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<blockquote data-quote="Delemental" data-source="post: 5028770" data-attributes="member: 5203"><p>Ayama sailed backward, her back striking hard against the unyielding surface of an aspen tree whose trunk was as wide as the largest longhouse in Petgrana.</p><p></p><p> She grimaced as she got to her feet, feeling her shoulder joint grind uncomfortably. She had managed to absorb most of the blow, however, which would have cut a normal person in half. Looking around, she quickly cleared the cobwebs from her mind and began to climb.</p><p></p><p> The Zenith had lured the necromantic warstrider away from the Sea of Dead Vines and into the forest, staying just out of reach. She was playing a dangerous game, as even with the supernatural resilience she had been granted by the Unconquered Sun, she would not last long against the Abyssal horror that now stalked her through the trees.</p><p></p><p> She found the branch she wanted just as she felt the low rumble in the wood at her feet that told her that the warstrider had found her. It landed with a heavy thud as Ayama ran off onto one of the tree’s smaller branches, one that looked too small to support the mobile battlesuit’s weight. The dense foliage growing from the branch also prevented the warstrider from getting a clear line of sight and simply blasting her with necrotic Essence.</p><p></p><p> About halfway out, the branch started shaking violently. The warstrider had begun hacking at the limb with its blade, hoping to send this second Solar into the endless depths of the Eastern forest. Ayama took out a long coil of vines that she had snatched up before moving into the forest, and looped it around a protruding small branch as thick as her own leg. Looking around quickly to make sure she had judged correctly, Ayama grabbed the rope and rappelled down to a much larger branch-road below. She looked up and saw that the warstrider had hacked through most of the branch already, and another blow or two would snap it off.</p><p></p><p> She landed below, and then stood and watched as the warstrider leapt into the air and came down with a bone-shaking tremor. Face to face, with no intervening cover, the warstrider advanced on Ayama, its black blade reflecting the light that shone from Ayama’s anima.</p><p></p><p> When it was only a few steps away, Ayama smiled. “I knew I should not expect a fair fight from you,” she shouted up at the warstrider pilot. “That is why I did not make this a fair fight.”</p><p></p><p> She grabbed the vine in both hands and pulled with all her might. The large branch above them, weakened by the chopping of the warstrider, snapped apart with a resounding crack and came crashing down toward them. The warstrider, seeing the branch crashing down, turned and braced its feet for the impact; though the falling limb was large, it knew it could withstand the impact.</p><p></p><p> What it had not counted on was the fact that the place where Ayama had lured the Abyssal was the same place where she and Kaliel had battled the undead constructs, and the surface under the strider’s feet was slick with ichors and viscera.</p><p></p><p> The Warstrider tumbled as its feet flew out from under it, and it sailed off the large branch-road. Desperately, the huge armored suit flailed, and grasped the heavy bark at the branches’ edge. As it clung to the side, Ayama walked up and looked down at the warstrider in pity. Slowly, she wedged the toe of her boot between the warstrider’s bone and steel finger and the hard wood of the tree.</p><p></p><p> “Such is the fate of all who would poison Creation with their foulness,” she said to the Abyssal, and then she kicked down, breaking the warstrider’s grip. As it tumbled away into the yawning blackness below, she heard a mechanical voice echo up from the forest.</p><p></p><p> “Test Alpha Two-B, failed.”</p><p></p><p> Ayama took a moment to catch her breath, and make certain that none of her injuries were severe enough to incapacitate her once her adrenalin and Essence wore off. Then she began walking back to the Sea of Dead Vines.</p><p></p><p> She found Kaliel in the hole that he had fallen through, laying about twenty feet down on a lower substratum of vines. She gathered a large number of vines to fashion herself a harness and makeshift pulley, and lowered herself into the pit. It took some time, but Ayama was able to remove Kaliel’s heavy jade armor and haul it piece by piece out of the pit, before finally extracting Kaliel himself. By the time she finished, the sounds of battle in the forest had faded, and Standing Oak had returned to their side.</p><p></p><p> “It is finished.” He looked down at the grievously injured Kaliel as Ayama worked to stitch up his wounds and set bones.</p><p></p><p> “He will live,” Ayama said to the unspoken question.</p><p></p><p> Standing Oak then turned his attention to Ayama, and saw that not all of the blood on her clothing was Kaliel’s. “Do you require healing?” he asked.</p><p></p><p> “Yes, I do,” groaned Kaliel weakly. “I would think that was obvious.”</p><p></p><p> “I was not speaking to you,” Standing Oak said curtly.</p><p></p><p> “I will be fine,” Ayama said. </p><p></p><p> Standing Oak looked around the Sea of Dead Vines. “Armies of the walking dead are one thing,” he commented, “but a necromantic warstrider is beyond what we had anticipated. I must report this occurrence.”</p><p></p><p> Ayama chose not to ask who we would be reporting to. “Do you know how they are able to create these areas of death?” she asked.</p><p></p><p> He shook his head. “Such knowledge is not in my possession. But there are others who may have this knowledge.”</p><p></p><p> “I would greatly appreciate any insight into the matter,” Ayama said. “My home is the village of Petgrana, three weeks to the west. My son, Rutendo, is our village’s war leader. If you learn anything, please have someone bring that information to the village. Tell the forest god Sunlight Pierces the Canopy that you bear a message for Ayama.”</p><p></p><p> “The Divine Gift to End Suffering,” Standing Oak said, and for the first time since they had net there was the hint of a smile on Standing Oak’s face. “I have heard of you. This will be done.”</p><p></p><p> Ayama pulled a scroll out of her pack, and handed it to the Sword of Heaven. “This is the cure for the plague that had infected the Panther tribe, which I believe originated from this place. There are also instructions for how to create the medicine that will cure a god who is infected. I trust you will deliver this to those who can make use of it.”</p><p></p><p> “Of course. Do you require supplies?”</p><p></p><p> “No, thank you.” She looked down at Kaliel. “I have a feeling that I will need to perform this task for Kaliel many more times in the future. I should become practiced in performing that duty without outside aid.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps it is time that I meditated upon the Unconquered Sun and developed further insight into my methods of healing.”</p><p></p><p> “Fare well, Ayama,” Standing Oak said. “Until we meet again.” A moment later, he was gone.</p><p></p><p> Once she was convinced he was stabilized and able to be moved safely, Ayama set about constructing a travois with sturdy branches and vines. She groaned as she settled the weight of Kaliel’s bulk and his jade armor onto the makeshift harness she had built, comforting herself with the knowledge that she did not have to carry him far.</p><p></p><p> She walked for a few hours, until she was well out of the region of corruption that marked the Sea of Dead Vines. There, she made camp, and after making sure Kaliel was resting comfortably, she sat quietly, sipping hot tea, until the large Northern warrior began to stir.</p><p></p><p> “You are awake,” Ayama said. “I urge you to remain still, however. The stitching is still fresh and could tear. You will be able to walk tomorrow, though slowly. You will not be able to don your armor again for several days, and if you attempt to do so, I will throw it off the side of this tree. Do I make myself clear?”</p><p></p><p> Kaliel nodded. “I thought that the Unconquered Sun had granted you the power to ease the pain of wounds,” he said softly.</p><p></p><p> “He has,” she replied, “but if I were to do so, then you would learn nothing.” She set down her tea. “Speaking of lessons, I believe that you and I should talk about your battle against the warstrider.”</p><p></p><p> “I was more fatigued than I realized,” he said. “Much of my energy was expended in my battle with that woman.” He turned his head to look at Ayama. “Have you ever heard of an Exalt who bears a caste mark like ours, but instead of golden light is formed from a bleeding wound? This woman, Nine Wounds Laughing, bore a mark very much like Ghost’s.”</p><p></p><p> Ayama frowned. “I have not.”</p><p></p><p> “I think I knew her… before,” Kaliel said.</p><p></p><p> “This is a subject for another day,” Ayama said sternly. “We must talk.”</p><p></p><p> “What can you possibly have to talk to me about?”</p><p></p><p> “I believe it is time that we put some attention toward strengthening your connection to the Unconquered Sun,” Ayama said. “As your bond with him deepens, you will find it easier to sustain yourself for extended periods.”</p><p></p><p> “I see.” Kaliel contemplated for a moment. “Very well. When do we begin?”</p><p></p><p> “We begin now,” Ayama said. “I suspect you will have to become very proficient in being able to maintain your focus through pain.”</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">۞</p><p></p><p> Zanka woke with a start. The room she was in was dark, with only the light of a few oil lamps reflecting off the surface of the cool bath she was submerged in. This was slightly disorienting to the Eclipse, as it had been late afternoon when she cajoled her way into the upscale bathhouse on the arm of an elderly man who was only too happy to be seen in public with such a lovely young devotee. Fortunately for Zanka, once inside the man had indicated that he was here to visit his ‘nephew’, and so she had not needed to talk the man out of any expectations he might have.</p><p></p><p> Zanka became aware of a presence in the room. Looking across the large pool, she saw Pearlescent Lotus Whispers, who was submerged much as Zanka was.</p><p></p><p> “I feared that you were not coming,” Pearl said. “But when I realized where you were, I understood. I know how the city can be in summer, and you have been very busy today.”</p><p></p><p> Zanka nodded, for once words failing her as she oriented herself to the situation. After her rallying of the people to the temple of the Unconquered Sun yesterday, she had awoken this morning early in order to visit the temple again, not only to encourage the workers in their tasks, but to offer a prayer to the Unconquered Sun asking for his blessing. She had then gone to the Palace of the Three along with the shamans from Petgrana, and after gathering a large crowd of Talespinner’s worshippers and convincing them to support her, she had supplicated the god directly. She had formulated her prayer as a story about a humble woman from a village that was beset by invaders suffering from a strange plague that had infected both them and their god, making sure to emphasize the many similarities between this plague and the Great Contagion, as well as the suspicions of its connection with shadowlands and Deathlords. The story told how the woman had cleverly devised a cure for this disease, healing the invaders and their god and bringing peace. She concluded by telling how the woman realized that all of Creation needed to know how to defeat this terrible disease, and so had asked her friend from the North to come to Great Forks and seek an audience with the great Spinner of Glorious Tales, who they knew would be the best to carry the tale of this plague and its cure to all the gods of Creation and Heaven. The prayer had been carefully crafted to include elements that Zanka knew would appeal to Talespinner; allusions to his own mortal origins and his role in the founding of Great Forks, appeals to both his love of tales and the dread that all living things held about the Great Contagion, and a healthy dose of flattery.</p><p></p><p> Her success had been beyond expectations, for the god Talespinner manifested in the flesh to greet Zanka. From there, it had been a simple matter to have the shamans present what they knew, and to negotiate with the god that he would make his best effort to ensure the information of the disease and its cure would be spread to as many gods as possible. The bargain sealed with the power of an Eclipse oathbond, Zanka had departed the temple, surrounded by hundreds of joyful supplicants shouting their thanks to her for the holy experience they had shared.</p><p></p><p> After that, Zanka had decided that the early summer heat of the city was becoming too much to bear, and so had made her plans to gain access to the city’s most exclusive private bathhouse. Clearly, she had drifted off. Now, looking across at Pearl, she remembered the note the courtesan had given her, and that she was supposed to have met Pearl at sundown today.</p><p></p><p> “Shall we have our conversation here, or meet elsewhere?” Zanka asked.</p><p></p><p> “I have seen to it that we will not be disturbed here,” Pearl replied. “My dear Zanka, there are some things to will need to learn in order to survive in this world. Some lessons will be easy, others difficult; some are even potentially fatal. But some things you can learn may be what would be considered ‘lost knowledge’.”</p><p></p><p> “That would mean less of a possibility that others would decipher your actions,” Zanka observed.</p><p></p><p> “This is correct. There are many things I have learned in my life. We courtesans are often called upon to defend ourselves.” She smiled wryly, “But unlike some, we cannot walk about clad in jade armor or festooned with weaponry. Our weapons must be subtle and innocuous; sleeves and sashes, hairpins and fans.”</p><p></p><p> “I take it, then, that you are offering to teach me these techniques?”</p><p></p><p> Pearl looked around. “This seems to be as good a venue as any in which to begin.” She rose, and stepped out of the pool. The courtesan rose gracefully from the water, with no hint of discomfort in her nudity, but clearly not flaunting it either. Still, Zanka had to admit as she studied the woman, she could appreciate why Pearl invoked such strong desires in others, even if she herself was not inclined toward female companionship.</p><p></p><p> Zanka came out of the pool as well, somewhat less gracefully as she had been sitting in the cool water for some time. She stood facing Pearl, lamplight reflecting from her pale skin, and the goose-bumps that had appeared there had nothing to do with being cold.</p><p></p><p> “Are you ready?” Pearl asked.</p><p></p><p> “I am not sure,” Zanka said, “Do I…”</p><p></p><p> “Too bad,” Pearl said, and rushed forward.</p><p></p><p> Hours later, Zanka found herself sprawled on the floor, exhausted and sore, as Pearl stood across the room, dressing herself. Zanka rose, wincing, and went to retrieve her own clothing. She noted that although Pearl had left her with several bruises, none were in places that would show.</p><p></p><p> “You did well for your first day,” Pearl commented. “You very nearly struck me on one occasion.”</p><p></p><p> “I am accustomed to a somewhat more gentle master,” Zanka commented. Pearl smiled at this.</p><p></p><p> “Ayama has a kind heart.” Pearl finished dressing, and stood; she looked as though she had just finished preparing for a formal reception, rather than having just engaged in hours of brutal martial arts training. “This is your introduction to the style known as Dreaming Pearl Courtesan. I will make arrangements for the location of our next lesson. I trust you are remaining in Great Forks for a time?”</p><p></p><p> “Now that my mission is complete, I have no pressing concerns, though I came here with two shamans who are most decidedly uncomfortable in such a large city.”</p><p></p><p> “I can arrange for them to be returned to their home,” Pearl said. “We will also need to secure new lodgings for you.” She thought for a moment. “It would be convenient for you to be close at hand. Would you feel comfortable in playing the role of one of my clients?”</p><p></p><p> “I… I believe I can do that, but…”</p><p></p><p> Pearl rested a reassuring hand on Zanka’s arm. “You need only play the role to justify staying with me for an extended period, Zanka. I am aware that your tastes do not run in that direction. You could not afford my services, anyway.”</p><p></p><p> “Of course,” Zanka said. “Forgive me, I was being foolish.”</p><p></p><p> “I understand,” Pearl said, taking Zanka by the arm. “But I think you will be pleased by this arrangement. The inn where I am staying is much more opulent than where you have been. And believe me, once word gets out that Zanka Odokari has retained the services of Quon Qi Xi, your reputation will undoubtedly be elevated.”</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">۞</p><p></p><p> Ghost sat in his camp, the large tome he had extracted from the vault in his manse resting on his lap. He felt he could truly call it ‘his’ manse now; he and Lear had spent a few hours inside, collecting various treasures while recuperating from their battle. They had continued to suffer the relentless mental assault of Denandsor’s curse, but just before they had reached the point where they could bear it no longer, Ghost suddenly felt the mystical bond to the manse coalesce, and felt a sudden surge of power as the manse channeled Essence into his soul.</p><p></p><p> They had made it back to Lear’s camp, avoiding a Lookshy patrol along the way. Lear had packed his collected treasures inside the magical vault, which turned out to be an artifact that opened to a space within Elsewhere, and had parted ways with Ghost so that he could continue his exploration of the city. Ghost had withdrawn from the forest surrounding Denandsor, wanting to give himself a chance to recover from the effects of the curse, and to study the treasures left him by Revealing Whispers without risk of discovery.</p><p></p><p> He had finally come to the book, which a cursory glance had told him was a journal of some kind. The author of the journal was Evanescent Shadow, and contained far more pages than the size of the book had led him to believe, as each page was made from a material that was incredibly thin yet far more durable than even the finest parchment.</p><p></p><p> He opened the book to the first page and read.</p><p></p><p> <em>I have been gifted with this journal by Amyana, who expressed her regret that she could not attend the celebration. I found it touching that she remembered the anniversary of my Second Breath; since her own Exaltation occurred over three thousand years ago, I would not think she would find a mere twelve hundred years notable. Still, she has always been the most sentimental of our circle. Out of respect for that, I will honor her gift by recording my thoughts and deeds for posterity.</em></p><p></p><p> Ghost paused, contemplating the words. Twelve hundred years? Three thousand? Lear’s suspicions about the lifespan of the Exalted appeared to be far more extensive than he had realized. Ghost found it difficult to conceive of living that long.</p><p></p><p> Curious, he flipped to a random page near the back of the book, wanting to know what kind of interests a person who had lived for tens of centuries might hold. He began to read the dense, elegant script. Over the course of several minutes, the color began to drain from his face. Suddenly, he slammed the journal shut.</p><p></p><p> “Dear gods,” he whispered, “no.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Delemental, post: 5028770, member: 5203"] Ayama sailed backward, her back striking hard against the unyielding surface of an aspen tree whose trunk was as wide as the largest longhouse in Petgrana. She grimaced as she got to her feet, feeling her shoulder joint grind uncomfortably. She had managed to absorb most of the blow, however, which would have cut a normal person in half. Looking around, she quickly cleared the cobwebs from her mind and began to climb. The Zenith had lured the necromantic warstrider away from the Sea of Dead Vines and into the forest, staying just out of reach. She was playing a dangerous game, as even with the supernatural resilience she had been granted by the Unconquered Sun, she would not last long against the Abyssal horror that now stalked her through the trees. She found the branch she wanted just as she felt the low rumble in the wood at her feet that told her that the warstrider had found her. It landed with a heavy thud as Ayama ran off onto one of the tree’s smaller branches, one that looked too small to support the mobile battlesuit’s weight. The dense foliage growing from the branch also prevented the warstrider from getting a clear line of sight and simply blasting her with necrotic Essence. About halfway out, the branch started shaking violently. The warstrider had begun hacking at the limb with its blade, hoping to send this second Solar into the endless depths of the Eastern forest. Ayama took out a long coil of vines that she had snatched up before moving into the forest, and looped it around a protruding small branch as thick as her own leg. Looking around quickly to make sure she had judged correctly, Ayama grabbed the rope and rappelled down to a much larger branch-road below. She looked up and saw that the warstrider had hacked through most of the branch already, and another blow or two would snap it off. She landed below, and then stood and watched as the warstrider leapt into the air and came down with a bone-shaking tremor. Face to face, with no intervening cover, the warstrider advanced on Ayama, its black blade reflecting the light that shone from Ayama’s anima. When it was only a few steps away, Ayama smiled. “I knew I should not expect a fair fight from you,” she shouted up at the warstrider pilot. “That is why I did not make this a fair fight.” She grabbed the vine in both hands and pulled with all her might. The large branch above them, weakened by the chopping of the warstrider, snapped apart with a resounding crack and came crashing down toward them. The warstrider, seeing the branch crashing down, turned and braced its feet for the impact; though the falling limb was large, it knew it could withstand the impact. What it had not counted on was the fact that the place where Ayama had lured the Abyssal was the same place where she and Kaliel had battled the undead constructs, and the surface under the strider’s feet was slick with ichors and viscera. The Warstrider tumbled as its feet flew out from under it, and it sailed off the large branch-road. Desperately, the huge armored suit flailed, and grasped the heavy bark at the branches’ edge. As it clung to the side, Ayama walked up and looked down at the warstrider in pity. Slowly, she wedged the toe of her boot between the warstrider’s bone and steel finger and the hard wood of the tree. “Such is the fate of all who would poison Creation with their foulness,” she said to the Abyssal, and then she kicked down, breaking the warstrider’s grip. As it tumbled away into the yawning blackness below, she heard a mechanical voice echo up from the forest. “Test Alpha Two-B, failed.” Ayama took a moment to catch her breath, and make certain that none of her injuries were severe enough to incapacitate her once her adrenalin and Essence wore off. Then she began walking back to the Sea of Dead Vines. She found Kaliel in the hole that he had fallen through, laying about twenty feet down on a lower substratum of vines. She gathered a large number of vines to fashion herself a harness and makeshift pulley, and lowered herself into the pit. It took some time, but Ayama was able to remove Kaliel’s heavy jade armor and haul it piece by piece out of the pit, before finally extracting Kaliel himself. By the time she finished, the sounds of battle in the forest had faded, and Standing Oak had returned to their side. “It is finished.” He looked down at the grievously injured Kaliel as Ayama worked to stitch up his wounds and set bones. “He will live,” Ayama said to the unspoken question. Standing Oak then turned his attention to Ayama, and saw that not all of the blood on her clothing was Kaliel’s. “Do you require healing?” he asked. “Yes, I do,” groaned Kaliel weakly. “I would think that was obvious.” “I was not speaking to you,” Standing Oak said curtly. “I will be fine,” Ayama said. Standing Oak looked around the Sea of Dead Vines. “Armies of the walking dead are one thing,” he commented, “but a necromantic warstrider is beyond what we had anticipated. I must report this occurrence.” Ayama chose not to ask who we would be reporting to. “Do you know how they are able to create these areas of death?” she asked. He shook his head. “Such knowledge is not in my possession. But there are others who may have this knowledge.” “I would greatly appreciate any insight into the matter,” Ayama said. “My home is the village of Petgrana, three weeks to the west. My son, Rutendo, is our village’s war leader. If you learn anything, please have someone bring that information to the village. Tell the forest god Sunlight Pierces the Canopy that you bear a message for Ayama.” “The Divine Gift to End Suffering,” Standing Oak said, and for the first time since they had net there was the hint of a smile on Standing Oak’s face. “I have heard of you. This will be done.” Ayama pulled a scroll out of her pack, and handed it to the Sword of Heaven. “This is the cure for the plague that had infected the Panther tribe, which I believe originated from this place. There are also instructions for how to create the medicine that will cure a god who is infected. I trust you will deliver this to those who can make use of it.” “Of course. Do you require supplies?” “No, thank you.” She looked down at Kaliel. “I have a feeling that I will need to perform this task for Kaliel many more times in the future. I should become practiced in performing that duty without outside aid.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps it is time that I meditated upon the Unconquered Sun and developed further insight into my methods of healing.” “Fare well, Ayama,” Standing Oak said. “Until we meet again.” A moment later, he was gone. Once she was convinced he was stabilized and able to be moved safely, Ayama set about constructing a travois with sturdy branches and vines. She groaned as she settled the weight of Kaliel’s bulk and his jade armor onto the makeshift harness she had built, comforting herself with the knowledge that she did not have to carry him far. She walked for a few hours, until she was well out of the region of corruption that marked the Sea of Dead Vines. There, she made camp, and after making sure Kaliel was resting comfortably, she sat quietly, sipping hot tea, until the large Northern warrior began to stir. “You are awake,” Ayama said. “I urge you to remain still, however. The stitching is still fresh and could tear. You will be able to walk tomorrow, though slowly. You will not be able to don your armor again for several days, and if you attempt to do so, I will throw it off the side of this tree. Do I make myself clear?” Kaliel nodded. “I thought that the Unconquered Sun had granted you the power to ease the pain of wounds,” he said softly. “He has,” she replied, “but if I were to do so, then you would learn nothing.” She set down her tea. “Speaking of lessons, I believe that you and I should talk about your battle against the warstrider.” “I was more fatigued than I realized,” he said. “Much of my energy was expended in my battle with that woman.” He turned his head to look at Ayama. “Have you ever heard of an Exalt who bears a caste mark like ours, but instead of golden light is formed from a bleeding wound? This woman, Nine Wounds Laughing, bore a mark very much like Ghost’s.” Ayama frowned. “I have not.” “I think I knew her… before,” Kaliel said. “This is a subject for another day,” Ayama said sternly. “We must talk.” “What can you possibly have to talk to me about?” “I believe it is time that we put some attention toward strengthening your connection to the Unconquered Sun,” Ayama said. “As your bond with him deepens, you will find it easier to sustain yourself for extended periods.” “I see.” Kaliel contemplated for a moment. “Very well. When do we begin?” “We begin now,” Ayama said. “I suspect you will have to become very proficient in being able to maintain your focus through pain.” [center]۞[/center] Zanka woke with a start. The room she was in was dark, with only the light of a few oil lamps reflecting off the surface of the cool bath she was submerged in. This was slightly disorienting to the Eclipse, as it had been late afternoon when she cajoled her way into the upscale bathhouse on the arm of an elderly man who was only too happy to be seen in public with such a lovely young devotee. Fortunately for Zanka, once inside the man had indicated that he was here to visit his ‘nephew’, and so she had not needed to talk the man out of any expectations he might have. Zanka became aware of a presence in the room. Looking across the large pool, she saw Pearlescent Lotus Whispers, who was submerged much as Zanka was. “I feared that you were not coming,” Pearl said. “But when I realized where you were, I understood. I know how the city can be in summer, and you have been very busy today.” Zanka nodded, for once words failing her as she oriented herself to the situation. After her rallying of the people to the temple of the Unconquered Sun yesterday, she had awoken this morning early in order to visit the temple again, not only to encourage the workers in their tasks, but to offer a prayer to the Unconquered Sun asking for his blessing. She had then gone to the Palace of the Three along with the shamans from Petgrana, and after gathering a large crowd of Talespinner’s worshippers and convincing them to support her, she had supplicated the god directly. She had formulated her prayer as a story about a humble woman from a village that was beset by invaders suffering from a strange plague that had infected both them and their god, making sure to emphasize the many similarities between this plague and the Great Contagion, as well as the suspicions of its connection with shadowlands and Deathlords. The story told how the woman had cleverly devised a cure for this disease, healing the invaders and their god and bringing peace. She concluded by telling how the woman realized that all of Creation needed to know how to defeat this terrible disease, and so had asked her friend from the North to come to Great Forks and seek an audience with the great Spinner of Glorious Tales, who they knew would be the best to carry the tale of this plague and its cure to all the gods of Creation and Heaven. The prayer had been carefully crafted to include elements that Zanka knew would appeal to Talespinner; allusions to his own mortal origins and his role in the founding of Great Forks, appeals to both his love of tales and the dread that all living things held about the Great Contagion, and a healthy dose of flattery. Her success had been beyond expectations, for the god Talespinner manifested in the flesh to greet Zanka. From there, it had been a simple matter to have the shamans present what they knew, and to negotiate with the god that he would make his best effort to ensure the information of the disease and its cure would be spread to as many gods as possible. The bargain sealed with the power of an Eclipse oathbond, Zanka had departed the temple, surrounded by hundreds of joyful supplicants shouting their thanks to her for the holy experience they had shared. After that, Zanka had decided that the early summer heat of the city was becoming too much to bear, and so had made her plans to gain access to the city’s most exclusive private bathhouse. Clearly, she had drifted off. Now, looking across at Pearl, she remembered the note the courtesan had given her, and that she was supposed to have met Pearl at sundown today. “Shall we have our conversation here, or meet elsewhere?” Zanka asked. “I have seen to it that we will not be disturbed here,” Pearl replied. “My dear Zanka, there are some things to will need to learn in order to survive in this world. Some lessons will be easy, others difficult; some are even potentially fatal. But some things you can learn may be what would be considered ‘lost knowledge’.” “That would mean less of a possibility that others would decipher your actions,” Zanka observed. “This is correct. There are many things I have learned in my life. We courtesans are often called upon to defend ourselves.” She smiled wryly, “But unlike some, we cannot walk about clad in jade armor or festooned with weaponry. Our weapons must be subtle and innocuous; sleeves and sashes, hairpins and fans.” “I take it, then, that you are offering to teach me these techniques?” Pearl looked around. “This seems to be as good a venue as any in which to begin.” She rose, and stepped out of the pool. The courtesan rose gracefully from the water, with no hint of discomfort in her nudity, but clearly not flaunting it either. Still, Zanka had to admit as she studied the woman, she could appreciate why Pearl invoked such strong desires in others, even if she herself was not inclined toward female companionship. Zanka came out of the pool as well, somewhat less gracefully as she had been sitting in the cool water for some time. She stood facing Pearl, lamplight reflecting from her pale skin, and the goose-bumps that had appeared there had nothing to do with being cold. “Are you ready?” Pearl asked. “I am not sure,” Zanka said, “Do I…” “Too bad,” Pearl said, and rushed forward. Hours later, Zanka found herself sprawled on the floor, exhausted and sore, as Pearl stood across the room, dressing herself. Zanka rose, wincing, and went to retrieve her own clothing. She noted that although Pearl had left her with several bruises, none were in places that would show. “You did well for your first day,” Pearl commented. “You very nearly struck me on one occasion.” “I am accustomed to a somewhat more gentle master,” Zanka commented. Pearl smiled at this. “Ayama has a kind heart.” Pearl finished dressing, and stood; she looked as though she had just finished preparing for a formal reception, rather than having just engaged in hours of brutal martial arts training. “This is your introduction to the style known as Dreaming Pearl Courtesan. I will make arrangements for the location of our next lesson. I trust you are remaining in Great Forks for a time?” “Now that my mission is complete, I have no pressing concerns, though I came here with two shamans who are most decidedly uncomfortable in such a large city.” “I can arrange for them to be returned to their home,” Pearl said. “We will also need to secure new lodgings for you.” She thought for a moment. “It would be convenient for you to be close at hand. Would you feel comfortable in playing the role of one of my clients?” “I… I believe I can do that, but…” Pearl rested a reassuring hand on Zanka’s arm. “You need only play the role to justify staying with me for an extended period, Zanka. I am aware that your tastes do not run in that direction. You could not afford my services, anyway.” “Of course,” Zanka said. “Forgive me, I was being foolish.” “I understand,” Pearl said, taking Zanka by the arm. “But I think you will be pleased by this arrangement. The inn where I am staying is much more opulent than where you have been. And believe me, once word gets out that Zanka Odokari has retained the services of Quon Qi Xi, your reputation will undoubtedly be elevated.” [center]۞[/center] Ghost sat in his camp, the large tome he had extracted from the vault in his manse resting on his lap. He felt he could truly call it ‘his’ manse now; he and Lear had spent a few hours inside, collecting various treasures while recuperating from their battle. They had continued to suffer the relentless mental assault of Denandsor’s curse, but just before they had reached the point where they could bear it no longer, Ghost suddenly felt the mystical bond to the manse coalesce, and felt a sudden surge of power as the manse channeled Essence into his soul. They had made it back to Lear’s camp, avoiding a Lookshy patrol along the way. Lear had packed his collected treasures inside the magical vault, which turned out to be an artifact that opened to a space within Elsewhere, and had parted ways with Ghost so that he could continue his exploration of the city. Ghost had withdrawn from the forest surrounding Denandsor, wanting to give himself a chance to recover from the effects of the curse, and to study the treasures left him by Revealing Whispers without risk of discovery. He had finally come to the book, which a cursory glance had told him was a journal of some kind. The author of the journal was Evanescent Shadow, and contained far more pages than the size of the book had led him to believe, as each page was made from a material that was incredibly thin yet far more durable than even the finest parchment. He opened the book to the first page and read. [i]I have been gifted with this journal by Amyana, who expressed her regret that she could not attend the celebration. I found it touching that she remembered the anniversary of my Second Breath; since her own Exaltation occurred over three thousand years ago, I would not think she would find a mere twelve hundred years notable. Still, she has always been the most sentimental of our circle. Out of respect for that, I will honor her gift by recording my thoughts and deeds for posterity.[/i] Ghost paused, contemplating the words. Twelve hundred years? Three thousand? Lear’s suspicions about the lifespan of the Exalted appeared to be far more extensive than he had realized. Ghost found it difficult to conceive of living that long. Curious, he flipped to a random page near the back of the book, wanting to know what kind of interests a person who had lived for tens of centuries might hold. He began to read the dense, elegant script. Over the course of several minutes, the color began to drain from his face. Suddenly, he slammed the journal shut. “Dear gods,” he whispered, “no.” [/QUOTE]
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[Exalted 2e] Chosen of the Second Age
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