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<blockquote data-quote="Delemental" data-source="post: 4997615" data-attributes="member: 5203"><p><strong>The Circle Widens</strong></p><p></p><p>The tall spires and towers of Denandsor jutted out from the lightly-wooded plains surrounding it. Even from this distance, several miles from the city’s walls, Ghost could feel a sense of foreboding. There were no animals in the area, even insects, giving the woods an unnatural quiet.</p><p></p><p> That was not to say that the woods were completely devoid of the living. Ghost had spent his first two days here observing the many scavenger camps that surrounded the city. Most appeared to be relatively new, though there were signs of many other camps that had been abandoned. One fairly permanent camp was held by a garrison from Lookshy, another by explorers from the Guild. Ghost noted that there was little love lost between the various groups, who always went into Denandsor heavily armed. Ghost suspected that the weapons were not so much to defend against the city’s infamous automated guardians, but to defend themselves against the other scavengers should they emerge with something of value. This seemed to be a faint concern, however; none of the groups appeared to have made any progress in wresting Denandsor’s secrets out of the city.</p><p></p><p> Of more interest to Ghost were the individuals who camped outside the walls. There were only two that he found, in well-hidden camps that were ignored by the larger groups. Those groups clearly felt that one person could not effectively explore the cursed city, and so it was not worth the trouble of checking their progress. For one of them, Ghost found this was true; it was a woman, dressed in rags and scraps of armor, who had clearly become unhinged by the curse and now simply wandered around the city and the forest surrounding it, her madness compelling her to stay close but unable to function beyond bare survival. Ghost found an old journal among her belongings, which indicated she had once been a soldier in Thorns, who had come here after the city was attacked by the Mask of Winters in hopes of finding a weapon to use against the Deathlord.</p><p></p><p> The other solitary explorer was of more interest to Ghost. An exploration of his camp revealed that this one had been far more successful, and had liberated many items from the city. Most of the objects Ghost found in the camp were made of gold or orichalcum; though he could not begin to fathom what purpose or function these things had, there was no doubt that this explorer had a particular focus in his efforts. </p><p></p><p> It was evening of the third night when Ghost approached. He walked deliberately and at a casual pace, making no attempt to approach unheard but not wanting to sound as though he was either trying to sneak in or rushing the camp for an attack. Ghost stopped at the edge of the campfire’s light.</p><p></p><p> “Hail the camp!” Ghost said.</p><p></p><p> “Who are you?” called out a man’s voice. “What do you want?”</p><p></p><p> “Someone who wishes to speak with you about the lost city,” Ghost said. “I assure you that I wish you no harm, nor do I wish to take from you that which you have.”</p><p></p><p> There was a moment’s wary silence. “Approach,” the explorer said, “but keep your hands where I can see them.”</p><p></p><p> Ghost stepped into the firelight. He could not make out the explorer’s features well against the fire, but saw that he was middle-aged, perhaps in his middle forties. The man peered at him intently for a moment, then seemed to draw back, startled.</p><p></p><p> “You are a Solar!” he exclaimed.</p><p></p><p> Ghost stifled his surprise. “And you are perceptive.”</p><p></p><p> “That is in part because I am a Solar as well.” The man gestured for Ghost to come and sit down. He was a thin but healthy man, with short white hair and a trim, graying beard. He wore an outfit that was practical for his work, plain and durable with many pockets and leather hoops from which equipment could be hung. The camp itself was very tidy and well-organized.</p><p></p><p> “I am Lear,” the man said as Ghost sat. “of the Twilight Caste.”</p><p></p><p> “Resplendent Ghost of Midnight, Night Caste.”</p><p></p><p> “So, what is it that brings you… well, I suppose I know why you are here. But are you seeking something in particular in the City of Makers?”</p><p></p><p> “Nothing in particular,” Ghost admitted. “My companions and I plan a more extensive exploration of Denandsor in the future; I have come to obtain an initial impression of the city and its curse, so that we may better prepare.” He smiled. “I certainly will not pass up the opportunity to remove any interesting objects from the city.”</p><p></p><p> “I am planning another foray into the city tomorrow,” Lear said. “I would certainly not mind another pair of eyes with me.”</p><p></p><p> “And I would benefit from your experience inside Denandsor,” Ghost replied.</p><p></p><p> “Is there a particular interest you have within the city?” Lear asked.</p><p></p><p> “For the most part, anything will be good. However, in my research before coming here, I came across a reference to a particular building which piqued my interest.” Ghost picked up a stick and drew a rough map in the dirt of Denandsor, and then marked the location of the airship hangar that bore Kal Bax’s symbol. Ghost was not yet willing to share more about the source of his information; he assumed that Zanka would already be cross with him for copying the map without her knowledge, and would probably be more perturbed if he were to show it to anyone he met. He had not known Lear long enough to fully trust him.</p><p></p><p> “I have not been to that part of the city,” Lear admitted. “I have avoided the larger buildings for the sake of prudence; I assume they will have more formidable defenses, and I would not wish to become trapped should my will break and I am compelled to leave. This has occurred to me on two or three occasions.”</p><p></p><p> “I have heard that the curse of Denandsor is formidable and insurmountable,” Ghost said.</p><p></p><p> “Yes, but in my observations of my fellow explorers, I have learned that we Solars are more resistant to the curse than others. There was even a Lunar here, about six months ago, and though he was far more tolerant of the curse than mortals and Dragon-Bloods, even his will was not as strong as ours. I do not know if this means that the curse is something of Solar design, or simply a result of our superior Exaltation. Still, I have made it a priority in my exploration to locate artifacts that bolster one’s inner resolve, so that I may eventually brave the inner sections of Denandsor.” Lear gestured at the spot on Ghost’s crude map. “What is your interest in this place? Do you feel some sort of connection to it?”</p><p></p><p> “Somewhat. What little I was able to find out about it did… tickle my memory.”</p><p></p><p> Lear chuckled. “I have had that experience myself. I myself have been searching for some of the more esoteric devices, those dealing with the channeling of Essence. I have a theory…”</p><p></p><p> Lear launched into a long, convoluted discussion of his theories. In truth, the word ‘discussion’ was incorrect, as it was the Twilight who spoke while Ghost listened, unable to follow his explanations of ‘motonic theory’ and ‘dragon line field alteration’. He began to sound much like Ayama when she was expounding on advanced principles of alchemy and medicinal lore. Ghost did his best to hide his growing frustration.</p><p></p><p> “I think that I should turn in,” Ghost said at a brief lapse in Lear’s monologue. “We will want to leave early for Denandsor tomorrow.” </p><p></p><p> “I agree,” Lear said. “You are welcome to sleep here. I will see you in the morning.”</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">۞</p><p></p><p> The merchant vessel cut through the waters of the Yellow River, spray from its waters churning in its wake. Zanka stood at the bow, now able to see the city of Great Forks coming into view ahead. It was the first time she’d seen the shore in the past two weeks, after sailing on the miles-wide river since she and the shamans from Petgrana had booked passage on this ship.</p><p></p><p> “I thought I would find you here,” said a familiar voice behind her. “We should be in Great Forks within the hour. I thought you might like to join me in my cabin for some refreshment before we make port.”</p><p></p><p> Zanka turned to face the man who spoke. Ramba, a man in his mid twenties, stood with an easy, unassuming look on his face, but Zanka had learned better. He was the owner of this ship, and in fact owned several ships and caravans as part of his trading company. This particular ship was bound out of Greyfalls, where Ramba was from originally, and heading to Great Forks, bearing a load of crystal goblets. The man had taken a liking to Zanka, and thus her voyage had been taken in relative luxury, as Ramba himself was accustomed to a certain high lifestyle. He had told her that he was perhaps the greatest merchant in Creation; she had thought this an idle boast at first, but when she had managed to take a quick look at his ledgers, she found that he projected an eightfold profit on this shipment of goblets, far beyond what she would have expected. In her personal conversations with him, she found Ramba to be very charming and persuasive, and even with her own great skill, she found herself on one or two occasions having to check herself lest she give away too much about herself, or make promises she did not wish to keep. As it was, she managed to maintain a friendly rapport with the man without being talked into anything more intimate.</p><p></p><p> “A little something would be lovely,” Zanka said. She took his arm and followed him to his cabin, where a bottle of white wine was already sitting in a bucket of ice, a Southern vintage which she had found was quite effective in warding off the heat. Ramba poured while Zanka took a seat.</p><p></p><p> “So,” she said when she was handed her glass, “can you make a recommendation for an inn once we arrive in Great Forks?”</p><p></p><p> “You do not wish to stay with me, then?” he asked, with only a hint of disappointment.</p><p></p><p> “I am traveling as a group, you know.”</p><p></p><p> “Ah, of course. I can make some recommendations then, I suppose. But it would help if I knew how long you were staying. So tell me, what business do you have in Great Forks?”</p><p></p><p> Zanka considered for a moment, then looked up at Ramba. “My traveling companions are from a small town called Petgrana, which is south of the Meander. The town was recently attacked by barbarians inflicted with a strange plague, one which we discovered also affected gods. We have also encountered this plague in the North. My friend, who is a skilled healer, has discovered a cure for that plague. We were sent to Great Forks to make sure that the knowledge of this plague and its cure reached the gods who rule this city, as we felt they would be most likely of the Terrestrial gods to share the knowledge with others.”</p><p></p><p> Ramba frowned. “I would take care who you speak to about this. Rumors of plague tend to cause panics.”</p><p></p><p> “I am no fool,” she said.</p><p></p><p> “Even with such news, it is likely you will end up languishing in the ministry offices for a month before you meet anyone of import,” Ramba said. “I have connections in the ministries. Allow me to assist you.”</p><p></p><p> “That would be most welcome,” Zanka said.</p><p></p><p> “Of course, I would also like to have the formula for that cure.”</p><p></p><p> “That could be arranged,” Zanka said coolly, “if I can be guaranteed a cut of the profits.”</p><p></p><p> “Profits? Dear lady, you wound me.”</p><p></p><p> “And you wound me if you expect me to believe that ‘Creation’s greatest merchant’ would not find a way to turn that cure into profit. After all, I imagine many gods would pay handsomely to guarantee their own safety.”</p><p></p><p> Ramba considered for a moment. “I would need to be able to find you to deliver the profits.”</p><p></p><p> “You can send them to Lady Rinalta of Lynnisbrook. She will keep them in trust for me.”</p><p></p><p> “Very well. How much were you thinking?”</p><p></p><p> They bartered back and forth for several minutes. In the end, Zanka agreed to accept five percent; she had hoped for more, but found herself wooed by his persuasive arguments that the chances for profits would be somewhat uncertain, and no doubt any customers he found would insist he provide them with the ingredients for the cure as well as the formula, which was never a very lucrative enterprise.</p><p></p><p> “Shall we seal our bargain?” Ramba asked, smiling as he extended his hand.</p><p></p><p> Zanka grasped the offered hand. Perhaps it was the irritation she felt knowing she should have been able to negotiate for more, or perhaps it was the effects of three glasses of wine. But in the moment their hands touched, Zanka’s normal precise control faltered, and in that moment her power flared forth. Her anima flashed as their bargain was sealed.</p><p></p><p> “What the…” Ramba exclaimed as the light faded, and the power of the Eclipse sank into his heart and soul. “Oh, damn!”</p><p></p><p> Ramba sat back in his chair. Zanka sat for a moment to gauge his reaction, and when she saw that he was not terrified by the revelation of her nature, she smiled.</p><p></p><p> “You neglected to ask before the deal was made,” she said.</p><p></p><p> “That is true,” he admitted. Then he flashed a smile back at her. “But had you told me that you were a Lawgiver as well, I might have given you ten percent.”</p><p></p><p> “Another Lawgiver?” Zanka asked in surprise.</p><p></p><p> “Would you expect Creation’s greatest merchant to be anything else?”</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">۞</p><p></p><p> Ayama and Kaliel headed east for two weeks, following the path the Panther tribe had made on their way to Petgrana. After a week of travel, the trail became nearly impossible to follow as the ground itself vanished, replaced by gnarled roots and enormous branches. Soon, they were walking upon branches as wide as roads, which bore leaves so large they could have borne the weight of a child. All sight of the sky and the ground vanished, and the horizon became little more than a distant memory.</p><p></p><p> More and more they relied on Ayama communicating with the animals of the forest to learn where the ‘two-legged cubs of the panther’ had come from, though the occasional discovery of a stray zombie in their path helped assure them they were on the proper course.</p><p></p><p> Early in their third week of the search, the two Solars were startled by a sudden noise behind them, the sound of something large dropping onto the branch. They turned to see a huge tiger, its coat a deep green with golden stripes. The cat held its position as they turned, not readying itself to pounce but by no means displaying signs of friendship.</p><p></p><p> “Are you hunting?” Ayama asked the tiger, after calling forth her Charm that allowed her to speak the language of beasts. The cat growled in reply.</p><p></p><p> “He is telling us to wait,” she said to Kaliel.</p><p></p><p> “Wait for what?”</p><p></p><p> “For me,” said a deep voice below them.</p><p></p><p> A man climbed up from the underside of the branch, using claws built into his gloves and boots to gain purchase on the bark. He was obviously a native of the East; he was tall and slender, though powerfully built, and his long hair was a deep green. His clothing and armor were mottled and patterned after the deep forest, and looked so much like bark that he was difficult to see even when he made no attempt to hide. The only thing that stood out was the silver bow across his back.</p><p></p><p> “What can we do for the two of you?” Ayama asked, maintaining an open, nonaggressive posture.</p><p></p><p> “I believe we are following the same path,” the man said.</p><p></p><p> “What path is that?”</p><p></p><p> “I am following the trail of a plague-ridden tribe that came this way about a month ago.”</p><p></p><p> “Then we are following the same trail,” Kaliel said. “Though their numbers are far fewer now.”</p><p></p><p> “From the plague, or were they attacked?” the man asked.</p><p></p><p> “Some of both,” Kaliel admitted. “They attempted to attack the town I was in.”</p><p></p><p> “I only wish to make certain that no more will be coming,” the tall Easterner said.</p><p></p><p> “We have seen the disease that they carry before,” Ayama said. “The first time we encountered it, it had its origin in a shadowland. Are there any such places near here?”</p><p></p><p> “The local tribes have been speaking of a place they now avoid,” the man said. “It is called the Sea of Dead Vines. This may be what you seek. I do not know where exactly this place lies, but if you will have me, I will gladly accompany you.”</p><p></p><p> “I would not object to the help,” Kaliel said.</p><p></p><p> “I am Standing Oak,” the man said, “and this is my companion Kringer*.”</p><p></p><p> “I am Ayama, and this is Kaliel.” The Zenith paused. “What is your intent?”</p><p></p><p> “I intend to make certain this plague does not spread,” </p><p>Standing Oak said. “If I must kill the remains of the tribe to do this, so be it.”</p><p></p><p> “It will not be necessary,” Ayama said. “I can cure them.”</p><p></p><p> “This is good,” Standing Oak nodded. “Come, we should continue on our way.”</p><p></p><p> The foursome traveled along the massive trees of the East for several more hours. By this time tracking through mundane means was all but impossible; instead, both Ayama and Standing Oak relied on their ability to communicate with the birds and beasts to follow the trail. Kaliel found himself unable to comprehend this ability.</p><p></p><p> “You interact with them as though they were capable of speech,” he said to Ayama, “yet they are beasts.”</p><p></p><p> “Anyone who is sufficiently attuned to nature comes to have an understanding of animals beyond what most people have. Depending upon the species and the nature of the beast, there are certain elements of behavior and body language they have in common. For example, large cats are solitary and hunt by stealth, as opposed to a pack animal such as a wolf. Once you understand this, and the behaviors that support it, it is similar to a conversation. In this way, it is not dissimilar to when you and I speak; though we share words in common, much of our communication takes place through interpretations of posture and tone, and thus…” Ayama trailed off, and then smiled. “And your eyes are glazing over, so I will end there.”</p><p></p><p> Kaliel shook his head. “It is much like when you explain your medicines to me,” he admitted.</p><p></p><p> “It sounded to me like she was over-thinking it,” Standing Oak commented.</p><p></p><p> The four stopped at last to make camp, simply stopping in the midst of one of the road-sized branches. Ayama saw that Standing Oak was staring to gather dead wood.</p><p></p><p> “A fire is not necessary,” Ayama said.</p><p></p><p> “I had assumed that your civilized friend would like his food cooked,” Standing Oak replied.</p><p></p><p> “There is no need,” Kaliel said. “If I can stomach frozen mammoth meat, then this should be no worse.”</p><p></p><p> “Very well,” Standing Oak said, “but it would still be good to ward off the insects. Some of the diseases they carry come from the Wyld, and this is not a good place to fall ill.” The Northerner removed a large, flat slab of slate from his pack and set it on the branch, then built a small fire atop it. When the flames were going strong, he threw a handful of herbs on top, which emitted a thick, pungent smoke. Kaliel noticed that some of the vines hanging nearby actually recoiled as the flames climbed into the air.</p><p></p><p> “Did those plants… move?”</p><p></p><p> “Yes,” Ayama said.</p><p></p><p> Kaliel looked around. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel claustrophobic outdoors, but the omnipresent forest felt as though it was pressing down on him. He longed for the sight of sky or ground.</p><p></p><p> “When will we get to somewhere more civilized?” Kaliel asked.</p><p></p><p> “We are going the wrong way for that,” Standing Oak said. “We are going the right way for Fair Folk and animate plants, however.”</p><p></p><p> Their travels continued for several more days. Though their new companion seemed cordial enough, they learned little about him, as he and Kringer would often range far ahead in order to hunt or to make certain the trail ahead was clear. Eventually, however, they began to notice changes in their surroundings. The air seemed to be even more stagnant and stifling than usual, and the normal birds and insects they had seen were replaced by raitons, spiders, and centipedes. It was clear that they were drawing near the Sea of Dead Vines.</p><p></p><p> Late in the day, a little over three weeks after Ayama and Kaliel had left Petgrana, the group heard a rustling in the brush nearby. Rounding a bole, they spied the collapsed form of one of the Panther tribesman in the path ahead. He was laying face down, obviously grievously wounded, and they saw a large form moving off in the distance, into the forest.</p><p></p><p> “Stay here,” Standing Oak said, as he began to move after the retreating shape.</p><p></p><p> “I will come with you,” Kaliel said, drawing his tetsubo.</p><p></p><p> “No. You do not know this forest as I do. Remain here with her.” With that, Standing Oak and Kringer ran off.</p><p></p><p> Ayama was already kneeling beside the body. She glanced over him, seeing that he barely clung to life. Gently, she rolled him over. A large, jagged wound crossed his abdomen. When the tribesman’s eyes locked onto Ayama, his lips moved, and he began to speak in a strange, rushing voice.</p><p></p><p> “Get away from me, you undead fiends!”</p><p></p><p> And then the man exploded.</p><p></p><p>-------------------------------------</p><p></p><p>* Although we pronounce the tiger's name as KREEN-gur in-game, it is still, unfortunately, a green tiger named 'Kringer'. It will not be the last bad name pun you encounter in this tale, I'm afraid.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Delemental, post: 4997615, member: 5203"] [b]The Circle Widens[/b] The tall spires and towers of Denandsor jutted out from the lightly-wooded plains surrounding it. Even from this distance, several miles from the city’s walls, Ghost could feel a sense of foreboding. There were no animals in the area, even insects, giving the woods an unnatural quiet. That was not to say that the woods were completely devoid of the living. Ghost had spent his first two days here observing the many scavenger camps that surrounded the city. Most appeared to be relatively new, though there were signs of many other camps that had been abandoned. One fairly permanent camp was held by a garrison from Lookshy, another by explorers from the Guild. Ghost noted that there was little love lost between the various groups, who always went into Denandsor heavily armed. Ghost suspected that the weapons were not so much to defend against the city’s infamous automated guardians, but to defend themselves against the other scavengers should they emerge with something of value. This seemed to be a faint concern, however; none of the groups appeared to have made any progress in wresting Denandsor’s secrets out of the city. Of more interest to Ghost were the individuals who camped outside the walls. There were only two that he found, in well-hidden camps that were ignored by the larger groups. Those groups clearly felt that one person could not effectively explore the cursed city, and so it was not worth the trouble of checking their progress. For one of them, Ghost found this was true; it was a woman, dressed in rags and scraps of armor, who had clearly become unhinged by the curse and now simply wandered around the city and the forest surrounding it, her madness compelling her to stay close but unable to function beyond bare survival. Ghost found an old journal among her belongings, which indicated she had once been a soldier in Thorns, who had come here after the city was attacked by the Mask of Winters in hopes of finding a weapon to use against the Deathlord. The other solitary explorer was of more interest to Ghost. An exploration of his camp revealed that this one had been far more successful, and had liberated many items from the city. Most of the objects Ghost found in the camp were made of gold or orichalcum; though he could not begin to fathom what purpose or function these things had, there was no doubt that this explorer had a particular focus in his efforts. It was evening of the third night when Ghost approached. He walked deliberately and at a casual pace, making no attempt to approach unheard but not wanting to sound as though he was either trying to sneak in or rushing the camp for an attack. Ghost stopped at the edge of the campfire’s light. “Hail the camp!” Ghost said. “Who are you?” called out a man’s voice. “What do you want?” “Someone who wishes to speak with you about the lost city,” Ghost said. “I assure you that I wish you no harm, nor do I wish to take from you that which you have.” There was a moment’s wary silence. “Approach,” the explorer said, “but keep your hands where I can see them.” Ghost stepped into the firelight. He could not make out the explorer’s features well against the fire, but saw that he was middle-aged, perhaps in his middle forties. The man peered at him intently for a moment, then seemed to draw back, startled. “You are a Solar!” he exclaimed. Ghost stifled his surprise. “And you are perceptive.” “That is in part because I am a Solar as well.” The man gestured for Ghost to come and sit down. He was a thin but healthy man, with short white hair and a trim, graying beard. He wore an outfit that was practical for his work, plain and durable with many pockets and leather hoops from which equipment could be hung. The camp itself was very tidy and well-organized. “I am Lear,” the man said as Ghost sat. “of the Twilight Caste.” “Resplendent Ghost of Midnight, Night Caste.” “So, what is it that brings you… well, I suppose I know why you are here. But are you seeking something in particular in the City of Makers?” “Nothing in particular,” Ghost admitted. “My companions and I plan a more extensive exploration of Denandsor in the future; I have come to obtain an initial impression of the city and its curse, so that we may better prepare.” He smiled. “I certainly will not pass up the opportunity to remove any interesting objects from the city.” “I am planning another foray into the city tomorrow,” Lear said. “I would certainly not mind another pair of eyes with me.” “And I would benefit from your experience inside Denandsor,” Ghost replied. “Is there a particular interest you have within the city?” Lear asked. “For the most part, anything will be good. However, in my research before coming here, I came across a reference to a particular building which piqued my interest.” Ghost picked up a stick and drew a rough map in the dirt of Denandsor, and then marked the location of the airship hangar that bore Kal Bax’s symbol. Ghost was not yet willing to share more about the source of his information; he assumed that Zanka would already be cross with him for copying the map without her knowledge, and would probably be more perturbed if he were to show it to anyone he met. He had not known Lear long enough to fully trust him. “I have not been to that part of the city,” Lear admitted. “I have avoided the larger buildings for the sake of prudence; I assume they will have more formidable defenses, and I would not wish to become trapped should my will break and I am compelled to leave. This has occurred to me on two or three occasions.” “I have heard that the curse of Denandsor is formidable and insurmountable,” Ghost said. “Yes, but in my observations of my fellow explorers, I have learned that we Solars are more resistant to the curse than others. There was even a Lunar here, about six months ago, and though he was far more tolerant of the curse than mortals and Dragon-Bloods, even his will was not as strong as ours. I do not know if this means that the curse is something of Solar design, or simply a result of our superior Exaltation. Still, I have made it a priority in my exploration to locate artifacts that bolster one’s inner resolve, so that I may eventually brave the inner sections of Denandsor.” Lear gestured at the spot on Ghost’s crude map. “What is your interest in this place? Do you feel some sort of connection to it?” “Somewhat. What little I was able to find out about it did… tickle my memory.” Lear chuckled. “I have had that experience myself. I myself have been searching for some of the more esoteric devices, those dealing with the channeling of Essence. I have a theory…” Lear launched into a long, convoluted discussion of his theories. In truth, the word ‘discussion’ was incorrect, as it was the Twilight who spoke while Ghost listened, unable to follow his explanations of ‘motonic theory’ and ‘dragon line field alteration’. He began to sound much like Ayama when she was expounding on advanced principles of alchemy and medicinal lore. Ghost did his best to hide his growing frustration. “I think that I should turn in,” Ghost said at a brief lapse in Lear’s monologue. “We will want to leave early for Denandsor tomorrow.” “I agree,” Lear said. “You are welcome to sleep here. I will see you in the morning.” [center]۞[/center] The merchant vessel cut through the waters of the Yellow River, spray from its waters churning in its wake. Zanka stood at the bow, now able to see the city of Great Forks coming into view ahead. It was the first time she’d seen the shore in the past two weeks, after sailing on the miles-wide river since she and the shamans from Petgrana had booked passage on this ship. “I thought I would find you here,” said a familiar voice behind her. “We should be in Great Forks within the hour. I thought you might like to join me in my cabin for some refreshment before we make port.” Zanka turned to face the man who spoke. Ramba, a man in his mid twenties, stood with an easy, unassuming look on his face, but Zanka had learned better. He was the owner of this ship, and in fact owned several ships and caravans as part of his trading company. This particular ship was bound out of Greyfalls, where Ramba was from originally, and heading to Great Forks, bearing a load of crystal goblets. The man had taken a liking to Zanka, and thus her voyage had been taken in relative luxury, as Ramba himself was accustomed to a certain high lifestyle. He had told her that he was perhaps the greatest merchant in Creation; she had thought this an idle boast at first, but when she had managed to take a quick look at his ledgers, she found that he projected an eightfold profit on this shipment of goblets, far beyond what she would have expected. In her personal conversations with him, she found Ramba to be very charming and persuasive, and even with her own great skill, she found herself on one or two occasions having to check herself lest she give away too much about herself, or make promises she did not wish to keep. As it was, she managed to maintain a friendly rapport with the man without being talked into anything more intimate. “A little something would be lovely,” Zanka said. She took his arm and followed him to his cabin, where a bottle of white wine was already sitting in a bucket of ice, a Southern vintage which she had found was quite effective in warding off the heat. Ramba poured while Zanka took a seat. “So,” she said when she was handed her glass, “can you make a recommendation for an inn once we arrive in Great Forks?” “You do not wish to stay with me, then?” he asked, with only a hint of disappointment. “I am traveling as a group, you know.” “Ah, of course. I can make some recommendations then, I suppose. But it would help if I knew how long you were staying. So tell me, what business do you have in Great Forks?” Zanka considered for a moment, then looked up at Ramba. “My traveling companions are from a small town called Petgrana, which is south of the Meander. The town was recently attacked by barbarians inflicted with a strange plague, one which we discovered also affected gods. We have also encountered this plague in the North. My friend, who is a skilled healer, has discovered a cure for that plague. We were sent to Great Forks to make sure that the knowledge of this plague and its cure reached the gods who rule this city, as we felt they would be most likely of the Terrestrial gods to share the knowledge with others.” Ramba frowned. “I would take care who you speak to about this. Rumors of plague tend to cause panics.” “I am no fool,” she said. “Even with such news, it is likely you will end up languishing in the ministry offices for a month before you meet anyone of import,” Ramba said. “I have connections in the ministries. Allow me to assist you.” “That would be most welcome,” Zanka said. “Of course, I would also like to have the formula for that cure.” “That could be arranged,” Zanka said coolly, “if I can be guaranteed a cut of the profits.” “Profits? Dear lady, you wound me.” “And you wound me if you expect me to believe that ‘Creation’s greatest merchant’ would not find a way to turn that cure into profit. After all, I imagine many gods would pay handsomely to guarantee their own safety.” Ramba considered for a moment. “I would need to be able to find you to deliver the profits.” “You can send them to Lady Rinalta of Lynnisbrook. She will keep them in trust for me.” “Very well. How much were you thinking?” They bartered back and forth for several minutes. In the end, Zanka agreed to accept five percent; she had hoped for more, but found herself wooed by his persuasive arguments that the chances for profits would be somewhat uncertain, and no doubt any customers he found would insist he provide them with the ingredients for the cure as well as the formula, which was never a very lucrative enterprise. “Shall we seal our bargain?” Ramba asked, smiling as he extended his hand. Zanka grasped the offered hand. Perhaps it was the irritation she felt knowing she should have been able to negotiate for more, or perhaps it was the effects of three glasses of wine. But in the moment their hands touched, Zanka’s normal precise control faltered, and in that moment her power flared forth. Her anima flashed as their bargain was sealed. “What the…” Ramba exclaimed as the light faded, and the power of the Eclipse sank into his heart and soul. “Oh, damn!” Ramba sat back in his chair. Zanka sat for a moment to gauge his reaction, and when she saw that he was not terrified by the revelation of her nature, she smiled. “You neglected to ask before the deal was made,” she said. “That is true,” he admitted. Then he flashed a smile back at her. “But had you told me that you were a Lawgiver as well, I might have given you ten percent.” “Another Lawgiver?” Zanka asked in surprise. “Would you expect Creation’s greatest merchant to be anything else?” [center]۞[/center] Ayama and Kaliel headed east for two weeks, following the path the Panther tribe had made on their way to Petgrana. After a week of travel, the trail became nearly impossible to follow as the ground itself vanished, replaced by gnarled roots and enormous branches. Soon, they were walking upon branches as wide as roads, which bore leaves so large they could have borne the weight of a child. All sight of the sky and the ground vanished, and the horizon became little more than a distant memory. More and more they relied on Ayama communicating with the animals of the forest to learn where the ‘two-legged cubs of the panther’ had come from, though the occasional discovery of a stray zombie in their path helped assure them they were on the proper course. Early in their third week of the search, the two Solars were startled by a sudden noise behind them, the sound of something large dropping onto the branch. They turned to see a huge tiger, its coat a deep green with golden stripes. The cat held its position as they turned, not readying itself to pounce but by no means displaying signs of friendship. “Are you hunting?” Ayama asked the tiger, after calling forth her Charm that allowed her to speak the language of beasts. The cat growled in reply. “He is telling us to wait,” she said to Kaliel. “Wait for what?” “For me,” said a deep voice below them. A man climbed up from the underside of the branch, using claws built into his gloves and boots to gain purchase on the bark. He was obviously a native of the East; he was tall and slender, though powerfully built, and his long hair was a deep green. His clothing and armor were mottled and patterned after the deep forest, and looked so much like bark that he was difficult to see even when he made no attempt to hide. The only thing that stood out was the silver bow across his back. “What can we do for the two of you?” Ayama asked, maintaining an open, nonaggressive posture. “I believe we are following the same path,” the man said. “What path is that?” “I am following the trail of a plague-ridden tribe that came this way about a month ago.” “Then we are following the same trail,” Kaliel said. “Though their numbers are far fewer now.” “From the plague, or were they attacked?” the man asked. “Some of both,” Kaliel admitted. “They attempted to attack the town I was in.” “I only wish to make certain that no more will be coming,” the tall Easterner said. “We have seen the disease that they carry before,” Ayama said. “The first time we encountered it, it had its origin in a shadowland. Are there any such places near here?” “The local tribes have been speaking of a place they now avoid,” the man said. “It is called the Sea of Dead Vines. This may be what you seek. I do not know where exactly this place lies, but if you will have me, I will gladly accompany you.” “I would not object to the help,” Kaliel said. “I am Standing Oak,” the man said, “and this is my companion Kringer*.” “I am Ayama, and this is Kaliel.” The Zenith paused. “What is your intent?” “I intend to make certain this plague does not spread,” Standing Oak said. “If I must kill the remains of the tribe to do this, so be it.” “It will not be necessary,” Ayama said. “I can cure them.” “This is good,” Standing Oak nodded. “Come, we should continue on our way.” The foursome traveled along the massive trees of the East for several more hours. By this time tracking through mundane means was all but impossible; instead, both Ayama and Standing Oak relied on their ability to communicate with the birds and beasts to follow the trail. Kaliel found himself unable to comprehend this ability. “You interact with them as though they were capable of speech,” he said to Ayama, “yet they are beasts.” “Anyone who is sufficiently attuned to nature comes to have an understanding of animals beyond what most people have. Depending upon the species and the nature of the beast, there are certain elements of behavior and body language they have in common. For example, large cats are solitary and hunt by stealth, as opposed to a pack animal such as a wolf. Once you understand this, and the behaviors that support it, it is similar to a conversation. In this way, it is not dissimilar to when you and I speak; though we share words in common, much of our communication takes place through interpretations of posture and tone, and thus…” Ayama trailed off, and then smiled. “And your eyes are glazing over, so I will end there.” Kaliel shook his head. “It is much like when you explain your medicines to me,” he admitted. “It sounded to me like she was over-thinking it,” Standing Oak commented. The four stopped at last to make camp, simply stopping in the midst of one of the road-sized branches. Ayama saw that Standing Oak was staring to gather dead wood. “A fire is not necessary,” Ayama said. “I had assumed that your civilized friend would like his food cooked,” Standing Oak replied. “There is no need,” Kaliel said. “If I can stomach frozen mammoth meat, then this should be no worse.” “Very well,” Standing Oak said, “but it would still be good to ward off the insects. Some of the diseases they carry come from the Wyld, and this is not a good place to fall ill.” The Northerner removed a large, flat slab of slate from his pack and set it on the branch, then built a small fire atop it. When the flames were going strong, he threw a handful of herbs on top, which emitted a thick, pungent smoke. Kaliel noticed that some of the vines hanging nearby actually recoiled as the flames climbed into the air. “Did those plants… move?” “Yes,” Ayama said. Kaliel looked around. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel claustrophobic outdoors, but the omnipresent forest felt as though it was pressing down on him. He longed for the sight of sky or ground. “When will we get to somewhere more civilized?” Kaliel asked. “We are going the wrong way for that,” Standing Oak said. “We are going the right way for Fair Folk and animate plants, however.” Their travels continued for several more days. Though their new companion seemed cordial enough, they learned little about him, as he and Kringer would often range far ahead in order to hunt or to make certain the trail ahead was clear. Eventually, however, they began to notice changes in their surroundings. The air seemed to be even more stagnant and stifling than usual, and the normal birds and insects they had seen were replaced by raitons, spiders, and centipedes. It was clear that they were drawing near the Sea of Dead Vines. Late in the day, a little over three weeks after Ayama and Kaliel had left Petgrana, the group heard a rustling in the brush nearby. Rounding a bole, they spied the collapsed form of one of the Panther tribesman in the path ahead. He was laying face down, obviously grievously wounded, and they saw a large form moving off in the distance, into the forest. “Stay here,” Standing Oak said, as he began to move after the retreating shape. “I will come with you,” Kaliel said, drawing his tetsubo. “No. You do not know this forest as I do. Remain here with her.” With that, Standing Oak and Kringer ran off. Ayama was already kneeling beside the body. She glanced over him, seeing that he barely clung to life. Gently, she rolled him over. A large, jagged wound crossed his abdomen. When the tribesman’s eyes locked onto Ayama, his lips moved, and he began to speak in a strange, rushing voice. “Get away from me, you undead fiends!” And then the man exploded. ------------------------------------- * Although we pronounce the tiger's name as KREEN-gur in-game, it is still, unfortunately, a green tiger named 'Kringer'. It will not be the last bad name pun you encounter in this tale, I'm afraid. [/QUOTE]
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[Exalted 2e] Chosen of the Second Age
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