Mekhet's Magnificient Seven, Redux

[xenoflare]

Hello,

Due to my DM (brujahbunny)'s work and school commitments, he's been unable to post updates to our game story hour. As i'm currently jobless during my vacation break, i've decided to take up the gauntlet and throw in my quill for this effort. Hope you all enjoy the tales of our gaming world! It’s a homebrew with elements of Oerth, Toril, Rokugan, and Magic: The Gathering, and we’ve thrown in some of our stuff.

Just a brief introduction and clarification - i'll be writing an account of what has happened in our campaign about a year ago, in game-time. It starts with the excellent “Prison of the Firebringer” adventure from Dungeon, our party's interactions with the cultists of Hidden Flame, and the consequences of our actions and inactions all the way till now. If it gets a bit messy in areas, sorry, i'm working on pure memory hehe...

So without further ado, lemme introduce the characters you'll be meeting...

 

[xenoflare]

Character Cast for Chapter 1: Prison of the Firebringer

Canter Farstrider
Chaotic Neutral Human Cleric 10/ Contemplative 5 of Fharlangan

One of the most powerful servants of the God of Roads, Canter is a kindly, somewhat contrary, but still outgoing and friendly chap who travels as his god demands, and aids fellows on the road of life. His main goal in life appears to be, for some obscure, strange reason, outfitting the Colossal Fiendish Centipedes that he summons with his divine magic, with little yellow booties and galoshes. We have no idea why (though we give him leeway, y'know, he's a holy man who sees his god everywhere, so you can't expect him to be -too- lucid. Though privately we suspect the Travel domain's to blame... in other words, his mind's far gone now. Though we'll never say it to his face... we need our healing, after all.)

Solvius Van Falken
Chaotic Neutral Human (Undead) Psychic Warrior 10/ Dread Champion 4

The High Liege of the Falcon Throne of the Land of Inglessia, King Solvius is what you think of when somebody mentions "decadent, decaying royalty". It’s not really his fault; he can't help it. You see, he's undead, the twisted experiment in re-animation conducted by an obese vampiric bard who can't even sing very well. Which is damn ironic, because in life, he was one of the most dedicated hunters of the dead to walk his land - he used his skills as a ranger to hunt down the undead hordes that plagued his land, cleansing their taint with torch and whip. (Castlevania, baby.) For all his hatred of the damned, though, Solvius was like them even when he sucked air through the holes in his face - for he did not love life as much as he needed to hate death.

Now however, it seems that he's just going to have to get used to being another one of the shamblers.

Ever since his, hmm, change, he's got a bit of a love-hate relationship with Canter. In the course of a particularly tough fight, Canter just instinctively says "ok, who needs healing?" and gets ready a mass cure wounds, and Solvius goes "Arrrgh, I VILL DRINK YOUR VLAAAD!" when he smells the positive energy cookin'. Then again, party dynamics is bound to get weird when one member of the party can Turn another...

Seth
Neutral Good (??) Human Sorceror 6/ Elemental Savant 9 (Air)

A mysterious willworker of great power, who commands forth eldritch energies of the sky and wind, Seth was until very recently, dead. He does not remember much about his past and is amnesiac, but does remember that he was one of the pioneering developers of elementalism about 3000 years ago. He also claims to be the Duke of an ancient, enlightened forgotten people, who were supremely gifted in magic, but also susceptible to an arcane malady; apparently, he developed some sort of remedy for this magical plague, but it is not known if it succeeded or not, for he died under mysterious circumstances shortly thereafter.

The chronal distortions and time-slips that have been ravaging Dominaria however in recent years seem to have brought about a congruence of circumstances that have led to his unlikely resurrection. Only time will tell if he’s on the side of the angels or not… Place your bets! Place your bets!

Master Yang Yun
Lawful Good Human Monk 15, Seeker of the One

A dutiful, talented martial artist, Master Yang is the latest heir of the secrets of “The Empty Hand that Grasps the White Blade”, a series of powerful grappling and throwing martial arts techniques developed by the ancient grandmasters of the pacifistic monastery he serves. He is also privy to an occult dynasty of esoteric lore and mystic secrets that allow him to peer briefly into the karmic threads of fate. He has been sent forth by the current Grandmaster of the Three Cliffs to seek out the reincarnation of the One, the legendary warrior and ascended hero-deity of mortals who defends the Prime Material against the onslaughts and predations of powerful spirits and outsiders. A time of chaos comes, and in order for mankind to ride the storm and survive, a champion must be found... and thus Master Yang searches for the One in hope of protecting humanity.

Secretly though, Master Yang despairs of the veracity of his quest, and harbours some doubts about the One; maybe he’s been searching so long that he doesn’t know what he’ll do once he finds the One, or maybe he’s just burnt out. A mystic vision was sent to him, indicating that Peter the White is close to the One, and that a time of chaos will arise that will consume many – Master Yang fears that even the One can do nothing against this reckoning, and this spiritual poison slowly stirs in his soul.

(Sounds nice, eh? However… we have our suspicions that his erratic behaviour is just uneven roleplaying from his player. )

Acolyte Lian Wuhai
Lawful Good Human Monk 3/ Psion 7/ Lucid Cenobite 4

Lian’s a junior of Master Yang, and they’re from the same monastic tradition. Unlike Master Yang, who’s sort of like the Monastery’s golden boy, obedient, respectful, and skilled in both ascetic and aesthetic arts, Lian’s a bit of a problem child. He’s the reincarnated essence of the Red Bird of the South, the legendary Phoenix Spirit of the 4 Guardians of the One. His destiny was discovered when he was sickly and suffering from fevers as a child by a shaman, and his family sent the frail child whose body coursed with unstable chi to the monastery to learn self-control.

Lian was locked up in a mountain cave and sealed off from the world, to allow him to learn focus, but he rebelled against that treatment. His latent powers manifested and he blasted his way out, and became a bandit, revelling in his ability to control flame and become literally unkillable. Master Yang was sent to subdue this scourge to the land, and the ex-monk bandit lost the duel. In the ensuing chaos, a mysterious Tengu, one of the oldest patrons of the Monastery, stole Lian’s comatose form, and revealed the responsibilities of the Red Bird to the young psychic. Lian went through a rebirth and retraining in the ways of the Lucid Cenobite, and has since then travelled the lands seeking to make amends for his past crimes and find redress to those poorer and weaker than him.

Most recently, Lian was recalled to the Monastery by the Grandmaster of Three Cliffs, and instructed to aid Master Yang who was in faraway foreign lands in his search for the One. With the Red Bird’s gift of instantaneous travel through the spirit realms, Lian was the most suitable assistant for Master Yang at the present…

(This is my character, also jokingly referred to by everyone as “that dumb fool”, “the boy scout”, and “you stupid idealist” for the amount of trouble my ethical code gets the party into. Sorry guys, but hey, at least I didn’t cause a TPK. Right? Right? Ok, maybe not yet.)

Coreyl Belarus
Lawful Neutral Human Rogue 10/ Shadowdancer 3/ Psychic Warrior 2

This is the party's skill monkey. He's got the superb stealth skills, the impressive repeitoire of NINJA SUPREME DEATH POWER techniques, and is generally likable and a fun guy to have around (especially when he rolls his Hide check 45 and goes around confidently in the battlefield, then the DM says nonchalantly, "The purple worm has tremorsense" and he shouts eeek! and jumps off his chair.)

He's a nice guy, really. A failed product of a training academy of assasins, Coreyl comes from House Belarus, a coalition of amoral demon-worshippers and devil-binders. His big break came when he was supposed to slay Peter, the orphaned son of a deceased paladin-general, for some political de-stabilisation House Belarus had planned- unfortunately, his conscience kicked in as Peter looks like his very first kill which he had always regretted. He protected Peter, became a sort of surrogate father to the idealistic young lad and he's been on the run. His fiendish Patron is Prince Levistus – it’s almost a tragic joke, about how akin his fate is like his Patron’s, destined to be caught in the freezing maw of despair seemingly forever, never finding peace, working with the shadows and against them as well, trying to balance on the threshold of light and darkness.

(and trying his level best to avoid Ankhegs, Giant Crocodiles, and basically anything with the Improved Grab ability. hee hee.)

Peter the White
Lawful Good Human Paladin 5/ Monk 10 of Heironeous

This is an NPC, really, but he’s such an integral part of the story we just kiss the lad and accept him with loving arms. He’s young, idealistic, good-looking, and while he may not be the sharpest shuriken in the knife pouch, he’s still a pretty good guy to have around. He’s grown up under the tutelage of Coreyl and the mysterious half-orc warrior Aketh, but when these two men disappeared from his life, he was adopted by a brown wyrmling dragon, Mekhet. He soon learnt martial arts and chivalry in equal regards from a severe old dervish of Heironoeus, and then travelled forth to pursue his childhood dream of heroism and righteousness.

Of course, he’s only eighteen years old, which makes him just a wee bit gullible at times…

Last and not least,

Mekhet the Wyrmling

This wily little brown dragon fulfils the role of the smart guy in the party; he organises the treasure, splits the loot, and chats up the girls so that shy lil’ Peter will get a chance to use him as a conversation piece. He’s also our agent, and hires us out on dubious quests and invests our money in regrettably pointless pursuits. If we're the band in That Thing You Do, this darling's our Tom Hanks. At the same point of time, we’re just his pet humans, so we can’t complain.…

 

[xenoflare]

Prelude: Awakening of the Sleeping Lord

Evening, The Prefecture of Nan Yuan, the Empire of Shou Long

The children laughed and ran on the riverbanks, following the sun as it chased its shimmering reflection on the water’s surface. Their easy, careless joy bubbled over, an infectious swirl of good cheer that overcame everyone they barrelled through, from the giggling lovers who sat by the river’s edge, to the indulgent poets who smiled as they quaffed their wine and wrote verses on the walls of the pavilions.

Life was good, for the people of the Shou. The invasion of the Tuigan horse lords had taken place over five decades ago, and with the passing of war, life had gradually returned to a gentle equilibrium. The former invaders had learnt the customs of their new neighbours, and the former myopic arrogance of the Shou Empire was replaced with a respect and recognition of the need to keep aware of its fellow nations. The tides of war had swept away the atrophied traditions of deceit as the chaos led the men and women of the Empire to examine themselves their society closely, allowing an unheralded age of harmony to ascend to the present. To the Shou, a people accustomed to the cruel whims and constant threats of sectarian conflict, corrupt bureaucrats, megalomaniac bandit kings and inscrutable spirits, the peace and joy of the present were precious, rare commodities, gifts of the karmic winds blowing from the Heavens.

Despite their rarity, these gifts of the spirit were exchanged freely between the lovers in their shy glances and hopeful words, uproariously shared in the sparks of wit spouted by the off-duty scholars, and ineffably expressed in the shrieks and whoops of joy of the playing toddlers.

It was good that they were happy, for the idyll would not last.

The Time of Fire is upon Dominaria. Let the World burn.

 

[xenoflare]

Prison of the Firebringer - A Brief, Uneasy lull amidst the Firestorm

Evening, Crossroads outside the Ruins of Selskar Vale, Forgotten Valley of the Cold Lands

The campfire was silent, heavy with a deep, unwieldy absence of noise that seemed to imbue even the simplest and most innocuous action with the most awkward of connotations. Peter sat mutely, staring at the orange glow of the embers, seemingly looking for something that was not physically present, and his fingers twitched, halfway through an unaccustomed fidgeting gesture.

A sinuous, serpentine brown head suddenly poked itself mischievously into the fire, disturbing the serenely dying blaze and sending a shower of flickering, fading flames into the air. The young warrior flinched instinctively, as his meandering thoughts were similarly scattered, and the gaze of the martial artist met that of the dragon.

“Peter. What are you thinking about? Or rather… Mekhet should ask – who are you thinking of?” piped the young wyrm, eyes dancing in bronze pools of liquid glee.

“Er... Nothing really, in particular. I was just thinking about how dangerous this quest to stop the Firebringer has been, and about our inability to work together with each other. There’s been so many deaths already…. We don’t work well as a team! Solvius was killed and he was our strongest warrior. Coreyl’s been so unstable and cold, and Master Yang sometimes seems like he doesn’t care about anything anymore. And what’s more… so many people have already… left our cause.”

The acrid sting of betrayal in Peter’s voice could be discerned in its raw entirety in the wintry night’s chill silence.

Mekhet flapped his tiny, vestigial wings and watched the little glow-worms of ash fall from his shoulders, and propelled himself over to Peter’s side. “They left because they had to, Peter. They have things to do, important things to do...”

Tension unlocked itself from the young knight’s shoulders in visible, audible –pops- as he blurted out “But this is important too! What could be more important than striking down evil and preventing it from harming innocent people? We all have things we want to do, but there’s got to be priorities, right? It’s not fair that…”

Peter stopped in the middle of his outburst, not quite sure how to continue.

The dragon snorted a tiny cone of superheated dirt into the snow, and lazily flicked its tail at a passing snowflake. “Not fair about what…? Not fair that some people are going to a home, to do things for people they care about, to meet these people…? While… we are not able to do that?”

The young man could only look on in mute indecision.

“Peter… you like the young lady we met yesterday, right? You like Serilla Destare, don’t you? You’re angry that the happy god-monkey-man Ravi is going home in the middle of this problem, to tend to his temple and his people in Mahani while you can’t go anywhere to protect anyone you love? Are you jealous? It’s not that bad, you know… if you like Serilla, I approve. I won’t get in the way of your schoolboy romance, you know, I’m not like other dragons, I can accept that my pets need company sometimes. And anyway, if you like her, then you have already protected her yesterday, from that nasty minotaur demon Moskoog...”

Peter flushed, and turned his face uncomfortably, and offered a brief prayer to Celestian, God of Stars, wishing that the moonlight didn’t shine so brightly and show his shame-reddened face so prominently.

Apparently, the God of Stars was busy that night, for no such miracle occurred. The paladin shuffled off self-consciously and jumped up a nearby tree, to escape the uncomfortable turn the conversation had suddenly taken.

**

Mekhet smiled and rolled a frozen bit of slush into snowballs with his little talons, and proceeded to play a game of billiards, using his tail as a cue and the fire as a goal-board. He was halfway through his second stack of snowballs when his nostrils rustled. He laughed happily as he recognised the familiar scent of a good friend.

“Fharlangan-man! Canter! Yo! How are you doing? Is everything okay now? Did you send everybody back safely?”

The smiling priest of Fharlangan sat down with a sack of food by his side, and laughed in reply to the eager wyrmling. “Of course everything went all right – what could go wrong? Fharlangan smiles on our quest, and the teleportations went off without a hitch. Serilla Destare is safely back home in Argive; tell the lad not to worry, eh? I even had time to buy some provisions for our journeys – no use going on a war eating tasteless food, that’s what I say. I found some pearls on the cheap for you, and got some rye bread, nice spiced venison and boar for the rest of us.”

Canter stretched and propped his staff on the floor for support, and hollered out to the camp.

“Hey everyone! Dinner! Time to eat! Mmmm-mmm, chow time! I’ve got roasts and breads of all sorts! You’ve been complaining about my iron rations, so here’s something fresh for a change of taste!”

A spectral form suddenly materialised next to the priest and said sullenly, “I heard you the first time. Do you have to shout out so loudly and announce our location to all our foes watching us?”

The priest grinned on, unflappable in his good cheer.

“Hello, Coreyl. My, you seem hungry today – what’ll it be? Argivian spiced venison, Durkwood roast boar, or this bit of mutton soup I got at Mahani?”

The assassin muttered something softly, and Canter nodded vigorously.

“Got you. The mutton soup. Always figured you were more a venison guy. You know, all that skulking and running and jumping, I would think deer makes more sense than goat, but hey I’m an open-minded guy. I would even offer you rabbit if I could, that’s very appropriate, don’t you think? But I didn’t find any. Rabbit, that is. No worries, ok, relax, Jack, keep your head on, no need to get too frisky, 1 mutton soup coming right up.”

The shadow-dancer settled back mutely, and picked up a loaf of bread, cutting away the hard crust deftly with surgical precision. It was somewhat disturbing to observe the hardened killer at work with a blade, even when his attentions were focused on something as un-sanguinary as cutting bread.

“Wow, you’re really good at that! You’re really an ace at this knife-fighting business, eh? I’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone in my Duchy with half the skill as you have with a blade...” The time-tossed elementalist, Seth, had popped out of his tent upon hearing Canter’s call to dinner, and was observing Coreyl’s fancy knife-work with great interest.

“…then don’t look too hard. I’ll hate to cost you any sleep.” Coreyl Belarus took the bread and soup, faded again into the shadows as he strode past the bemused magus, and appeared next to the brooding Peter.

“Here. Don’t think too much about things. You still need to keep your strength up.”

Peter accepted the food and offered his listless thanks. Between the knight-son and his killer-father, there was very little need for words, because very little remained to be said at times like this.

They both stared into the horizon, heavy thoughts squatting toadlike upon their brows, the boy fretting about life’s new twists and turns, the man worrying about death and its icy grip.

Peter thought of light, love, and beautiful silver-haired aasimar mages as he quietly chewed at his bread. His surrogate parent thought of darkness, death, and dangerous black-hearted diabolist killers; even now, the assasins from House Belarus tracking his son and were awaiting his command and directions to strike. Coreyl was not sure what he was planning anymore, he was not sure if he was really an undercover agent going to kill his adopted son, or if he was going to betray his organisation for the second time, or even if he was going to finish his dinner.

Indecision is the thing, Coreyl ruminated, that will kill me, in my line of work.

Problem is, it’s not just going to kill me this time.

Below their tree, the mage Seth, Canter, and Mekhet sat, tucking in with great gusto, telling bad jokes and exchanging laughter with wild abandon. Halfway through the celebrations, the wyrmling surveyed the juxtaposition of mirth and misery, and shrugged in a decidedly most un-draconic manner, and fluttered off somewhere into the night sky.

 

[brujahbunny2]

*Laughs*

Haha... Nice job. Very nostalgic.

Many apologies to the readers of the original "Mehket's Magnificent Seven" thread for its discontinuation. My duties as the National Storyteller of Camarilla Singapore just takes up too much time to mantain a storyhour, run D&D as well as a larp.

Anyhows, this story took place much earlier than the events that transpired in the previous storyhour and I hope that it would be no less compelling to the discerning readers of EnWorld.

I'm certain that Xenoflare will be able to capture the humor and excitement that accompanies our game sessions.

Stay tuned for more. (Look out for the fight with Jander Tholm, a French Death Slaad with sense of humanitarian ideal and sprouts poetry before imploding people! )

 

[neveryours]

Sure brings back the memories, doesn't it? Grins. Canter seems slightly bimbotic. Laughs.

 

[xenoflare]

Sure brings back the memories, doesn't it? Grins. Canter seems slightly bimbotic. Laughs.

slightly? slightly?

my good sir, there is nothing slight about your fascination with acorns and fiendish centipedes

 

[xenoflare]

Haha... Nice job. Very nostalgic.

Many apologies to the readers of the original "Mehket's Magnificent Seven" thread for its discontinuation. My duties as the National Storyteller of Camarilla Singapore just takes up too much time to mantain a storyhour, run D&D as well as a larp.

Anyhows, this story took place much earlier than the events that transpired in the previous storyhour and I hope that it would be no less compelling to the discerning readers of EnWorld.

I'm certain that Xenoflare will be able to capture the humor and excitement that accompanies our game sessions.

Stay tuned for more. (Look out for the fight with Jander Tholm, a French Death Slaad with sense of humanitarian ideal and sprouts poetry before imploding people! )

i'll try my best to keep things up in an easy-reading, interesting and detailed package. My only fear is that my memory of the sequence of events may be a bit skewed, so i'm consulting my old notebooks to make sure things keep to a certain order, but i'll just fast forward at times ok? Not meaning to detract from the game occurrences haha.

 

[xenoflare]

Masters and Mistakes

Haagen River, 7 miles south of Selskar Vale

Alone in the middle of the freezing river, Master Yang stood and meditated.

He cleared his mind of all distracting thoughts, of all irrelevant details, and focused on his quest, of seeking the One.

He saw -him-, but the One was running from him, running further and further away. The One was so close now, and just a day ago, he had positively sensed the confluence of unique factors, the ineffable configuration of chi that marked the presence of the One.

Then why is it, Master Yang wondered, that my prayers and meditations seem to come to naught?

They have guided him thus far – and now that he had come close to his goal, why has the quarry suddenly disappeared? How could he have sensed the One if the One was not present? If the One was indeed present, then why was he still on this fool’s quest – indeed, was not everything supposed to be resolved the moment the One was found?

Did I miss out anything? Anyone? Any factors at all, that I’ve overlooked?

And as the monk contemplated, carelessly losing focus and spreading his mind into the realm of discursive thought, a horrible vision came to him, of fire and thunder raging across the land, of a massive two-headed beast composed equally of shadow and flame striding and plundering across the blasted ruins of Dominaria. Vast legions of steel-carapaced, corruption-swathed abominations staggered along in the Chaos Lord’s wake, visiting destruction and unearthly horror upon all that they surveyed.

He saw himself fighting against these forces, and he saw himself trampled underneath their bone-spurred feet, crushed into infinitesimal fragments, with his spiritual essence distilled and distorted. He saw himself rising up from the dead as a minion of the tide of Chaos, and laughing mindlessly as he unleashed horror after horror upon his own world.

Bazim-Gorag… and with his coming, he heralds the Time of Fire, where the World will be consumed in merciless burning. They … cannot be stopped, not by the likes of me. I need the One! Is this my imagination that fools me, or is this a vision to guide me?

Master Yang shuddered, stopped his meditations, and slowly stumbled his way back to the riverbank. Shaking his head and walking slowly back towards the campsite, the ascetic was still lost in his doubts, and even his razor-honed reflexes did not notice the smelly old man walking drunkenly towards him, lumbering with neither agility nor lucidity.

**

The two men walked smack into each other with somewhat less grace than the crashing of two rage-blinded rogue elephants. Master Yang managed to call upon his long decades of training to regain his inner centre, and was able to stand upright, while the inebriated gentleman, as burdened as he was with the weight of his alcohol, both consumed and unconsumed, could only fall back lamely.

Many bottles were smashed, much alcohol was wasted, and lots of angry words were exchanged. It was all in all, a rather one-sided exchange.

“You… you… you… murderer of BABY GRAPES! Despoiler of innocent glassware! Soul-less aberration that prefers PLAIN WATER to HONEST ALCOHOL! How’re you going to pay me back, huh, HOW ARE YOU GOING TO PAY ME BACK, YOU BALD CHICKEN FEATHER GORILLA!” the prone man sputtered forth his words in an amazing flurry of senselessness, syllables and saliva.

Master Yang was perplexed, and decades of internalised training and indoctrinated respect for the elderly again guided his response to the unlikely situation. Sheepishly, he bowed and extended a hand respectfully to the sloshed senior citizen, to help the old man up.

The monk’s bemusement increased tenfold when instead of receiving the drunkard’s hand in his own, he found a bottle of Shivan Firedrake’s Old Brandy.

“The only way you’re gonna pay me back, you speckled old hen, is to sit down with me in this Wee-Jas-forsaken burnt-down fairy ice wonderland and drink! Nobody’s going to run away from Arthur Wainwright, no sirree, not when there’s drink to be drunk and drunks to be tossed into the drink!”

Wainwright’s old eyes sparkled with insane glee and self-loathing; as Master Yang beheld his pitiful form, the younger man saw a holy symbol of Fharlangan, Patron Deity of Roads, slung haphazardly around Arthur’s neck.

“Hmmm… It is my most sincere and greatest of regrets, please accept my apologies since I have caused you such trouble and distress, oh Priest of Fharlangan. It is not my intention to…”

Arthur’s vitriolic outburst drowned out Master Yang’s meandering contrite reply. “Look I’m not asking you to pay me money, just drink with me you bloody slimy foreign idiot, ok I’m foreign here too, but that’s not the point, sit and drink, and don’t call me a priest of Fharlangan, I’m not a priest of that useless geriatric patron of walking sticks and wagon-sized wenches!”

Master Yang looked at the pendant around Wainwright’s neck meaningfully, and the old drunkard followed his gaze. “Oh, this trinket? THIS TRINKET MEANS NOTHING!”

With that, Arthur Wainwright reached for the necklace, tugged it off, and tossed it into the hoary depths of the Haagen River.

“Gods, prophecies, demons and evils, who cares about them anymore? The world’s going to end, and there’s not a thing anybody can do about it! Fharlangan didn't do a single thing to stop those damn slaad from killing my family, from destroying my business, while i was doing his thrice-cursed work! Keep roads safe my speckled hen's old speckled ass! Why bother! Just drink and let the world kill itself, at least while you’re sloshed, you’ll be so goddamn unconscious and stinking useless that you won’t make things worse! GAH! DRINK, DAMN YOU!”

Master Yang thought of his past doubts, of the Darkness that strides the land, of the Darkness cloaking his own will and mind. He thought of the lives that his own hands, sworn to protect life, had so easily taken in his indecision yesterday, of the sacred oaths and vows he had broken so easily in that moment of weakness. He thought of the age-old quest he had followed, to seemingly no avail to find this phantom One, of the mockery that had befallen his steps every single day of his life when he had embarked upon this fool's errand. And he thought, most of all, of the unstoppable juggernaut of the Firebringer, of the vision he had chanced upon, and of the impending fate of cremation that awaits the world.

“Yes... you speak most wisely, Mr.. Wainwright? Gods and prophecies… what use are they at all now, to this world?”

Yang nodded slowly, and his hand clenched around the bottle surely, as he popped the cork, and started to drink.

**

 

[Chasmodai]

Nice one. Was waiting for something to happen to this SH.