who knows?” The swordswoman leaned out over the railing. Below, on the river, she saw fisherfolk netting their daily catches; white-winged terns perched upon the boats’ bamboo roofs, waiting for scraps. “Ledaal Vir still lives. He will want his city back.”

“And we have replaced him with a demon. Who would ever have thought that would come to pass?”

“Perhaps we should remain here. This is as good a place as any.”

Thorwald frowned. “Are you sure?”

“We can watch Amalion from here. Perhaps it is our fault; perhaps not.”

“I feel that it is.” The Northman watched the river. “It is our actions that have brought us here. We are responsible.”

“Then we remain, and watch her.”

The day brightened. A ferry poled through the maze of fishing boats, and found its way to the Brinlack docks. Zera Thisse disembarked. He made his way up to the temple.

“What happened?” greeted Thorwald, his tunic snapping in the wind.

Zera shrugged. “Fetek is gone.”

“Hah. I knew it. Amalion has done something with him.”

“I don’t think so.” The archer leaned on the stone balcony; he looked out toward Tul Tuin and the Tower of Winds. “I’ve been speaking to Aekino. He told him that Amalion had to go.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much. I don’t think he’s ready to accept it yet.” Fallen leaves spun in circles on the temple yard’s paving stones. “He loves her, you know.”

“I do not understand.” Thorwald scowled. “There can be no love. Demons cannot love! She must be using him. It can be nothing else.” He tossed a pebble from hand to hand, then flung it out into the water far below. “This makes a travesty of all my understanding.”

Zera regarded the northman wryly. “I wish you could judge a being’s character by the color of its skin. But you can’t. Who knows if demons can love, or if they deserve love? Humans are not far from demons, judging by their deeds, and yet no one says that they are unworthy of love, or unable to feel it.”

“They should love more wisely. Half of that city worships us.”

“Such is human nature. People need something to believe in.”

Thorwald spat into the river below. “It sickens me to look at them. They should have left.”

“They are accustomed to a way of life. They are not strong like your people.”

“My people.” The northman heaved a heavy sigh. “We must not lose sight of what we were.”

Zera smiled. “That, my friend, is the heart of wisdom: taking what your ancestors knew, and adding to it. You are here to learn this. You are a leader; there is one in you. If you shirk this duty -”

Thorwald turned away, to the switchback stair that led back to old Brinlack. “Let us go and see Aekino.”

Zera followed suit. Then he halted, turned. “Aren’t you coming?”

Li hovered in the shadow of the temple door. She shook her head. “I need to stay here for a while,” she said. Which she did.

* * * * *

Thorwald and Zera crossed the river by ferry. The sky was blue, the clouds thin and feathery, and the wan sun gave some small warmth where it fell. By noon, our heroes had reached the Tower of Winds.

The pair passed a few words between them as they emerged from the black towers of the upper city and made their way through the encircling winds. They found Aekino in the chamber that had once been Vir’s study. Books and papers lay strewn about in wild profusion; they burst from the shelves and heaved themselves up from the floor in great humpbacked piles. Several of the upper shelves had been cleared of books, making room for idols and icons belonging to a wide variety of gods and demons. Zera indicated them with a smirk. “Pleasant company you’re keeping.”

The Twilight looked up from his reading. “They keep mostly quiet on their perches.”

“Unlike us, eh?” He seized the room’s only other chair. “And how is Fetek?”

“He has gone out. He needed space, and time to think. He is lovelorn and unsure; he is full of raging urges that he does not understand.”

“How old is he?”

“Sixteen.”

Thorwald grunted. “He hasn’t gotten over these things yet?”

“We’re a bit slower, here in the south.”

Aekino grumbled. “Could you make it quick? I’m somewhat preoccupied at the moment.”

“Actually, Thorwald had something to say.”

“I thought,” the northman muttered, “that perhaps I should apologize.”

“Oh, think nothing of it.” The Dynast was magnanimous. “Perhaps over dinner?”

The tension between the two of them slackened somewhat. Thorwald peered around. “Can we move your books to Brinlack?”

“That would be a bad idea. I propose moving the people of Brinlack to Tul Tuin.”

“Zera and I had an idea. It is the opposite of yours.” Thorwald grinned. “I propose moving the people of Tul Tuin to Brinlack.”

Aekino disapproved. “Tul Tuin is more defensible. Brinlack’s walls are in ruins; its Manse is flammable. The Tower of Winds is well-fortified, with a single avenue of approach.”

“The people of Brinlack will not leave.”

Zera shook his head. “You’d be surprised what the people of Brinlack will do.”

“I do not even see why it would be necessary,” Thorwald grumbled. “Brinlack won’t be attacked by Lookshy.”

The archer snorted in derision. “If a toe is gangrenous, you cut the leg off below the knee. Once Lookshy brings its forces to bear, it won’t stint at destroying any place that might harbor demons. And if the stories of the old weapons are true, it’ll destroy everything within a disgusting radius.” He walked to the window, and leaned out to regard the rocky slopes and the bare trees below. “If Lookshy gets serious, there will be no safety anywhere.”

“Then it is clear that Amalion must go. It’s all up to Fetek.” Thorwald shook his head grimly. “Love is a hindrance to a warrior. How can he not see what she is? She sees humans as pets.”

“Many rulers do.”

“Many rulers are mortals, and can die. Not her.” The northman bit his lip with anger. “I don’t think she’ll listen to Fetek. Her love is a lie. This is a trick; she will not leave.”

Zera glanced over his shoulder at his comrade. The wind toyed with his hair. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “If Fetek asks her to go, I think she will. And if not, the four of us will break our bodies on her walls.”

* * * * *

The day sped past. Zera and Thorwald moved among the people of Tul Tuin. The archer moved easily among the ripe underbelly of the city, the urchins and thieves who comprised so much of the remaining population, while the northman felt disgust at the petty cruelty and squalor. Aekino lost himself in his books and scrolls. Across the water, Li meditated in the barren temple. And as evening came, an eagle flew out of the south.

Fetek had returned.

He circled the city, seeking his Solar comrades. He found two: Zera and Thorwald walked through a tiny, triangular plaza, circling a trash-strewn reflecting pool. Pigeons scattered as the eagle dived. It became a young man, kneeling. “I have failed,” he said.

The Solars halted. “Fetek,” said Zera Thisse. He gave the lad a hand up. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I couldn’t find the army. I don’t know if they’re coming.”

“You were looking for Lookshy?” The archer grinned. “You should have talked to us. Lookshy is months away. And in any case, if they were bringing a weapon, it would be by airship.”

“So there is no army marching from Longcorner.”

“Oh, I’m sure they have an army. But they won’t dare attack, not while Amalion rules here.”

Fetek felt frustrated. “Then why do we want her to leave?”

“Let me break it down for you. If she leaves, we may have to face an army, but it will be an army of men. If she stays, Lookshy will send an airship with a First Age weapon. Everyone will die.”

“If they send an airship, she can knock it down.”

“And if the weapon falls and explodes?” The Night shook his head at the boy’s stubbornness. “It’s not a chance we can take. Lots of lives depend on your decision. You have to figure out what’s more important: what’s good for you, or what’s good for all of them.” He waved a hand toward the lower city. “The luxury of time will not be yours for very long. And now, because this needs thought, Thorwald and I will leave. We will be in yonder inn.” Elbowing his northern bother, he added, “Come on. You owe me two weeks of drinks.”

Thorwald screwed up his brow. “I thought you owed me two weeks of drinks.”

“One last thing.” Zera leaned toward the Lunar. “She is elsewhere in Creation. Life is long.”

“I thought of that. But she’s here now.”

“Convenient… for you, and for her. For everyone else, it’s a death sentence.”

Fetek heaved a sigh. He had known what he had to do; it was simply a matter of giving in to the inevitable. “In three days, I will ask her to leave.”

“Fair enough. Fair enough.” The archer nodded uncomfortably. He understood how much that surrender had cost. “If I were you, I would take advantage of that time. Just… don’t let her change your mind.”

“She already offered to leave. I told her not to.”

Zera regarded Fetek blankly. The Lunar shrugged and turned away. Silver Essence blazed around him; he dissolved into a flock of thrushes, which scattered upon the breeze.

The archer waited a few moments, until all trace of the No Moon’s flashy departure had faded. Then he swore up a blue streak. “That little furry mongoloid! She said she’d leave, and he said no?!”

Thorwald shrugged fatalistically. “It has happened before.”

Zera spat. “I need a drink.”

* * * * *

Three days passed. Zera continued to gather information from the human vermin of Tul Tuin. Thorwald returned to Brinlack, where he labored alongside awestruck townsfolk to heft logs and stones into the gaps in the city walls. Li remained closeted in the abandoned shrine. Aekino assessed the staff he had inherited from Darien Tal, discharging those who seemed untrustworthy. And Fetek Breath-of-Midnight vanished into the black cathedral that was Amalion.

Thorwald of Stonehold met with Tepet Aekino over dinner. They acknowledged certain difficulties that had arisen between them; Thorwald resented Aekino’s peremptory manner and his softness towards those that the northman considered foes, but respected his knowledge and his understanding of the human heart. Aekino disliked Thorwald’s stubbornness and provincial mindset, but admired his will and courage. The two agreed, in the end, to disagree, and settled instead into a discussion of Amalion’s relationship with Fetek.

“What will we do in three days?” The barbarian fingered the ivory whiteness of his daiklave’s pommel. “She will not leave.”

“You are allowing your judgment to cloud your logic.”

“It is simple logic. We know how hard it was for her to arrive here. Why would she want to leave?”

The Dynast smiled. “Would you care to make a wager?”

* * * * *

At the dawn of the fourth day, Fetek and Amalion emerged onto a balcony, its balustrade an intricate web of polished basalt. They held hands for a long time. Words passed between them; their eyes lingered. The air was calm and still.

The moment passed. They stood apart. Fetek turned away, took eagle shape; he hurled himself away upon the air. Amalion vanished into the building that was herself. The balcony melted away behind her.

A ripple passed through the air, through the stone; the black towers shivered. Winged demons took to the air; others, half-hidden masses of fur and feather and scale, withdrew into the windows and niches from which they peered. The air hummed with expectancy.

At the edges of the black zone, where the demon towers met the rest of the city, the stones began to quiver and melt. Bulges flowed inward through bridges and buttresses, like rats swallowed by a nest of hungry serpents. Buildings sagged and collapsed as the darkness flowed away from them in a black tide, leaving a wrack of pathetic human shapes, pale and mewling, crawling among the pitted, corroded heaps of granite and marble that once were the manors of the rich.

The blackness continued to draw inward, like foul water swirling down into some hidden sewer. The heaps of rubble grew smaller; Amalion grew larger, a cyclopean presence of brass-scribbled night against the early sun. The last towers vanished, leaving only smooth stone where holes in the ground led to the cellars and basements of obliterated mansions. Buttresses flailed at the air like a scorpion’s legs, then compressed themselves against the sides of the great cathedral. Amalion folded in upon herself like black silk origami, a conjurer’s trick, a shadow in the sun.

She was gone.

* * * * *

Zera ignored the cold wind as it cut through his thin shirt and into his arms. He glanced over as Li climbed up beside him onto the rooftop. Together, they stared at the wreckage of the upper city.

“It’s done.”

“I saw.”

Zera observed that Li no longer bore Burning Tiger. Without it, she seemed diminished; pale and sallow, older than her years. “Walking a little lighter now, are you?”

“The sword… I didn’t think I needed it. Not now. Maybe later.”

“You’d better make sure that someone nasty doesn’t get hold of it.”

“I don’t think it would go with anyone else. It’s in a safe place.”

Seeing the wretched exiles from Amalion shuffling hopelessly through the upper city, the two went that way and gathered them up. At least a hundred of the poor folk were there, aimless and helpless without the demon queen; Zera got them all moving down toward the water, where he found a ferryman to bring them across the river to Brinlack to be cared for. When the ferryman expressed his fears that the rabble might do him harm, Li agreed to stay with him, day and night, until the ferrying was done.

* * * * *

They gathered for dinner that evening at the Tower of Winds. Zera Thisse was the first to arrive. Tepet Aekino welcomed him cordially; they retired to a sitting room undamaged by the Dariens’ plunder, where a fireplace cast a warm glow across polished walnut and green silk. There, they discussed the disappearance of Amalion.

“We should keep an eye on Thorwald,” the Night observed. “Make sure he doesn’t push Fetek around too much. The boy will be in a lot of pain. This applies to you, too,” he added pointedly. “There’s no sense in rubbing salt in the wound. He’s done the right thing.”

“When have I ever done a thing like that?” Aekino’s voice oozed with mock-sincerity.

“Stop playing. This is me you’re talking to.”

A manservant knocked at the door. “Thorwald of Stonehold has arrived.”

“Send him in.”

The northman seated himself heavily in a sturdy armchair. It creaked. “She’s gone.”

Zera nodded. “Even demons can love, apparently.”

“Everything I understand says this is a part of her plan. But I know it’s not true.”

“Right. So let’s not rub it in, okay? Take it easy on Fetek when he gets here.”

Aekino rolled his eyes. “We shouldn’t coddle him.”

“I’m not talking about coddling him. Just don’t throw it in his face.”

“Look.” The Dynast’s expression turned serious. “He’s going to have a lot of unpleasant experiences in his life. He’s already had more than his share. I intend to treat him as a man.”

Another knock at the door interrupted the exchange. Fetek had arrived.

“Good evening, Breath-of-Midnight,” said Aekino cordially.

The Lunar looked tired. His face bore the marks of keeping his feelings hidden. “I have done as you asked.”

“How are you tonight?”

“I am fine.”

“Good.” Aekino signaled a manservant to bring tea. “We need to discuss what our next actions are. What are your ideas?”

“Destroy Longcorner’s army when it comes.”

“I had hoped to parlay. Still, we must be ready.” He gestured to a chair. “Please, sit. Take refreshment.”

Fetek sat stiffly. Aekino enquired as to Thorwald’s progress.

“These people,” said the northerner, “are at once the bravest, most wretched, poorest and most evil of all those who lived here. Either they could not leave, or they did not want to. They live like pigs. And now that they are frightened, they are even worse.”

“And what do you suggest that we do now?”

”I do not know.”

The Dynast accepted this. “Zera Thisse?”

“It sounds to me like these people have no cause to hope. It sounds to me that these people need something to believe in.” He continued in this vein for a short time, until the servants announced another visitor. The last of the Circle had arrived.

Li looked wan, thinner than usual, and dark circles hovered under her eyes. She waved away offers of food and rest. “Do I have any ideas?” She shrugged. “I have thought about it. We have to stay, don’t we? If we leave, this place has no defense against Longcorner.”

“Or the Fair Folk,” added Zera

Aekino chimed in with, “Or Vir may return.”

“I have no wish to spend the rest of my life here,” Zera stated. “Make these people self-sufficient, and they will be able to protect themselves. Then we can go. There are many things I’d like to see, and many things we need to do.”

So it was agreed. There were many things they wished to try their hands at, many people and places that they would see. Were there not other Solars in the world? The memories of Kuro the Raven and Blessed Wind spoke of Kiri the White, lost in the Eastern Wyld. Amalion had told Fetek of an ancient Solar in the Southwest, at the edge of the world, who had torn his citadel from the stuff of the Wyld and sustained in, moment to moment, by the force of his will. She had also spoken of vessels in which the shards of other Solars had been sealed; might these not be broken, and the souls released to be reborn?

But for now, they decided, it would be best to bring back Ledaal Vir and Cessair. They ruled in Tul Tuin once, and their presence guarded the city from attack. Much as Thorwald, for one, might have liked to install Stone Rain as the ruler of Tul Tuin, no mortal could hold the city against the Exalted and the Fair Folk. Messengers would be sent; a summit would be held. They only hoped that Vir would remember the power of the Anathema and stay his hand from a ruinous assault. Once the former rulers came together, they could take the burden of responsibility from the Circle, who could go elsewhere in search of their destiny.

Steaming cups of tea and rice wine clinked together. Outside, beyond the warm circle of firelight, clouds darkened the evening sky. An icy rain fell upon the fields.

Winter was coming.

Ranko

05-24-2004, 02:30 PM

You guys still rock.

Next update please.

Please....

YerMum

05-25-2004, 12:34 AM

Wow...

Looks like Li's going cold turkey, Fetek too, great story, keep it up!

:D

Quendalon

05-25-2004, 08:46 PM

“In three days, I will ask her to leave.”

“Fair enough. Fair enough…”

Fetek returned with haste to the demon Amalion. At the entrance to her cathedral, her human form stood to greet him. Her gray eyes shone with concern, for Breath-of-Midnight could not hide his distress. Wordlessly, they walked through the assembled throng to the green-lit antechambers beyond. Behind them, the smoky incense receded and the endless chanting grew muffled as Amalion arranged herself for privacy.

“What news?” she asked the young Lunar.

“I have been south,” Breath-of-Midnight began, his eyes glistening. “I was searching for the armies they said were coming, but there weren’t any. All I found were a few garrisons in small villages. I… I killed them… massacred them. I don’t know why, I don’t know what I thought it would do. They were so scared. They… didn’t even know what was going on. All I wanted was to make things better…” Shining tears ran down Fetek’s cheeks, but he steadied his voice with effort. Amalion took his hand into hers and waited for his next words. “I don’t know what to do. If you stay, Lookshy will bring their weapon. They say it will destroy the city and all that surrounds it. These people don’t deserve that. I can’t let it happen…”

Amalion spoke, her voice heavy with anticipation, “You know I do not wish to endanger you. Or those you travel with. What would you have me do?”

The No-Moon’s voice was dark. He spoke the words quickly, fearing he would lose his resolve. “I promised Zera Thisse that I would ask you to go in three days.”

“Ah… That was wise of you. I can no longer be in this place. But that does not mean,” continued the demon, leaning close, “that we have to part. I can take you with me, away from this place.”

An intense look came upon Fetek’s face as he weighed this new offer. “Ask me again before you leave.”

Behind her veil, Amalion smiled softly.

*************

The days passed, sometimes slowly; sometimes with painful haste. Amalion used this time to reacquaint herself with her long-dead lover and to learn of the boy he was now. For his part, Breath-of-Midnight basked happily in the ageless affection that Amalion shone upon him.

They spoke of the past, of the days before the gods, of the First Age and its fall, and of the dark times that followed. Fetek relaxed in her presence. He told her of his life and his adventures. Amalion commiserated with him when he spoke of his family, and listened with pleasure as he excitedly related to her his exploits as one of the Chosen of Luna. She told him of where else she was in Creation, far to the west and south.

“But you must not seek me there until you grow stronger,” cautioned Amalion, on the eve of the second day. “Ancient, wild Lunars rule the cities; they would kill you if you entered their territory. And at Creation’s edge, one of the Sun’s bright Children holds the Wyld at bay around the city he calls his own with nothing but the power of his will.”

As time passed, they learned all they could of one another. There was much that Fetek wished to know, and Amalion was a skillful teacher. In the day they explored each other’s minds. At night, Amalion taught Fetek to express his love with his body.

As the third day drew to a close, Breath-of-Midnight sat in an opulent drawing room within the Manse of Echoes Ascending, conversing with her human form. They spoke again of the past and the future. Sadness tinged their voices, and even the splendor of the chamber seemed subdued.

“Well,” began Amalion, “our moment is drawing to a close. Now that you have had time to decide, I will ask once again. Would you like me to take you away with me?”

Breath-of-Midnight released a long sigh. “I can’t go with you. I am too… young, too weak, to go where you go. And, I would like to travel with the Solars more. They will change the world. I am curious to see what they will turn it into. But I will never forget you,” Fetek went on, the edge of passion in his voice, “and I will come for you, even if it takes a thousand years.”

“I know you will,” answered Amalion, her eyes filling with tears. “But come, the Unconquered Sun is on the horizon. I must go.”

*************

They stood in the morning air and looked over the ruined city of Tul Tuin. The mortal populace still slept, but Breath-of-Midnight could feel the eyes of the Sun’s Children upon him. Slowly, the eastern sky blushed into rose. Fetek and Amalion stood facing one another, their hands intertwined.

“Here, take this.” Amalion reached into a tiny niche and pulled out a ring. It was a purple, metallic band, surmounted by a black stone. Fetek allowed her to place it in her hand and examined it. The band formed a serpent, its tail wrapped around the gem and was grasped in its mouth. The stone resembled an opal, but from deep within a green light rose, and as Fetek looked more deeply, he was reminded of the impossible angles of Amalion herself.

They embraced and wept and spoke words that need not be written here. And as the light of the sun stabbed into the heavens, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight turned and shifted. Up he soared, screaming his sorrow and frustration. As he circled, the Manse of Echoes Ascending withdrew, twisting and folding into herself, away from the vistas of Creation. Then she was gone, leaving only the ruins of mansions of the rich and a handful of bewildered cultists as evidence of her passing. That, and the ring. Fetek could feel an echo of her presence within the ring, and he knew that she hadn’t abandoned him. Breath-of-Midnight flew into the woods to collect his thoughts.

He brooded until the Sun had descended into the west once more and Luna had risen to bathe him in her cool light. He turned his mind to the future. In time, when he had the strength, he would be reunited with Amalion. Until then, he would travel with the Children of the Sun and learn from them. With that thought he shifted again, and a massive stag bounded towards the Tower of Winds. Soon, in man form, he entered the hall where the circle was meeting. As always, they sat in deep discussion. Glancing quickly about the room, Fetek noted the absence of the Dawn-Bringer, Li of Orchid. Tepet Aekino, however, quickly asserted his command of the situation.

“Good evening, Breath-of-Midnight.”

“…I have done as you asked.”

Quendalon

05-27-2004, 02:09 PM

From the Journals of Tepet Aekino

Resplendent Air, 5th Day, RY 765

The day is unseasonably warm and so quite pleasant. I’ve opened the windows and the door to the balcony in order to air out Vir’s former suite. The wind chimes ring softly in the breeze from the wind wall that surrounds my lofty perch in the blue jade Tower of Winds. The sheer curtains sway and flap in the wind as if to wave hello or farewell, perhaps to someone beloved or doomed. I can’t tell which. It’s certainly one of those afternoons one mustn’t allow to pass by, for another like it will not come again soon. I have a small block of my favorite spice incense burning among the statuettes of the many Gods, and I wonder as I look up at them. The shadows cast by the beeswax candles the servants have lit among the small idols creates the illusion that they bustle against one another to gain my attention or some Celestial prominence.

I like them. It’s an utter sacrilege to all my family has held dear for three quarters of a millennium, but I’m just a rebel that way. Only a year ago I would have swept these statuettes off the place of honor and burned them. Not because I was so zealous in my pursuit of the Immaculate Faith, but because it was expected of me.

Possibly because those expectations are now irrelevant, I find myself at something of loose ends. Now that Amalion has left the region, if not Creation as a whole, there are so many possibilities as to how to deal with the region’s turmoil. Much as it rails against my nature; I’ve been reluctant to plan contingencies for her departure due to the somewhat inconstant nature of my companions. I’ve grown to know them, but they have been forced to change constantly due to the variety of circumstances we’ve encountered. Keeping track of such changes is regrettably beyond my ability to constantly evaluate and recall. I must make a point to meditate upon that profound state that can be achieved in order to fathom the depths of my brothers’ and sister’s truest selves. I cannot help but wonder what they’ve experienced as far as what’s always been expected of them.

My mind turns back to my family in Tuchara. Always before it has been my mother, Tepet Aekara, Mistress of the Spire of Five Cobalt Chimes, that has steered the course of my life. She it was who had sent me to the Academy to train for my Exaltation. She was the one who attempted to force the Second Breath of Mela to come upon me. She was the one that sent Mnemon Dara away from me. It was her that sent me to Thorns.

Granted, there’s also my brother Tepet Harada. He’s certainly been a large influence on my life, being that he’s the paragon in the family. Mother’s greatest masterwork. How could I have ever hoped to live up to his example? The great hero of the Scarlet Empire, who has led successively larger groups of men to greater and greater heights of victory. Standing in his shadow, despite the whole mortality thing, hasn’t been what one would call easy. Though of course it always comes back to our matron. You know, the one that shipped me off to the place that was invaded by the dead guy on the huge animated corpse.

As if she knew what might occur. Perhaps. A paranoid reflection for another time.

There was something else of more immediate concern to me. The fact that she’d also arranged my marriage to Cynis Katiri when I was but five years old, as tradition dictates, for instance. The thoughts of the beautiful girl-child that grew to stunning womanhood reminded me of my path.

Family. Love. Togetherness.

And it strikes me that there would be a Dynastic family of the Scarlet Realm so close nearby that needed to reunite once again. I would need to bring them back together to show the others what the order of the Realm could inspire, could create instead of destroy. It would be well also for my family, my sons and daughter back home. Very well, indeed, if only I could achieve the nigh impossible…

Ranko

05-27-2004, 04:15 PM

Read it all. You can post 29 now. Need something to read over my morning coffee.

Don't make me call your boss and tell him you are slacking in your play time :)

Quendalon

05-28-2004, 12:52 PM

Sea spray sparkled in the bright morning sun, as the prow of the merchant ship Dawnbreak cut through the waves. Despite the chill of the early hour, bare-chested men moved with purpose across her broad decks, checking lines and manipulating sails at the behest of a tall, dark-coated man with a pointed beard that left his upper lip bare.

Five soldiers stood at their ease on the back deck, burnished mail glinting and their Imperial banner rustling in the stiff breeze. Their two officers stood across the deck, one gesturing animatedly and speaking heatedly, the other watching her impassively. The last member of the passenger party hung half over the rail not too far away, emptying his belly noisily. One of the soldiers pointed and made a joke, her blonde braid swinging as her shoulders shook with laughter. The others joined in, but never kept their eyes off the horizon.

This inlet, which wound its way around the entire Blessed Isle and served as the major sea-trade route for much of the Threshold was much safer to traverse in years gone by. The Imperial Navy was ruthless in its pursuits of privateers, pirates, and rogue water spirits alike. It was joked that three Linowan children could pole a skiff laden with jade blocks from Cherak to the Lap unmolested. Since the Scarlet Empress’s disappearance, those metaphorical Linowans would have a rougher trek indeed. The pirates were all too aware of the Navy’s internal woes and power struggles, and trade was beginning to suffer.

As all good soldiers and adventurers are wont to do, Lord Ledaal Corvan had taken a bad situation and made it work to his advantage. It wasn’t any trouble at all finding a merchant captain that would drop them off in Chiaroscuro for no other passage fare than protection from pirates. Zera Thisse pushed himself away from the rail and scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. He had never been on a ship before, and his first impression was not exactly favorable. The decision to take this route had been sudden, and he cast his mind two days back, to the streets of Kirighast.

* * * * *

The boy from Thorns pulled himself from the depths of sleep, groping in the dark for his daggers. Someone outside was pounding on the door to his room so hard the hinges were beginning to creak in protest.

“Wake up, boy! The sun’ll be up in minutes, and you don’t want to keep the Talonlord waiting, do ya?” Doma’s voice sounded like rocks grating on a good day, and this early in the morning it sounded like a mountain falling down. Zera sat up and rubbed his eyes groggily.

He had stayed up later than he intended, as he played his flute for the patrons of The Wild Plains Rose, and likewise drank much more free ale than he intended. Sitting up wasn’t any easier on his head than laying down, so he didn’t think standing would be any worse. He gathered his things, and tottered uneasily across the room, following Doma into the unforgiving sunlight.

Zera was not the only one who expressed confusion when the Scale assembled at the Harbor Quarter of Kirighast. They were several days behind, and they should have already cleared the gate and been finding the trail anew. The remaining men and women of the Scale talked quietly, shooting curious glances at the impassive Doma.

They fell into a trained silence immediately as Ledaal Mya and Lord Ledaal Corvan strode into view. The two Dynasts stood next to the gruff bannerman; the look of consternation on Mya’s face indicated that they’d had another of their now-infamous arguments this morning. She glanced away, as the Talonlord cleared his throat, and turned to address the soldiers.

“We have come to a decision.” Mya grimaced silently as Corvan continued. “The majority of the Scale is to remain here for a period of four months. You will await word that we have completed our mission, which will preceed us. In the event that a missive is not received in the time allotted, you will charter a ship back to the Blessed Isle and report my failure directly. I ask for five volunteers to accompany myself and Lady Mya, who will take ship with us in the next hour to proceed to Chiaroscuro.”

The silence of the fighting men and women hung like a cloak over the bustle of the busy harbor. Men dressed in rough canvas and bearing coils of rope or tarped-up bundles squeezed by the soldiers with mumbled apologies, catching the mood and wanting no part of it.

A rough grunt issued from the weathered bannerman. “I’ll take a spear in my guts ‘fore ye leave me here with this rabble, my Lord.” His grin displayed an incomplete set of teeth, and Corvan nodded solemnly. “Anyone else?”

Two of the archers, who also happened to be brothers, stepped forward almost simultaneously. The taller of the two dark-haired lads, a cheerful sort by the name of Nalsin spoke. “Me and ol’ Jace here will come along, by yer leave. Ye’ll need some bow-work before this is done.” Jace, younger and a bit shy, only nodded.

Aleia tossed her lance to a companion and patted the shortsword at her side. “No one’s leaving me out of this. Besides, I love the sea. I wouldn’t mind a chance to sail all the way to Chiaroscuro.” She winked at Zera, and the boy felt a touch of sadness at her decision.

Another woman broke the ranks of the lancers, and handed her lance off as well. She was tall and lithe, with skin the color of jet. Her brown eyes peered calmly from the depths of her helmet, and she caressed the handles of two straightswords that protruded over each shoulderplate. She was Rhielle, a woman originally from Chiaroscuro, and Corvan and Mya both nodded with approval as she stood with the other four.

Zera glanced at the others, and met the eyes of the two Dynasts. He sighed loudly, and shrugged. “So, when do we leave?”

* * * * *

Two more days passed, and Zera mostly stayed out of the sailors’ way and did his best not to incur the wrath of Captain Kore any more than he already had. The man was a lifelong sea dog, and he harbored nothing but contempt for “landlubbin’ sons of tree-climbers” and the like. He played the flute for some of the men at night, and told stories of some of the places he’d been to the East. In return, the sailors told him about the seafaring peoples of the Coral Archipelago and Abalone, and about the fanciful creatures that seemed to populate the depths of the ocean.

He also began to find his sea legs, and decided to take turns watching from the crow’s nest. He was a woodsman at heart, and the ropework and wheel-tilling was lost on him, no matter how patient the man or woman was who tried to teach him. He was just retreating from a crusty sailor named Ulae, who had been trying to show him how to tie a sheepsfoot knot for the last two hours, when he ran almost headlong into Ledaal Mya.

“Pardon, Lady. I should have been watching whe-“. She raised a hand commandingly. “No matter. I was careless as well. Walk with me for a moment, Master Thisse.” Zera sighed and shrugged. Her moment of vulnerability out on the plains was long gone, and she was just a commanding officer at this point. He followed, as she threaded her way to the back deck, where she stopped to stare out at the open water.

“Why are you here?” The question was quietly spoken, but her tone could cut granite at a hundred paces. Zera raised a questioning brow. “Why wouldn’t I be? I was hired to track General Derelann, and help you sheep-footed soldiers get through the wilderness alive.” A slight grin cracked his face, and died when Mya didn’t share his mirth. “When we next port, I want you off this boat, Zera Thisse. This is non-negotiable. We’ll pay you what we owe, and enough to take ship back to Thorns besides.” Zera opened his mouth to argue, but the proud lieutenant had already turned away and started walking back to the cabin. The archer from Thorns just grinned. “Like hell, Sir.”

A week later, the Dawnbreak found itself in a small port town named Aeleren’s Rest, roughly halfway between Kirighast and the capital city of Yane. It was of a moderate size, surrounded by heavy wooden palisades and containing a bustling marketplace and harbor. There was even a stone keep atop a small hill, overlooking the rest of the town. A banner depicting crossed swords over a full-sailed galleon flapped lazily in the sea breezes. It was a welcome respite indeed from open waters and the rough shouts of Captain Kore Rojian.

Zera walked down a broad, cobblestoned avenue, arms loaded with provisions and barely keeping up with Aleia as she threaded through the crowd. Jace and Nalsin had already fallen a full bowshot behind. She turned and grinned at the struggling archer, as hawkers cried out their wares and services, and townspeople haggled for the same.

“Come, farmboy, our quarry will reach Gem by the time you get that dried meat aboard!” Aleia laughed at her own wit, and Zera unleashed the blackest look he could muster. The forms of the two Imperial archers could be seen in the distance, sweating and cursing. “Is everyone from Lord’s Crossing as charming as you, solider?” Aleia only laughed the harder at Zera’s barb. “Not even close. Now hurry up!’ The boy could only curse and follow as best he could.

After the provisions were hauled aboard, the Talonlord Ledaal Corvan gathered his small force on the rear deck, and addressed them. “I estimate that we have gained several days on our target. In light of this, and because the journey was less than pleasant, I am granting everyone a day of leave. You will receive your standard pay today, and you may do whatever you wish. Just be back here by daybreak tomorrow, and ready to sail. I mean to reach Chiaroscuro before the General.” Cheers broke out among the rank and file, and Doma shrugged. Battle or beer – it was all a good time to that worthy solider. Ledaal Mya sighed and disappeared back through the cabin door, her face unreadable.

Night fell over Aeleren’s Rest, and all along the streets and avenues the darkness was chased away by the light spilling through open doors. The Dynasts had luck with them, as they reached the town during the Festival of Aeleren. The town was named after a outcaste Dragon-Blood who chanced upon the village over three hundred years ago. The town had been plagued with bandits and worse, and she convinced them to rise up and fight for their safety and for their future. She died in the battle, the victim of the bandit lord’s First Age weapon, but was quickly avenged. The townspeople were now notorious for their self-sufficiency and pride, and they venerated the noble Dragon-Blood every year.

Three hundred years later, in the tavern called The Drunken Gull, the five soldiers and the boy from Thorns got to know each other better, amidst the din and the laughter and the sounds of fife, lute, and drum. Barmaids balanced impossibly-laden trays and evaded pinching hands with a dancer’s grace. Voices raised up in song, creating that dissonant harmony that only drunkeness can create.

“So, I leveled me bow at the man, and I says,” Jace interrupted his own tale to swig at his dented tin mug of ale. Foam blew from his lips as he continued. “And I says, you’ve got two choices, me boy. You can lay that sword down and leave, or I’ll put more feathers in ya than a goose-down pillow!” Laughter and cheers raised from the soldiers, all fans of the bravado-filled tale. Nalsin smiled a little, which seemed to be the apex of emotion he could show.

Aleia called for more ale, and deftly pinched a cleaning lad as he ghosted by with a broom and broken crockery in hand, all while balancing precariously on Zera’s lap. Rhielle spun around the room in the arms of a rough-but-pretty mercenary woman, dancing a jig as the makeshift tavern band reeled through “Toss the Feathers”. The song ended, and the crowd clapped for the dancers. People began to shove tables and chairs to each side of the room, catching the desire to dance from the sword-scarred couple.

Doma whispered something to Zera, who grinned and worked his way out from under the lancerwoman, pulling his flute from his pouch and making his way to the other musicians. After a quick word, they started up a new tune, which Doma began to sing along with in a raspy, whiskey-throated voice.

<blockquote>
“It’s lonesome away, from your kindred and all
by the campfire at night, where the wild wolves call
but there’s nothing so morbid, so drear
Than to stand at a bar of a pub with no beer,

Now the publican’s anxious for the quota to come
There’s a faraway look on the face of the bum
The maid’s gone all cranky and the cook’s acting queer
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer!”
</blockquote>

Hoots of laughter sounded as the rest of the soldiers joined in, followed shortly by the other patrons of the bar. Zera snatched his flute away to sing particularly favorite lines.

<blockquote>
“Then the swordsman rides up, with his dry, dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar and pulls a coin from his coat
The smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman said sadly the pub’s got no beer,

Old Billy the blacksmith – first time in his life
He’s gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen, she says ‘you’re early, my dear’
But he breaks down and tells her, the pub’s got no beer!”

It’s lonesome away, from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night, where the wild wolves call
But there’s nothing so morbid, nothing so drear,
Than to stand at a bar of a pub with no beer!”
</blockquote>

Doma swayed arm-in-arm with Aleia and Jace as he finished the last line, and the room exploded with laughter and catcalls. Nalsin grinned as wide as his thin lips would allow, and promptly dropped his head on the tabletop, snoring loud enough to cut the din of the room. Sides shaking with mirth, the massive Bannerman and the irrepressible archer Jace picked up the sleeping lad and began to drag his limp, slumbering form up the wide staircase.

Aleia slipped an arm around Zera’s shoulder as he put the flute back into its leather case. “Still playing hard to get?” Zera grinned. “Race you upstairs!” As the pair shoved and tripped their way to reach the staircase first, a black-haired man with one hard gray eye and one empty eye socket watched them go, a cruel grin on his face.

* * * * *

Three days and good, strong winds left Aeleren’s Rest far behind the wake of the Dawnbreak. Zera was just starting to feel well again, and this time he was not the only one hanging from the sides of the ship. Jace had made more than one joke about the sickness, saying he may as well have tossed his silver over the side and not wasted the ale. Corvan and Mya did nothing to discipline the sorry state of their armsmen, knowing as well as the soldiers did that it was likely no one aboard was going to see the Realm again.

Having recovered enough to resume taking watches, Zera narrowed his eyes and shaded them from the sun with a cupped hand. “Captain! Ho there, Captain . . . I think I see another vessel.” The black-coated, black bearded man glanced up with more than a touch of irritation. “Aye lad, we’re not the only craft floatin’ about, making trade down this way!” He shook his head, cursing his decision to let the boy up there, until Zera finished his sentence. “Captain . . .they’re flying no flag. Doesn’t every ship need a flag so you can identi – “

The boy was cut off by the Captain’s rough shouts. “To arms, ye sons of landlocked cur dogs! Privateers off the stern side! To arms!” The soldiers grimaced, and formed a line along the rear deck. Doma motioned for Jace and Nalsin to find perches up in the rigging. Zera climbed hand over hand down the ropes and found his own perch, pulling his bow off his back and stringing it as fast as he could.

The crew quickly divided, leaving only barely enough to keep the ship moving. The rest drew notched boarding swords or curved gaffs, and fear mixed with determination in their eyes. Despite the best efforts of the skeleton crew, the sleek black craft began to grow larger, drawing closer by the moment. The Captain banged on the cabin door, and screamed for the Dragon-Bloods to emerge.

Corvan emerged clad only in breeches and boots, belting on his daiklave as he came through the door. His hair was disheveled and he rubbed sleep from his eyes as he joined his underlings on the deck. Mya strode into the sunlight fully armored and already wearing her own weapons. She joined the rest silently, grim faced and ready.

Barefoot men scrambled all about the decks of the Dawnbreak, pouring buckets of seawater onto the brightly-blazing torches the pirates threw aboard, or doing their best to push the boarding planks off the rail before the cutlass-bearing pirates could get aboard.

Rough-clad, seaworn men howled as they vaulted over the rails and laid about them with their swords, hacking down whatever moved around them. Their faces were twisted with the glee of doing murder and the greedy dreams of what the holds contained below. Boarding swords clashed as the deckhands abandoned all posts and rushed to meet the invaders, and soon the deck was slippery with blood and salty water.

The Dynasts threw themselves into the fray with efficiency and precision. Everywhere they pressed, pirates died or ran screaming and bloody. Rhielle danced from deck to deck, a blood-covered angel of the sword. She spun and pirouetted, and her ebony blades dealt death to all that challenged her. Jace, Nasin, and Zera sent one flight of arrows at the initial rush, and followed with precise shots when the flow of battle allowed. Doma and Aleia fought back to back, grimly holding their own as wave after wave of adversaries came across the boarding planks.

Corvan and Mya alone held the foredeck from all comers, until the rogue captain swung aboard with his three bodyguards. All three were surrounded by the same anima banners that swirled around the two Dynasts, and suddenly their battle didn’t seem nearly as easy. They touched blades together for luck, and split apart, pressing the attack. Wind and Wood met Water and Fire, and soon the deck howled and blazed in the wake of their power.

Zera ducked a thrown hatchet and loosed another shaft, taking his enemy in the chest and dumping him over the side of the ship. Jace and Nalsin had already emptied their quivers and swung down to join the fray, shortswords flashing in the sun. He only had three arrows left himself, and his eyes cast about to see where he could do the most good. Judging by the lights and winds and flames on the foredeck, there was nothing he could do there.

He continued to scan the frothing melee on the deck, and saw a knife-wielding pirate creep up behind Captain Kore, who held off two men with his gem-hilted cutlass. The arrow flew true, and Zera was already seeking his next target. The next took a pirate threatening Nalsin in the throat, and suddenly Zera found himself falling. The hatchet had almost cut the rope supporting the boom he stood on, and his weight finally pulled the rope apart. He sought to grasp the rigging around him, but his flight was too fast, his reflexes only human. He crashed to the deck and the world went black around him.

* * * * *

He awoke to silence, and for a few brief moments entertained the notion that he had died. He soon realized he was in a bed in the captain’s cabin, naked under the blankets and in a great deal of pain. A bandage of rough cloth was wound tightly around his head, and it was still damp with his blood. There was only the gentle rocking of the ship cutting through the waves, and the creaking of timbers. Something didn’t seem right, and finally Zera identified the feeling of wrongness. The smell of char and burning wood hung faintly on the air coming through the porthole, almost lost amidst the salt and brine.

Gingerly, he pushed himself to his feet and glanced around the room, finding his clothing folded neatly next to the bed. He pulled his breeches on and stamped into his boots, and opened the cabin door. Jace and Nalsin, the former wearing bandages of his own around his chest, stood guard at the entrance, and each put a hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, mate. You don’t want to be walkin’ around just yet.” Jace said, his eyes touched with sadness. Nalsin nodded emphatically. “Just sleep a bit more, we’ll wake you in the morning.”. There was something to his voice Zera didn’t like, and he was about to say so when Doma’s voice floated from the shadows. “He liked her, lads. He should send her off with the rest of us.”. Somehow, Zera liked the tone of Doma’s voice even less. After the other two nodded their acquiescence, he followed the three of them unsteadily to the back deck.

* * * * *

Ledaal Corvan, Mya, and Rhielle stood waiting for them, the former still shirtless and his chest and left arm swathed in heavy, bloodstained bandages. Mya had her left leg-plate off, and finished tying the tourniquet around her own wound. Rhielle was completely untouched, but tears leaked from her large brown eyes. At their feet was an unmoving mound swathed in a black cloth. Zera wondered almost madly why they’d keep the enemy captain’s body in such a respectful state. His eyes traveled to the horizon, and saw the flames of the pirate ship in the far distance. All their bodies would be aboard, as per custom.

Zera turned to Doma. “So, who’s under the . . .who’s . . . .oh no. No.” The Bannerman only nodded roughly and laid his huge, scarred hand on the boy’s shoulder. Corvan eyed the lad with the merest touch of sympathy in his eyes, and began to speak.

“Lancerwoman Aleia Karavas served in my Talon for eleven years. She served with honor, taking wounds at the battle of Daran’s Ford, and again repelling a Arczeckh raid. She had personally saved my life on two occasions, and was the daughter of a proud merchant’s house. She has seen her final battle, and will find comfort in the embrace of the Dragons and the sleep of the dead.”

Zera cried out, and made to move forward to the body under the shroud. Doma’s hand became a painful trap, and the lad was held immobile, left only to wipe the stinging tears that fell from his eyes and left trails in the dirt and blood caked on his face. Corvan sighed, and continued.

“It is typically our custom to send the remains of our soldiers and heroes of the Legion back to the Blessed Isle, so they make their way to Sijan for preparation and interment. Aleia spoke to me personally before this sojourn, and made her wishes clear, should this happen. She loved the sea as a child, and wishes to rest in her arms. And so, we commit the body of this proud hero of the Fifth Legion to the sea. Doma, Zera, approach.”

Zera looked almost as shocked as Doma did, but managed to hobble forward to stand where Aleia’s head and shoulders lay under the black sheet. Rhielle wiped her own eyes and nodded with grim approval. The others said nothing, only watched with a mixture of grief and soldierly stoicism. Doma gripped the bottom edge of the shroud, and after a moment, Zera managed the same.

With the sheet lifted away, the wind picked up strands of Aleia’s blonde hair, and Zera found himself smoothing them back under her steel helmet. Her eyes were shut and she still wore her armor, which bore a large rent from the chest to the waist. The edges were still stained red, and Zera had to turn his head from the sight.

“The bearers will lift the body.” Corvan no longer spoke with the proud tones of a comrade-in-arms, but with the respect-commanding air of a Sijan Funerist. Zera slid his hands gently under Aleia’s limp shoulders, and lifted as Doma did the same with his hands around her ankles. “The bearers will commit the body to the waves.” The two men swung their bodies back, and then violently forward, releasing the body.

With a splash, the armor-clad figure disappeared beneath the waves. The two Dynast archers and the swordswoman Rhielle turned immediately away and disappeared from sight. Mya and Doma whispered quiet prayers, and followed their comrades. Corvan stood side by side with the bereaved Zera, silently staring at the water where Aleia took her final rest. “Play for her, archer. Play her the saddest thing you know.”

Zera pulled his flute from his pack. Wiping his tears aside, he put the tin instrument to his lips, and soon the haunting notes of “I Am Stretched on your Grave” floated out on the wind, away from the ship and over the lonely waves. Corvan knew the song, yet he did not sing the words. He simply shut his eyes and listened, wondering how many more times he would ask to hear that song before they reached the end.”

* * * * *

Later that night, Zera stood on the spot where Aleia had fallen. Doma had told him how it happened – one of the rogue captain’s Dragon-blooded bodyguards had fled from Corvan’s wrath, and skewered the lancerwoman as she tried to stop him from reaching the gangplank. It was brave almost to the point of stupidity, and Zera felt a well of pride for having known such a warrior.

He couldn’t shake a sense of guilt, as he toyed with the last arrow that had lay in his quiver. He could have done something if he’d only reached the rigging, if he’d only been a little faster. He could have at least distracted the Dragon-Blood until Mya or Corvan got there. If he had been more than a weak little boy playing at adventurer, he could have saved that woman’s life.

“Last shaft, Zera?” The boy looked up in surprise, as he’d only heard Nalsin’s voice a scant few times on the trip. He nodded. “I don’t know if you know much about us Legionnaires, Zera, but we each have some traditions. Things that separate us from the other squabs in the other units. I hear it’s the same with merc groups and those lads up in Lookshy.” Zera said nothing, turning his gaze to the star-lit waves.

“We archers of the Fifth have one you may be interested in. We’re a tight bunch, and don’t like losing any of our lads. If we do, and the enemy isn’t yet defeated, we take whatever shafts we have left, and we paint them black. Arrowheads and all. We save them arrows until we’re up against the unit that bloodied us. Then we let them have those black arrows. . . . there’s been times when that’s been enough to break their lines, just for fear of our anger. Good night, Zera Thisse.” Nalsin turned and walked back the way he came, to where his brother waited by the main mast. Zera turned back, and saw that the archer had left him a small jar of pitch on the railing. With silent thanks for the quiet soldier, he unscrewed the lid, dipped his fingers in, and began to coat that last arrow.

Quendalon

06-02-2004, 10:36 AM

I'm working on the summary for session 29 right now. Once that's done, I can start working on the summary for session 30 after Thorwald's player sends me his notes on the game. I trust that my other players, upon reading this, will remind him repeatedly on my behalf. :)

For the benefit of my readers, I have a <a href="http://forum.rpg.net/showthread.php?s=&threadid=124154">Rogue's Gallery</a> page up, where I can post info on NPCs and the like. It's off limits to my players (to Conn, Doug, Jon, Kym and Pat: that means you!), so feel free to put up questions and comments there regarding stuff in the game.

Also, I need to playtest the new edition of PARANOIA, and I've had some trouble organizing the locals. So if any of my readers live in New York City and would like to be involved in playtesting, please send me a private message and let me know!

- Eric

YerMum

06-03-2004, 04:08 AM

damn, wish I lived in new york! ;)

Ranko

06-03-2004, 03:42 PM

I told you we should have kidnapped him... if we had we would be playing that campaign and playtesting Paranoia with him/them.

Computer told me kidnapping was OK :)

Quendalon

06-04-2004, 05:59 PM

Winter was coming, and it was just before twilight on a clear day as the earth’s tides slowed in their tempos, as is their usual wont. Chill were the winds that surrounded the blue tower named for those currents of air in the city on the River of Willows. Many of those that were left had come to notice that high up on that tower, at this exact time of day, a figure could be seen on a balcony regarding the sun as it sank in the west. Most of those that happened to glimpse that figure swore that they also saw a glint of golden light. They all knew that a light of some sort was left on that balcony as the night deepened to darkness, as if to serve as a beacon.

For there stood Tepet Aekino soothing his Essence by bathing himself in the light of the setting sun, after which his Caste had been created in prehistory. He had wrapped around his lithe form a woolen traveling cloak of a blue-gray hue that complimented his gray-green eyes. The sorcerer mouthed a silent sutra in an effort to calm his turbulent mind. The Fourteenth Sutra of Harmony with Storm Clouds always allowed him a great deal of mental clarity. It served to refresh and replenish the reserves of the mind, allowing for further contemplation and emotional hardiness.

As the customary calm afforded by the time of day descended upon the land around the tower and the man standing at its apex, his mind calmed profoundly. That mind accepted transportation by its Essence to an earlier time, an Age past.

* * * * *

It was just before twilight and the day’s tides slowed in their tempos, as was their usual wont. Chill were the winds that surrounded the crystal, marble and blue jade tower named for the Heavens in the city on the Plains of Fivefold Crossroads. Many of the throng that dwelt there had come to notice that high up on that tower, at this exact time of day, a figure could be seen on a balcony regarding the sun as it sank in the west. All who happened to glimpse that figure saw a distinct golden light from its head. When it went back into the tower, a lamp was left out as a beacon for the great white egret that often flew in at night.

Having soothed her Essence in the light of dusk, Sharn Larenn tossed her cloak onto the rack kept by the balcony doorway in her bedroom. It missed and fell to the floor into a pool of silk lined wool. Seeing that all was in order for Dancing Water’s imminent arrival, she shivered in anxious anticipation. Her flawless brow creased noting that physical reaction. It was unacceptable that she should act as a nervous schoolgirl trembling at the thought of a lover’s touch. There were things that could be attended to that would further help bring calm to her mind and body.

Going to the wall of the chamber, she touched a pentagonal crystal wall switch. The switch rang softly, as if in pleasure at her touch, glowed briefly. The outline of a door right beside it was lit up in the same golden hue and the door opened, revealing a narrow shaft perhaps 3 feet in diameter that sank into the distance. She stepped into it and fell, speeding down twenty, forty, eighty, one hundred sixty feet…then coming to a soft halt as air currents cushioned her and another door opened.

The radiant Twilight walked into her forge and saw that all was in order, awaiting her touch. With a wave of her hand, the furnace roared into life. Arrayed on black silk were her current projects. Pausing momentarily, she chose her orichalcum dagger blade. Taking the simple six-inch long blade to the large steel and starmetal anvil, she placed it in the furnace where the Elemental Fire she conjured would heat and soften the magical material and took up her hammer. The hammer itself was a magnificent creation simply made of darkest steel and white jade. Hefting its familiar weight, she began the Song of Making. Her anima rose about her, gold and rose colored light streaming out and shaping itself into a shimmering, reflective disk behind her surrounded by a ring of runic glyphs of blazing gold.

As her aura caressed her skin and her Essence blazed in her soul, she found the calm she sought and singing, she struck the golden blade over and over, pounding the song into the orichalcum note by note. The exertion was transcendent to her and at the climax of the song she struck the last blow to the blade and was done.

* * * * *

Gasping from the recalled sensations from the Age past, Aekino reeled and caught himself up on the balcony rail. Breathing deeply, the sorcerer righted himself and returned to his room, smoothing his cloak, robes and windblown hair.

He had a great deal to do. Taking up a small bell, he gave it five rings. Five seconds later, the chamber door opened and a page looked in, eyes averted.

“Yes, my lord?” the boy asked solicitously.

“I need to go to Brinlack. Have a boatman ready to take me across the river and wait to bring me back here when I’m done,” Aekino replied, pulling on a pair of soft leather gloves.

“Yes, my lord.” The boy was off and running. It was refreshing to once again have his needs attended to properly and swiftly. Darien Tal’s staff was coming along quite nicely with the funds he’d found in both the merchant’s and Ledaal Vir’s chambers. He swept out of the chamber and was within the hour across to the west bank of the River of Willows. He proceeded up into the crumbling city of Brinlack and to the Wood-aspected manse that bore the same name as the city itself. Briskly entering, he went to the top floor and the office of the mayor, Stone Rain.

The stocky, solid man sat behind his desk poring over reports and tallies. Looking up as the Twilight walked in, he jumped to his feet as soon as he realized the identity of his visitor. “Milord Tepet, how can I help you?” Stone Rain asked, bowing low to the Prince of the Earth.

“I require training in the art of arms and armor smithing. Seeing as how the population of Tul Tuin is somewhat lesser in so many ways than it once was, I figured you would have the better smith currently. Fetch him or her that I may employ them,” as he spoke Aekino moved around the mayor and took the seat behind his desk. Now that he’d made known his wishes, he looked at the reports and tallies that the mayor himself had only just been reading over, obviously dismissing the man.

The Easterner got out of his Exalted visitor’s way and went about getting that smith for his new master.

Quendalon

06-08-2004, 08:57 PM

Mother Cypress speaks:
"Welcome, children. You've come for a tale, have you not, little ones? So, then, what tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of Nathel the Wolf-Born, and how he rescued the duchess of Featherspike from the ice trolls in Rilga Pass? Would you hear of how, when her people rejected the Wolf-Born, her gratitude soured and curdled, and of the tragedy to come? Or shall I tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and of the turning of the Age?

"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 of what befell in the city of Tul Tuin after the departure of Amalion."

* * * * *

The place: Tepet Aekino's study, high in the Tower of Winds. The time: night, sixteen hours after the departure of Amalion. The participants: Aekino, Zera Thisse, and Fetek Breath-of-Midnight. The subject: a summit meeting, planned for ten days hence.

"We need mortals as messengers in this business," said the new master of the Tower. His perfect countenance shone beneath a gold circlet ablaze with garnets. "It's beneath your dignity for either of you to run errands like common couriers."

Zera shrugged. The Dynast's obsession with image did not touch him. "Your servants were once Darien Tal's. We can't trust them. And in the city… there are a lot of thieves and the like that we could use, that would be excellent for this. But I wouldn't trust their loyalties, either."

"You could go together, at least. You would be safer."

"Or we could go separately," the archer replied with a chuckle. "I can go by horse. Fetek, you can be a messenger pigeon."

The Lunar bridled. "A pigeon?"

"Or a hawk, if you like that better. Anyway. I'll go to Iron Tower and find Vir. Fetek can go to Idris; it's farther, and he can travel faster. I'll leave by morning."

Aekino nodded. "Also, I would like to summon a demon of the First Circle, one of the less violent ones, to use as a messenger."

"Why?" asked Fetek.

"They are good for such purposes, and their use does not offend the Celestial Hierarchy." And I'd like to try out some real sorcery, Aekino thought to himself. "The problem," he continued, "is that the outcome of these spells is not always certain."

"So you need backup," Zera replied.

"Yes."

"Thorwald would be perfect, but I'm not sure how he'd react." The archer mulled it over. "I suggest you ask Li."

The Dynast nodded. "I think that things are coming together."

"What I wonder is, will Vir be able to see past the Anathema bit, for the good of the region?"

"I believe that, with the aid of his children, he will."

"Maybe, if we point out to Vir all of the things that the Dynasts do to each other on the Blessed Isle, he will see that we are no worse…"

Thorwald entered. "What is happening?"

"We are discussing plans for the summit," said the archer. He elaborated on the messages that were to be sent, and by what means they would be transmitted.

"I am not comfortable with this," said Thorwald. "But the other options are even less comfortable."

Aekino nodded. "True. By the by," he added, "we shouldn't tell either of them that we've invited the other."

Such subtleties puzzled the northman. "Why?"

"They're more likely to come that way," said Zera Thisse. He smiled. "Anyway, I'm out of here." He stood. "I leave tonight. I may have to search for Vir, and I'd rather get an early start."

"I will go with you," said Fetek Breath-of-Midnight. "I travel quickly enough that I won't lose much time in doing so. And if Vir is not at the Iron Tower, then it will take time to find him. Once you do, then I can fly to Idris and deliver the message to Cessair."

"Good idea," said Zera approvingly.

Thorwald nodded. "And I have to get a very fast horse."

Aekino blinked. "What?"

"To go to Idris."

The Dynast sputtered. "That's not part of the plan!"

"What plan is this?"

"The plan we've just been making!"

A futile argument broke out. Thorwald would not explain why he wished to go to Idris, nor would he be swayed from his will to do so. Finally, he turned and walked out.

Aekino shook his head in bewilderment. "He just had one of his dark moods recently!"

"Maybe they're coming quicker," replied Zera.

"Go talk to him."

* * * * *

Zera caught up halfway down the stairs. "Hey, listen! Why are you doing this? It would make everyone feel better if we had a reason."

Thorwald marched obstinately onward. "I don't have a good reason."

"That's a shame, because that means I don't have an argument to counter it."

"This is just something I have to do." They descended to the ground floor, passing guards and servants, and made their way out into the night. "Something is happening to me, and I'm not sure what. But I need to deliver this message."

"Then I guess I can't stop you." They clasped hands, there in the courtyard beneath the blackened cherry tree. "Good luck."

Zera returned to the upper reaches of the tower. He told Aekino that he had a good feeling about this, that his instincts indicated that all would be well. Aekino replied that this was all well and good, but shouldn't Thorwald have taken the message that he wanted to bear?

The archer snatched up the missive and darted down the stairs once more. But by the time he reached the stables, Thorwald had gone.

* * * * *

"Those poor wretches," said the Dynast. He looked westward from his balcony; Brinlack glimmered with yellow light beneath the waxing moon. There, he knew, Li had brought those who had crawled like grubs from beneath Amalion's shadow. He shivered in the cold. "We should give them the final mercy."

Li shook her head. "I don't think that will be necessary. Some will take their own lives; for the others, we can take care of them as long as possible. And some may well recover, given time."

"It is a very virtuous thing you do here," Aekino stated piously.

"Perhaps."

"When did this occur to you?"

"When I saw them." Her dark hair flapped in the wind; a warrior's banner. "They are just poor wretches, really. I suppose that in their own way, they brought this on themselves."

"Well, where there is life, there is hope." Aekino glanced to the north. "Except, perhaps, for Thorwald's mission. That will end in blood, I'm sure of it."

"I think Thorwald may surprise you." A tight, tiny smile lurked in the shadows of Li's mouth. "He may be a bit more insulting than Fetek, but I doubt he will kill anyone."

* * * * *

Zera Thisse rode through the night. He reached Iron Tower the next morning. His breath formed white banners on the air; farmers labored to bring in the last harvest before full frost. Before him, encampments of Ledaal and Tul Tuin soldiers lay spread before the town gates; they bustled like overturned anthills, clearly making ready to move.

He took the guise of a guardsman of Brinlack. He presented himself at the gates as a messenger from Tul Tuin, sent to present himself before Ledaal Vir. Soldiers escorted him into the town, which was likewise astir with preparations for war. They passed him up the chain of command, finally bringing him before a tall, thin woman in black: Ledaal Vir's right hand, the general Shield Willow.

She gestured for him to rise. "What is your name, soldier?"

"My name is Baum," he lied. "I bring a message for Ledaal Vir."

"From whom?"

"From those who hold Tul Tuin."

Her interest sharpened. "And who might they be?"

"I am instructed not to say."

"And I am instructing you to say."

Zera smiled inwardly. "I don't know if you will kill me if I don't tell you, but I know that they will if I do."

Shield Willow made a brushing-aside gesture. "They do not need to know."

"Just between you and me," he confided, "I think that they are Anathema."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Their glowing foreheads."

By her request, he presented her with the sealed missive, which she brought to Vir. Not long after, the Dragon-Blooded prince came himself to speak with the messenger. Vir's keen senses did not penetrate the illusion. Soon, Zera had another message in hand, to present to his 'Anathema masters' at the Tower of Winds. Smiling serenely, he rode back to Tul Tuin.

* * * * *

Another day passed. Fetek flew as an eagle through the cold and stuttering wind. Leafless trees marched past beneath his wings; the hills rolled by like the breakers on a frozen sea. He reached Idris by evening.

He drifted this way and that over military encampments, and then dove past the city walls. He remained in eagle form as he skimmed roofs and glided over streets and alleyways. Without changing shape, he flew past the gate guards into the halls of Cessair's palace. Servants scattered, leaving the floors in his wake strewn with broken dishes and bedclothes. The lord Erlend, grandson of Cessair's daughter Idris, ducked to avoid being speared by Fetek's beak, then chased the Lunar into the empty throne room, where he found the eagle perched upon the arm of the throne.

"Well now," said the fae-blood. He approached cautiously. "Ah… a messenger." He plucked the missive from the eagle's leg, unrolled it, read. He cursed foully.

Erlend brought the missive to Idris. Idris brought it to Cessair. And Cessair had the eagle brought to her. She smiled as she lounged upon a broad couch upholstered in silk, blue with pale medallions. She stroked Fetek's feathers, not knowing him for what he was. "What a pretty bird," she said softly.

Fetek felt the urge to nestle against the alluring Fair Folk. He likewise desired to peck out her eyes. He resisted both impulses.

"It seems we'll be waiting for another messenger," spoke the Queen. "There's no purpose in replying until then. Cage the bird."

They placed him in a bamboo cage in an aviary. Other cages held lesser birds, swallows and nightingales, pigeons and doves. Fetek brooded over the indignity. He waited for Thorwald.

* * * * *

Zera rode through the gates of Tul Tuin in the night. The sun cultists had brought some direction to the city's guards; they challenged him for but a moment, until he set his brow aflame with his caste mark. The guards made way; some knelt and prayed, while others backed away in fear or awe. He gave them little notice, though their behavior still troubled him.

Hearing a ruckus down a side street, he turned aside from his path to the citadel. He found a mob on the edge of violence. Cultists roared and shouted at one another in the firelight. Some bore the sunburst of the sun cult, while others wore violet masks or the other sigils of the demon cult. No small few wore both.

"Hold!" Zera rode his horse into the midst of the crowd. His anima burst into flame, all gold and midnight blue, washing away the firelight and commanding the attention of all present. "What is happening?"

"We – Aaargh!" As a violet-masked leader turned to the Night Caste, a sun-cultist stabbed him. The man went down, clutching at his side where blood soaked through his robe.

The golden light blazed brighter with Zera's fury. "This stops now!" he snarled, and the crowd backed away. Dismounting, he instructed the cultists to see to the wounded man's injury. "Now, all of you, listen," he snapped. "We will not tolerate this sort of thing any more. Your days of thuggery are over."

"But, my lord!" said the sun-cultist with the bloody knife. "They're heretics!"

"Heretics?" Zera eyed the man coldly. "I have an absolutely novel idea. Why don't you let us worry about that?"

"They're Violet Masks, lord!" The man pressed forward, astonished at his own impertinence in thus importuning one of his gods. "They will not listen. They are rabble, and they need to be destroyed!"

Zera shook his head in disgust. "For someone who purports to worship us, you sure don't listen when we talk." He turned, regarding the cultists that surrounded him, with their crude weapons and their uncertain faces. "You people disgust me. There's probably an army coming to take what little you have, and you're stabbing each other in the street."

He lay down the law. There would be no more fighting. Furthermore, the cultists would be responsible for the actions of the other citizens of the city. The deeds of those others, the thieves and the thugs, the beggars and the whores, would be laid at their door. They would be their neighbors' keepers, and if further troubles ensued, the blame would fall upon the cultists.

* * * * *

The Dynast chanted in the dim reaches of the cellars of the Tower of Winds. Once, this vaulted chamber had been a wine cellar; but in escaping from the Tower with Cessair's heart, they had tricked Ledaal Vir into setting the place afire with his anima. Now it stank of smoke and ash; the racks and casks bore the black stains of fire, while shards of pottery and glass lay strewn among the crust of soot and evaporated wine.

Li of Orchid stood nearby. Dull golden light rolled from her unsheathed blades, outlining the darkness rather than illuminating it. She had stood there for hours, and would stand for hours more, until the ritual was complete.

Thuds and groans issued from the deeper doorway that led to the hidden places beneath the Tower. There, in the darkness, demons still lingered; they had come with Darien Tal and the demon cult to drive out Ledaal Vir, and they remained in the tunnels. None had yet cleared them out. And now, somehow scenting Aekino's rite, they crawled upward, hooting and grunting in the demon tongue, toward the place where the sorcery was being performed.

A rank, animal stench trampled the smell of soot. Red eyes glared. And one by one, three shaggy ape-demons ambled through the deeper doorway, into the cellar.

Li twitched her blades upwards; they blazed brighter, carving the cellar into brilliance and shadow. The apes shrieked. Squinting, they pressed forward. And Tepet Aekino, distracted by the light and the noise, fumbled a syllable.

The lattice of Essence that whirled around him shivered. It cracked. Lances of actinic radiance shot in all directions. The air recoiled. And with a thunderous crash, the spell exploded in a wave of green and violet Essence that slammed the Dynast into the wall, where he slid to the ground in a bloody heap.

The swords named Radiance and Brilliance flashed through the air, scattering the shards of broken sorcery that came near Li of Orchid. She sidled towards the place where Aekino had fallen. And as she moved, the blood-apes approached, their eyes full of hunger.

The fight was bloody and brutal. The apes howled with physical force, their voices powerful enough to shatter stone, but the swordswoman dodged and parried those crushing screams with equal ease, just as she dodged the demons' vicious claws. Her own swords cut deep gashes wherever they touched, severing one ape's arm and wounding the others. But when one ape seized Aekino's ankle and swung him at Li, and another picked up its severed arm and wielded it as a club, Li found that her skills were stretched to their limit. Soon she bled from several superficial wounds. The apes continued to press her; they moved with blinding speed, striking with claws, bottles and shelves, and they used the fallen Dynast as both weapon and shield.

Nonetheless, Li of Orchid prevailed. After all, they were but three lesser demons, and she a Dawn Chosen of the Sun. One demon fell at her feet; the other two turned immaterial and fled, one to stagger and die, the other escaping into the depths of the hidden cellars. And Li of Orchid sank to the floor, exhausted and bleeding from many wounds, where she lay until Zera Thisse found her.

Quendalon

06-08-2004, 09:04 PM

Thorwald arrived in the town of Idris. There, among the crowded streets, he found his way to the low, sprawling palace of Cessair. Guards met him at the gate, led by the massive noble Erlend, who sneered, "Thorwald of Stonehold, I believe? I'd say it was good to see you, only that would be a lie. But you're expected."

Cessair lounged upon the throne that once was her daughter's. The faerie noble Orlàm stood at her side, one thin hand resting upon the back of the throne. Wolf-headed faerie warriors flanked her; courtiers lined the hall, along with a handful of her generals, such as the leering former bandit No-Nose Chou, a gleaming silver nose pinned to his scarred face. Notably, Cessair's daughter Idris was not present. Beneath the queen's throne, Fetek watched in the form of a mouse.

The queen and the Zenith greeted one another. As always, Thorwald gritted his teeth against the wave of raw desire that spilled from the Fair Folk queen. "Do you know why I am here, Queen of Idris?" he demanded.

"Tell me," she smiled.

"I am here to tell you in words, in flesh, not on paper, that the demon is driven away, and that Tul Tuin is free."

"I thank you for your courtesy."

"The fact that I am here is some indication of how importance your presence is. I bear no love for your kind. But that is in the past."

The queen arched a perfect eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Insofar as I have a duty," he grunted, "it is."

The lady Idris made her entrance at that point, accompanied by a handful of loyal courtiers. Her pale hair swirled like storm clouds. She curtly made her obeisance. "I heard we had a guest," she observed then. "I would know why Thorwald of Stonehold returns to us."

"I am here to deal with you honestly," he said. "Though my companions would wish for me to hold this back, I tell it to you now. You have an army. There is word that Ledaal Vir has an army. You both want Tul Tuin. We cannot let the two of you war against each other, so you must come to peace. That is why I am here. I am the only one who can bear this message, because I am also Blessed Wind, ruler of Tul Tuin. Do you understand now, Queen of Idris?"

"You claim the city for yourself?" asked Cessair.

"Once I ruled in that place. I have memories of living there. But I tell you this: if you make peace, I will swear an oath to forego all rights to the city, and I will leave. But only if you make peace. You must realize that you can't fight. Kaihan is to the north, and Longcorner to the south; they will crush whoever wins your battle." He shrugged. "We will fight whoever disrupts this region, either you or Vir. The way I see it, you must settle your differences. It is well that you know this before you go to the summit. I am willing to negotiate, but I need gestures of good faith."

"Oh?"

"First, you have something of mine. When Zera Thisse came to you, he wore an iron necklace. Return it to me, and I will appreciate it. I will not wear it in your presence."

She regarded the Zenith curiously. What a sentimental creature he appeared to be! "We shall see if it can be found." When he nodded, she continued: "Return to your companions. Tell them that we shall come to their meeting. We shall talk in ten days. Or, if you prefer, we shall send them a message bird, and you may remain here and enjoy our hospitality."

Once again, Thorwald felt the awesome force of her desirability. He clenched his jaw. "I cannot."

"May I make a suggestion?" said Idris. She stepped forward, drawing all attention. "Mother, you are an important figure in this kingdom. Would it not be appropriate for us to have someone as worthy, such as Thorwald himself, to remain here to assure your safety?"

"My dear daughter," replied Cessair condescendingly, "we would not take him hostage."

"I will stay, under certain conditions," said Thorwald.

"Conditions, conditions. How tiresome. What do you want?"

"These are my conditions, and not my Circle's," he answered. "When peace is made, control of Idris must return to your daughter Idris. If peace is made, you are not to interfere with the city of Brinlack. It has sentimental value to me; it was founded by someone important to me. I wish it to still remind me of her." He paused. "I offer much. I offer to forego all claims to Tul Tuin, now and forever, and to never return. This should be more than enough, since it will reunite you with your husband."

A catlike smile crept across the queen's face. "Your friends wish to negotiate?"

"Yes."

"Then we will discuss the matter then. I am sure you would not wish to make decisions on behalf of your fellows. Good day, sir."

He blinked owlishly. "This is a fair offer."

"I said good day."

* * * * *

Days passed. Thorwald eventually unearthed his necklace from a midden pit, and returned to Tul Tuin in the company of Fetek. Tepet Aekino and Li of Orchid recovered from their injuries. Fetek explored the cellars beneath the place where Amalion once stood, drawing forth merchant's wealth and dark wonders that he secreted in the cellars of the Brinlack Manse. Messages passed back and forth between Tul Tuin and Iron Tower, negotiating terms for the summit. The cultists began the arduous process of rebuilding the city. And a glittering golden airship drifted across the sky, watching and waiting.

Finally, after two strained weeks, the embassies from Iron Tower and Idris arrived. Each brought only ten aides with them, in accordance with the terms of the summit. Ledaal Vir brought only his closest advisors, the general Shield Willow and the astrologer Ikari, along with eight Dragon-Blooded officers. Cessair brought her daughter Idris, her consort Orlàm, her children Tanith and Martin, and six Fair Folk warriors. Both, of course, left sizable contingents of soldiers just outside the city walls, in readiness should they be needed.

They met in a chamber within the Tower of Winds. The parties sat at opposite ends of a long mahogany table, regarding one another with wary caution. Between them sat Tepet Aekino as mediator, garbed all in silk and precious stones, armed with no more than a jeweled fan painted with an image of the Imperial Mountain. At his left hand, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight gleamed in moonsilver armor. At his right, Li of Orchid stood like stone, her arms folded, the sword named Burning Tiger looming upon her back. On the far side of the room, Thorwald of Stonehold watched from beneath shaggy brows as he leaned upon his pear-blossom daiklave.

The preliminaries wore on through the morning. Intricate introductions wove through air warmed by a blazing hearth. Servants drifted this way and that, bearing food and drink to the participants. Some time after noon, the last empty words of the welcoming rites were spoken. The meeting began.

"I am very pleased that you have come so far, and that you have deemed it important enough to engage in reasoned discourse." Jewels glittered upon Aekino's fingers and in his hair as he stood before the conclave. "Before we go further, I would like to hear what each of you desire from these talks. If I may begin with the lady? Queen Cessair."

She ignored Aekino. "Hello, Vir." Her smile gleamed like sunlight on winter ice.

"Cessair." The prince's voice remained guarded.

"It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been some time since your last visit."

"I've been busy."

"You should never be too busy to visit your loving wife," she replied. "Pent, kept behind bars. But then, you were always busy."

He frowned. "There will be time for this in a more private venue. I believe our… host… asked you a question."

"Thank you, my lord." Aekino offered the queen a self-satisfied smile. "My lady?"

"You ask what I want?" She turned to the prince, whom she regarded through lowered lashes. "I want my city back that you took from me. I want my children back that you took from me. Perhaps other things that we might discuss in private. But that should do for now."

Vir sighed. "You will forgive my reluctance to even be here," he replied, directing his comments to Tepet Aekino. "You usurp the city I ruled, then invite me to a summit to negotiate for its return? Your presumption astounds me. But I am weary of bloodshed. I, too, have a vested interest in returning –"

"As consort," interrupted Cessair.

"And what will keep you from attempting to unseat me, as you did before?"

"As long as you keep to your role as consort, there will be no difficulty."

Aekino gestured for attention. "With all due respect, I must point out that neither of you is in any position to offer the city to the other. It is in our hands, not yours. And I must take exception to your remarks. It is not we who usurped the city, but other, more unsavory elements. We returned here to restore order, in which respect we have been somewhat successful. But our primary interest is in the stability of this region. You are both powers here. We ask that you use your influence in order to minimize the ill effects of these circumstances."

"One messenger to the Blessed Isle," said the Dragon-Blooded prince, "would bring me legions and the Wyld Hunt. Why should I not send that messenger?"

"You are bluffing. You have already brought your legions here, and the Wyld Hunt is surely en route, if they are not yet present and waiting to strike."

"Then, true or not, you know that I have many troops at my disposal."

"We would break your power," rumbled the heretofore-silent Thorwald. "And even if you were successful, you would be replaced by forces from the Blessed Isle."

"Well, then." The prince's mouth was drawn into a thin line. "What do you want here? You come to this region, you release my wife and other annoyances. This place was prosperous before you came."

"They have what they came for," observed the faerie queen.

"Oh?" Aekino raised an irritable eyebrow.

"You and your companions have a number of objects of power that were not in your possession before your arrival. They were taken, I presume, from the Tomb of the Anathema and other sites in this region."

"That is immaterial." He coughed. "And besides, not the reason why we are here."

"Why, then?"

"If I may be frank, we were directed here by the Unconquered Sun. This was a place where we might learn the most about ourselves."

"Gods?" Cessair rolled her eyes. "How tedious."

"The future is what is most important now. If there is anything we may do to make up whatever rash or ill-considered actions we may have taken, we will do it," stated the Twilight.

Ledaal Vir leaned forward. "Forgive my temerity," he said bluntly, "but you slaughtered a hundred of my men at the tomb. The families of those men will never see them again. I have a condition. When we decide who the ruler of Tul Tuin will be, you will leave. I will not call for the legions or the Wyld Hunt. But you will leave, and never come back."

"I will agree, and I will go further. In order to prove our good will, we will do this: in this region there are other demons that, forgive my temerity as I have forgiven yours, you cannot destroy. We will destroy them, as we have always intended to. In addition, you will make it clear to any who ask that my family is in no way responsible for the actions I have taken."

"That is clear enough," Vir replied. "Even you are not even responsible for what you have become."

"That is… very generous of you."

The prince nodded. "Now," he observed, "since you claim that you do not wish to rule Tul Tuin, then it falls to my wife and I to determine the future rule of the city. I request that we may discuss the matter in private."

"Arrangements have already been made. I offer my services as a mediator – "

Vir waved him off. "That is unnecessary." Cessair nodded in agreement.

"I will offer my services," interjected Thorwald, "in the following way. If either of you harms the other, the survivor will feel my wrath."

* * * * *

Vir and Cessair conferred alone, behind closed doors, for all that day and night. Their attendants muttered quietly, each camp eyeing the other with varying degrees of distrust and distaste. Many private discussions ensued.

The retired officer Ledaal Goren approached the Circle. He greeted Li and Thorwald with the wary respect due a dangerous opponent; they returned his greetings in kind.

"Please, sit," said Tepet Aekino.

Goren stood. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this," he said, frowning. "But… well, I've been a soldier too long, seen too much, to put much stock in the Order. But that doesn't mean I don't believe part of it. I may respect you, but that won't stay my hand if you remain here." He glanced toward the window, where dark clouds rolled across the afternoon sky. "A Wyld Hunt is coming. A real one. If your intentions are as good as you claim, then… do what you must, and then leave."

"Thank you for your warning."

"That is all I have to say." Goren nodded curtly, turned, and walked out. This is for the best, he told himself. If the Hunt catches them here, there will be too many civilian casualties. Better to fight them in the wild. What else can we hope for?

* * * * *

The summit reconvened the next day. Certitude lay like a blanket over the company, waiting to be drawn aside. The usual social rituals were perfunctorily performed. Then Vir spoke.

"My wife and I have reached an accord," the prince stated sourly. "We will mutually assume the rulership of Tul Tuin; I shall manage the city under her supervision." He eyed the Solars and their glittering blades. "Is there anything else that you wish to add?"

Thorwald stepped forward. He had a long list. "In the spot where the demon building stood, there is a hollow. Build a shrine there in honor of the city. A monument."

Vir nodded, seeing no reason to disagree. "What's one more shrine?" asked Cessair.

"The city of Brinlack has sentimental value to me. I would prefer that it remain untouched."

"That makes little difference from the previous state of affairs," Vir observed.

"Finally, Idris must return to Idris. She will swear fealty to you, but the city must be hers."

Vir glanced at his estranged wife. "She's your daughter."

"I have no further use for that place," said Cessair. "It is hers."

Thorwald nodded sharply. "Very well then. I, who was once Blessed Wind, forgo all claim to Tul Tuin, from now until the end of time."

Vir stood then, resplendent in scarlet silk and green jade. "Agreed. You will be given horses and provisions. Hunt your demons, quickly. Then a legion of my men –"

"Our men," Cessair interrupted languidly.

"Yes. Our men will follow you to our borders, to ensure your swift departure. You will leave these lands and never return."

Aekino muttered something about reincarnation and the applicability of such an agreement to his reborn spirit, but ceded the point.

"In addition, I have one non-negotiable condition," said Vir. "You killed many of my men. In the North, they have a custom called 'weregild.' I demand payment for those who died at the tomb."

"We buried those men," grumbled Thorwald. "I consigned their souls to the Unconquered Sun. They are at rest. I swear it."

"That is all well and good, but it does not feed their families."

"We do not agree with this condition," snapped Aekino. "And in any case, we have not the wealth to fulfill it."

Cessair smiled mischievously. "Are those not rubies on your fingers, Tepet Aekino? Is that bracelet not silver, nor that necklace gold? And do I not see the gleam of jade amidst your hair?"

Aekino sputtered furiously. A scarlet flush crept up his neck as he tried to wiggle out of the trap.

"This is not Aekino's fault." One of the servants stepped forward, features shifting to reveal the face of Zera Thisse. "He had little to do with what happened at the tomb. I cannot countenance what happened there… I will pay that price."

"There is another solution," murmured Aekino. "Darien Tal was a merchant of great wealth. Were the remains of his estate to be seized, they should more than cover the price."

Vir sighed, his patience frayed. "I don't care where it comes from. That will be fine. See to your demon hunting business."

"At this point, I must submit that Ledaal Martin is free to accompany me, if he wishes," noted Aekino. The young Dragon-Touched glanced at him in surprise; he blushed.

Vir shrugged. "I don't like it, but he's a man. He can make his own choices."

"Very well, then." Aekino stood and bowed to the dragon-blooded prince and the faerie queen. "We will be about our business. We are very satisfied that we were able to mitigate, in some degree, the damage that was done. Your Highness, Your Majesty, rule well and wisely."

"This has been quite droll," mused Cessair. "Zera Thisse, perhaps you might accompany me for an hour or two, while your companions prepare their departure?"

Vir shook his head. "My lady wife. I am sitting right here."

Zera reddened. His comrades laughed at his discomfort. And then, carefully, they gathered up their few possessions and made their way out of the Tower of Winds. The sun shone down on the tower, a pale blue spike rising from the stone, the city buildings strewn like salt below. The river wound past green hills and swamps and empty fields, flowing to the Yellow River, the Yanaze, and the distant sea.

The Solars had returned. The world waited for them.

YerMum

06-09-2004, 02:47 AM

Damn, just when I thought I'd gotten through cold turkey you had to drop this, ah well, I guess I'm slavishly addicted again ;)

Ranko

06-09-2004, 10:45 AM

So I have a few questions:
Do we have any idea when you plan to resolve (provide more info) on the Evil Daiklave (TM), and do you guys know where in Creation you plan to go troubleshooting next?

Thanks, and please try to provide the next update within a few days. Any longer delay will be fined. ;)

Li of Orchid

06-09-2004, 01:16 PM

Originally posted by Ranko
So I have a few questions:
Do we have any idea when you plan to resolve (provide more info) on the Evil Daiklave (TM), and do you guys know where in Creation you plan to go troubleshooting next?

Thanks, and please try to provide the next update within a few days. Any longer delay will be fined. ;)

I get a feeling the Evil Daiklaive is going to be a problem of mine for a long, long time... When I told Eric my character was going to try and leave it behind for some length of time (such as during the fight with the blood apes; Radiance and Brilliance do agg dmg to demons, so they're more effective), he said, "You're pretty well bonded to it now... take a -1 dice penalty to all your actions." Maybe I should have named the character Elric?

Elemental

06-09-2004, 04:43 PM

Oh, very nice.

Zera Thisse

06-10-2004, 07:43 PM

I'm not sure if the others carried on today, but Aekino's player and myself both missed the session tonight due to foot/leg injuries.

I pulled my Achilles tendon at work today, and barely made it home. I think we'll pick up the story in full next week - so don't blame Quendalon for the lack of update!

Oh, and thanks to everyone for your interest in this. . . . it makes this game even more fun to play!

Shallows

06-11-2004, 09:23 AM

Blood Payment! I love it. Sorry to hear about the injuries, looking forward to the next posts.

Quendalon

06-11-2004, 09:52 AM

The sea winds carried the sounds of creaking wood and the cries of gulls, and the sharp smell of brine and wet rope. The Dawnbreak had drifted into the harbor-waters of the vast and ancient city of Chiaroscuro an hour past, and was now moored to one of the many docks along the sprawling coast. Just beyond the dock area, breakwaters of bright blue glass shone enticingly in the morning sun. Tall towers of similarly reflective glass loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the hovels and apartments of wood and stone.

A solemn, joyless mien still hung over the seven soldiers as they collected their things and threaded their way through the crowds of bare-chested dockmen and merchant captains hounding their men through their tasks. Rhielle led the way, her dark skin and eyes blending in with the rest of the locals as she moved with a practiced grace through the throng. She guided the party through countless rows of tents and hovels, and into the fringes of the old city’s center. The buildings were of the more permanent variety here, and she stopped outside a tavern called The House of a Thousand Orchids.

“Well, that’s a grandiose name for a glorified pile of rubble and driftwood.” Nalsin broke the silence dryly. The others just looked at him, and he let his wry grin slip from his face. After a moment, Ledaal Mya pushed the door open and the others followed silently, and as Corvan passed he nodded at Nalsin to take a post at the door. The mirthful archer found it hard to summon a smile as he lounged to the left of the rickety door, with the sun already pounding down hard on his pale skin. When the first droplets of sweat stung his eyes, he let out a string of curses that caused a local woman passing by to remark to her friend about “northerly manners,” which only caused Nalsin to begin cursing in earnest. As the archer sweated and let oaths fly, he was watched unseen by a man across the street. The man peered at the soldier through his one gray eye, and grinned. This was the group from the Drunken Gull alright, and his master would pay well to know they were already here. He made his way through the alleys and avenues, intent to get his message sent.

* * * * *

The Dynasts had secured two rooms on the second floor, and after securing their belongings returned to the common room to discuss their next move. The room was not large as common rooms went, about enough for twenty people to sit comfortably. The bar was as fragile-looking as the door, and the thin, black-skinned bartender was actually asleep behind it, as he was the only other person in the room. Corvan watched him a moment, and satisfied that the man was actually sleeping, nodded the others into chairs around the largest table.

“Our quarry is, by the best estimate, still several weeks away. He’s gone overland the length of the journey, presumably to garner more followers. When he does arrive, he will outnumber us by a considerable margin, so a head-on assault is out of the question. I invite any good ideas,” Corvan finished, and eyed his companions.

The shy archer Jace cleared his throat, and nervously glanced around before speaking. “Why not wait until he enters the city itself, and place Nalsin, Zera, and myself up on the rooftops. With three of us shooting at him, one of us has to hit a good spot.” He ran a jittery hand through his shock of brown hair and shrugged. Doma nodded thoughtfully, and Rhielle and Mya both stared at Jace as if seeing him for the first time, but Zera and Corvin were already both shaking their head. “Good idea, Jace, but it’s too risky,” Corvan said in a kindly tone, “he’s crafty, well-armored, and if anything goes wrong, he’ll have enough men with him to tear the city up looking for us.”

Zera slipped behind the bar and nicked a bottle of spirits, which he carried along with several glasses to the table as Rhielle spoke. “I know of a man, a very dangerous man. He lives over in the Plaza. He...takes care of problems for a living, if you take my meaning.” Corvan was shaking his head again before she even finished speaking. “This is our problem, Rhielle, our duty. I will not shirk it and place the responsibility in the hands of a paid assassin. Anyone else?”

Doma nodded. The grizzled veteran had a huge fist tucked under his chin, his eyes squinting in deep thought. “What if... what if we got someone inside his group of followers? One, maybe two of us... he’s gotta be vulnerable at some point or another. He sleeps and visits the jakes just like the rest of us, right?” There were heads nodding in approval all around the table now, and even the impassive Corvan wore a slight smile. “That just might work, Bannerman, excellent thinking. Who do you suggest?” Doma dug in a pouch and came up with a wad of tobacco, which he shoved into his cheek as he thought. “Why not Zera?” The boy from Thorns glanced up from pouring the drink, spilling the precious beverage in his surprise. “He’s sneaky and he’s obviously not from the Blessed Isle. On top of that, the General knows who you are, Corvan, and he knows me from how long I’ve served and Rhielle for her... reputation. He could go alone, or he could take one of the brothers with him.”

Corvan listened and stroked his chin, and finally turned to the lad. “What of it, Master Thisse? Is this a mission you could handle?” With every eye on him, Zera stammered as he replied. “Y...yes. I can try.” He wondered why Mya was frowning at him so harshly, especially when she immediately followed his reply with a near-shouted “I’m going as well!” The bartender’s eyes fluttered briefly and he muttered something about “slave-boys from Gem,” and fell back asleep. Now, they all stared at the fiery Dynast.

“Why you, Mya?” Corvan asked. “Why not Nalsin or Jace?” The Air-Aspect glared at her commanding officer. “Here are my reasons. Firstly, Jace and Nalsin have served less than a year, and they don’t have the experience for this. Secondly, the General has no idea who I am, to the best of my knowledge, and I can pose as a Outcaste mercenary. Lastly, this boy is good, but he shouldn’t be alone. What if something goes wrong? Zera couldn’t help but smirk. “Thanks for the concern.” He turned to Corvan. “I have no problem with it. I’ll make sure nothing happens to her.” More than one person hid a smile behind a yawn or a covering hand as Corvan nodded. “Done. The two of you should leave at once and take other lodging. Outfit yourself, and hit the countryside. Pose as wandering mercenaries. It might help your cause if the people around here already know about you. Leave by the back door, and when you link up with the General, find some way to contact us. As for the rest of you, let’s discuss our role in this.” Zera and the Dynast drifted from the table and gathered up their belongings, and left through the stable gate.

As the two infiltrators took the back way out, a group of menacing-looking men gathered across the street from the front door. They clustered around the one-eyed man with his black hair tied up in a tail. He pointed and whispered some instructions, and the group instantly broke up into pair and trios, some lounging in doorways and alleys, some appearing to chat about the weather or the price of dates. They waited for nightfall.

* * * * *

The sun made its way behind the rows of glass towers and painted the sky with brilliant reds and oranges, the clouds lending a counterpoint of purples and grays. Mya stood outside the city gates with her fists on her hips, as she stared angrily at the young adventurer. “You should be going home. This is no place for you, nor is it your fight. Corvan made a mistake in bringing you.” Zera let the last of her lengthy tirade wash over him, and shrugged. “What do you care, Lady Mya? I’m just a peasant boy from a tributary nation, so what does my life weigh against a loyal Realmsman like Nalsin or Doma?” Mya’s face contorted in anger at both the sarcasm placed on her title and at the assumption that she was an uncaring and foolish noble. “That has nothing to do with it! It’s because I…” She paused, suddenly uncomfortable. “I don’t want to get killed because you don’t know what you’re doing.” She started as Zera laid a hand on her shoulder. He met her flashing blue eyes with his. “Nothing will happen to you. I swear it.” The silence grew long between them, and they made for the outlying villages as night fell behind them.

“When do we hit them, Greig?” The thug stared enthusiastically at the one-eyed man, and rubbed his hands together. “They look like rich little birds, just waiting to be plucked.” Greig snorted. “Well, they ain’t! We wait until they’re asleep, and we do ‘em before they have a chance to tear us all to shreds.” He glanced up at the moon hanging in the darkened sky. “One more hour. Rouse the men.” The bullyboy nearly skipped off to do just that, as Greig stared uneasily at the House of a Thousand Orchids. Only stupid men looked forward to killing other men. The General paid well, and to Greig, this was just business. He never understood what all these thieves and farmers saw in the General, or why they followed him hundreds of miles away from their home. It was like black magic was involved, and with that thought, Greig spat and made the sign to ward off evil. Muttering to himself, he waited.

* * * * *

The night was old when a score of shadowy shapes converged on the House of a Thousand Orchids. One bent down and stuck a thin metal pick into the front lock, pulling it free and opening the door with a barely audible creak. Men streamed in on cat’s feet around the first, nearly pushing each other to get upstairs first. Moonlight glimmered dimly on the bare blades of daggers and shortswords. Greig watched from across the street, sitting on an upended barrel with his arms folded. They were too enthusiastic, he thought, something was going to go wrong...

The would-be assassins were indeed in the throes of a barely-explained bloodlust, and it dampened their senses. They never saw the figure of the rooftop as they picked the lock, and they never heard the blades drawn behind the soldiers’ doors. As the men reached the door to the first room, the second door opened, and Jace and Nalsin stepped into the hallway with surprising speed and loosed a volley of arrows. They ducked back into their room in time to avoid several thrown knives, and the first door burst open, Doma and Corvan hit the remaining men on the staircase with a fury.

As this happened, the last men had just come through the door, and heard the commotion. Sensing that the job had gone sour, they eyed the way they had come, but too late. Rhielle ghosted her way from behind the bar, twin ebony swords already drawn, and she reached the door before the first thief did. They raised their blades, but none could hope to match her. Her blades darted and danced, and she moved with an unnatural, serpentine grace. Everywhere she worked her swords, men died screaming. It was over before she broke a sweat.

Doma and Corvan reached the bottom of the stairs as Rhielle pulled her blade from the skull of the last thug, and Nalsin and Jace joined them seconds after. The five of them darted out the front door, ready for more trouble, but only saw the form of Greig running down a side street. Jace and Nalsin raised their bows, but Corvan put a hand on Jace’s shoulder. “Let him go. He’s Derelann’s, I’m sure of it. He’ll report that there’s only five of us, which makes it easy on our two spies. Let’s get those bodies into the alley and settle the bartender down.”

* * * * *

Zera whistled as he walked, keeping pace with the lengthy, determined strides of his companion. Three days had passed since they left, and it hadn’t taken long for them to find work. The village of Karahai, a day north of Chiaroscuro, had recently lost several local children to a hungry ghost. The countryside around the city was fertile and rich, and wells were often dug for water. One of the villager’s children had fallen into one while playing, and had died there. Unburied, she had risen and had been taking her grief out on the other local kids. Thus, the Village Council had offered to pay the two mercenaries to remove the ghost and retrieve the body, if possible, for respectful interment.

They had mostly traveled in silence, and the awkwardness was beginning to grate on the personable archer’s nerves. Racking his brains for a conversation piece, he finally remembered something Doma had said back in Chiaroscuro. “Mya? What did Doma mean when he mentioned Rhielle’s reputation? You know, back at the Orchid House?”

Mya favored him with a slightly-rictus grin. “Oh, that? Well, it’s pretty simple. Some people are very good at one thing. Corvan was born to lead men. Some men and women were born to paint, or tell stories, or invent new tools. Rhielle? She was born to kill other people. She’s the best mortal swordswoman I’ve ever seen. She hardly ever takes the slightest scratch, even in the hottest battles. I’ve heard that she’s a God-Blood, or a half-breed, but I don’t care either way. She once killed an opposing Dragon-Blooded commander, when we fought insurgents out in the Threshold once. Single combat. She cut off his head right there, and tossed it by the hair into the enemy ranks. They broke and ran.”

Zera thought about the darkly beautiful Rhielle, with her enchanting brown eyes and her ready smile. The slightly bawdy jokes she told aboard the Dawnbreak. The way her hips rolled when she walked... only to have those thoughts replaced by her covered in blood, tossing a gore-dripping head into a crowd of fear-crazed soldiers. He shivered slightly. “See, farmboy? This isn’t your line of work. People are going to die before this ends. They’re going to suffer, and people you know will likely be among them. Go home.” Zera gave her a dour look, and lapsed into silence. As he forged ahead, Mya smiled at his back.

* * * * *

“Hang on, farmboy. Don’t you die on me, you sheep-footed commoner!” Mya ran towards Karahai proper, the moaning form of Zera Thisse slung over her shoulder. Blood seeped through the bandages wrapped around his belly. Rain poured in thick sheets, plastering her blue hair to her forehead and obscuring her vision. She tripped over a thick root and almost dumped the archer to the ground. Her legs burned and breath came heavy and fast, and through the fog and rain she could see the lights of Karahai. Though she had run for almost the whole night, she pressed on. She could not bear to see this man die, though she didn’t know exactly why.

* * * * *

The old man draped a cool washcloth over Zera’s forehead. “He’s a bit feverish, but you got him here in time. Old Mother Gruuma has patched up worse, or I’m a six-toed barn cat.” Mya nodded tersely, and hovered over the bed. “Come away from there, dear, let’s let him rest a bit. Why don’t you share a cup of tea with me and tell me what happened?” Corrin Dan was the head of the Village Council, a simple farmer with an easy temperament and more than his share of wisdom. His gray eyes twinkled in the candlelight as he took Mya’s hand in his own, and led her to the small table across the room.

Mya sighed, and let herself be distracted with a cup of steaming tea. She sat, and Corrin followed with his own cup. She glanced at Zera, and turned back to the farmer. “We found the old wells you were talking about, but they were farther than you said. They were almost a day away. We got there just as dark fell, and the girl-ghost found us before we could safely get to her body. I...took care of her, but you also didn’t mention that there was another ghost. A boy-child. He snuck up on Zera as he came out of the well with the girl’s body. He couldn’t even lift a hand before the kid had his claws through his belly. I couldn’t stop him in time.”

Corrin nodded and stroked her hand soothingly. “We didn’t know either, and I’m sorry this all happened. Your man will get better, and we’ll sing your praises through this area. You’ll not hurt for work, once he gets well.” Mya only nodded, and sipped idly at her tea, sorting through her tangled feelings and thoughts.

* * * * *

Several weeks came and went, and Zera healed at a surprising rate. Mother Gruuma was indeed skilled at her craft, with over ninety years to hone her knowledge. His memory of that night was dim, but he knew that Mya must have carried him a long way to get him here in time. He owed her much, but she wouldn’t speak of it at all. She had hovered by his bed and nearly wrung her hands with worry while he languished, but now that he was approaching good health, she had barely strung three words together in his presence. He couldn’t get his head around it, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

He had been sharing a pint of ale with the blacksmith, a thickly-muscled woman named Hariene Kaal, and she had told him about the “army” that had passed by just the day before last. Over three hundred men, she said, all armed and many on horseback, flying the banner of a General from the Blessed Isle. Zera had excused himself and hobbled to tell Mya as soon as he could, and they were already on the road after Derelann. She shot him concerned looks from time to time, but the pace she set was far from sympathetic to his aches and pains. He refused to ask her to slow, so he grit his teeth and trotted behind her, trying not to think about what was to come.

* * * * *

The General cut quite an impressive figure. He was well over six feet tall, with reddish hair falling in waves to his shoulders, with slight touches of gray at the temples. His eyes were a bright shade of green, and had the intensity of a hawk staring at a helpless rabbit. His armor was all red jade, lined with orichalcum and worked with silver designs. His grand daiklave, by name of Volcano’s Heart, rested against the arm of the chair he sat in as he regarded the two “mercenaries” in front of him.

“What are your names, oh mercenary pair?” the General asked with a slightly droll tone. Mya stood proudly with a hand on her sword-hilt. “I’m Kai Marita, and this is Corrin Dan.” She nodded over at Zera, who had to fight to roll his eyes at her choice of names.

“So, you are here to join up with my little expedition, am I correct?” Derelann’s voice had a stern, but almost fatherly quality to it. He sounded like someone who knew all the answers to all the questions in the world, and could never be scared of anything. Zera could only nod dumbly, but Mya gave a smooth bow. “That is correct, My Lord. Me and my retainer are as good as you’ll find, as long as the pay’s good.”

“I see. Do you know our destination? I feel that if you might, your ardor would be considerably dampened. No? Ah, well let me explain. We travel to the ancient sections of Chiaroscuro, long abandoned to ghosts and other terrors, where even Grandmother Bright fears to tread.” He paused to stroke the handle of his mighty daiklave, and turned back to the two soldiers. “You don’t seem afraid.”

Zera found his nerve, and burst in. “We’re not, My Lord. I hear there’s all kinds of treasures from the First Age – ” Mya cuffed him across his ear and bowed again. “I apologize for my manservant, Lord Derelann. He’s a mouthy one. What he meant to say was that we don’t mind the danger, sir, and we’d like the chance to see what’s beyond the salted borders, ourselves.” Zera shot her a murderous look that she ignored with practiced ease.

“I see.” A short pause followed as Derelann regarded them. “Help protect me and my men, and help us recover one specific item from the city. All else you can carry is yours, and I’ll add two hundred jade bits besides.” Zera’s eyes widened, and Derelann favored him with a charming smile. “Perhaps your mistress can fit you with a gem-studded muzzle!” He and Mya shared a raucous laugh, and Zera smiled weakly. She’ll pay for this, he thought to himself.

* * * * *

The “army” reached the outskirts of Chiaroscuro and made camp, and the General picked out a score of men to accompany him into the city, with Zera and Mya among them. There was much to gather for the expedition, and Derelann sent them out in groups of twos and threes to avoid attention. The General sent one of his men along with the two infiltrators, but Zera managed to slip away as Mya and the man haggled with a shopkeeper over coils of hemp rope. He reached the Orchid House and briefed Corvan and the others, and was back in time to help bring the price of the rope down.

In the House of A Thousand Orchids, the soldiers geared up and left by the stable gate, making their way through the streets until they found the section where Derelann intended to enter the ancient parts of the city. They found a tavern to wait in, even smaller than the Orchid House, and they took a few tables by the front window. They ordered wine they didn’t intend to touch, and they waited.

Elsewhere, the General watched the men and women he dispatched leave to attend their duties, and he turned to his lieutenant, a battered, scar-covered mountain of a man named Borov. “Did anything about those mercs we took on seem familiar to you. Or strange, for that matter?” Borov considered, and shook his head in the negative, as speaking was no longer an option for him after taking an arrow in the mouth some years back. “I noticed that the boy had an arrow in his quiver that was different from all the others. It was jet black. That reminds me of something... awakens some dim memory. We’ll take them into the city and down into the crypt, and perhaps they won’t come out when we do.” Borov nodded enthusiastically, and ran his thumb down the blade of his huge battle-axe. Derelann only smiled.

Breath-of-Midnight

06-11-2004, 12:10 PM

I'm not sure if the others carried on today, but Aekino's player and myself both missed the session tonight due to foot/leg injuries.

Thorwald's player called about a half-hour before the game started to report that he had twisted his ankle and couldn't come either.

We should all walk carefully.

Tepet Aekino

06-18-2004, 11:52 AM

Just because it's been WAY too quiet on this thread recently, I just wanted to reassure those of you loyal readers (BTW, have I thanked you all recently? If not...THANK YOU!) that we have played since the last summary.

Quendalon's been under the weather lately, so to speak, so I for one would like to wish him best health and a speedy recovery from his flu-ishness.

Anyway, our heroes have been getting themselves into their customary jams and pickles and perils.

Stay Tuned!

Thanks again!

Ranko

06-18-2004, 03:08 PM

Buhu to Q's flueishness. And glad to know that the rest of you can't type...

Obviously I am eagerly awaiting for the next update in your adventures.

Quendalon

06-20-2004, 06:59 PM

The writeup for Session 30 is almost done. Yay! I'll try and get it posted within the next day or so. Thank you for your patience.

- Eric

YerMum

06-21-2004, 02:25 AM

Originally posted by Quendalon
The writeup for Session 30 is almost done. Yay! I'll try and get it posted within the next day or so. Thank you for your patience.

- Eric

/YerMum kills the God of Flu

;)

Quendalon

06-21-2004, 05:42 PM

Mother Cypress speaks: 
“Welcome, children. You’ve come for a tale, have you not, little ones? So, then, what tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear of the duel between Katsuro the Righteous and the demon prince Ligier, and of the boon Ligier demanded of his vanquished foe? Or shall I tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and of the turning of the Age?

“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 of their departure from the city of Tul Tuin.”

* * * * *

“Cousin Vir.”

“Cousin Chen. What can I do for you?”

“We need to talk.”

“All right.”

“In private.”

“Fair enough. If you’ll join me in my study –”

“No. There are too many ears here. Let us go outside.”

“… Very well.”

The two Dragon-Bloods passed through rooms and descended stairs. They departed from the Tower of Winds beneath a crisp night sky. Winter winds blew, but the cold did not touch them. The children of the Dragons were inured to such things.

“Our younger cousins are disturbed, Vir. They came here for two reasons. To establish a stable base of operations for the family, outside of the… instability now growing on the Blessed Isle; and to destroy the Anathema.”

“And they’re disappointed I didn’t give them a chance for a brave and pointless death?”

“That’s not how I would put it. But, in sum, yes. There would have been losses. But the longer we wait, the stronger the Anathema will become.”

“My concern is for my people, Chen. I will not have needless bloodshed here.”

“Needless? The Anathema must be destroyed, cousin Vir. You and Goren may have gone soft in this matter – and don’t think the rest of us haven’t noticed – but for the rest of us, our mission remains clear.”

“They are gone now, cousin, and that is a good thing. You have not seen them fight. Your commendable obsession with their destruction would only result in our deaths.”

“Not so. The elders are coming, with soldiers at their back. They can do what we cannot.”

“Small solace for a city full of dead.”

“And what do you think will happen when the Anathema come into the fullness of their power? Vir. You know the histories. We must track them down now, whatever the cost. The price of leaving them to their own devices is far too high.”

“Good luck to you, then. They are three days gone already.”

“Do you think we simply let them go? Shima and her initiates follow them as we speak. If we are very fortunate, they will deal with the problem in its entirety.”

“And if they fail, the Anathema will come back. I can’t believe you would do this. We went to great lengths to avoid it. There was an arrangement.”

“With the Anathema. I hardly consider that binding.”

“When they finish with Shima, they’ll come back here.”

“And they will face the House guard and the elders. We will be ready for them.”

“And if we’re not?”

“That is a chance we are willing to take.”

“And since when is that your decision to make? I rule here… along with Cessair.”

“Yes, Cessair. Therein lies another problem. Our younger cousins, you see, still smart from your refusal to act against the Anathema. They know their duty. They are ashamed.”

“Better ashamed then dead, cousin Chen.”

“There are few of the Anathema left in the world, you know. These are the first Solar Anathema to be seen in generations. For the most part, the Wyld Hunt deals with other threats. Demons. The dead. Fair Folk.”

“What are you getting at?”

“If they cannot destroy one threat to Creation, they will destroy another. How fortunate for them that there is a convenient target for their animus.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“We already have.” Chen directed one pale finger at the windows of the Tower’s upmost floor. Shadows shuddered across the lighted panes. “It is already too late.”

“No!” Vir sprinted up the road to the Tower, knowing that he would not get there in time. Icy air burned in his lungs. The horror blazed through his imagination. He could see it, hear it, taste it: the dance of dark iron, the clash of blades, the sharp smell of blood…

* * * * *

A month passed. Two of the Sun’s children and their followers struggled through the blizzard that blew fiercely through Fanjen Pass. Snow whitened the icy air. From somewhere above came the muted cry of a horn.

Li held up a hand. “They are close.”

Then the arrows fell. Dark, shaggy shapes loomed out of the white, armed with crude bows and horn-tipped spears. Missiles fell from the cliffs above.

Gold fire flared around the Dawn as she cut and spun, her grand daiklave striking arrows from the air. Alac Doren stood by her; he unfurled the diamond whiteness of his anima, and arrows shattered upon his pristine jade armor. The others scattered, seeking cover beneath overhangs and in icy crevices.

* * * * *

“Mother Cypress! How did they get there? What happened to the others?”

“Yeah, Mother Cypress, and who’s Alec Doren?”

“Patience, children! All will be revealed… but if you wish, I shall tell you what happened earlier, and of how the Sun’s children parted ways as they went about their journeys.”

* * * * *

Afternoon sun bathed our heroes in pale winter warmth as they led their horses down the road from the Tower of Winds. Their saddlebags bulged with food and blankets; their personal belongings took up little room, as did Aekino’s small stash of ill-gotten gains. Even if he had announced that he’d claimed Vir’s books on sorcery as spoils, who would dare take them from him? But best, he thought, not to raise a fuss.

“I am glad that we are leaving this place,” said Thorwald.

“I sure won’t miss it,” Zera replied.

Hoofbeats echoed on the road behind. “Wait up!” cried a rider, his red hair trailing like a comet. This was Ledaal Martin. He reined in his steed among the others.

“Have you decided to join us?” Aekino asked with a smile.

“You didn’t think I’d let you leave without me, did you?” Martin replied, his face flushed.

They followed the road to the stony shelf where Amalion had raised her dark towers on the bones of the manors of the rich. There, amid the rubble and the gaping pits where cellars and foundations were laid bare to the wind, Vir’s soldiers and Cessair’s troops had set their camps. Clusters of pale tents sprouted like mushrooms from the rock.

A figure emerged from the milling soldiers, waving. “Hola!” This was Rei of Nechara, briefly companion to the Solar Exalted in their venture through the Tomb of the Anathema. Her garments were finer than they recalled; she wore wolf’s-head bracers of gold and garnets upon her wrists, and a silver officer’s medallion hung gleaming upon her breastplate. But her lopsided grin remained the same, as did the demon-sword that rested at her side.

Our heroes gathered round to meet her, and cheerful greetings were exchanged. “What have you been up to?” asked Zera.

“I’m moving up in the world,” she replied. “All that money went a long way. I have a house in Idris, and I bought myself a captainship. Pretty cool, eh?” Eyeing the Circle’s plentiful gear, she added, “And what are you all up to?”

“We’ve got some business to take care of. Some of us are going to Nexus. The rest of us are going to the martial arts tournament out west.”

“You’re going to the Contest?” Rei grinned. “I haven’t been there in years. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not. But what about your commission?”

“Oh, that? Who cares?” She plucked away the officer’s medallion and flung it at her second-in-command. “Hey, you! Enjoy your promotion!”

Zera stifled a grin. “It’s that simple, huh?”

“Of course it is. Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get going!”

* * * * *

They descended through the city. A tense mood lay thick upon the place; folk watched them furtively, or scurried past with faces averted. Who could be sure what this latest transformation portended?

Zera pulled Aekino aside. “Do you see her bracers?”

“Yes. What about them?”

“Remember Sondok? She had a crown that looked an awful lot like that. And you’ll notice that Rei still has the demon’s sword.”

“Yes. That I gave her.” Aekino sounded suddenly glum. “What do you think this means?”

“How should I know? You’re the expert. But I’ll tell you this, we should keep an eye on her.”

They rejoined their fellows as the Circle progressed through the lower city. There, they found dozens, if not hundreds, of folk gathering at the south gate, baggage in their arms and upon their backs, all trickling their way out of the city. An old woman stood in their midst, leaning upon a heavy walking stick. “Hail!” she cried. “Oh children of the Unconquered Sun!”

“It’s Nala,” muttered Aekino.

“We had best see to her,” the archer replied. “I’d hate to have an old lady hobbling after us.”

They approached the priestess of the sun cult. All around them, folk sank to their knees.

“Great ones,” spoke Nala, “we have heard of what has transpired in the Tower of the Winds. Why would you not warn us? How could you leave us?”

“Our doings are not your concern,” Aekino replied.

“Great one,” she answered, “now that we stand revealed, our lives depend upon your protection. Vir and Cessair have always hated our ways. Now that they have returned to power, they will take everything from us. Perhaps even our lives.”

Aekino looked away, chastened.

“Where will you go?” asked Zera.

“To Longcorner, or the Five Towns, or across the water to Brinlack, if they will have us.”

“Then follow us,” said Thorwald. “We are going there.”

They led the sun-cultists out of the city, and moved to commandeer ferries and fishing boats from the villages south of the city. The sky crossed into the west as the folk went west across the water, and it was evening by the time the Solars made their way into Brinlack.

* * * * *

“This will be difficult,” said Stone Rain. The Circle had gathered in his office while his aides saw to the gathering of additional supplies for their journey. “We are not ready to support so many people.”

Zera nodded. “But they have nowhere else to go.”

“I understand that, my lord. But we do not have enough food for so many, to support them through the winter. The early frost has spoiled the winter harvest; we’ll have to ration food just to support ourselves. Normally we’d buy more food from Tul Tuin, but they have their own troubles.”

“Will they have food to spare in Great Forks?”

“Assuredly. And in Marita, and maybe Longcorner and the other river cities. But that does us little good.”

“We can buy food there,” Zera stated. “And have it sent back upriver before winter’s end.”

“But we will need money for that,” Thorwald observed. “The trinkets I gave you before. Give them back.”

The mayor nodded. From a locked drawer, he brought forth a ring and a brooch forged of orichalcum. They shone brightly in the lamplight. “Sun-metal should be worth a king’s ransom, to those who know its value.”

Zera scooped up the glittering baubles. He looked Stone Rain in the eye. “You will have your food. I promise you.”

* * * * *

The following day, our heroes went their separate ways to make their final preparations for the journeys ahead. Thorwald went to see the older woman with whom he had found some comfort in the time he had spent there. He did not weep at their parting, for such was not the way of the People. But he did give her what little wealth he still possessed, and he gave her his iron necklace, as protection against the Fair Folk should such creatures come to Brinlack.

Li of Orchid went to the ruined temple of the god named Fading Fire. There, she learned with some satisfaction that, of those poor souls abandoned by Amalion, a goodly number had already regained their faculties. Li thanked the women who cared for the sufferers. She then went into a hidden place beneath the pagoda. When she emerged, she bore the blade named Burning Tiger once more.

Fetek Breath-of-Midnight took Zera Thisse to another hidden place, this one beneath the leafy Brinlack Manse. There, he showed the Night Caste where he had secreted the wealth he’d removed from the cellars of the Tal family: tapestries, furniture, candelabra, crates of tobacco, bales of silk, and all manner of heavy goods.

“This should be more than enough to feed Brinlack,” said Zera.

“I hope so.”

“Especially since we can’t go waving orichalcum around under the Guild’s nose. That would attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Fetek nodded. He did not mention the other cache of goods that he had hidden, the collection of shining black soulmetal that he’d found in the summoning chamber beneath the Tal cellars. Those tools of demon summoning would do Zera no good, would they? Better, he told himself, to keep them secret and safe.

* * * * *

Tepet Aekino and Zera Thisse sat in a well-appointed room on the fourth and highest floor of the finest of Brinlack’s inns, a refurbished old building whose suites accommodated the occasional traveling Guildsman or scavenger lord. A bottle of rice wine rested before them in a warming pan. The open shutters let in an icy breeze, and displayed a fine view of the city’s ragged walls, now bright with snow, and of the river and forests beyond.

“You have that look in your eyes,” said Aekino. He gestured broadly with his tiny porcelain cup. “But I do not think you are thinking of Cessair this time. Are you not?”

“You’re right. I am not,” Zera replied.

“Now, if I were to hazard a guess, I would say that you have a lover in Nexus, and that is why you are so eager to return there.”

Zera nodded. “Would it please you to know her name?”

“Certainly.”

“Ledaal Mya.”

Aekino made a querulous noise. “Is she Exalted?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s odd,” said Aekino eventually. “I was going to tell you that there is a certain Dragon-Blood whose death at your hands, or those of our brother, would make me rather cross.”

Zera took a slug of rice wine. He reached for the bottle. “I’m not surprised.”

“He is young and handsome, slim and graceful, with long dark hair. His eyes are gray as a storm at sea –”

“You mean Mnemon Dara.”

“Eh?” Aekino blinked rapidly. “How do you know?”

“You don’t think I remember you and Cathak Nerin talking about it as we left Thorns? When we were holed up in the tomb after fighting that hungry ghost, you couldn’t seem to talk about anything else. Of course I remember. I was flat on my back, not dead.”

“You weren’t talking,” retorted Aekino acidly. “It was hard to tell the difference.”

The fire crackled. The wind sighed.

“I will miss this,” said Zera.

“What, our witty banter?”

“Yes.” He watched the wine swirl lazily in his cup. “Be careful.”

“When have you known me to be otherwise?”

“All the time.”

“Then you haven’t been looking.”

Zera sighed. “Be extra careful, for you and for Li. She’s struggling with Burning Tiger. We can’t let her get too deep.”

“I wouldn’t worry about our sister. I worry more for our big brother.”

“I’ve got one eye on him. And one on Fetek.”

Aekino smiled. “Fetek can handle himself.”

They watched the river go by. Fishing boats paddled their way back to their villages, their catches thinned by winter. Threads of smoke rose from chimneys across the water, in Tul Tuin and its villages, and spread into a thin gray haze.

“I’ve a logistical question,” Zera said. “Once we have gone our separate ways, where do we meet again?”

“We can find you in Nexus,” Aekino replied. “If all goes well.”

“Assuming it probably won’t, where do you want to meet?”

“In Great Forks. At the temple of the Emerald Queen of the Maruto River.”

Zera gave a slow, emphatic nod. “Midsummer at the latest.”

“ I may send you messages via a demon. Keep an eye out.”

“Speaking of demons…” Zera grinned. “The others should be back soon. After that… shall we fight one last demon, for old time’s sake?”

* * * * *

The Circle crossed the River of Willows again in the late afternoon, then headed south and a little east. It was night before they attained the gray vale they sought. They tied their horses to a stand of trees, that the beasts not recoil in terror from what they faced, and approached afoot. The circle of ashes and black bones had spread beyond the vale; when they entered it, the moon and stars grew dim. They climbed the ridge, their boots slipping upon the gray dust, and looked into a valley as bleak and silent as the lands of the dead. There, in the shadows, a darkness moved.

They found, also, that they were not alone. A shadowy figure sat astride a horse. “I see you’ve come to take care of a loose end,” it said.

Thorwald’s brow furrowed. “Who is it that speaks?”

The man came closer. He wore white and russet leathers inset with plaques of white jade; his hair gleamed white above young, sharp features. Aekino’s eyes widened with something akin to recognition; clearly this was a Dragon-Blood, but he could not place the man’s lineage, let alone his face.

“A loose end indeed,” said Zera Thisse. “We’re not exactly dancing around the maypole, so you may want to clear out.”

“It is not that difficult,” said the man. “I can help.”

Zera smirked. “So you’re going to hang out here and watch the horses?”

“Is that any way to treat a Dragon-Blooded hero?” demanded Aekino.

Zera shrugged. “I speak this way to my friends.”

The man grinned; his teeth shone like the moon. “I am Alac Doren,” he said.

Our heroes regarded one another blankly. Did this man expect them to recognize his name? Puzzled, Aekino asked, “Where do you hail from?”

“Oh, here and there. For now, the Hundred Kingdoms.”

“And when did you first feel Pasiap’s touch?”

“A while ago.” Despite his evasiveness, the Dragon-Blood remained affable.

“Well, we can always use some help, but there may be difficulties. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of us?”

Doren flashed another grin. “Everyone has heard of you.”

“No more time for talking,” Zera said urgently. “It’s coming.”

“There are only three things it fears,” said Aekino. “Ice, red-hot metal, and the Magical Materials.”

“I shall give it a fourth,” said Thorwald.

Then the shadow was upon them. It came as a wall of rippling darkness, blotting out the stars all along its length. Li drew the blades Radiance and Brilliance; their golden fires cast the obsidian mass of shadow into sharp relief. And like a surging ocean wave, the shadow descended upon them.

Coronas of gold and silver, of scarlet fire and diamond brilliance, flashed into life around the Circle. The Exalted charged forward into the fray, their weapons of orichalcum and jade burning brightly with Essence. Black tendrils lashed at them, trailing icy white scars wherever they touched flesh. Thorwald, pressing on with his usual foolhardy confidence, staggered under the assault, as warmth and life and Essence spilled out from his wounds.

Strong as the demon was, it could not withstand the might of the Circle. While it focused its efforts on the fading Zenith, the others hacked at it with blades and blasted it with Essence. Ribbons of shadowstuff flew in all directions, crystallizing into pumice as they fell. It howled and it groaned, its vibrations rattling teeth and shaking the earth, so that even in Tul Tuin the people heard it and wondered.

Recoiling, the demon drew itself upward into a towering cobra of darkness forty feet high, which fell upon Li of Orchid. Though it slammed her to the ground in a shower of ash and basalt, she cut it deeply with her golden blades, and it moaned like the sea. The others gathered round, smiting it with daiklaves and staves, with moonsilver claws and arrows of golden Essence, so that it fell to pieces around them, whittling masses of pumice from its dwindling tenebrous shape.

At last, they lowered their weapons, there upon the ridge of ashes. The moon and stars shone clear and bright above. Nothing of the shadow remained.

Quendalon

06-21-2004, 05:44 PM

Having finished their business in the vicinity of Tul Tuin, the Circle split in two, as there were many things that our heroes wished to do in too little time. They had considered many possible plans. Would they seek out the other tombs of Anathema that lay scattered throughout the East? Would they seek allies in the larger states of the Confederacy, such as Nathir, Tessen-O, Iehachi or Nechara? Would they boldly present themselves before the Confederation Council to seek alliance or fealty? Or would they go to the Eastern spirit courts and seek to reclaim their forgotten authority among the earthly gods?

Zera Thisse, for his part, had determined to return to Nexus. It was said that there lay hidden tombs of the Solar Exalted in the sewers and catacombs beneath the city, and there were bargains that might be made with the Guild that could be of advantage to the Circle. It seemed, too, that he might have some personal reason to visit that city, but if that were so, he would not admit to it. Thorwald chose to accompany Zera, for he had business in Great Forks; he had pledged to send food to Brinlack, and what could bring him to break his word? Fetek would join the pair, if for no other reason than to see the great cities of the Yellow River for himself.

The others chose to travel to the annual martial arts tournament in the hills near Mokuren, which lay to the west. According to such information as Zera had gleaned, and corroborated by Rei’s experiences there, the tournament served as a clearing-house for fighters and champions throughout the Scavenger Lands, where kings, nobles, mercenary captains and merchants might recruit captains and bodyguards. Those same kings and merchants also did business with one another there, finding it an ideal neutral ground for secret deals. And lastly, the tournament’s enigmatic sponsors, the Eighteen Princes of the Opal Branch, bestowed great wealth to the winner of the competition. Li would attend with the intent of winning the tournament, while Aekino would mingle with the movers and shakers in hopes of crafting an alliance in the East. Martin, Rei and Doren all chose to accompany them, each with their own reasons.

* * * * *

Two days later, as Thorwald, Zera and Fetek made their way south along the road, a pale shape descended upon the wind. The elemental Fourth Breeze had returned to Thorwald once more.

After their greetings were done, Thorwald asked, “What does the wind court say?”

“They are debating,” replied Fourth Breeze. He shrugged, like a tarpaulin disturbed by the wind.

“They need to know that we are leaving this place.”

The elemental nodded. “I will follow you.”

“Do as you like.”

Fourth Breeze bowed. In an icy rush, he became a quivering of the air, a shapeless wind that might follow them unseen through the dwelling places of mortals.

Not long after, the heroes stopped at a small village. The sun shone bright upon the snow from a clear blue sky. They came to the muddy patch that served as the village market with some hope of a hot meal. There, Zera Thisse recognized a couple of familiar faces by a wagon surrounded by bulging stacks of bags and baskets. One, an older woman with a cheerful face, shouted, “Zera!”

“Hey!” He approached and gave her a friendly hug. “Bamboo Purple! I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

“Same here. You remember my husband Brant, of course.”

Zera smiled at the younger man, and introductions were made with his fellow Circle-mates. Thorwald tugged on the archer’s arm. “Good gods, man,” he grumbled in what he considered a whisper, “do you know everyone?”

Soon, the Exalts were helping the traders load their wagon. “What are you doing all the way up here?” asked Zera.

“We were in Tul Tuin,” said Brant sourly. “But things went bad.”

Bamboo Purple nodded. “So we found another way to go. We picked up a good part of the local apple harvest.”

Zera nodded. “Where you going now?”

“Back to Tul Tuin.”

“I keep telling her she’s crazy,” Brant interjected.

“She is,” said Zera. “It’s not okay there. Believe me, you don’t want to go that way.”

Purple sighed. “Oh, very well. Back to Great Forks again?”

“Why not Nexus?” her husband retorted.

“I’m too old for the big city.”

“You are not! Why do you keep saying things like that?”

Zera raised his hands, gesturing for peace. “Why not travel with us to Great Forks, and then decide?”

And that’s what they did.

* * * * *

The southern travelers continued on their way. At one point, a wide stretch of shattered cobblestones obstructed their path. “That’s going to be a pain to get the wagon over,” observed Bamboo Purple with a sigh.

“Don’t worry,” said Thorwald. “I’ll fix it.”

Fetek rolled his eyes. “I hardly think we have time for that.”

With some effort, they maneuvered the cart around the hole, in large part by hacking away the bushes and small trees at the road’s edge. As they finally got the mule settled and the wheels back on the roadway, Thorwald planted his feet at the edge of the broken patch. “I’ll catch up with you,” he said, in tones that Zera recognized as unshakable. So the others went on, until the sounds of hoofbeats and creaking wheels and conversation faded away.

With a small grunt, Thorwald drew forth the old iron sword that he still retained from his days in the North. He set it reverently amid the broken stones, stones that he had shattered months ago on his way to Tul Tuin. “This sword,” he said softly, “was my father’s. It is the only one of its kind. I offer it to you.”

The forest sounds, the chirp and rustle of bird and beast, ebbed into silence. Thorwald waited, turning his head this way and that. He saw movement. Eyes glittered beyond a screen of thorns. Slowly, a stone dog emerged from the bushes, its gray haunches draped in lichenous green. It approached the Northman, ears swept back, and crouched uncertainly.

“Forgive my disrespect, spirit. I vow to treat other spirits better in the future.” Thorwald gestured to the blade. “Take this; it is my last link to my people. I want you to have it.”

The spirit hesitated. Was this a trick? No; the Exalt seemed sincere, even repentant of the harm it had done before. It calmed. “The road of Nine Green Ways is free for you to travel,” it said, and giggled uneasily. It then took up the sword in its jaws and trotted down the road. Each step took it further and further away. In moments, it was gone.

* * * * *

They reached the city of Longcorner a few days later. They crossed the river quietly aboard a large ferry, bringing their cargo of autumn fruit for sale. They found a small inn where they might rest for the night; at Zera’s insistence, Thorwald remained in their room while the others went out to explore the city in stealth. “Remind me,” grumbled Thorwald, “why did I come with you instead of going to the Contest?” Zera only rolled his eyes on the way out the door.

The three Exalts gathered that evening in their room, away from their peddler friends and from other, less friendly ears. “I’ve found us a berth,” murmured Zera, “aboard a south-bound barge. The Pride of Marita. It leaves in the morning. We’ll have a cabin all the way down to Nexus.”

“How big is Nexus?” asked Fetek. He’d heard a few stories of his companions’ adventures in that city, but no real detail on the place itself.

“Huge! It took us fifteen minutes to run through it when we were being chased,” rumbled Thorwald.

Zera blinked. “You mean, to run from one part of it to another. That’s not helping.”

“How big is it compared to Tul Tuin?” Fetek asked. He had never seen a city larger than Tul Tuin, and he used it as his benchmark.

“Tul Tuin could fit twice over in a single district.”

Thorwald snorted derisively. “Tul Tuin is small! It only takes us three minutes to run through it while being chased.”

“Are there many people?” Fetek’s curiosity about large cities remained unquenched. “How do they find their way around? And how do they all eat?”

Zera laughed. “Your curiosity will be answered soon enough. When we get there, you’ll be able to see for yourself.”

“I only ask one thing,” grumbled Thorwald. “If there are any fair folk or traveling dignitaries with messages, we must leave the boat.”

* * * * *

The next morning, they followed a jostling, noisy, smelly street to the docks. They carried boxes and sacks laden with the last of Bamboo Purple’s unsold trade goods. The peddler and her husband were off talking to a shipmaster in the hopes of selling off a few more things before their southbound departure, leaving the Exalts a few free moments.

“How are we going to find this person?” said Fetek. Zera had finally explained his reasons for traveling to Nexus, and the others were digesting it.

Zera shook his head. “I admit trying to find a single person in Nexus is like trying to find a needle in a stack… of… other… needles,” he said, winding down as he considered his own words.

“How hard could it be to find a needle in a stack of needles, if they’re all needles?” asked Thorwald. “Or do you mean a specific needle?”

Zera rolled his eyes. “Remind me why you didn’t go to the Contest again?”

“Because you insisted on my presence! ‘Thorwald, I’ll need your backup,’ you said.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Well, you said it, so here I am.”

“Are we getting on a ship?” Fetek asked.

“Yes,” Zera replied, “this one here, named ‘Fair Folk Dignitary Express’.”

Thorwald glowered as the others laughed. “That is not funny.”

* * * * *

While the southern contingent made their way south along the River of Willows, the others traveled to the west. They cut across the northern edge of Stonegarden, where green-streaked crags slumped and sank into the abandoned Dragon Waste, until they reached the Ozawa River. Spotting pursuers in the distance, they sped southward along the river to the city of Gana Yava. From there, they made their way north and west to Fanjen Pass, where barbarians ambushed them in the thick of a mountain blizzard.

Lightning flared through the whiteness as Li charged forward, shattering arrows with casual flicks of her blade. She plunged into the thick of the barbarians; Burning Tiger sheared through them like lamb’s wool. Alac Doren joined her a moment later. Alien rage blazed through her for an instant, and she all but turned her fury upon him before she mastered it; the sword still hungered for the lives of the Dragon-Blooded.

The barrage of arrows continued. Despite having an arrow lodged in his side, Martin clambered nimbly up the side of the pass in a spray of sparks. Dull red Essence throbbed around him as he drew himself onto a high ledge and engaged the archers there. Sensing a lull in the assault, Aekino and Rei charged up the pass to join Li and Doren. Together, they hacked a bloody swath through the shaken opposition.

Lightning flashed again, a continual staccato flicker and rumble emanating from the head of the pass. The snow parted; a wizened old figure hobbled forward, leaning upon a spear, and the lightning crackled around him. He howled, and his voice was like thunder. “KATSURO!”

Li hesitated. Who was this old man, to know her from another life? She looked about; the barbarians were drawing back, leaving the battle to their aged shaman.

The pause did not dissuade Rei. “Friend of yours?” she called casually to the Circle as she approached the shaman, blade bared. But she had no chance to act. The old man gestured carelessly, as if brushing away a fly; lightning leapt from his hands and hurled Rei back twenty feet, where she tumbled into the snow and lay twitching, stunned and smoking.

Aekino’s eyes shone then, as he called forth the Sun’s sight. Above the shaman loomed a ghostly form: a maddened, regal old man in rich but tattered robes, bearing a broken staff. The Twilight touched Li’s arm. “He looks to be a small god,” he said, “with a bit of a problem with you.”

Li lowered Burning Tiger. She stepped forward. “Katsuro is not my name any more,” she said.

The old god howled again. Thunder rolled. “Katsuro…”

“I am Li of Orchid now. Katsuro is dead.”

The wind screamed through the pass. “No…”

In that moment, the shadow of Katsuro stretched itself forth across Li’s mind. She could feel him there, resting his hand upon her shoulder; and he drew her back across the cavalcade of years, into memories of the First Age. In those memories, she stood beneath the scrutiny of the Solar Deliberative, a hundred elder Exalts watching her from balconies of white jade as stern old Ambrani Rao named her a Celestial Rebel-Crushing General. In those memories, she sat astride a steed of sunlight caparisoned for war, bearing a lance of fire and a sword that shone like the day, and ten thousand warriors marched at her back. In those memories, the great city of Haruka blazed before her like a forest of jewels at evening, and one hundred thousand defenders stood bravely before the city walls, their spears raised to catch the last light. In those memories, she swept through the defenders like a scythe through ruby wheat, while her airships and siege engines brought down Haruka’s jeweled towers. And in those memories, an old god wept for a dead city and for dead men.

Li of Orchid blinked, returning to her self and to the snow and cold of the pass. “Ah Chün,” she said slowly. “I remember now.”

The shaman lifted his staff. Above him, a ghostly shape of the god flickered with blue flame. “You have killed my city, Katsuro.”

“What, would you kill me? I will return again and again. Perhaps one day, I will be lucky and kill you.”

“Then there will be an end.”

“This is unnecessary.”

“You have taken everything!” The god’s sudden shriek tore at the ears of the Circle. Somewhere behind them, they heard a sheet of ice fall away from the cliffs and crumble into the pass.

“And later it was all taken from me.”

“You have life! My city is dead!”

“Will killing me bring it back? Will my blood water your fields? New crops will not grow, and will not bring your city back to life.”

Ah Chün roared bitterly, and the pass echoed with his despair. “I want my city!” he cried, and the ice shook. “I want my people!” The walls rumbled. “I want my life!”

Li turned to her fellows. Her eyes were dark. “Run.”

The avalanche began.

* * * * *

Tepet Aekino emerged first from the billowing cloud of snow and icy particles, half-dragging Rei along with him. Alec Doren came forth a moment later, seemingly none the worse for wear, aside from a rakish layer of snow gathered atop his spiky white hair. As the snow began to settle, there came a rush of steam; Ledaal Martin came forth wreathed in a dull scarlet anima, wincing as he gripped his wounded side.

The cloud of debris cleared, leaving a layer of pristine whiteness through the pass below. Aekino looked from one companion to the next. “Has anybody seen Li?”

Martin shook his head, gritting his teeth against the pain. “I thought I was the last.”

Rei shrugged. “Maybe you were,” she said. “But I think Li will get out of this.”

“Is it unwise to help her?” asked Doren rhetorically.

“I haven’t been through too many avalanches,” Rei replied. “But if I were buried under tons of snow and ice, I wouldn’t mind a little help.”

* * * * *

Whiteness surrounded Li. She drifted in it, through it, as weightless as a wisp of fog in the mist. Her ears hummed with sudden silence. Things grew dreamlike. Somewhere, a distorted scarlet face taunted her with words she could not hear. Images rolled through the mist, dreams of battles fought, of bloody fields, of armies and dragons and devices of war. Katsuro’s image shimmered like sunlight on water. His blade rose and fell. He looked to be having a difficult time.

Katsuro’s phantom turned to regard her. His voice came from afar, muted, without echoes. “It gets easier,” he said.

“Really?” Li’s own voice seemed strangely distant.

“Almost everything does.”

“Some things get harder.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Being human.”

The light shifted. The dream-images faded, replaced by a throbbing ache. Li shivered with cold. The whiteness parted; she saw blue sky above her, and Aekino’s face. She took his hand and emerged from the snow.

* * * * *

The days went by. The icy winds of the pass gave way to a cool breeze, scented with wood smoke and fallen leaves. Before them, hills of green and brown and gold unrolled to the north and west. Autumn had not yet given way to winter here. A city lay on the horizon, draped in violet glow; even at midday, the air shimmered with twilight. This was Mokuren, the City of the Cherry Blossom, wherein the powers of spring remained ever ascendant.

“It’s lovely.” Aekino gestures grandly with his black dragon staff, encompassing the landscape. “Shall we?”

“Yes, it’s nice.” Doren brushed back his spiky hair. “I’ve been here once or twice. The tournament is that way,” he said, pointing to the northeast. “I’m sure the city folk think of it as a comfortable distance.”

“Shall we find lodging in the city?”

“Is there any at the tourney?” asked Martin. Doren nodded.

“Regarding the tourney,” said Li, “do we hide our true nature?”

“I imagine it will become necessary,” said Aekino.

“Very well. We will agree that should it become necessary, that is what we shall do.” Li looked up. A white speck wheeled above. She squinted. “Brother. Look. A white egret.”

Aekino glanced up, and groaned. Surely, after all this time, his Lunar lover had not chosen this moment to appear? Their prior meeting had lacked for courtesy. “Sister?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for informing me. But sometimes it’s best for one not to know some things. I’m certain I’m in no danger. However, I’m certainly less pleased than I was a moment ago.”

“As you wish. Someone still follows us,” she added, glancing over her shoulder.

“Do they?” Aekino did not look for himself; he knew that he could rely on his sword-sister to observe such things.

“I saw a dozen shapes pass behind us.”

“Would you prefer to turn and face this band before we get to where we’re going, or would you prefer we put on more speed?”

“Our direction is obvious. We do not know their intentions.”

“Whoever they are,” mused Aekino, “they could go to Mokuren for reinforcement. Should we linger?”

Li’s face was glum. “If Zera were here –”

“But he is not. We will have to make our own decisions. What do you suggest?”

“Let us turn around and confront them.” She loosened her blades in their scabbards. “Rei. Doren. Martin,” she called to their companions. “We are being followed.”

Alac Doren shrugged. “And?” he said blithely.

“It would not do for us to allow our pursuers to go unchallenged,” Aekino replied.

“Why? They can’t hurt us at the tourney.”

“They may go to Mokuren for reinforcements.”

Doren shook his head. “I doubt that’s true, but even so, the tourney remains neutral ground. And wasting our energy on barbarians is counterproductive.”

“Why do you seek to sway us?” asked Aekino irritably.

“If you truly wish to fight, that’s up to you. I’ll help. But really, this is beneath you.”

Li halted in her tracks. Her companions gathered upon her flanks. The sun warmed them as they waited for their pursuers to approach. Slowly, the distant specks resolved into a dozen figures on foot that moved steadily closer.

“Two to one,” said Rei pleasantly. “That’ll be a fair dust-up.”

Aekino frowned. “They look to be Immaculates. The foremost is dark… an elder Water Aspect. This could be difficult.”

“Perhaps they are also on their way to the tournament,” said Doren.

“We will hail them, and we will see,” Li replied.

The monks came closer still. Their robes fluttered in a cool breeze. Martin started. “That’s Shima, isn’t it, Aekino?”

The Twilight looked again. “Yes,” he agreed. “The head of the Monastery of the Red Butterfly. This is her crusade.”

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Rei. “Do we wait until after the tournament, or do we handle this now?”

“They’re a little too close to run now,” said Martin.

And then the Immaculates arrived. Shaven and stern, clad in simple gray robes, they ranged from the elder Shima to Ledaal Martin’s younger brother Rivander, to a thirteen year old girl whom Zera had saved from sacrifice at a demon prince’s altar. The monks spread out in a semicircle. They bore staves and blades and hammers of glistening jade.

Shima swirled her staff lazily before her. She glided closer with the inevitable grace of the rising tide. Her eyes locked with Aekino’s own; they flashed like a storm at sea.

“Anathema,” she spat.