[Exalted 2e] Chosen of the Second Age

[Kosh]

I just caught up on a few updates. Wow! This story keeps getting better! I'm glad to see some more exalted enter the story. I'm especially intrigued by Rutendo's exaltation. I can't wait to hear his explanation.

Also, the skirmish with the hunt was awesome! I could see the different flavors of all the characters clearly in their fighting style (even Lenn and the Dragon-blooded). It seems that you characters (even the Dawn) are pretty well balanced. I think that balance makes for more interesting combats.

As always, great story and exceptional writing!

 

[Leoney]

It is with much regret that I have come to the end (as of now) of this thread. I registered on this site to tell you I'm very much enjoying your story and looking forward to more updates.

 

[Delemental]

First of all, my apologies for the long silence. I have been on vacation the past month, a fact which I had intended to report before I left (so that readers would know there would be no updates) but forgot. We will now return to our regularly scheduled updates.

 

[Delemental]

Two weeks after their arrival in Petgrana, Sunlight Pierces the Canopy suddenly manifested before Ayama, who was lecturing some of the village youth on proper hygiene. “There is a large man wearing armor of white jade in the forest,” he said. “The man appears to be searching for something, and is growing quite angry. Should I assume that this is the sixth companion that you said would be arriving?”

“Yes, that is Kaliel.”

“Then I will show him the path, before he begins knocking over trees.”

Far away, Kaliel muttered under his breath as he led his mount through the thick forest, searching for signs of Ayama’s village. Just as he was about to turn around and retrace his steps, a sudden break in the clouds brought a ray of sunlight to the forest floor, and he caught a glance of a small game trail, hidden by bushes. On closer inspection, he saw the marks of a human boot-print on the trail. Kaliel muttered again; he was certain he’d inspected that area the first time he passed it.

Less than half an hour later, he was walking in through Petgrana’s gates. Ayama stood awaiting him.

“Welcome to my home,” Ayama said.

“It was surprisingly difficult to find,” he responded.

“Sunlight Pierces the Canopy is very protective of his territory,” Ayama admitted.

“I have something for you.” He reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a large leaf, the size of a sheet of parchment. The veins of the large green leaf were tinged with gold, and there were markings upon the surface. Handing it to Ayama, he said, “This arrived in Chrysanthemum for you.”

Ayama perused the markings on the leaf, and smiled. “Sunlight’s message to me,” she said. “At least he can take comfort that it was delivered.”

“Is there a problem?” Kaliel asked.

Ayama spoke to Kaliel about the village’s recent problems with the invading tribes from the East. As they spoke, both Ghost and Zanka joined them. Zanka had managed to acclimate herself for the most part, and was now only lightly perspiring. As they spoke, they were all surprised when a hawk with an unusually large beak suddenly sailed down out of the trees toward them. The hawk swooped low to the ground, but came in too fast, and it screeched as it tumbled wing over wing to a stop.

“That does not seem natural,” Zanka said.

The hawk stood shakily, and then it shimmered and stretched until it took the shape of Lenn. His shoulder stuck out at an odd angle.

“I have seen better landings,” Ayama commented, as she stepped forward and firmly tugged his arm back into the socket, using her power to ease the pain as she worked.

“It will take some practice,” he admitted. “The shamans have helped me discover that I have the ability to take on forms other than a mongoose if I ritually hunt them and drink their heart’s blood.” He grimaced as he rolled his shoulder in the socket. “Hunting a hawk is not easy. But I thought that being able to fly might be useful, especially here. Maybe I can help out with the town’s barbarian problems – scout from the air.”

“If these barbarians seek Petgrana,” Kaliel said, “then why not let them find it… and make them regret it.”

“I would prefer to know why they seek us out,” Ayama frowned. “Unfortunately, we do not speak their language well enough for an interrogation to be effective.”

“If I were able to speak with one of them,” Zanka said, “I might be able to learn the language well enough to learn what we need.”

Lenn smiled. “What do you say, Ghost? Are you up for a little abduction mission?”

“Sounds like fun,” he replied with a smile.

“Would you like assistance?” asked Kaliel.

Lenn looked over the massive, heavily armored Dawn warrior. “No thanks,” he said, “we will be fine on our own.”

“Do you really think you are that skilled?” Kaliel asked.

“Of course we do,” Ghost said.

“I seem to recall having to kick down the door of a certain manor house in Lagan because someone had raised an alarm,” Kaliel said. Ghost grinned and waved the comment off, but as soon as Kaliel’s head turned the smile turned into a scowl.

“Perhaps we should bring back a shaman,” Ghost said.

“I think a warrior will be fine,” Lenn replied. “A shaman would be missed quickly.”

Ghost pondered this for a while, and then sighed. “Very well. Let us go and prepare.”

Ghost and Lenn walked away, and soon Zanka departed as well, saying she was tending to the young children of the town while their parents were out patrolling the forest. Ayama also excused herself to present a lesson on hygiene to the young healer apprentices in the town, but promised to return later after he had settled in. Before she left, she asked one of the young women to assist Kaliel and find him lodgings.

As they walked, Kaliel looked around at the palisade wall, at the wooden platforms and rope bridges above, at the bowmen perched in the trees. “Tell me, young one,” he said at last. “Where may I find your war leader? I would speak with him about your defenses.”

“He has been on patrol,” the woman said, “but returned less than an hour ago. I can ask him to meet you at your lodge if you would like, Chosen One.”

Kaliel nodded, and after showing him to the longhouse reserved for guests and travelers, she ran off. An hour later, a tall young man with dark brown hair walked into the longhouse. He had the bearing of a Dragon-Blood, and a jade powerbow could be seen slung on his back. Kaliel did not remember Ayama mentioning any Exalts other than herself in Petgrana, but conceded that she had been gone for some time, and the size of the village had obviously grown rapidly. Looking the man over, he saw that the powerbow the man carried was one that they had taken from the Wyld Hunt in Cherak. Kaliel approved of the decision to gift the weapon to one of the town’s protectors.

“You are Kaliel,” the man said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “I have been told you wish to meet with me.”

“I would like to offer you some advice on strengthening the defenses of your town,” Kaliel said. “I have had some experience in such matters, as Ayama may have mentioned, and I would share that knowledge with you.”

The man nodded, rubbing his chin. “I see, and I thank you for imparting your wisdom. However, our defensive strategy is not centered on a fortified defense. My people are woodsmen, and have lived among the trees for generations. We focus our efforts on guerrilla tactics to harass and divert the enemy. Sunlight Pierces the Canopy makes certain that any aggressors never arrive here.”

“It is a good strategy in theory,” Kaliel said, “but what happens when they do arrive?”

The war leader sighed. “There we are not as strong. I fear that in some ways we have become too reliant upon Sunlight’s tricks for our defense. But the truth is that the natives of the town are not trained as warriors, and the tribes are too disparate to use as a united force. They are also more inclined toward offense than defense. Still, we have put up the palisade, which is something.”

“Then your best strategy might be a fighting withdrawal if these barbarians do reach your gates,” Kaliel said. “Hold then off while your people flee.”

“I consider that our best contingency as well,” the man sighed again. “And Chief Branch-Shaker of the tribes agrees with me. Unfortunately, we have been overruled by the other three elders, who are more… settled. In my mind, this is just a place, but they feel that we have some sort of divine mandate to be here.”

“I would say that the day that those barbarians are within sight of your sentries is the day these elders should be considered outvoted,” Kaliel said. “A good commander knows when to follow the orders of a civilian government, and when to bend the rules.”

The man smiled. “Perhaps I will present my argument to the elders again,” he said. “And I will tell them that you support it. The words of one of the Chosen Ones may carry enough weight to sway them.”

“I will gladly speak to your Council if it will aid you,” Kaliel said. “But for now, show me around and tell me about your defenses.”

Kaliel stood and followed the Fire-Blood outside. Looking around, he saw a group sitting on the ground nearby, all looking up at Ayama, who seemed to have fallen naturally back into her role in her home town. Watching her for a moment, Kaliel remembered that Ayama spoke frequently of her son, who still lived here. He would make a point to ask the war leader where he might find Rutendo when they were finished.

۞​

Ghost and Lenn traveled swiftly through the forest, running along branches and leaping from tree to tree, virtually invisible in the moonless night. As they slipped past the barbarian’s sentries and approached the main encampment, they slowed down to improve their stealth even further. Lenn shifted into his mongoose shape, and rode on Ghost’s shoulders for the remainder of the journey. Ghost considered wryly that this was the most comfortable he’d ever felt dealing with animals.

Finding the encampment was not difficult; a large swath of forest had been cleared, and hundreds of tents dotted the area. As Rutendo had reported, the tribes had moved in their children and elders, and their animals. Ghost marveled at the size of the camp; though certainly no expert on tribal lifestyles, he knew enough to know that it was unusual for them to gather together in one place in such numbers.

Lenn chattered, and then scampered off to scout out the encampment. Ghost remained back, surveying the entire scene. His eyes were immediately drawn to a very unusual sight; a large wooden structure, near the far edge of the camp. The structure was squat and solid, with no windows and only a single heavy door, heavily barred from the outside. The walls and door had been reinforced with straps of iron. Six guards stood outside the door. It was clear they were trying to keep something in, rather than keeping others out, but what? Ghost had heard no reports of the barbarians taking captives, and he was certain that they did not deal with criminals among their own people by imprisoning them. And what would prompt a nomadic people to build such a permanent edifice, let alone go to the trouble of working iron to secure it?

Silently, Ghost slipped down out of the tree he was perched in, and made his way toward the rear of the building. Getting close was no challenge; the building sat at the far edge of camp, and other than the guards, no one seemed willing to approach it. Once at the rear wall, Ghost pressed his ear against the wood, near a seam between two boards. Inside, he heard the sound of several people shuffling about, and an occasional moan. But it was not a moan of suffering or longing, but the soulless, hungry groan of the walking dead. The strong scent of rotten flesh inside only added weight to his suspicion. Chilled, Ghost retreated back to his previous position. From there, he studied the camp more closely, watching patterns of movements. Soon, he was able to distinguish a definite pattern. While most of the camp appeared normal and healthy, Ghost saw that there were large sections that had been segregated from the main portion, and in those sections the distance that people kept between each other grew wider. Those in the segregated sections moved more slowly, and in the section closest to the wooden stockade no one moved at all.

More chattering interrupted his study, and Ghost looked over to see Lenn sitting on his haunches nearby, waving him over. The Dagger of Heaven followed Lenn into the most active portion of the camp, to where several small tents were clustered together. They could see several of the barbarians clustered around small fires. As Ghost studied the area, Lenn shifted to his human form.

“What do you think?” he whispered. “One of these?”

“I think that a diversion is required,” Ghost replied. “Perhaps over in that area.” He pointed off in the direction of the wooden stockade.

“Sure,” he said. “Give me a count of a hundred and twenty.”

Ghost thought for a moment. “One round of Five Dragons Sleeping, then. Go.” Lenn slipped into the shadows and vanished, and Ghost turned back to the camp, scanning the potential targets as he quietly hummed to himself*.

He was ready to move up to one of the small tents nearby when he caught sight of a larger, more ornate tent decorated in snake motifs, clearly belonging to some sort of shaman or tribal leader. The flicker of light inside told him that someone was within. Kaliel’s words from earlier in the day echoed in his mind, and within moments, Ghost’s jaw clenched as he made up his mind.

Lenn’s count must have been fast, for Ghost had not quite finished Five Dragons Sleeping when he heard an uproar at the far end of the camp, and several warriors nearby stood up and began running in that direction, weapons in hand. Ghost slid up to the ornate tent and slipped in unnoticed.

A snakeman knelt in the middle of the tent, surrounded by candles and incense as he meditated. The shaman had barely started to open his eyes as Ghost stepped forward, grabbing a carved bone fetish off a low table and clubbing the snakeman across the temple. His reptilian eyes rolled back, and he slumped unconscious to the ground. Ghost quickly slung the limp form of the shaman over his shoulder, and slipped out the way he had come. Lenn was waiting for him as he exited the camp. After a quizzical look at the body, they disappeared into the forest.

They returned to Petgrana close to the break of dawn, crossing Petgrana’s walls and making their way directly to Ayama’s house, where he knew the others waited. They came through the door, and Ghost let the shaman drop to the ground, a look of satisfaction on his face. Ayama inspected the snakeman’s head, and saw that the skull had not been fractured. Rutendo, who was also waiting there, felt the shaman’s limbs and joints.

“As I thought,” he said. “He will be able to contort his body to squeeze through narrow spaces. I fear that the bars of our stockade will not hold him. I will have to speak to the shaman, to see if they can get the spirits to create an underground chamber like Zanka’s dwelling.”

“I can begin speaking to him in the morning, when he awakes,” Zanka said. “And perhaps we can learn why these barbarians are here.”

“I do not think we need the shaman for that,” Ghost said. “I believe I know why they seek Petgrana. They have been inflicted with the same necromantic plague that struck Chrysanthemum.”

-----------------------------------------

* Yes, Ghost uses music to keep track of time. And yes, I stole it from Hudson Hawk. Sue me.

 

[Delemental]

After Ghost had explained what he had seen at the barbarian camp, Ayama decided that questioning the captured shaman could not wait for morning. Rutendo went to wake their own shamans and request the intervention of the earth spirits; a few hours later, the snakeman was safely contained within a conical pit in the earth.

Ayama knelt at the edge of the pit and called down to the prisoner until she heard him stir awake. “Do you understand me?” she said in Wood-Tongue, hoping that the shaman might be more likely to know languages other than the barbarian’s native tongue. As before, Ghost hung back to translate the conversation for Zanka and Kaliel.

There was a silence, and then in a low, sibilant hiss, she heard, “I sspeak your ssoft tongue, human.”

“I apologize for the manner in which you were brought here,” she said. “But it was necessary to speak with you, and we felt it was unlikely you would agree to a parlay. We do not intend you any further harm. Now, I believe you are searching for something, correct?”

“We are,” the shaman spat. “I assume we sseek the very village I am now insside.”

“I am going to propose a theory to you,” Ayama said. “Your people suffer from a strange illness. Those who perish from it rise again as zombies. Is this accurate?” When no reply was forthcoming, she continued. “We have encountered this plague before, and it is likely that we can cure it. In return, we ask that you cease your attacks and attempts to destroy the forest. The god who oversees this forest would be most appreciative of this.”

“I do not care what your ssoft woodland god wantss,” the shaman hissed. “I lissten only to my god.”

“Then I suggest that you also listen to me,” Ayama said. “For if you and your people continue in your actions, I will depart, and the knowledge of the cure for this plague resides only within my mind.”

Ayama heard the snakeman twisting around inside the pit. Eventually, she saw him stand and approach the narrow opening of the pit. The light from the nearby torches reflected in his black eyes.

“Can you cure a god?”

“I have never seen a god fall ill,” Ayama admitted.

“I fear ourss may be,” the shaman admitted. “Neck-on-Neck has been ssending us sstrange words. Sometimes he ssays ‘sseek’, and other times ‘desstroy’. But he iss our god, and we musst lissten to him.”

“Do you commune with him directly, or through prayer?” Ayama asked.

“We carry his sshrine with uss. He speakss to us through it.”

“Obviously, it is in our best interest to help you cure this plague. If this is done, then you no longer have reason to be searching for Petgrana, or to be destroying the forest or its spirits. And then everyone gets to live. As a gesture of mutual faith, would you allow me to examine the shrine?”

The shaman hissed quietly for a moment, then said, “You would do this at your own rissk. I do not control my god.”

“Of course not,” Ayama said. “I am more concerned of your ability to control his worshippers. I cannot heal when buried under a horde of warriors.”

For a long time, there was no reply. “Do you doubt my ability?” Ayama asked.

“You have only wordss,” came the reply.

In response, Ayama rose off her knees and laid down upon the ground next to the hole in the ground, reaching in one arm as far as she could. “Touch my hand,” she said. When she felt the feather-light touch of the snakeman’s forked tongue on her fingers, she released some of her Essence, flowing into the shaman to ease the pain of his wounds.

“An impressive trick,” the shaman said as Ayama withdrew her hand. “But it iss no cure.”

“Ayama,” Ghost said, “perhaps we could make some sort of arrangement with this shaman for him to bring a few of his people who have the plague to an agreed meeting place, where you can treat them and prove your word is good.”

Ayama made this offer to the shaman, but the snakeman was just as dismissive of this as before. When it became clear that he was finished speaking, Ayama made one final statement.

“You will be our guest for a short while longer. When you leave here, I will present you with a gift; enough plague cure to treat one person. What you do with this gift is your choice.”

The four Chosen walked away, and gathered again in Ayama’s home.

“It seems I must try and manufacture more of the medicine that cured the plague in Chrysanthemum,” Ayama said. “But it will take some time. The reagents that I used the first time were items native to the North; I will have to see if I can find plants and minerals with analogous properties here.”

“Are we even certain that what this shaman says is true?” Zanka asked. “I have never heard of a god being sick. It could simply be that this particular shaman is afflicted with madness.”

“From what I have been told by Chief Branch-Shaker,” Ayama said, “Neck-on-Neck is a snake god, and was known as a totem of wisdom, not aggression. The snake tribes used to trade mostly in medicinal herbs. It is unusual for him to be inciting his people to such violence; a god who does not stay true to its aspect loses power. There is something… odd about the shaman, but as far as I can determine he is not ill.”

“If you truly wish to study this snake god’s shrine…” Ghost began.

“I would appreciate it if you did not try to steal the shrine of a god for the time being, Ghost,” Ayama said, cutting him off. Then she sighed. “Regardless of the circumstances, these tribes have threatened my village and the god who watches over it. As much as I would like to spare them from suffering, if they or their god are too proud to accept help when it is offered, there is nothing I can do.”

“And there is the question of whether it was the god who fell ill and affected his worshippers,” Kaliel said, “or if the plague afflicting the tribe has influenced the god.”

“Would Sunlight Pierces the Canopy know the answer?” Zanka asked.

“Unfortunately,” Ayama said, “Sunlight by his nature is deceptive, and enjoys his secrets. I cannot promise that he would be willing to share that information, even under the circumstances.” The Zenith thought for a moment, and then brightened. “However, you are very persuasive, Zanka. You may be able to convince him.”

۞​

The next morning, in the pre-dawn gloom, the acolytes and priestesses gathered at the shrine of Sunlight Pierces the Canopy for their daily morning observances. Today, however, they were met at the door by Rutendo, who informed them that one of the Chosen Ones wished a private audience with their god this morning. Nodding in understanding , they withdrew.

Inside the shrine, Zanka knelt quietly. She was dressed in a few layers of diaphanous silks, her silvery-blonde hair was bound up and decorated with gold and jewels, and she had anointed herself with the barest touch of a local fragrant oil, just enough to leave a slight tantalizing sheen at the nape of her neck and between her breasts.

The shrine itself was built of wood, like all the other buildings in the town. It stood near the center of town, with the altar placed on the western wall. The roof of the shrine had been loosely woven from living branches, so that light could shine through. When dawn rose, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the leafy roof overhead, illuminating the altar. A slight breeze arose inside the shrine, and motes of golden light danced in the air. Mirrors arranged around the shrine caught the incoming rays, magnifying and spreading their light throughout the room, leaving no shadows. As the light filled the room, Zanka began to dance.

Within minutes, Zanka felt a presence in the room with her, following her movements. Zanka allowed her essence to flow through her body, augmenting her movements and flowing out into the room. Soon the light in the chamber grew brighter as the Eclipse added her own illumination to that of the morning sun. She continued her dance, and then felt the touch of a partner. She opened her eyes to see that Sunlight Pierces the Canopy had manifested himself, and was now joined in the dance with her. His flesh was composed of leaves, but they did not cover him completely; here and there she could see through to the branches underneath, giving structure to his form. Golden light also shone out of those spaces. His hair, composed of forest mosses, was wrapped tightly about his head. He looked quite tall at first, but as they moved about the shrine she saw that his stature matched hers.

“I had expected to see my priestesses as usual this morning,” Sunlight said, smiling. “I must say I enjoy this more.”

“I only wished to acknowledge the hospitality you and the people here have shown me, and thank you for your protection of this town,” she replied.

“How you acknowledge the people is between you and they,” Sunlight said. “How you offer thanks to me, however, is between us. And, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Zanka agreed.

“So,” Sunlight said, “Ayama is usually more direct when she wants something from me. But in appreciation for her choice in this novel approach, I will be generous. What is it you came here for?”

“As you know,” Zanka said as they danced, “your forest has been harassed recently by raiders from the East. We have recently learned that their motivation may be a plague that has afflicted them. We have captured and questioned one of their shamans, who tells us that their god himself has fallen ill. In order to address this, Ayama needs to know if it truly is possible for a god to contract a disease, and how this might affect his worshippers.”

“I shall have to thank Ayama for this rather unique method of questioning at some time in the future,” Sunlight said. He moved in closer until he was pressing against Zanka; despite the god’s appearance, his touch was soft and yielding, not unlike mortal flesh, though he radiated a warmth that no mere mortal could. Zanka permitted a flush to rise in her cheeks, though in this case it was more a matter of relaxing her own considerable self-control, rather than willing forth the affectation of a false response.

“Yes, a god, spirit, or elemental can fall ill,” Sunlight said softly. “A great many of us sickened and died during the Great Contagion. But no mere mortal ailment would fell a god, even a weak one. The physical form you see here before you is a construct of my will, not my natural state. It is certainly possible for me to be affected by a plague when I am manifest, but all I must do then is dismiss this body. The Great Contagion affected body, mind, and soul alike.”

“The shaman said that they have been receiving strange messages from their god,” Zanka said, as her fingertips traced along the curve of his spine from top to bottom. “Messages not in keeping with his usual philosophies.”

“He may have some disease of the spirit, then,” Sunlight said. “If this is so, it is troubling… and all the more reason to make certain that these tribes never reach my territory.”

“Would you be willing to assist Ayama in creating a cure?” Zanka asked, whispering into Sunlight’s ear.

“I am always willing to help my Chosen One,” he whispered back, his lips grazing her neck. “And her companions as well.”

“She was only concerned that your own nature might tempt you to be less than forthcoming with her,” Zanka said. “I convinced her to let me try and offer something more tempting to you.”

“I admit that Ayama knows me well. We all have our secrets, of course – I do not reveal all of mine, much as you do not reveal all of yours.”

“I have seen only sixteen summers,” Zanka said. “I do not know that I have many secrets that would interest anyone. I am certain, however, that I will create some in the years to come.”

“Perhaps we can begin this morning?” Sunlight suggested. He moved up against her again, and this time Zanka felt that the god’s manifestation of a mortal man’s form had been accurate in every detail. She could feel her own heat spreading from her loins, and her breasts swelled under the spirit’s gentle touch. Their lips met; he tasted of wildflower honey and spring rain.

“I can think of no better way to greet the new day,” she said to him her hands caressing his flesh. She realized that at some point in their dance the sheer garment she had worn had been discarded; she was aware she had as much part in that as had Sunlight Pierces the Canopy. As the god lowered Zanka atop his own altar, the interior of the shrine was filled with a near-blinding light, as neither felt the need for further restraint.

۞​

In the rest of the town, the intense glow emanating from inside the shrine had not gone unnoticed. Knowing that one of the Chosen Ones had gone in to meet with Sunlight Pierces the Canopy, the people did their best not to gather outside, but the shrine was the subject of many long glances, especially when the air surrounding the shrine was surrounded with a dazzling display of multicolored ribbons of light.

A half hour passed before the glow faded, and a few minutes later the door opened, and Sunlight Pierces the Canopy strode out of the door, still physically manifest. The people of Petgrana, who had not seen their god walk among them for some time, rejoiced and surged forward to greet their god, who smiled and conversed with them like a benevolent father. A minute later, Zanka emerged from the shrine as well. She wore her silk dancing outfit, though her hair had fallen out of its coiffure, and she was still slightly flushed. On her way to the ice house, she crossed paths with Ghost.

“I had not expected that you would dance quite so enthusiastically for Sunlight,” he commented with a smile. “Neither you or Ayama seem to evince much interest in that particular style of performance.”

“I felt that I was unlikely to get a better offer,” Zanka replied coyly.

“Actually,” Ghost said as he walked away, “you already have. But you told me ‘no’.”

Sunlight Pierces the Canopy walked among the people for a full hour before he announced, “my children, it has been good to visit with you all, but there are matters I must attend to alongside the Chosen Ones.” As the crowd dispersed, Sunlight approached Ayama. “Let us see this shaman you have acquired,” he said.

Ayama led Sunlight to the pit where the snakeman was contained; Kaliel, Ghost, and Rutendo were already waiting there. The god looked down at the captive for only a few moments before he announced, “his spirit is sick.”

“Is that a byproduct of something wrong with his god,” Ayama asked, “or his own illness?”

“He is not infected with any normal disease,” Sunlight confirmed. “It is his connection with Neck-on-Neck that is infected.”

“That is most helpful,” Ayama said. She studied the shaman again, looking for signs of something she had missed, but at the same time invoked her power to see unmanifest spirits. She could now see the image of a snake totem surrounding the shaman, and the totem itself appeared deathly ill.

“I can see it now,” Ayama said. She then stepped back from the edge and turned to address Sunlight Pierces the Canopy. “There is a cure for this disease,” Ayama said, “we discovered it when a similar plague struck Kaliel’s home. Rutendo and I have been working on adapting the cure to use local reagents, but one crucial element is missing – the oil from a species of herring found only in the North. Without it, the cure can be created, and will work, but will lose a great deal of potency. However, the greater problem we face is that although I am confident I can cure the physical plague, I have never encountered a disease of the spirit before.”

“To be fair, such plagues are not common,” Sunlight said, “The last one known with that nature was the Great Contagion. This plague we face now shares some of the same properties of the Contagion, though fortunately this plague can apparently be treated. As you well know, no cure was ever found for the Great Contagion; it simply ceased to afflict Creation.”

There was a long silence before Ghost spoke. “Ayama, may I ask a question?”

“Of course, Ghost, you may always speak your mind with me,” she replied.

“Understand that this question is based upon my long and exhaustive minutes of study into herbology and medicinal lore,” he prefaced with a self-deprecating grin. “However, it occurs to me that the ingredients that come together to create the cure are based upon plants, minerals, and creatures in Creation, is that not correct?”

Ayama nodded, and Ghost continued. “We all know that everything in Creation has a spirit associated with it, from the smallest rock to the greatest city. Since you can combine these physical things together to create a physical medicine, is it possible to somehow draw upon the spiritual essence of these reagents, and combine those into a spiritual treatment?”

“What an interesting concept, Ghost,” Kaliel said.

“The theory has merit,” Ayama agreed. “You are not an unclever man, Ghost; in fact, at times you are too clever for your own good.”

“I agree,” said Sunlight Pierces the Canopy, and for the first time that day he was not smiling. “One day you will have to tell me how you came to possess that shirt.”

Ghost looked at the forest god, puzzled. Why would Sunlight care about the armor he had been gifted by Pearlescent Lotus Whispers? When no further challenged seemed to come forward from the god, Ghost dismissed the incident and returned his attention to the matter at hand.

“Tell me what ingredients you require to make your cure,” Sunlight said to Ayama. When she listed off the items she needed, he nodded. “A few of those items have small gods within my dominion,” he said. “They will be here within the hour. I can do nothing about this fish oil you mention – since the creature exists nowhere near my domain, I have no way of knowing what essential properties this fish possesses.”

“I can return to Lynnisbrook,” Kaliel stated, “and purchase what you need there.”

“A journey that will take six months at the best speeds,” Ghost said. “In six months nothing may remain of Petgrana but a charred, blackened wasteland. Why not seek the ingredient in one of the major cities of the East? You are certain to find it in Nexus. Greyfalls is even closer, and if I go I have the advantage of knowing people there.”

“We could also experiment,” Rutendo suggested.

“But to do that, we would need access to victims of the plague,” Ayama countered, “which we lack at the moment.”

“Perhaps we could attempt another foray into their camp,” Rutendo offered, “and capture some of the plague victims to be brought here. Given how lightly that part of their camp is guarded, according to Ghost, it should be fairly simple.”

“I will go,” Kaliel said. “I can use the grace of the Unconquered Sun to cause these tribesmen to fall under my sway, and then simply order them to return with me to Petgrana.”

“But you are certain to be tracked,” Ayama said. “I only need some of the tribesmen here, not all of them.”

“I will go with him,” Rutendo said. “I can cover his trail, and leave enough traps in our wake to discourage pursuit. By the time they escape that, we will be inside Sunlight’s boundaries and his powers will lead them away from us.”

After refining their plans, Kaliel, Rutendo and five scouts set out for the enemy camp. Meanwhile, Sunlight Pierces the Canopy approached Zanka again, and beckoned her to a private spot near his shrine. “I know that what you have given me this morning is a rare and unexpected gift,” he said to her, “and I will not have it be said that I am not giving and generous to those who are giving and generous to me. Therefore, I have decided to give you something equally rare and unexpected.” He reached out with one hand toward his shrine and seemed to pull a large scroll out of thin air. He handed the scroll to Zanka.

“May I ask what it is, or are you the type who prefers that the recipient opens their gifts first?”

“You may open it,” he said, “Though it may not hold any meaning for you yet.”

The scroll turned out to be truly massive; once unrolled, it had to be unfolded several times, and ended up being as wide as Zanka was tall. The large sheet of parchment bore the map of an enormous city; various streets and buildings were marked with the hieroglyphs of the Old Tongue. Looking over the map, she recognized one symbol on a large, vault-like building; the symbol of Kal Bax.

“I recognize this symbol,” Zanka said, pointing at the map, “but unfortunately the Old Tongue was not taught to us in the North.”

“Show it to your companions as well,” Sunlight said. “I look forward to the looks of surprise and delight on your faces as you discover this together.”

 

[Delemental]

Goodness! I didn't realize I hadn't updated in so long!

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Many hours later and many miles away, Kaliel and Rutendo were returning to Petgrana, followed slowly by five plague-stricken tribesmen. The scouts that had accompanied them trailed behind, covering their tracks. Kaliel’s plan had gone exactly as he had hoped; the barbarians had been unable to resist his aura of authority granted by the Unconquered Sun, and had willingly followed him out of the camp.

Moving through the forest, Kaliel stopped when he saw Rutendo ahead, kneeling on the ground and conversing with a small figure that appeared to be made of white stone. The figure sunk into the ground, and Rutendo stood with a frown.

“An elemental?” Kaliel asked.

“White Rocks Dancing,” Rutendo replied. “There is another tribe of warriors, a panther totem tribe, approaching with great speed, and with clear violent intent.”

Kaliel turned to the five tribesmen he was leading. “Follow this man back to Petgrana,” he ordered. “Obey him as you would me.” He then faced Rutendo again. “What is the fastest way to intercept them?”

“They come from the northeast,” Rutendo said, pointing.

Kaliel immediately turned and began running in that direction, thundering with every step under the weight of his armor.

“They are nearly two days out!” Rutendo shouted.

“Then there is still time!”

Kaliel ran for most of the day. Late in the afternoon, he came to a small creek running through the forest; on the far bank stood Ghost and one of the scouts from the town.

“I told you we would catch him,” Ghost said.

“Rutendo told you of the approaching panther tribe?” Kaliel asked, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“He did. He arrived with your ‘followers’ just as Ayama had finished preparing a dose of the cure. She has treated them, and they are already showing signs of improvement, though Ayama says that this medicine is weaker than what she prepared in Chrysanthemum, and will require more time and more doses. Rutendo has now taken charge of making more of the cure for the mortals who are afflicted, and Ayama is working on the divine version of the cure, using the essences of the spirits that Sunlight summoned. She is attempting to go and examine Neck-on-Neck’s shrine to see if the spiritual cure will be effective.”

“We should continue on,” Kaliel said. “I hope to reach that ridge in the next hour.”

“We should also start heading more in that direction,” Ghost said, pointing to the left. “You have been travelling due north, not northeast.”

A puzzled look crossed Kaliel’s face. “How…”

“You should really take the time to confirm your bearings before assuming that someone is pointing in the direction they say they are.”

“Why…”

“He did it because he was trying to save your neck, Kaliel, because he does not know you as well as we do. He assumes that when you decide to attack a barbarian horde single-handed you are being foolhardy. Still, we have forced you to show restraint against Peleps Deled and House V’Neef, so by my reckoning we owe you. Come, we can still make that ridge by sunset.”

They ran the remainder of the way, arriving at a location that intersected the panther tribe’s most likely route to Petgrana. After resting, Ghost set out at twilight to take a look at the approaching barbarian tribe. He found the camp easily, as they made no attempt to conceal themselves. He confirmed that there were about two hundred fifty in the horde, mostly warriors with a scattering of shamans dressed in panther skins. In the glow of their fires, Ghost could see that several bore signs of the plague. When he circled around to examine the path the horde had followed, he found the corpses of those that had died while running. This tribe had chosen to deal with the risen dead by simply leaving them far behind.

As he broke off and moved back to rejoin Kaliel, Ghost did not see a dark, shadowy shape detach from the omnipresent gloom of night, and follow the Nightbringer into the forest. Ghost returned to the camp and reported to Kaliel and the scout about his findings.

“This seems to be their most likely route, then,” Kaliel said. “They would reach Petgrana by the next sunset, but will strike here by dawn. We should prepare for their arrival. If we…”

“Down!” Ghost suddenly shouted, as he leapt aside and shoved the scout off into the underbrush. A huge, indistinct black form shot out of the trees and slammed into Kaliel, wicked teeth scraping against the jade armor at the Dawn’s throat. Kaliel heard his armor ring from the impact, but realized that his assailant made no sound at all, not even the scrape of its claws against the jade.

Kaliel rolled free as Ghost ran across the clearing and jumped up to a low-hanging tree branch, hurling both boomerangs in mid-air. One dug deep into the dark creature’s flank, but the other skipped harmlessly off its back. Ghost’s gold and amethyst aura flared to life, bathing the clearing in light. They could now see that the blurred form was a huge panther, four feet at the shoulder; the panther’s black fur was mottled with open sores and weeping pustules.

The panther crouched as though to spring at Kaliel again, but instead leapt past him into the warrior’s shadow, and vanished. It reappeared out of another shadow in the tree where Ghost was perched, its claws raking him across the face and chest as he tried to handspring away. Kaliel ran forward and attempted to grasp the panther by the tail to pull it to the ground.

“This is unnecessary!” he shouted, as his grip slipped on the fluids oozing from the panther’s sores. The beast reared back to pursue Ghost further, but was shaken from its perch as Kaliel swung his tetsubo into the branch, snapping it off near the trunk. Ghost himself was barely able to leap to another branch in time. The panther snapped at Kaliel’s legs, and then flipped over and bound back into the forest, vanishing in the dark.

Kaliel and Ghost waited for several long moments, tense and ready. “Don’t make us destroy you!” Kaliel shouted into the forest. “We can heal you!” When there was no response or further movement, Ghost jumped down off the tree, and extended a hand to the terrified scout, who was still hiding in the brush.

“I believe that we have met the tribe’s god,” Ghost said, as he walked over and picked up the boomerang that had struck the panther. It was coated in blood and other fluids, and with a grimace Ghost moved to clean it, but was stopped by Kaliel.

“That is the blood of a god who has been infected with the plague,” Kaliel said. “It may well aid Ayama in her efforts to create a divine cure.”

“You could be right.” Ghost carefully packed away his weapon. “I will return to Petgrana with this scout.”

“And I will see if I can slow them,” Kaliel said, “though they may now choose a different path to the town now that they know we are here.”

“Good luck, then.” Ghost turned to the scout. “We make our best speed to Petgrana. Try and keep up.”

۞​

Ghost arrived at Petgrana’s gates only a few hours before dawn. He found Ayama and Rutendo standing over the pit that held their captive snakeman shaman, looking down into it thoughtfully.

“What is happening?” Ghost asked.

“My son has become quite skilled in medicinal lore,” she said proudly. “He was able to utilize some herbs that had not occurred to me to create a catalyst, and has also been able to remove some impurities, which has vastly improved the efficacy of the cure. We have given the medicine to one of the tribesmen that Kaliel recovered, and the shaman has inspected our work and now takes me at my word that I can cure them and wish to help.”

“Now we are testing the effects of the medicine that Mother has created from the divine essences that Sunlight procured for her,” Rutendo said. “Her efforts to approach the snake tribe’s camp and inspect the shrine were rebuffed, so she has given a dose to the shaman to see if it can affect Neck-on-Neck through his priests.”

“But the only result we have seen is that the shaman’s connection to Neck-on-Neck has been suppressed,” Ayama said. “My theory is that the medicine has treated the symptom of the god’s ailment, which is the corrupted connection to this shaman. He is now no longer in danger of receiving misguided instructions from Neck-on-Neck, but it has done nothing to help the god himself.” She sighed. “I was hoping for some way to tell if this cure will be potent enough before challenging the snake god.”

“I have something for you, then.” Ghost produced his boomerang, still covered in thick, tacky blood and pus.

“That… is…”

“That is the blood of a plague-infected god,” Ghost said. “Kaliel thought it might prove useful.”

Ayama had Ghost carry the weapon to the longhouse where the alchemists worked. There, she produced a small vial from a pocket, and gently let two drops of the contents fall onto the boomerang. The liquid seemed to shine with an inner light as it fell, a glow which spread across the weapon. When the glow faded moments later, they could all see that the infected fluids that had coated the glass boomerang had vanished, and the blood that remained seemed pure. A quick alchemical test confirmed its purity.

“Congratulations,” Ghost said, “you have a cure, it seems.”

Rutendo came into the longhouse, along with the snakeman shaman. “He has agreed to take us back to his tribe,” Rutendo said, “and help us reach the shrine of Neck-on-Neck.”

“I think I will get some rest,” Ghost said. “The panther tribe is on their way here. Kaliel will try to slow them, but it is likely they will arrive by the afternoon.”

For the first time, Ayama noticed the wounds on Ghost’s neck and chest. “You need your wounds cleaned first,” Ayama insisted.

“They are already clean,” he said, reaching under his shirt and producing a pendant. Ayama knew that the pendant was a minor item of magic, which prevented dirt and other impurities from settling on Ghost.

“That is because you cheat,” Ayama said.

Rutendo laughed loudly. “I find your definition of ‘cheating’ to be very interesting, Mother.”

“She is just upset that she does not have an excuse to give me a sponge bath,” Ghost joked.

Rutendo’s laughter stopped. “I would take care what you say to my mother in my presence,” he said grimly. Ghost’s smile did not fade in the slightest as he walked toward his home.

I have stolen a shaman from the middle of a barbarian tribe, helped create a cure meant for a god, fought a panther deity, and even managed to slip in a bit of innuendo with both Zanka and Ayama, Ghost thought to himself. It has been a good day.

۞​

The shaman stepped forward, and with a few barked commands in their native tongue, the guards surrounding Neck-on-Neck’s shrine dispersed, leaving it unattended. The shaman beckoned, and Ayama and Rutendo quickly ran forward, dashing into the shrine under cover of night.

The interior of the shrine was designed to emulate a serpent’s den as much as possible. The altar at the far end was made of bronze that had been beaten to resemble scales, and old snake skins covered the floor.

The air shimmered, and suddenly Neck-on-Neck manifested before them as a giant serpent, at least thirty feet in length. The snake reared up and regarded the three intruders, even as they all noticed the patches of skin where scales had fallen away and exposed oozing sores.

“Intruders!” it hissed. “Who dares defile my shrine! You will all suffer for your blasphemy!” Neck-on-Neck glared at the snakeman, “You most of all, traitor!”

“I think not,” Ayama said, as her caste mark blazed on her forehead. “Your mind has been corrupted by the disease which ravages your body, Neck-on-Neck. Submit now, and I will end your suffering.”

“Lies!” the god screamed, and it darted toward Ayama. The Zenith dodged out of the way, the snake’s fangs striking the earth where she had stood only a second before.

Ayama and Rutendo moved swiftly around the shrine, trying to draw the god’s attention long enough for Ayama to get an opening. But despite its illness, Neck-on-Neck was still swift, and evaded their attempts to grapple him. Rutendo also had to restrain himself, to keep his anima from flaring so much that it burned down the entire shrine, an act that would surely bring the rest of the tribe down on them despite the shaman’s efforts. Thus it was Ayama who had to take on much of the fighting.

The battle went back and forth with no clear advantage on either side. The god connected with Ayama a few times, leaving bruises and scrapes, but was unable to cause a mortal wound against the Solar’s iron-hard flesh. Ayama hoped to render the giant snake unconscious, but it proved too swift. The battle shifted, however, when Rutendo stepped out from cover to try and distract the god, and was caught by its lashing tail, sending him flying. Distracted, Ayama was unable to defend herself when the snake suddenly lunged at her. She managed to avoid its fangs, but the weight of the massive serpent sent her sprawling, and the vial of medicine tumbled out of her hand.

Neck-on-Neck loomed over the fallen Pillar of Heaven. “Solar scum!” it hissed. “Prepare for your next life!”

“Not today,” called out a voice. The snake’s head turned and saw Rutendo standing, bow drawn and loaded with an arrow, the vial of medicine lashed to the shaft. Rutendo fired, and the arrow went straight into the serpent’s open mouth and down its throat.

Neck-on-Neck reared back, thrashing and gagging. The arrow came out with a great cough, but the vial had detached inside. Rutendo helped his mother to her feet as the god writhed and gasped. As they watched, the disease seemed to drain away, until at last Neck-on-Neck vomited forth a pool of black Essence. The snake shimmered and vanished, and Ayama stepped forward, holding her hand over the inky pool.

“Unconquered Sun,” she intoned, “I call upon your holy light and wrath to cleanse this blasphemous darkness from the face of Creation.”

Her hands glowed, and the black pool began to smoke. Within moments, nothing remained of the corrupted essence. Ayama smiled as she finished her work, but the smile faded when she heard a great commotion outside the shrine.

The air shimmered again, and Neck-on-Neck reappeared. This time, however, it looked healthy, and had adopted a much smaller form. “Wait here,” the god said, and it slithered forward and stuck hiss head outside the shrine. Ayama heard the snake speak a few words in the barbarian tongue, and the noise subsided. Neck-on-Neck then returned to the inside of the shrine, where it bowed his head low at Ayama’s feet.

“Lawgiver,” it said, “I thank you for what you have done for me, and beg your forgiveness for my actions these past few months.”

“You have been healed,” Ayama said, “and this is most important.”

Neck-on-Neck looked over at the snakeman who had aided Ayama, and nodded in approval. “My priest tells me that you also have medicine that will cure this plague among my people. I humbly ask that we be allowed to negotiate with you for this medicine.”

“Making sure that all of your people are well again is my primary concern,” Ayama said.

“It may not be for long,” Neck-on-Neck said sadly. “With my venom, I can enthrall the minds of others, even other gods. Before I commanded my people to journey west to seek out your town, I enthralled the panther god Tattered Shadow to my service. Even now, he and his people hunt your god, Sunlight Pierces the Canopy.”

The color drained from Ayama’s face. “Dear gods…”

“Tattered Shadow cannot manifest himself during the day, “Neck-on-Neck explained. “Much as your god cannot manifest in the night. But dawn comes soon, and in the times between day and night, both may manifest.”

“We must depart,” Ayama said.

“Go,” Neck-on-Neck said.

۞​

Inside the shrine of Sunlight Pierces the Canopy, Zanka had just begun her dance in front of the altar. She had not yet decided if she would allow this performance to end as it had the previous morning, but she also knew that they would likely be leaving Petgrana soon, and she was unlikely to find another lover of Sunlight’s caliber soon.

She smiled as she felt another presence in the shrine, and Sunlight manifested before her, smoothly stepping into the Eclipse’s arms as she danced.

“Another morning dance?” he asked.

“Indeed,” she replied, having now made up her mind. “But this time, I will take the lead.”

She was about to push him gently down onto his back when they heard a deep, wet growl from the door. Silhouetted in the entry by the first rays of dawn was an enormous panther, covered in sores, whose form seemed to blur like a shadow on the water. As the panther-god locked eyes with the forest-god, Zanka heard a great shout rising up from the forest just outside the walls of Petgrana.

 

[Delemental]

A little bit of a longer update this time. I also realized that I've been neglecting to post some other stories that our players have been writing - these tend to focus on single characters and detail some out of game activities. I'll work on getting those up, later today.

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The first rays of the morning sun broke across the vast forest. The warriors of the Panther tribe came running over the crest of a small hill, the sun gleaming off their axes and spearheads. As they surged forward, they saw a lone figure standing in the middle of a clearing below, dressed in heavy white armor and holding an enormous tetsubo, its end planted in the earth with his palms resting on the pommel. The figure looked up at the barbarian horde, and began to glow with a light matching that of the rising sun, which made him terrible to behold.

“Cease this attack now!” Kaliel shouted, his command echoing through the trees.

Many of the barbarians paused, and more than a few fled, unwilling to face whatever manner of god or demon faced them. Those who found their courage, however, let out a howl and charged down the hill toward Kaliel, who did not move from his relaxed position. The barbarians swarmed the Solar, burying him in a mass of flesh, hide, and iron, and he quickly disappeared from sight.

Seconds passed, and suddenly the central mass of the horde exploded outward, bodies flung through the air in all directions. Light as bright and glorious as the sun itself shot into the air, coalescing into a pair of golden wings that thrashed out in all directions, knocking barbarians aside* as Kaliel emerged from the mass, swinging his tetsubo in wide arcs that smashed bone and tore flesh. In a matter of a minute, the mob that had attacked Kaliel was half its previous size; fully two score lay dead, and another ten or so had simply dropped their weapons and fled into the forest.

A group of about two dozen warriors drew their horn bows and fired at the Bronze Tiger, squinting against the intense light emanating from him. Arrows bounced off his jade armor with a sound like rain on a tiled roof, and he ignored them as the rest of the horde and recovered, charging in again. Kaliel moved to meet their charge, leaping into the air as he approached and spinning, so that his weapon swept a wide arc through the front lines of the horde as he landed. Several members of the Panther tribe flew back, landing in bloody heaps even as their tribesmen surged in to fill the gap. Kaliel lashed out with his weapon, his knees, and his elbows, feeling a satisfying impact on each swing. He barely registered the feel of various blows that bruised ribs or arrowheads that managed to slip though his armor and lodge in his flesh.

The sun climbed slowly over the horizon, and Kaliel anointed himself in the blood of his enemy.

Another volley of arrows descended from the sky, one of them leaving a large gash in Kaliel’s cheek. Enraged, Kaliel took a few steps to the side and smashed his tetsubo into a nearby tree. The trunk snapped with a resounding crack, and the tree began to topple toward the group of archers. Kaliel jumped atop the tree as it fell, running along the trunk and leaping clear as it smashed down into the bowmen, scattering them. Some of them regrouped and tried to rush in, hoping to entangle their foe in the branches of the fallen tree, but he burst through and renewed his assault. The golden wings flared to life once again, fiery petals raining down everywhere, as Kaliel jumped into the air and brought his tetsubo down on the fallen trunk, shattering it and sending splinters of wood the size of his forearms spraying in all directions. When he turned, he saw that those few who remained standing and uninjured were fleeing back in the direction they had come.

Kaliel looked around, breathing hard, as the last of the Panther tribe disappeared among the trees. He planted his tetsubo in the ground and leaned against it, waiting to see if they would regroup and return. When several minutes passed with no sign of their return, Kaliel turned his attention to the wounded barbarians all around him. Drawing a dagger, he walked back into the battlefield to seek out those who required mercy.

۞​

Ayama and Rutendo ran through the forest as fast as they could, leaping over fallen logs and simply blasting through thickets and underbrush. They glanced up when they saw a break in the thick canopy, and Ayama’s heart sank as she saw the paling of the night sky which heralded the dawn.

“We will not make it,” she said.

Rutendo, who was leading the way, suddenly pulled up short, his chest heaving as his lungs drew in air and expelled it like bellows in a forge. Ayama circled around to see what could have possibly caused him to stop.

Standing before them in the forest was Chief Branch-Shaker, dressed in his ceremonial warrior’s garb and holding a large axe. His other hand was held out to stop the two Exalts.

“There is trouble in Petgrana,” he said.

“We know,” Ayama answered, “we have been told by Neck-on-Neck. That is why we must not delay.”

“I agree.” The chief slipped his axe into a leather loop on his belt, and then stepped forward and grabbed both Ayama and Rutendo by the wrists. “Come, I will show you why I have been named Branch-Shaker.”

The barbarian chief suddenly surged forward, his grip and his pull far stronger than they would have suspected, as he broke into a run, dragging the other two behind him. Ayama cried out when she realized that they were being pulled directly toward a large aspen tree, a cry which repeated when the three of them were pulled into the tree. Suddenly Ayama felt the sensation of great speed, and could see nothing but wood flying past her.

۞​

The wailing sounds of grief and fear roused Ghost from his slumber. Wearily, he got to his feet and looked outside, where a large number of people were clustered in the main square, gathered around something on the ground. Fatigue melted away, and the Solar stepped outside to investigate.

Pushing his way through to the center, Ghost barely stifled a cry himself when he saw what had drawn the townspeople together. Several bodies had been carried into the town, their chests bright red. Their throats had been ripped out, and several bore deep claw marks. The blood still trickled from the gaping wounds, and the bodies were still warm. Looking them over, Ghost saw that these were the young children who had met them just outside the town when they first arrived, the sentries who had been posted outside the western gate because it was presumably the one least likely to come under attack.

Two other details came to Ghost’s attention as he stared blankly at the young bodies. The first was the signs of a familiar pustulence around the edges of the wounds. The second was an even more familiar growl, that carried over the murmuring of the crowd, and was coming from the direction of Sunlight Pierces the Canopy’s shrine.

Ghost instantly shot to his feet. “Into your homes!” he shouted, “Now!” He took off in a full run toward the shrine.

He slid to a stop in the doorway and surveyed the scene. On the far side of the shrine, near the altar, stood the forest god Sunlight Pierces the Canopy and Zanka. In the middle of the room was the blurred, shadowy panther god that he and Kaliel had fought in the forest. Sunlight stood next to Zanka, a look of apprehension on his face, as it was clear the panther was following his movements. To her credit, Zanka appeared to be standing her ground. Sunlight’s hand suddenly shot out and grasped one of the trees that made up the walls of his shrine, and vines shot out and tried to envelop the panther. It vanished into shadow, reappearing a short distance away.

The panther began to crouch, preparing to leap, until it was struck in the head from behind by a fist-sized rock. Turning, it saw a figure silhouetted in the door by the dawn’s rays, a figure it knew well.

Ghost smiled, and beckoned the god. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

The panther turned and leapt toward Ghost, screaming in anger. Ghost stood his ground, then grabbed a section of tapestry from the wall nearby and hurled it at the god, tangling it in the thick fabric. As it clawed and tore its way free, its paw raked across Ghost’s chest, tearing his shirt to shreds but failing to penetrate the starmetal chain beneath it. Landing on the ground, the panther god snapped out at the Nightbringer’s legs, but Ghost evaded the attack by grasping the doorway and pulling himself up and back, sailing out of the shrine and landing a few feet away. He picked up a clay pot sitting nearby and hurled it at the panther; the god easily evaded the pot, but the move left him open as Ghost’s boomerangs hummed through the air, slicing into the shadowy beast’s flanks on both sides, exposing bone and sinew. The Solar, now glowing brightly, grinned tauntingly at the god.

Its eyes burning red with rage, the panther god prepared itself to leap again, but its attack was arrested when Zanka suddenly vaulted atop the panther’s back, whipping the moonsilver stole that Ghost had given her around the animals’ neck. Grasping both ends tightly, the Eclipse planted her foot between its shoulders and pulled as hard as she could. The god thrashed and yowled, but was unable to shake this new attacker off.

Seeing that the god was immobilized, Ghost ran over to a nearby woodpile and picked up a stout chunk of wood. Something in the back of Ghost’s mind reminded him that this panther god was infected with the plague, and Ayama would likely want to try and heal it. But he quickly pushed this thought from his head as the images of the dead children filled his memory. No, this was nothing more than a rabid beast, and needed to be destroyed.

The panther’s eyes were beginning to bulge as Ghost ran forward and smashed it in the skull. The wood splintered in his hand, flying everywhere, but with no appreciable effect on the god. Disgusted, Ghost threw the remnants of the makeshift club aside, and began casting about for something more solid. Meanwhile, Zanka’s grip tightened as she struggled to keep the panther under control, and sweat glistened off her nearly nude body as she slowly managed to pull its head up, exposing its throat.

Seeing this opening, Ghost took a few steps back and hurled his boomerang, intending to slice open the beast’s throat as it had done to the sentries. But as the boomerang sailed through the air, the god suddenly vanished, dissolving into shadow. The boomerang sailed underneath Zanka’s feet as she landed, before curving back to Ghost’s waiting hand.

“The shrine,” Zanka said.

At that moment, the trunk of a large oak that made up the southeastern corner of Sunlight Pierces the Canopy’s shrine opened like a blooming petal, and three figures spilled out. Rutendo came up in a rolling crouch, bow drawn, and Ayama rolled to the other side. Behind them, Chief Branch-Shaker stepped out of the tree, pale and visibly weakened by the exertion.

At first, Ayama saw only Sunlight, standing behind his altar. Then the light in the shrine shifted, and she saw a hulking, shadowy blur vaguely panther-shaped, with two deep wounds on either side. Glancing outside, she saw Ghost and Zanka running toward the shrine. The look in Ghost’s eyes told her that he had little interest in mercy.

“Tattered Shadow!” Ayama shouted as she ran toward the great cat. “Stop this! I can heal you!” She was not certain the deranged god would understand her, but she wanted the message to be heard by everyone in the battle.

The god paused, but only for a split second, and suddenly jumped toward Sunlight. Ayama, seeing Tattered Shadow sailing by, quickly dropped down and planted one hand on the ground grabbing onto a protruding root and using it as a pivot to swing her self about quickly. Scrambling to her feet, she launched herself in the air and tackled the panther, landing in a heap on the far side of the shrine. The panther’s claws raked her face and shoulders as Ayama tightened her grip, and her hands began to glow.

“Unconquered Sun,” she intoned, “through your gifts I have been granted the wisdom to discover the cure to the affliction which ravages the mind and body of this being. The essence of that knowledge lies within me. Grant me the power to restore health and vitality through your power.”

The glow around Ayama intensified, driving away all the shadows in the room. Seeing what was going on, Ghost and Rutendo jumped in and helped subdue the struggling god, while Zanka, perhaps coming to realize the danger the panther had posed to her, paled and shrank back, going to stand beside Sunlight.

They held Tattered Shadow for several minutes as Ayama’s power drove the necromantic plague from its body. The glow faded just as the sun fully rose over the horizon, and a now pestilence-free panther quietly faded away. Left behind was a large pool of the same foul, black Essence that Neck-on-Neck had extruded, though the panther god’s condition was much worse and left a much larger pool. Wordlessly, Ayama rose to her feet and extended a hand. The pool of black Essence burst into white flame and rapidly burned away.

Sunlight stepped forward as the last of the black pool vanished. “Thank you for preventing the desecration of my temple,” he said to her.

“I would not want to see what this tainted Essence would do to any place it collected,” she replied.

“I would imagine that it would generate a shadowland,” Sunlight commented.

“Truly?” Zanka asked, shivering.

“Of course. It is the Essence of the underworld, after all.” The forest god looked at each of them. “Do you not recognize it?” Seeing their blank faces, Sunlight suddenly nodded in understanding. “Ah, yes, of course. At times I forget that you are not the Solars of old, who would be familiar with such things. I hold you to high expectations, which you will no doubt achieve some day.”

“I must assume that the tribe that worships Tattered Shadow is infected with the plague, much as Neck-on-Neck’s people were,” Ayama said. “I will need to get to work on making more of the cure.”

“And I have a dance to finish,” Sunlight said, casting an eager glance at Zanka.

“Males,” Ayama sighed, as she left the shrine, “whether mortal or god, they are all the same.”

Ghost tapped her on the shoulder. “Do you see that man over there? The one with the jade powerbow and the fiery aura?”

“Rutendo? What of him?”

“Just a reminder that while you are busy disparaging males,” Ghost said, “you should not forget that at least once or twice in your life, you have succumbed to the same desires.”

Ayama was about to make a witty reply, when she noted what looked like a second sun rising in the east, slightly north of the real sun. They saw the image of golden wings and flowers burned into the sky.

“I believe we no longer need worry about the Panther tribe,” Ghost said.

It was late afternoon by the time Kaliel returned to Petgrana. When he arrived, he saw a large crowd gathered in the center of town, surrounding a large funereal pyre. As he drew closer, he saw Ayama step forward and touch the pyre, which burst into flame immediately. The flames were reaching well over the crowd’s head by the time Kaliel reached his companions.

“Who has fallen?” Kaliel asked.

“Children,” Ayama replied sadly.

“How?”

“The panther god, Tattered Shadow,” Ghost said. “It arrived in the village and tried to attack Sunlight Pierces the Canopy. He has been driven off, and cured of the plague.”

“I see. Well, when he returns he may find his power diminished. I have slain a great many of his followers. They will no longer threaten his town.”

Ayama turned to Kaliel. “You must take me to the site of your battle,” she said. “If those warriors were infected, they will rise as the unquiet dead if they are not consigned to flame.”

“I know the way,” Ghost said. “I will take you.”

“I will go as well,” Kaliel said.

۞​

Many days passed in Petgrana. Ayama dispatched the fallen Panther warriors to their final rest, and then returned to help create more of the cure for the plague. She and Rutendo were able to brew great quantities of it in a short time, aided by the other healers of the village. Chief Branch-Shaker approached the Snake tribe of Neck-on-Neck to negotiate with them for access to the cure; while no one in Petgrana even considered withholding the medicine from the tribe, it could not be denied that the tribe’s aggression had cost the town, and that some recompense was just. Eventually, they agreed to provide Petgrana with a regular supply of the rare medicinal herbs that the tribe was known to collect. The elders, having seen the bodies of the young sentries, now agreed that the defense of the town could no longer rely solely on their patron god, and acceded to Rutendo’s request to begin training a more permanent defense force. Kaliel offered to assist in the training. Zanka, meanwhile, was kept busy tending to the children of the village, whose numbers had swelled once the older children were pulled off patrol and back inside the town walls. Still, she found time to continue her morning dalliances with Sunlight Pierces the Canopy. Only Ghost was left with little to do, other than occasionally training young Luc or aiding the villagers with mundane tasks.

Two weeks after the attack of Tattered Shadow, Zanka sent notes to her three Solar companions, asking them to meet her in the ice house that night. When they gathered, Zanka looked first at Ghost.

“Though it is not the reason I have gathered you here,” Zanka said, “I thought I should inform you, Ghost, of why it is that Sunlight has such an intense dislike of your armor. It seems that starmetal is forged from the body of a deceased god, and in fact is considered a particularly harsh sentence for an errant deity in Yu-Shan. Thus you are, in a sense, wearing the corpse of one of his kind.”

“Oh,” Ghost said. “I see. Thank you for clarifying that.”

“That is all you have to say about it?” Zanka asked.

Ghost looked back at Zanka. “When we were facing the hordes of plague-ridden barbarians, I went into the enemy camp and brought back a shaman so we could have answers we needed. When I subdued that shaman, I used a bone fetish that was in his tent to render him unconscious. The bone from which that fetish was carved was a femur, almost certainly from a human. I doubt that the owner gave it up willingly. I could have chosen to react indignantly to the fact that the body of a fellow human had been desecrated in such a way, but in that moment it was a tool that served a purpose, and led to us obtaining knowledge that we used to prevent a great amount of suffering on both sides. So tell me, am I supposed to feel guilty about wearing this armor?”

“Why not tell us why you asked us all here, Zanka?” Ayama said quickly. “While I am sure that you and Kaliel find this place comfortable, it is fairly cold for me.”

She smiled. “Of course.” She reached behind her into a small gap between some crates, and withdrew a large scroll case. “This was given to me by Sunlight Pierces the Canopy,” she explained. “I cannot read it, however, other than one symbol that will be familiar to you all.”

She unrolled and unfolded the parchment on a series of crates she had stacked side by side to form a long table, revealing the map of the city Sunlight had given her. She pointed one delicate finger at the symbol of Kal Bax that marked one of the buildings.

“Ayama, I know you speak the Old Tongue. Can you tell me what city this map represents?”

Ayama studied it for a few moments before she replied. “This… this is a map of the city of Denandsor.”

“Denandsor?” Ghost asked, excitedly. “Are you certain?”

“Indeed,” Ayama said. “It is clearly labeled as such here. It is also referred to as the ‘City of Makers’. I also see references to workshops, libraries, several buildings that are labeled as ‘factory-cathedrals’…” she peered at the writing next to Kal Bax’s symbol on the map. “This building is marked as an ‘airship hangar’. I find myself confused by that.”

“Airships are known even in these times,” Ghosts said. “The Realm has many military airships, as does Lookshy.”

“The Haslanti of the North also possess them,” Zanka said, “though they are used for trade, not war, and are not magical.”

“I know what they are,” Ayama explained, “I just have difficulty associating such a wonder with someone who we apparently have some ancient connection with. It is as if seeing this building on the map is both new to me and familiar at the same time.”

“I thought that Denandsor was cursed,” Kaliel said.

“It is,” Zanka replied. “Even I have heard those stories. It is said that the city exudes a miasma of absolute terror that affects all who try to approach, and that many of the automatons that guard it still function.”

“Automatons like the spider we faced in Kal Bax’s Northern workshop?” Kaliel asked. “That was no great challenge.”

“But that was one guardian, of one of Kal Bax’s small, insignificant workshops,” Ayama said. “The guardians of Denandsor are likely to be more numerous and more potent. But there is other information of interest here.” She pointed to some writing near one of the city’s gates. “This line of text was not original to the map when it was drawn. It appears to be some manner of code or procedure to access this gate.”

A glazed, hungry look crossed over Ghost’s face. “Wonders not seen since the First Age…” he muttered to himself.

Zanka began to fold up the map again. “Well, thank you for letting me know what this is, Ayama,” Zanka said.

“It certainly seems that this is worth looking into,” Kaliel said. “The idea of possessing an airship, not to mention the weapons that may be found there…”

“It does seem to bear further investigation,” Ayama admitted, “but in good conscience I cannot leave to pursue this until I have followed the trail that Neck-on-Neck’s people left in their journey from the East, to see where thy were first infected and see if other tribes are also suffering.”

“We first saw this plague in the North,” Kaliel pointed out. “We may need to spread this information further than the East. Perhaps we should also send the knowledge of the cure to Lagan, and ask Lady Rinalta to see that the information spreads north through the trade that comes through her kingdom. I also worry about the rest of the East; this plague is clearly associated with the underworld and the shadowlands, and the largest shadowland in Creation lies in Thorns.”

Ayama thought for a moment. “Let me talk to the people of Petgrana,” she said. “We will see how many we can recruit to spread the knowledge of this plague and its cure.”

“We should probably send someone to Nexus,” Zanka said. “As much as I dislike its association with the Guild, it is the hub of trade and information throughout the Scavenger Lands.”

“You should also send representatives to Great Forks,” Kaliel observed, “with knowledge of the spiritual version of the cure. The gods who rule that city can help spread that knowledge to their fellow deities.”

“There are few who have the knowledge needed to produce that cure,” Ayama said. “And the Terrestrial gods are not known for their sense of camaraderie or their willingness to share information with each other. Still, if any gods were willing, it would be the three who rule Great Forks. I will see what I can do.”

“Well then,” Zanka said, “I will just keep my scroll safe until we can give it proper attention.” She slid the scroll case back into its hiding place among the crates.

Ayama and Zanka spent the next several weeks talking to the many healers in Petgrana, and in the end about a dozen volunteered to spread news of what some were beginning to call the Second Great Contagion. The young boy Luc was asked to accompany those going to Nexus.

“He is more in tune with the ways of city life than any of us,” Rutendo explained to his mother. “Thanks to the training he has received from Ghost. I would have asked Lenn to fulfill this task, but in truth no one in the village has seen him for almost two weeks.”

The four Solar heroes realized that they, too, had not seen their Lunar friend in some time. When inquiries among the villagers and the shamans of the tribes living overhead revealed that no one had seen him for days, but that there was no sign he had come to some harm, the four companions came to the conclusion that at some time during the events of the past several days, Lenn had in fact done what they had hoped; he had encountered other Lunars, and they had taken him under their care.

Shortly after this revelation, Ayama approached Zanka and Rutendo. “I need someone to journey to Great Forks,” she said, “to speak to the divinities that rule there about the Second Contagion and the cure. Rutendo, you possess the medical and spiritual knowledge to be able to create the divine cure, and to explain the process to others. Zanka, you have a greater understanding of the supernatural and the workings of the divine hierarchy than my son, as well as a great gift for communication. Would you both take this journey up for me?”

Zanka nodded in agreement, but Rutendo shook his head. “I am the war leader of Petgrana,” he said to her. “Though the threat of the Snake tribe has passed for now, there are other dangers to guard against, and I must prepare our people to be able to defend themselves. I cannot leave. But I suggest you speak with Chief Branch-Shaker; some of his shamans have enough knowledge of medicine to carry the cure to Great Forks.”

Ayama nodded her understanding, and later that day ascended to the treetop homes of the tribes that had settled in Petgrana, who had renamed themselves as the Great Tree tribe. Ayama entered the home of Branch-Shaker and sat down before him. Studying the visage of the warrior-chief, she could now plainly see the features that marked him as God-blooded, features which she had overlooked before due to the danger facing her home. He was clearly descended from some sort of forest god, a realization that forced Ayama to stifle a smile. She knew of only one forest god that resided anywhere near this area.

Branch-Shaker listened patiently to Ayama’s request. “I thank you for coming to me first for my permission,” he said. “But as I understand it, all you request is one of my shamans to journey to a city and explain to the gods the danger this plague poses to them. If I were to refuse your request in the face of this Contagion, history would consign my soul to the lowest depths of Oblivion. You may approach my people and ask of them what you will.”

After interviewing several of the tribespeople, Ayama settled on a pair of shamans; one was a wizened old widow of calm disposition and gentle manner, the other her spiritual partner, a comely young man with great passion and skill. She found that the two counterbalanced each other well, possessed open minds and practical dispositions, and their combined knowledge was more than sufficient to convey the intricacies of the cure.

With the volunteers chosen and preparations made, the healers spent the next several weeks preparing to set off on their missions. Kaliel chose to remain at Petgrana, offering to accompany Ayama on her journey East to discover the source of the plague. Zanka agreed to accompany the two shamans of the Great Tree tribe to Great Forks, to help them navigate the bureaucracy of the city. Only Ghost did not indicate his plans, other than his intent to depart Petgrana for a while. The others had seen little of the Night Caste, though he had spent some time with Ayama learning the Old Tongue, explaining that it would be good for more than one of them to be able to read it.

A few days before Zanka was to depart, Ayama approached her. “I have been thinking about the map you carry,” Ayama said. “I will not dispute your claim to it, but may I suggest that it would be wise to have a copy made of it? If something were to happen to the original, all of that knowledge would be lost.”

Zanka nodded. “That would be wise, I agree.”

They went together to visit Mareld, the town’s papermaker, the scroll case tucked under Zanka’s arm. “Good morning, Mareld,” Ayama said. “I am in need of a rather large sheet of paper, perhaps two yards long and not quite that in width.”

“Really?” the young man asked. “That has been a surprisingly popular request recently.”

“What do you mean?” Zanka asked.

“Why, less than a week ago your friend, the one with the red hair, came to me and asked for the same thing. Though he asked for two sheets of that size.”

“Two? Why…” Pausing, Zanka suddenly took up the scroll case and opened it, shaking out the contents. When it was unrolled, they saw that there were now two maps inside; the original on parchment, and a perfect copy on paper. A smaller sheet of parchment inside bore a short, elegantly written note, penned in Old Tongue. Zanka handed this note to Ayama.

“It says, ‘I thought that as long as I was going to the trouble of copying this, I should make a spare for you as well. I will return to Petgrana after I have had a chance to learn what might oppose us in the City of Makers, so that we may prepare for a more thorough exploration in the future. I wish you all good fortune in your efforts to contain this evil plague, but I must apply my skills where they will accomplish the most. If I have not returned by Calibration, you may assume that my plans have gone awry. However, I myself expect to return well before then, and with luck bearing gifts.’” Ayama sighed. “It is signed, of course, Resplendent Ghost of Midnight.”

“Thieving bastard,” Zanka said crossly.

---------------------------------------------------

* A point of clarification - the totemic anima of a Solar is composed of light, and by the letter of the rules has no mass or ability to do anything but glow and look impressive. However, the game also gives you bonuses for describing combat in creative ways, and Kaliel's player in particular is fond of working his totemic wings into his maneuvers.

 

[Delemental]

Laid Bare

Okay, so I'm going to be posting a bunch of small stories that were written by players as supplements to the main story. So these don't represent 'table-time', as it were, but out of game activity.

These first four actually take place some time back, when our circle went to Chrysanthemum for the first time and dealt with the zombifying plague there. There is one for each character.

In the future, I will try to be better about posting these in their proper place in the overall story.

--------------------------------------

A tall, slender figure ran through the streets, barely visible in the moonlight. His passage around and through the city of Chrysanthemum went unobserved, which was probably a good thing, for any observer would have been quite startled to see this stranger pass by, for he was completely nude.

Ghost maintained a steady but easy pace, smiling at the feel of the night air on his skin. He was cold, but not as much as one might expect – his exertion combined with his Exalted nature saw to that. A slight noise from the street ahead caught his ear, and he came to a halt. In the yard of a small dwelling, a large dog paced inside a pen that was clearly too small for it. Ghost’s smile widened. For once, he could feel empathy for this animal.

He climbed a nearby wall, and then walked over to where a squat chimney protruded from the roof of the building, and leaned against the stone surface in its moon-shadow, borrowing the warmth it radiated from the fire below. He was atop one of Chrysanthemum’s three taverns, and so the hearth below would be piled high with wood and blazing to ward off the chill of the night, as well as the lingering chill felt in the hearts of the people, as they recovered from the zombie attack and subsequent plague that had afflicted them some weeks ago. Still, glancing down, he noted with a frown that it was still not as warm as he would like. He contemplated going to retrieve his clothing, but was in no hurry. In all the city, there were but a handful of people who might have seen him, and three of those were his fellow Circle-mates. He amused himself with trying to predict how they might react if they were to spot him; Kaliel would probably say nothing at all, while Ayama would give him one of her disapproving looks, and then interpret every cough or sniffle for days afterward as a sure sign he’d contracted pneumonia. Zanka would probably just faint.

Eventually, the cold air won out over the chimney’s feeble warmth, and so he stood and began making his way across the roof, back to his room in Kaliel’s estate. The thrill of the night’s exercise was gone, and so he had little motivation to continue. He’d been walking the streets and rooftops of the city multiple times since their arrival; it was something he did in any city he was in for a long period, as he found it was the best way to get a feel for the place. The problem was that there just wasn’t enough of Chrysanthemum to get a feel for. The city itself was home to only twenty thousand, and they lived in relatively close proximity to each other, making the city feel even smaller. It was practical, considering the need to conserve both building materials and heat, but Ghost was used to the more sprawling cities of the East. It only took him two recitations of The Traveler’s Tale to cross from one end to the other, and only a single time singing through Peacocks and Partridges to circumnavigate the outer wall at a brisk jog.

But there was more than just the town’s size that irked Ghost. The city offered little variety in its diversions; he had sampled all of the local frost-wines, ales, and meads, and the other intoxicants available in town were all imported and familiar. The town lacked a proper brothel; such establishments were frequented by soldiers on the march, not by soldiers at home. Most of the attractive women in the city were married or betrothed; not that this was necessarily a large obstacle for him, but he didn’t think that Kaliel would appreciate Ghost leaving his city filled with marital discord. As a consequence, the supply of available women had been small, and was quickly shrinking despite Ghost’s efforts to be conservative.

It was this dearth of distractions that had prompted Ghost to focus more on honing his abilities, and testing his limits as best he could under the circumstances. It would not do to become complacent and lose his edge; his less than awe-inspiring performance at the Guild Factor’s estate in Lagan had demonstrated that to him. He’d been lax and inattentive, and it had turned what should have been an elegant job into a bloodbath. His only hope was that it would become but a minor footnote in his overall reputation. And so a simple goal of running around town unseen had progressed to doing so while carrying a heavy burden, then doing so while holding a lantern and a sack of pigeons, and had culminated in this evening’s experiment. He chuckled to himself as he imagined attempting the same exercise tomorrow, but wearing only some sort of phosphorescent body-paint. He would have to ask Ayama if there was a recipe for such a concoction in one of the books they’d taken from Kal Bax’s workshop.

He arrived at Kaliel’s house, and after slipping past the sentries, he climbed up to his window and swung inside. He picked up his clothes, which he had wrapped around a skin filled with hot water. Ghost savored the sensation as he dressed, and feeling began to return to his fingertips and toes.

Picking a lock after having my hands submerged in ice water, he thought to himself. I’ll have to add that to the list.

Ghost longed for a real test of his abilities, but that would not come here. There was, simply put, nothing to steal in Chrysanthemum. The people were relatively well-off, but their wealth was not excessive, and was certainly not flaunted. Even Kaliel, who was probably the most prosperous person in the city, lived a fairly frugal lifestyle, and much of his wealth went to the upkeep of his mercenary army and his people. That, more than perhaps anything else, was what made Ghost feel restless. There were so many in Creation that were deserving of his attentions, but none of them were here. He felt as though he was being derelict in his duties as a Solar… and, of course, doing nothing to cement his claim as ‘Creation’s greatest thief’.

Fully dressed now, but not even a little tired, Ghost stepped out of his room and walked down the stairs to the main entrance. As he approached, he could hear the two sentries at the door involved in a quiet but lively discussion about Captain Kaliel’s two female companions. Their conversation could certainly be described as ‘complementary’, as far as men were wont to discuss such things, though Ghost doubted that either Zanka or Ayama would be particularly honored by the attention devoted to describing their various attributes. He wondered for a moment why the two sentries had not quieted down at his approach, until he realized that he’d slipped unconsciously into walking silently across the stone floor. He deliberately increased the sounds of his footfalls, and immediately the two men ended their conversation.

“I thought I would head over to the Falling Petal,” he said to one of them, naming the tavern that he’d been sitting on top of only a short while ago. “Can I bring you anything? Flagon of mead? Haunch of venison? Serving wench?”

The sentry chuckled. “No, thank you, sir. I don’t think the captain would care much for us having any of those on duty.”

“Not to mention your wives,” Ghost added. “Perhaps another time.”

He walked down the road, feeling oddly satisfied. He knew that the guards would turn their conversation elsewhere; the reminders of their oaths of loyalty and their marital vows would have stolen their enthusiasm. He wasn’t sure why the urge to disrupt their bawdy talk had struck him; both Zanka and Ayama were more than capable of defending their own honor, and the men had said nothing that he himself had not thought many times. The question followed him all the way to the door of the Falling Petal, where it was quickly lost in the roar of the fire and the bottom of a tankard.

 

[Delemental]

Ruminations

Number two of the Chrysanthemum stories.

--------------------------------------

Kaliel leaned backwards in the chair, causing it to creak alarmingly. Brusk glanced up at him from his desk by the wall, frowning, before going back to the chart he was compiling.
"Think I need to lose some weight. I don't recall this chair ever making this kind of noise."
"Lose weight? Just your hundredweight of armor - you never seem to remember you are wearing it anymore, Captain." Brusk straightened himself, back crackling as the joints protested. "You still going to send me to Lynnisbrook?"
"Can you think of anyone better to mold peasants and merchants' sons into a cohesive city guard in a reasonable amount of time?"
Brusk sighed. "No. I question the wisdom of sending off half our number when we have been so weakened by plague and siege, but I understand your dilemma."
"Who is the best of our current crop? We'll need to promote someone to lead the home guard. I cannot stay in Chrysanthemum long - I will attract more trouble than it is worth."
The discussion lasted for some time as the two men ironed out details. When Brusk left, Kaliel stood, stretching his legs, the scrape of metal on metal easily audible. The large man was restless, and left the office, carefully locking the door behind him. One of the things his people had done was very carefully conceal the amount of wealth in the city. They were much better off than any suspected, and they wanted to keep it that way. Much of the criminal element had been killed off early on, when Kryptos was destroyed, and that segment had actually been some of the first ones to turn to eating rats during the siege, thus curbing the problem significantly. Kaliel was certain that was the only reason Ghost had not yet realized how much wealth was hidden in the community. Beneath the office was the vault - and all the jade they gained in trading furs, wool, and tusks. The city was somber on its outside, spartan and practical. Inside, there was the art and color. They had some very good artists, ivory carvers and weavers, which commanded very good prices in the East and South. Beyond this, there had been some very good commissions for his Knights - not everyone was afraid to use an Anathema-led mercenary band. Chrysanthemum had been raided one too many times, and now took care to show little of their face to the world. They were proud, his people, and unafraid of hard work, but repetitious rebuilding grew tiresome quickly.
He strode down the streets of his town, wider than usual to allow cavalry better access, but with no straight lines of sight more than a block or so long. They had done that allow them to make life harder for Warstriders, the standard 3 story residences creating funnels and blockades. There were other hidden surprises in the town as well, but that was for enemies to find out.
With the detachment that Brusk was leading to Lynnisbrook, he would have to leave the rest of the Knights in Chrysanthemum. He was leaving - he had a feeling he was going to be needed somewhere else. Where? He had no idea, but the need to move on was undeniable. The Unconquered Sun obviously had some kind of plan in mind for his Lightbringer, and that would become clear in time. For now, though, Kaliel needed to get his people into a defensible position and with a clear plan for the future.
As he contemplated the fate the Unconquered Sun had placed on him, he wandered the walls erected around Chrysanthemum, proud to note that he had not yet surprised any of his guards. While they were grouped in pairs, and some were chatting, they all knew he was coming before he got there. Granted, he wasn’t Ghost – but few were, and no mere mortals had a chance against that sneaking mountebank. He was Exalted, after all. A bit flighty perhaps, but good in a fight.
And therein lay part of his restlessness – his companions. Some part of him felt obliged to them, trusted them, gave their word credence where he would never have trusted someone he had not known for years. He didn’t listen to anyone’s opinions as strongly as Brusk’s, but his fellow Exalts were in that select group after mere months. It wasn’t natural, but then, perhaps it was part of that plan. Ah, well. His instincts had only failed him once before, but he chose not to ruminate on that.
His feet trod the familiar path back to the building he called home and office, the guards snapping to attention as he approached. He nodded to them as he entered, passed through the parlor, and paused at the foot of the stairs, staring at the portrait of his family from before the assassination of his father that hung above the fireplace. His sisters seemed to stare accusingly back at him.
“I have not forgotten you. Soon, I will be finished here. Ghost wishes to be the greatest thief of our generation – we will steal back my family from House Tepet. Ayama wishes to heal the wounds of the world – she may start with your hearts after so long in slavery. Zanka, well, the Northern Light may tell the story to the world.” He started up the stairs.
“I will *never* forget.”

 

[Delemental]

World Apart

Chrysanthemum story number three.

-------------------------------------------

The healers looked up when Ayama entered the room and exchanged a look. Ayama had scolded them the first time they had seen her use a charm to help heal one of the plague victims. The two elders had prostrated themselves. They were of little use to their patients if they were fawning over her and she had said so.

"Divine One, the worst is over. Surely you deserve a time of rest?”

Ayama began scrubbing her hands and pulled on a healer’s robe over her clothes before entering the area where the remaining victims convalesced.

"I look that bad, do I?”

"No, you are as lovely as ever. It is more that you have a look about you like someone who has seen great suffering and felt it deep within their soul.”

Ayama moved to the first bed and checked to see how the young woman in it had fared through the night.

"Life goes on, does it not? I will preserve as much as I can and I do that poorly from bed.”

The healers nodded to each other and continued about their business in silence as the sun rose from a pale pink glow on the horizon.

Once she had made her rounds of the convalescents in Chrysanthemum’s infirmary, Ayama decided to go for a walk. She made a mental list of tasks. She needed to speak with Kaliel’s right hand, Brusk about a few things needed for the infirmary. She needed to stop in and speak with one of the city’s hedge-practitioners regarding a brilliant bit of potion brewing that the witch had concocted. Not as full a day as she had hoped for. Running at full speed from dawn until dusk kept her mind from coming back to the faces of the dead and the faces of the living they had left behind.

She started walking, focusing on her breathing, stretching her long legs. The physical activity kept her body healthy and the meditative breathing helped to still her chaotic thoughts and solidified the framework of her knowledge, allowing her to organize those thoughts.

***

With Brusk, Ayama made her requests for the infirmary. The Sergeant balked a bit at some of her requests, noting the expense of having certain supplies on-hand in the quantities she was requesting. Respecting the man’s intelligence, Ayama sketched out a quick set of figures. What she was requesting was not unreasonable in light of the data… keeping a supply of the components necessary to make plague cure on hand and dosing not only the afflicted but those they came in contact with as well had the potential to keep the plague from spreading. The initial cost would be far outweighed by potential losses if the plague spread. When presented with the calculations the soldier could hardly argue and agreed to acquire what was necessary.

Though her request was made out of concern and compassion, Ayama was perfectly able to articulate the logic behind her plan. The data did not lie, the calculations could not be swayed. The beautiful workings of order and reason could not be argued away and Ayama knew that a man like Brusk would respect such logic. She thanked him for his time and for allowing her to demonstrate then turned and left his office, heart somewhat lighter.

As the Golden Bull left his office she did not see the look of faint speculation and grudging respect on the veteran’s face.

***

Ayama's next errand took her to a small dwelling against the Chrysanthemum’s Western wall. She was preceded by a gaggle of children who ran, skipped and toddled ahead of her in a race to inform the resident of a guest’s arrival. A woman hobbled outside on a crutch, one foot dragging and bent permanently at an awkward angle.

"Bright One, you humble me with your presence. I would have been more than happy to come to you with this information but my messenger told me that you insisted on coming here.”

Ayama bowed her head. “It is tradition in my village that the student come to the teacher and in this you are my teacher. To do otherwise would be disrespectful of the knowledge you hold.”

The witch’s mouth crooked in a smile. “As you like. It is simple really…”

The witch described how, during the time she had spent aiding the city’s healers in brewing plague-cure she had come to realize that the original formulation could be made more potent with an infusion of additional herbs and an added step in the brewing process. The addition of a potent alcohol would then allow it to be kept fresh and effective longer. It hadn’t been a helpful idea while the threat of plague was imminent but for creating and storing cure to protect the city it would be of immense help.

Ayama listened attentively, committing the information to memory. It was sound, even eloquent reasoning.

The witch stopped speaking, smiling shyly at Ayama. “I did not think you would listen so raptly to me. Most folk would rather a cripple like me hide away and mistrust me feeling that deformity must be a punishment that reflects some inner defect. My mental faculties are sound though and I pay attention. Will this help Chrysanthemum, do you think?”

The solar nodded. “Knowledge and those who hold it are to be respected. Humanity has lost so much, we must not wallow in our ignorance. Sharing information like this is vital and I thank you for speaking with me. As to your leg, would you mind if I had a look at it? There may be something that I can do to help.”

With a shrug, the witch pulled a battered stool from just inside her dwelling’s door and sat. “It has been bent since I was a child. Were my parents not so soft-hearted I would have been exposed and abandoned because the healers could find no way to correct its shape. I do not give even a miracle-worker like you good odds on finding a cure but it will not offend me for you to look.”

Ayama knelt and began a careful examination of the woman’s leg, starting at her toes and working her way up to just past the knee where the twisting of bone and muscle seemed to stop.

"The flesh, the muscle, even the bones are all sound. It looks like the bone is just twisted and the muscle around it followed the shape the bone made. If I could redirect the flows of essence to help re-shape the muscle, all it would take is cleanly breaking the bone and re-setting it at a more normal angle. With the right tools it would be possible to do just that with very little pain or injury to the skin and muscle above. There might be minimal scarring but someone with a strong constitution and a will to match could do exercises to strengthen everything as the bone and muscle healed…”

Ayama stopped speaking, taking in the hedge-witch’s blank look.

The healer had been teased as a child because she seldom spoke and when she spoke, it was done with great deliberation. But moments like this just proved to her that to not speak was often the most judicious course of action. Yes, her mind was not the quickest of minds. On the other hand it seemed that there was a gulf between how she came to understand things and what others could grasp. Whereas other people relied on intuition Ayama reasoned through things. She catalogued minute details and arranged them until they fit. It was not as fast as intuition but it left her with a more complete understanding and her reasoning suffered from few of the flaws that plagued the plans of quicker witted thinkers. Every new thing she saw was an opportunity to learn more about the basic forces that moved through Creation.

"Thank you for showing me this. Your wisdom is greatly appreciated. I will go now.”

The glazed look faded from the witch’s eyes and the woman nodded seeming relieved that Ayama had stopped spouting theoretical healer-craft.

"It is an honor.”

***

Ayama found her exquisite Eclipse-caste circle-mate walking back to her lodgings from tea at the home of one of the city’s wealthier merchants. She fell into step beside the Quicksilver Falcon, shortening her stride to match the much shorter northerner’s pace.

"It is auspicious that I found you Zanka. I had been meaning to ask you a question.”

The petite woman flicked a bit of lint from her otherwise impeccable sleeve. “Oh?”

Ayama nodded. “When I spoke with Kaliel last he was more abrupt than usual. I appear to have offended him but I do not know why. I’ve spent most of my time in the infirmary and I have been quite careful not to publicly contradict him. You have known him longer than I have. Do you know what I may have done to put him off?”

The pale Northerner lifted her hand to her mouth and flashed a demure but mischievous grin behind her sleeve. “Ayama, its nothing you’ve done. Or rather, nothing that you’ve done intentionally. Some of the families of his soldiers have suggested that a small shrine be erected in your honor for saving the lives of so many when they believed all to be lost. The soldiers were very impressed. They cannot fight a disease, just sit back and watch its course but you did and though there were casualties, you won. You are stealing the hearts of his people and he does not like it.”

Ayama thought a moment. “But is it not so that deities of war and victory are complimented well by deities of healing and reconciliation? If, within his cult, my status is understood as complimentary to his rather than as a rival or equal then there should be little issue.”

Zanka pondered. “That could work. And it might help make him stop brooding. I can get behind that idea and I assume that you would be appreciative if I were to begin subtly introducing this concept to those I entertain.”

"I would." Ayama smiled and gave the delicate woman a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

"All right, all right, just don’t crush me in your giant lumbering affection. Run along since I know that you could have walked across half the city by now if you were not trying to walk with me.” Zanka shooed the tall woman in a flutter of silken sleeve and Ayama was nearly half a block away by the time Zanka was done making sure her garments were unwrinkled by the Easterner’s handling.

***

The setting sun set the horizon ablaze with brilliant color. It seemed appropriate to a celebration rather than a funeral rite. Ayama stood waiting a short distance away from three small groups of people. Each group was clustered around one shrouded figure laid out on a pyre. Three dead was a small loss compared to the previous weeks but she had labored long with each of the deceased, watched their families hope and worry. And now she was watching them grieve.

She watched the sun and finally judged that it would not be safe to wait any longer. Watching their loved ones rise as undead would be far more traumatic than simply losing them. She moved to the first pyre and the victim’s widow and son nodded to her and backed away. The little boy looked at her with awe in his eyes despite his sadness and the widow seemed torn between her sorrow and gratitude. Ayama reached out and laid her hand on the widow’s shoulder.

"Are you ready?”

The woman nodded.

Ayama channeled a significant amount of essence into her anima, feeling the air around her suddenly spark with energy.

With her aura glowing with the brilliance of the midday sun she reached out and gently touched the body. Immediately white-gold flame danced from her fingertips and began to play over the corpse, igniting the body and sending all vestiges of the soul to the afterlife. The purity of the flames Ayama called obliterated any uncleanness or dark energies, ensuring that no sort of undead might rise from the ashes of the pyre.

The second group of mourners reacted with a bit more emotion, bursting into fresh tears as Ayama approached. Though they shrank away from her at first, soon her gentle touch soothed the worst of their sobbing and she once more released the Unconquered Sun’s holy fire.

The final body had two mourners who were quite familiar to the solar healer. The two healers welcomed Ayama back to their midst, reverently touching her outstretched hands.

"We will miss her Divine One, but her passing was peaceful. We have no regrets and she would not either. She came to us as an orphan and found her calling. She lived well and died doing what she loved, what more can one ask?” The pair stepped away from the pyre.

Ayama looked down into the face of the woman she had worked with for countless hours and saved a multitude of lives with. She had not been young but neither was she old. Her life had been cut short in its prime by a sickness that cared nothing for such wasted potential. Ayama took a moment for her self, silently thanking the Unconquered Sun for choosing her at a time in her life when she might have been in the same situation as the woman laid out before her. The air was beginning to cool as the last rays of the sun’s light danced across the horizon.

Ayama touched one glowing hand to the corpse and let the deceased and her own thought of self-pity burn to white ash and blow away on the breeze. Eyes closed, she lifted her voice in prayer to the Unconquered Sun giving thanks for the strength of the people left behind and their unquenchable thirst for continued life in the face of their pain.

The onlookers drew in a collective breath as it seemed for just that moment that the solar healer’s personal aura of light burned away the gathering darkness, bleached away the colors of the sunset and set the entire square in brilliant mid-day light.

Ayama herself was unaware. Prayer finished, she opened her eyes and bowed her head one last time before giving the healers a brief, somber smile and heading to her quarters for evening meal and sleep.