[Exalted 2e] Chosen of the Second Age

[Delemental]

I stepped away from this story for a little while, but I am so glad that I came back! The story just keeps getting better. I really like the introduction of other exalted beings now that the circle members are starting to understand their place in creation. For a second, I thought it was strange that they were meeting to many exalts and gods, but now I think it's appropriate for the epic nature of the tale.

I kind of miss the frame story involving the old storyteller reading from scrolls. I'd like to hear more about the people in the present that are listening to him. How does the town react when they hear about him telling stories of Anathema? I bet there's a story somewhere there.

Your writing is really high quality! I find the story engaging and rich. I bet that has to do a lot with my inexperience with the setting, your excellent group, and your way with words.

Please keep it coming! You are inspiring me to run my own Exalted game!

Thanks for the comments - the encouragement is nice to hear.

I sort of let the frame story slip away as I got into the meat of the campaign - the assumption is that they are still there, telling this story, but the focus is on the tale itself and not the teller. Kind of like the movie The Princess Bride; Peter Falk's still there, but his presence doesn't intrude into the story as much now as it did in the beginning.

I may revisit Grandmother and Grandfather at some point, but I don't know exactly when. Part of the problem with using them too much is by necessity I would then have to define their characters more, and what Creation is like for them (obviously, it's in the future of this campaign, but how far? How does their world differ from the canon Creation?)

Now, off to post another update - I've let my update schedule slide again.

 

[Delemental]

Blood of the Dragons

Okay, to make up for the lack of recent updates, this one's going to be a bit longer than usual.

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Nearly two weeks passed before the remainder of the Circle took their leave of Petgrana. There was a last attempt to try and locate Lenn, but when the search came up empty, they had to conclude that the Lunar had encountered others of his kind, and had been taken under their protection. Luc was offered the chance to remain in the village, but he decided to continue traveling with the Solars, so that he could continue his training in both the arts of war and stealth.

Two days before their departure, however, Kaliel was approached by Rutendo. “With your permission, I would like to accompany you to Lynnisbrook,” the Fire Dragon said, “so that I may be by my mother’s side.”

“Are you certain it is wise to leave Petgrana?” Kaliel asked.

“I have been training someone to take my place as War Leader,” he replied. “And I have also come to recognize something which I believe my mother recognized some time ago. It is too easy for my people to come to rely on my abilities as an Exalt, to become complacent.”

“But that is not the sole reason you are leaving.”

“No,” Rutendo admitted. “It is not. Normally, any parent’s wish is for their children to surpass them, to go beyond what they were able to accomplish on their lives. For myself and my mother, I have come to realize that this is impossible. I cannot surpass her. The best I can do to fulfill my duties as Ayama’s son is to help her to meet her full potential.”

“I can think of worse ways for a son to honor his mother,” Kaliel said. “Very well.”

Kaliel explained Rutendo’s intentions to the rest of his Circle, who agreed he could come with them. Zanka sensed that Rutendo might have another, hidden motivation for coming with them, but she chose not to press.

It was late summer when they set out, and upon arrival at the Meander River, they quickly learned that all of the merchant vessels were packed from bow to stern, as harvests began to come in and traders were desperately trying to get every last grain of rice sold before the onset of winter. With no ships willing to provide them passage, the five travelers were forced to travel overland to reach the kingdom of Lagan.

Two weeks out of Petgrana, they found themselves at a small, unremarkable inn serving a waystation just off the river. There were few guests other than the three Solars and their companions, as a large caravan had just left the day before. Thus as the night grew late, it came to pass that the common room was empty, save for two souls.

Ghost looked across the table at Rutendo, who had been silent for some time. He studied the Dragon-Blood’s face, the way his hands moved, the directions his gaze went.

“I advise you never to involve yourself in a serious game of cards,” Ghost said at last. “Your face is too easily read. Ask the question you have had for the past five days.”

The sudden calling out seemed to steel Rutendo’s resolve. “Have you ever lain with a man?”

“It is not my preference,” Ghost answered, “but neither am I averse to it, under the right circumstances.”

“For some time,” Rutendo said, “I have tried to honor my mother’s desire for grandchildren, and certainly have had no lack of young women in my village eager to assist me. However, I have found myself uninterested in pursuing courtship with any of them. For some time, I assumed that I simply had no attraction to the women of my village, and would need to search elsewhere. Recently, I came to the realization that I have no interest in the touch of any woman.”

“And it seems that you have decided whose touch you do want.”

“This is a way of life I am unaccustomed to,” Rutendo stated. “I have come to know you over the past few months. You are young and handsome, and more experienced in such matters.”

Ghost looked Rutendo over carefully, viewing him in new and interesting ways. “If you are seeking a lifelong partner…”

“No,” Rutendo replied quickly. “I only wish a night’s companionship – or more, if you are willing.”

Ghost smiled. He knew from experience that those with the blood of the dragons held a nearly insatiable lust – he had read in Evanescent Shadow’s journal that this was a trait inherent in their Exaltation, to ensure they would quickly pass along their bloodline.

“If we lie together, Rutendo, the others will soon learn of it.”

“I understand.”

“I will also expect you to be able to find other companions by the time we reach Lynnisbrook,” Ghost continued. “You are young and attractive as well, but as I have said, my preference is for women.”

“I am sure that in your capable hands, I will learn what I need to know to find other partners,” Rutendo said, a smile spreading on his face.

Ghost stood, and circled around the table. He pulled Rutendo up to his feet, and cradling the back of his head in one hand, pressed his lips to the Dragon-Blood’s. Ghost could feel heat begin to rise from the young man’s skin, and the burgeoning of his desire.

“Dear boy, my hands are only one part of what I can show you.” *

۞​

They reached the borders of Lagan late in the day. Hiring a small rivercraft along the shore of the Silver River, they arrived in the city of Lynnisbrook as the long shadows of afternoon began to meld with twilight’s darkness.

The city itself was aglow, with colorful paper lanterns hung everywhere. It seemed that everyone was in the streets, despite the late hour, and as they stepped onto the docks, they could hear the sound of happy shouts and singing. A group of drunken men wandered by, reciting a bawdy poem.

“A celebration,” Ghost said. “Most excellent.”

“This is not a holy day for any god I know,” Kaliel said.

Ghost, who had somehow already managed to procure a flagon of ale, grabbed the arm of a reveler. “What is the cause of such merriment?” he asked.

“Lady Rinalta has declared today a festival day, to celebrate the birth of her child!”

“She has a child?” Ghost asked.

“Not yet, but soon!” the man shouted. “She has been with child for six months!”

“Who is the father?” Ghost asked. Unseen by the others, Kaliel blushed slightly.

“No one knows for certain,” the man said. “But that is not important. Many of us feared that she would be unable to produce an heir because of her long illness. Now we can rest easy that her line will continue.”

The man stumbled past them. Ghost turned to Kaliel. “You were in the city about six months ago,” Ghost said. “Did she mention to you that she was with child?”

“Not a word,” he replied. “Perhaps she had not yet conceived.”

The heroes gathered more information as they made their way into town to find an inn. The most surprising fact they learned was that ambassadors from the Realm had been visiting the city for several months, apparently trying to smooth over a diplomatic gaffe that had occurred about nine months ago. One of the ambassadors, Mnemon Lyrik, was said to have been staying at the palace for some time, and was a strong contender for being the father of Lady Silver’s child.

“Perhaps I will go to Storyteller’s temple,” Zanka said. “I am certain he will wish to exchange tales of recent events.”

“I will go to our compound in the city and get a report from Brusk,” Kaliel said. “Then I will go and pay my respects to Lady Rinalta.”

“We will continue to the Hornblower Inn,” Ghost said. “And then amuse ourselves until your return.”

Kaliel made his way across the town to the compound where the Chrysanthemum Knights had been training the local militia. He was surprised to find the compound was empty, though it had only recently been abandoned. A few inquiries told him that the men from Chrysanthemum had recently left after completing their training program. The Dawn carried this news with him as he approached Rinalta’s palace.

He was admitted right away by the guards, who recognized him from his previous visits. He was asked to leave his weapons behind; though he was somewhat reluctant, he handed Principle of Severity to the waiting guards before following a servant to the formal throne room.

Lady Rinalta sat in her throne, dressed in an opulent red gown and wearing her jewels of state. She had clearly been receiving guests and well-wishers for most of the day. The swell of her belly was plain to see. Sitting beside her in a smaller throne was a man with waist long, straight brown hair, wearing robes embroidered with symbols of the Scarlet Empire and House Mnemon which were the height of fashion on the Blessed Isle, as far as Kaliel could tell.

Kaliel bowed. “Lady Rinalta, it is good to see you again, and under such joyous circumstances.”

“Lord Kaliel, it is good to see you as well. I did not know you would be returning to see us so soon.”

“Circumstances have led our paths to cross once again. I assume that this is Mnemon Lyrik, whose name I have heard mentioned in the streets as I came to greet you.”

The man nodded. “A pleasure, Lord Kaliel. Lady Rinalta has spoken of you.”

“I could not help but notice that my Knights are no longer in Lynnisbrook,” Kaliel said. “I hope they have not given cause to offend.”

“Not at all,” Lady Rinalta replied. “They were simply no longer needed, and had fulfilled their obligations. The training has gone better than expected, and my own soldiers were in a position to begin training the new recruits themselves. In addition, we have found that our need for self-defense is no longer as pressing as it once was.”

“Oh?” Kaliel raised an eyebrow.

“For reasons unknown, the Bull of the North has pulled back his troops, and is no longer as directly involved with the Haltans in their unending war with the Linowans. Because of this easing of pressure on the Linowan front lines, the Linowans have stopped raiding to the south, which of course means we are no longer in their sights as a target. Rest assured, we will continue to train our own soldiers, and will be prepared when the war inevitably escalates again, but for now we have a moment’s rest.”

“I hope that our two lands may continue their alliance, even though the threat from the Linowans has eased,” Kaliel said. Of course, he knew the truth behind the Bull’s unexpected withdrawal – but he was not willing to share this knowledge with a Realm diplomat in the room.

“Of course. The ties between Lagan and Chrysanthemum are as strong as ever.”

Kaliel returned his attention to Mnemon Lyrik. “I must confess I was surprised to learn of a Realm ambassador so deep in the Confederation of Rivers.”

“Greyfalls is much farther East than this,” Lyrik replied.

“And much larger.”

“Lady Rinalta has proven herself a capable ruler,” Lyrik said. “And Lagan has become a much more pivotal region than it once was. There are many who are interested in assuring this nation’s future security. After all, Lady Silver cannot always rely on having a band of mercenaries on hand. This land needs something more… stable.”

“Indeed.” Kaliel bristled at the insult, but knew he could not respond – at least, not in the manner he would like. “I do not wish to take up more of your time, Lady. I am certain you have many of your loyal subjects who wish to see you.”

“Good evening, Lord Kaliel. Perhaps we will have the chance to speak again.”

“I hope that is the case.” He bowed again, then turned and walked out of the room. He made his way through town until he reached the Hornblower Inn, a well-kept but modest establishment near the center of town. He found Ghost inside the common room, a mug of wine in one hand and a buxom young woman sitting on his lap. On the other side of the table, Luc was talking to another young woman who looked to be the younger sister of Ghost’s companion.

“I hope that you at least had the sense to acquire rooms for the night before beginning your festivities,” Kaliel said.

“Of course,” Ghost replied irritably. “Up the stairs, the first three doors on your right. I would advise you not to enter the first room, however – Rutendo is currently entertaining a young caravan guard.”

Kaliel sighed. “I will take the last room, then. I expect I will see you in the morning.”

۞​

Zanka arrived at Storyteller’s temple, and was pleased to see it in much better repair than before. There was even a priest now attending the shrine. Zanka knelt, and called out a quick prayer to the god. Moments later, Storyteller manifested before her.

“Good evening, Zanka Odokari,” he said. “What brings you to my temple, calling out so loudly for my attention?”

“I did not think my prayers were quite that insistent,” Zanka said.

“The voices of the Sun’s Chosen ring out louder than those of mere mortals,” he replied.

“I wished to pay my respects, and offer an exchange of stories,” she said. “It seems that a story is unfolding in Lynnisbrook this very night.”

“Indeed, the celebration of Lady Rinalta’s pregnancy. A most happy occasion.”

“And do you know who the father is?”

“There are many stories,” the god said. “Lady Silver has entertained many suitors in the past months, mostly those trying to cement alliances with Lagan. The most likely contender is Mnemon Lyrik, the Realm ambassador, though I can tell you that though he claims to represent the Throne, it is more likely he is taking advantage of the Cathak’s blunder and advancing the cause of his own House. As to the truth of the father’s identity, I cannot say. The only one who knows the truth of that is the queen herself, and that is not a tale she is telling anyone.”

“I see. What other news?”

“The other story that has been told recently is that of the recent murders of half of the Silver Guard.”

“Who are the Silver Guard?”

Storyteller smiled. “Forgive me; I forget you have not been here for many months. After Lagan’s military began to take shape, we began to attract a number of outcaste Dragon-Bloods, who swore fealty to Lady Rinalta. They dubbed themselves the Silver Guard, and mostly served as the queen’s personal guard and officer corps. However, in the past few weeks three of them have been found murdered in their homes, shot with arrows. The local magistrates have not found who is responsible.”

“That is unfortunate,” Zanka said. “Creation could use more Dragon-Bloods who are not under the yoke of the Realm or the Immaculate Order.”

“It is a tragedy,” Storyteller agreed. “But I have spoken much, and received nothing in return. Come, tell me tales of what you have seen in Creation.”

۞​

Ayama arrived in Lynnisbrook early the next morning. All around her she saw the remnants of a wild celebration, as people staggered out of their homes and various alleyways, blinking in the harsh morning light. Shreds of paper lanterns littered the ground, as well as puddles of spilled ale and other, more noxious substances. Stepping carefully to avoid the mess, Ayama made her way to the temple of Storyteller, hoping that if her companions had already arrived in the city, they would have spoken to the god.

She stopped to speak to a city watchman, who was clearly doing his best to at least appear alert. “Good morning,” she said. “May I ask what festival was celebrated yesterday?”

“Our lady is with child,” he said, clearly putting an effort into speaking courteously despite his hangover. “She designated yesterday as a festival to celebrate.”

“I see. That is wonderful news for both her and her people. Thank you.”

She arrived at the temple, relieved to see that it was free of any of the remnants of the celebration. She saw Zanka sleeping on a bench near the shrine. Ayama sat quietly in front of the shrine, meditating, until the Eclipse woke.

“Good morning,” Zanka said. She looked closely at Ayama, and immediately noticed something very different about the Zenith; her long, braided hair was gone. She now wore her golden brown hair in a very short style, only a few inches in length. She also saw a large, metal gauntlet hung from Ayama’s waist.

“I expect there is a story to tell about this,” Zanka said, indicating Ayama’s head.

“There is, one day. Where are the others?”

“They were going to the Hornblower Inn,” Zanka said. “I felt that it would be safer and quieter here.”

At that moment, Kaliel was woken by the sound of a heavy knock on the door of his room. He rose, and went to the door. Standing outside was a soldier wearing the garb of a palace guard.

“You are Lord Kaliel?”

“I am.”

“Lady Rinalta requests your presence at your earliest convenience, as well as that of your traveling companions,” the guard said. “There is an urgent matter for which the queen requires your assistance.”

“We will be there as soon as possible,” Kaliel said. “Some of my companions spent the night elsewhere.”

As soon as the door shut, Kaliel heard Ghost mutter, “I suppose this means I must get up now.”

“Indeed. I will go and wake Rutendo and Luc. You can go to Storyteller’s temple to collect Zanka, and we will meet at the palace.”

“Very well.” Ghost lifted up the edge of his bedding. “Time to go, love,” he said. A feminine giggle emanated from under the blankets.

An hour later, Ghost wandered into the temple, and saw Zanka and Ayama talking.

“Ayama!” he said. “You are here!”

“I arrived this morning,” she replied.

“There was a festival last night,” Ghost said. “Fortunately, you missed it – you might have accidentally had some fun.” He pointed at Ayama’s shorn head. “What has happened? Did you finally grow tired of washing out the braid every day?”

“I was reminded of why I had always begged my mother to cut my hair as a child,” Ayama said. “Because little boys have the tendency to pull long hair. Only sometimes they are not little boys, but strange and irritating gods. But for you to be up this early on the day after a celebration, there must be some reason.”

“Indeed. We have been requested to appear at the palace to meet the queen.”

“Let us go, then,” Ayama said, standing.

Once they arrived at the palace, the four Solars and their two companions were quickly ushered inside – notably, they were permitted to enter with their weapons. They noted that the number of guards in the hallways was higher than normal, and all looked very alert. Upon their arrival in the formal throne room, they immediately saw the reason they had been summoned.

The body of Mnemon Lyrik lay in the center of the room, a trio of arrows protruding from his back. **

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* Ghost has, for one reason or another, been compared to Captain Jack Harkness from Torchwood at times. This is one of those reasons.

** Dun Dun DUN! (Sorry, couldn't resist. I'm in a silly mood.)

 

[Delemental]

“You are Lord Kaliel?”

They turned to look at the speaker, a man in an officer’s uniform. “I am Gaius Rho, captain of the guard. I hope you will be able to assist us with our investigation. Lady Rinalta insisted that we ask for your help.”

“Where is the queen now?” Kaliel said.

“She is in her private chambers, under heavy guard,” Captain Rho said. “However, under the circumstances I do not believe she is at risk. I believe the killer is targeting Dragon-Bloods.”

“Then this murder is similar to those of the three Silver Guards?” Zanka asked. She quickly explained to the others about the recent murders.

“Indeed, the method is the same, and the only known connection between the victims was their Exalted status, and their connections to Lady Rinalta.”

“Has the body been disturbed?” Ayama asked.

“No. We were given specific instructions to allow you to investigate first. However, we do have a thaumaturge on the way.”

The heroes began to examine the body. Three frog-crotch arrows were buried deep in the ambassador’s back. There was no sign in the room that anyone else had been present at the time of the murder.

“The angle suggests that the arrows were fired from a great distance,” Ghost said, “but they are clustered close together. Whoever did this is an excellent shot. The only possible angle for those arrows to strike is through that window there. But the depth of penetration suggests either firing at close range, or a very strong bow.”

“They also knew the man would be unarmored,” Ayama said. Frog-crotch arrows left devastating wounds in flesh, but were easily deflected by armor. Ayama had seen them used often enough to know this fact well.

“Were the other murders similar in nature?” Zanka asked Captain Rho. He nodded.

“They were all assassinations, taking place in the homes when they were unarmed and unarmored. Like the ambassador, all shot from great range and great precision, though in the case of the three Silver Guards more arrows were used, as they were all warriors and more resistant to injury than most.”

Ghost had walked over to the window that was the most likely line of fire. The throne room was about four stories up, with no balconies. The palace itself was the highest structure in the city, with no other buildings surrounding it. Looking out the window, Ghost frowned – the only possible place the shots could have come from was a small hillside, over a mile away.

Kaliel turned to Captain Rho. “Forgive the bluntness of this question,” he said, “but of the four victims, how many were lovers of the queen?”

“The queen herself might be able to answer that question,” he replied, “but I do not keep track of who visits my Lady’s bedchambers.” The captain answered the question in a manner that conveyed a clear message to Kaliel; I know, but I will not risk my job by confirming that I know.

“I will go and speak with Lady Rinalta, then,” Kaliel said.

“I suggest you take Zanka with you,” Ayama said. “She may be better suited to asking some of the more delicate questions. Tell Lady Rinalta that I will also visit her later to make sure she is well. Rutendo and I will wait here for the thaumaturge.”

“I will take Luc and investigate that hillside,” Ghost said. “I doubt we will find much, however.”

“In the meantime,” Ayama said, “Captain Rho, I suggest that the remaining three members of your Silver Guard remain armored as much as possible, and not be left alone.”

“This precaution has already been taken,” the captain said.

They all went their separate ways. About a half-hour later, the thaumaturge arrived, a small, wiry man festooned with fetishes who introduced himself as Farazod. After spending a few minutes laying out candles and drawing diagrams around the body with ash and salt, Farazod announced that he would try to contact the victim’s hun, his higher spirit, and insisted that everyone leave the room. Ayama and Rutendo looked at each other at this pronouncement; they knew that many thaumaturges who claimed to be able to contact the dead were charlatans. Thus they remained, despite the thaumaturge’s protests.

Farazod began his rituals, utilizing a great deal of shouting and shaking of magical tokens. Studying his methods, Ayama realized that although they were needlessly elaborate, they were also genuine. This did not ease her concerns, however; Farazod’s practices were a primitive, weak form of necromancy, a dangerous area of magic to explore. She understood why he had wanted everyone out of the room; he feared what might happen if he were to lose control. This was especially risky when dealing with the soul of a Terrestrial Exalt, which was naturally more potent.

However, no such mishap occurred on this occasion, and soon Farazod’s eyes were rolling back in his head as he made contact with Mnemon Lyrik’s hun.

“The victim’s soul cries out for justice, for vengeance!” he shouted. “His eyes see only pain and blackness – there is no face, no name. His soul despairs – in life he had many enemies; could one have come to this place to seek his end?” With a sudden shout, Farazod’s body jerked, and the ritual ended, the thaumaturge’s frail mortal body no longer able to sustain the magic.

Ayama and Rutendo exchanged theories as Farazod was shuffled off to a room in the palace to answer questions from Captain Rho. Some time later, Kaliel and Zanka returned to the throne room.

“The lady is well,” Zanka said. “As well as can be expected. She confirms that her relationship with Mnemon Lyrik was intimate, but she tells us she did not have a similar relationship with any of the Silver Guard. She is concerned about how the death of a Realm ambassador will be received by the Empire, especially so close on the heels of the humiliation of Cathak Ejon and the murder of Guild Factor Tunato Kun. I have offered to help her present the news in the most favorable light possible.”

Ghost and Luc were the last to return to the palace. “We found nothing of consequence,” Ghost said, “though we suspect that there was, in fact, someone on that hillside last night.” He left unspoken the entire story; while searching, Luc had in fact spotted a distinct boot print in the dirt, just moments before Ghost had set his own boots down on top of it, obliterating the track. Further careful searching had revealed nothing.

“Perhaps Rutendo and I can examine the hill again after I see the queen,” Ayama said. “The creatures of the wild may have seen things that would not be apparent to your eyes.”

“Perhaps,” Ghost said, “but I think it is clear what manner of assassin we are facing. How many beings can you think of in Creation who are capable of killing someone with such efficiency at such a range, and leave no trace? No mortal could have fired that distance, even with the best bow. And who might have cause to want to slay Dragon-Bloods, regardless of their political affiliations?”

“I cannot argue with your theory, Ghost,” Ayama said. Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Standing Oak, the Solar archer they had met in the far East. She knew that he carried a variety of arrows, including frog-crotch arrows. Still, the same could likely be said of hundreds of archers in Creation. “Let us meet again to develop a plan.”

“Lady Rinalta wishes us to stay in the palace until the assassin is caught,” Zanka said. “We can meet here.”

After a brief visit to the queen to check on her health and the health of her unborn child, Ayama and Rutendo walked out to the hillside that Ghost had investigated earlier. As Ghost had reported, they found little physical evidence that anyone had been on the hill last night, though Rutendo was able to tell that signs had been deliberately obscured. However, after communing with the local animals, the Pillar of the Sun learned from a raccoon that there was a “human smell” on the hill last night, and that the human had “done the things that humans do when hunting” before it left.

“That seems to confirm that the arrows were fired from this hill,” Rutendo said. “But I still…” Rutendo suddenly paused, his head cocked as if listening. Suddenly, Rutendo’s bow was in his hand, and an arrow fired into the air. The arrow flew only a few yards before it intercepted another arrow coming toward him, splintering it in midair. Rutendo dove behind a tree as three more arrows slammed into the ground where he had been standing. Alerted, Ayama still barely had time to invoke her Essence and toughen her skin before a pair of arrows struck her. Fortunately, they barely scratched her.

When no further attacks came at them, they both cautiously emerged from cover and looked around. The angle of the arrows that had been fired at them was steep; Rutendo estimated that they had been fired from somewhere inside the city.

“We should leave,” Ayama urged, and Rutendo offered no argument.

Back at the palace, they told the others of the attack. “The assassin used target arrows this time,” Ayama said. “They are designed to pierce armor. Which means that not only was the assassin aware that we were there, but knew that Rutendo would be armored.”

“This is disturbing,” Kaliel said. “It only confirms that the assassin is after Dragon-Bloods, and not Lady Rinalta. After all, Rutendo has no connection to the queen.”

“But it also tells us that our assassin’s information is limited,” Ghost said. “He or she does not know that we are Solars.”

“How do you know?” Ayama asked.

“Four arrows were fired at Rutendo, and two at you. Had the assassin known about you, the ratio would have been reversed, or they would have made more attacks. It is likely that the assassin saw you as nothing more than a witness to be disposed of after his main target was slain. Of course, the fact that you did not die may have alerted the assassin that you are more than appear.” Ghost sighed. “Either way, it does not look encouraging.”

“You seem worried, Ghost,” Zanka said.

“I went and spoke with my contacts here in the city. None of them have heard of any known assassins arriving here, and none have been approached for information on any of the targets. So, we have an assassin who can fire arrows with supernatural accuracy over impossible distances, is lethal enough to kill Dragon-Bloods, and is able to successfully gather intelligence on his targets without relying on outside assistance and without being observed. The theory I posed earlier today is now even stronger in my mind. I think we are dealing with another Solar.”

 

[Delemental]

Again, updating later than I would have liked. Work is not being kind to my writing/posting schedule.

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

“A Solar,” Zanka repeated.

“Or something of similar power,” Ghost said, “someone like Nine Wounds Laughing, for example. The feats this killer is capable of are beyond the powers of any God-Blooded or Terrestrial Exalt.”

“So, where do we go from here?” Ayama asked. “We have very little information to follow.”

“The first step is to make sure that Rutendo is placed in hiding with the remainder of the Silver Guard,” Kaliel said. “I will also check the security around them and around Lady Rinalta.”

“I will not hide from this assassin,” Rutendo protested.

“It is only until we have more information about who the assassin is and have a plan to confront them,” Ghost said. “Until then, you would be little more than an open target.”

“That arrow was fired from within the city, in the middle of the day,” Rutendo pointed out. “Surely someone would have made note of this. I can tell you roughly what part of town the shot was fired from.”

“I can look into that,” Zanka said. “I will go to Storyteller first, however – surely such an unusual event would have generated gossip.”

“I will check with my contacts in Lynnisbrook’s underworld again,” Ghost said. “I may have been too specific in my inquiries earlier. I will also visit the riverboats and ask of rumors of similar assassinations occurring in other cities in Creation. I suspect that this assassin has left a trail of bodies.”

“I will ask around to see if any other Dragon-Bloods live in the city besides those in the Silver Guard,” Ayama said. “They may have information, and they are also potential targets.”

The four Solars went their separate ways early the next day. Ghost made his way to the docks, and after conversing with the captains and crews of several Guild riverboats, he learned that there had been reports of several Dragon-Bloods being assassinated all throughout the East. Ghost listened with some amusement when some described the killer’s first victims as a small Wyld Hunt in Cherak that had been slaughtered and then left on display outside the city, for he of course knew who was truly responsible for that act. Once he discounted this story, he learned that the killings had begun about five months ago near Greyfalls, and had followed an overland route heading north and west. The assassin had claimed the lives of several Immaculates, a few outcastes, and at least one Imperial magistrate. One outcaste Dragon-Blood had been killed in the midst of capping a demesne with a manse, and the resultant explosion of Essence had been quite spectacular.

Ghost then made his way into the poorest sections of the city, looking for contacts among the criminal element of the city. His found himself directed toward a small hovel in the midst of several large tenements, where an informant lived. The stink of offal and unwashed humanity was palpable as he made his way inside; once again Ghost gave thanks for the pendant he wore that repelled such filth.

Inside the ramshackle structure, a half-dozen people lounged, at least four obviously under the effects of or recovering from some narcotic.

“I was told that you might know of someone who arrived in town recently,” Ghost said. “Within the past month, if not sooner. This person would have been looking for information on the palace security, particularly the Lady’s new personal guard. He probably wore a bow, and carried himself as a warrior.”

The men and women in the hovel looked at each other. “People come, people go,” one of the men said. He wore an eyepatch on his right eye, and was missing the two smallest fingers of his left hand. “Hard to remember details.”

Ghost tossed the man a small sack of silver. “I have heard that the cure for such memory loss can be expensive.”

“Yeah, I know who you’re looking for,” the man said once the silver had been tucked away. “But I ain’t seen him. Truth is, no one in this city has seen him. Right, boys?” The others in the hovel mumbled their agreement.

“I see.” A sudden urge struck Ghost; a small part of his mind told him to resist, but he ignored it. “Perhaps you need to reconsider my questions from a new perspective.”

Ghost rushed forward, grabbed the man by his shirt, and leapt into the air, crashing through the flimsy roof of the hovel. Thirty feet in the air, he landed atop a clothesline, balancing as the man screamed and thrashed in his grip.

Ghost pulled him close. “So. I assume that the man I am seeking came to this part of down to make sure that no one would talk. I assume that threats were made.”

“He said he would kill us!”

Ghost shook his head. “Then he was letting you off easy. You would be surprised what one could survive. So many parts of the body are not strictly necessary to live.”

“I’ll tell you what you want!” the man gibbered. “Just get me down safely!”

“I suggest you talk first,” Ghost said. “But I warn you that when people lie to me, my palms get sweaty.” Ghost relaxed his grip for a fraction of a second, enough for the informant to feel the quick tug of gravity.

“His name is Tearful Mountain!” the informant said. “He arrived in Lynnisbrook fifteen days ago. He is a large man, an Easterner, with short dark hair and green eyes. He carries a large golden bow, bigger than any I’ve ever seen! He wanted information on the Silver Guard, which he paid well for. He also wanted to know where he could buy ingredients for poisons, and arrows. And he wanted whores, too!”

With a feral grin, Ghost leapt into the air again, carrying the screaming informant to a nearby rooftop, dropping the man a few feet in the air so he landed sprawling on the hard clay roof.

“You have been most helpful,” Ghost said. “Enough that I will consider not revealing where my information comes from. I do understand the importance of discretion in such matters.”

“I won’t say nothing either! I’m real good at that!” he babbled, oblivious to the irony of his words.

“One more thing before I leave,” Ghost said, towering over the informant. “You said he asked for a fletcher, an herbalist, and a whorehouse. Where, exactly, did you send him?”

۞​

Ayama sat on a small overturned crate, peering into the mouth of a middle-aged woman, a frown on her face. It had been a disappointing day.

She had gone that morning to the captain of the city guard to ask about any known Dragon-Bloods living in the city other than the Silver Guard. The captain had promised to gather some information and send a report, but could provide no names. He did mention that several Dragon-Bloods had come to Lynnisbrook in the past few months, looking to join Lagan’s new army, but many had not had the military training necessary, and had been sent away with recommendations that they sign up with a mercenary company for a few seasons. Though they had no way of knowing who had followed their advice, the guard captain suspected that most had left.

She had then gone down to the poorest sections of the city, where she had hoped she might be able to generate some sympathy for the murdered Silver Guards and instill some civic pride, which might result in someone coming forward with information. However, Ayama found her words had little effect; the people who lived here had little sympathy for the Silver Guard, as many of them had been on the wrong side of the law. Her words led only to angry shouts and insults; when one tried to escalate the situation, however, Ayama was forced to educate him personally.

The final moment of futility came when Ayama had begun ministering to the people living in the shanties near the river, and discovered that none of the advice that she had given them the last time she was here had been put into practice. The people still suffered from the same pestilences as before, and surrounded themselves in the same filth that could so easily be avoided.

Suppressing a sigh, Ayama closed the woman’s mouth, then handed her a wrapped bundle of leaves. “Brew this into a strong tea, and drink while hot,” she said. “The sores should go away within a few days. And remember, boil your water before drinking it to prevent this from coming back… again.”

The woman bowed, and moved away. She saw a younger man walking slowly toward her, bent over nearly double at the waist, wincing as he shuffled closer with one hand on his lower back.

Ayama took a moment to examine the injury, and then applied pressure to the proper points and pushed firmly. With a series of pops, the man stood upright, a look of relief on his face.

“Avoid heavy labor for the remainder of the day,” Ayama said. “And learn to lift with your legs, please.”

She began to motion toward the next patient, when she saw the eyes of the man before her widen. At that moment the arrow struck her in the back.

Essence flowed in pure reflex, triggered in the split second between the sensation of the arrowhead piercing her clothing and when it struck her flesh. Her skin took on a golden metallic hue as the Essence hardened it, and the arrow bounced off, unable to penetrate. It hung from her back, caught in her tunic, as she shoved the man she had just healed out of the way and began to turn.

A golden disk flew by her head as she turned, floating level with her eyes as she whipped around, so that it seemed to hang motionless in her gaze for a moment. Then it sped on, flying down an alleyway behind her, bouncing from wall to wall. At the far end of the alley, a hundred yards away, stood a tall, well-muscled man wielding a golden bow. Even from this distance, she could see a look of confusion on his face, perplexed as to why his victim still lived. He ducked as the golden wheel flew at his throat, and then he turned and ran, fleeing at a supernatural rate of speed down another street.

Ghost ran up to Ayama, reaching out a hand to catch the Left Eye of Mars as it flew back to him. “Have you been hurt?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Only my pride… and my tunic.”

“Be grateful it was only that.” He pulled the arrow out of Ayama’s clothing, and showed it to her. The head of the arrow, a frog-crotch, was coated with a thick greenish fluid.

“How did you know I would be attacked?” Ayama asked.

“I did not. I was looking for you, and happened to come at the right moment. Fortunately, I knew to simply look in the part of town that had the most sick, dirty people in it.”

“Your arrival was fortunate, then,” Ayama said. “At least we now know what he looks like.”

“I know far more than that,” Ghost said with a smile. “Come with me. We have a few shops to visit.”

۞​

The cool sherbet melted on Zanka’s tongue as she sat in an elegant little teahouse, contemplating her next move.

She had gone first to Storyteller’s temple, hoping that he might have gathered rumors about the mysterious assassin, especially after his daylight display of archery. The god had appeared to speak with her, but when she made her request, he had frozen in place for several seconds, so still that the breeze did not disturb his robes.

“I am afraid that I am unable to assist you,” Storyteller said.

“Unable, or unwilling?”

“In this matter, they are one and the same.”

“May I ask why?”

“There is a force opposing you in this endeavor, which is at least as puissant as yourselves. I cannot say more, as I have no desire to be in the midst of this conflict. However, I believe that you and your friends are resourceful enough to already know what you need to know about it.” *

Zanka frowned as she considered the conversation. She had tried to drop some subtle hints, suggesting that she could easily turn her own talents against Storyteller just as she had used them to enhance his worship. The god had held his ground, however, and eventually they parted. She had then gone to speak with Storyteller’s priest, Namal, who had shed some more light on the situation. Namal confirmed that Storyteller had in fact received a visitor wanting to speak with the god directly, about two weeks ago. The priest described him as a large Easterner with dark hair and a large golden bow. He told Zanka that the man had been very forceful, pushing his way into the temple and roughing Namal up a bit before Storyteller appeared. Namal had not heard the conversation, but the stranger’s tone was very stern and demanding.

Since coming here to cool off, Zanka had also turned her conversation with Storyteller over in her mind. She had realized that by describing the assassin as equals to them, he had confirmed that he was a Solar, perhaps one of several. She also surmised that the assassin had learned of Storyteller’s nature soon after arriving in Lynnisbrook, and had come both for information on his targets, and to make sure that the consequences of revealing secrets would be known.

Still, none of this told her where the assassin lived. She had hoped to avoid it, but she realized she would have to go into the part of town where Rutendo said the arrow had come from.

An hour later, she found herself in the area, a collection of lower-class merchants and shops. She made a few inquiries, but made little progress – none had seen a man firing a large golden bow into the sky the previous day. But while searching, she came across a fletcher’s shop which seemed to be somewhat more successful than the surrounding merchants. On a hunch, she entered the small shop.

The man behind the counter was old and wizened, with large, knobby hands covered with calluses. He squinted at Zanka as she came in.

“Excuse me, good sir,” Zanka said. “I was looking for a man who I believe might have been a customer here. He is a large man from the East, with short dark hair. He may have been carrying a very large bow that looked as though it was made of gold. He would have come here looking to purchase arrows for that bow, most likely needing to be custom-made.”

“I ain’t seen him,” the old man grumbled. “He ain’t been here.”

“Then where might one go to find such arrows?”

“Beats me, not around here.”

Zanka leaned forward. “I think you are lying to me.”

“Why would I lie?” The myopic man squinted at her again. “You’re a fine upstanding young boy.”

“Well, I see your point. I imagine that no one must frequent your business. After all, if you have such difficulty even determining the gender of your customers, you must know little of arrows.”

“Clients are one thing, but I know arrows,” the man complained.

Zanka made a contemptuous noise in the back of her throat.

“I’ve got the best arrows this side of Creation!” the man roared. “Anyone who wanted really good arrows would come here!” His wrinkled face twisted into a snarl, but then suddenly fell as the fletcher realized exactly what he had just admitted.

“I thought so,” Zanka said. “So, what kind of arrows did you sell him?”

The man’s shoulders slumped. “In the back.”

She followed him to the workshop in the back of the store. Propped up against the back wall were several large arrows, with shafts over three feet long and as thick as Kaliel’s thumb. A variety of arrowheads were affixed to each one.

“He paid me in advance, in jade,” the fletcher said. “Basically keeps me on retainer for him while he’s in town.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Zanka asked.

“Yesterday. I don’t expect to see him for two or three days yet.”

“Do you know where he stays?”

“No idea. Don’t care to know.”

Zanka looked around the room. “I or my companions may be back,” she said.

“Wonderful,” the man groused. “Tell my son that I keep my savings where I hide the whiskey.”

“We will do our best to keep you out of harm’s way,” Zanka said. She walked out of the back of the shop and into the street. She was greeted almost immediately by Ayama and Ghost, who came walking toward the fletcher’s shop.

“I see your efforts have led to the same place,” Ghost said. He held up a large arrow, identical to the ones inside. A green substance coated the head which Zanka assumed was poison.

“Our assassin has been here,” Zanka said. “There are several more arrows like that inside, though none of them were poisoned.”

“It is called Silent Death,” Ghost said. “It instantly paralyzes the muscles of the face and throat, keeping the victim from crying out. Death comes only seconds later.”

“We have been to an herbalist,” Ayama explained. “One that our assassin, Tearful Mountain, has been frequenting much as he has our fletcher here. But the herbalist only sells the reagents; Tearful Mountain makes this poison himself.”

“If nothing else, we now know places he may be,” Zanka said.

“Strange that you should mention that,” Ghost said. “We have one more visit to make. Come along.”

Zanka fell in behind Ghost and Ayama as they turned down the street. She saw with dismay that they were heading to a less reputable part of the city. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To a whorehouse,” Ghost replied. “Where else?”

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

* For those unfamiliar with the Exalted setting, Storyteller's reaction is easier to understand when you know that experienced Celestial Exalted (Solars, Lunar, and Sidereals) are considerably more powerful than gods in Creation, especially those who are terrestrial-based and not aspected toward any sort of military or combat role. Thus it is not out of the ordinary for Tearful Mountain's threats to be effective against Storyteller.

 

[Nifft]

New content, woooo!

 

[Delemental]

Kaliel was escorted by a servant to Rinalta’s private chambers. He felt slightly uncomfortable walking about unarmored under the current circumstances, but to show up prepared for war would be insulting to his host. He knew he had to do what he could to put her at ease.

He had sent a request to the queen earlier that day for a private meeting, but had been surprised when instead she invited him to dine with her that evening. The venue, however, was of little matter; there was a question that had been burning in the Solar’s mind since he had arrived.

The doors to her chambers were opened, and Kaliel saw that a table had been laid out for two. Silver settings and ornaments dominated the table, and Lady Rinalta was already seated at the far end.

“Forgive me for not rising to greet you,” Rinalta said. “I find pregnancy to be a wonderful excuse to ignore certain protocols.”

“Not at all.” Kaliel crossed the room and took his seat. Servants brought platters of roasted duck, fresh river trout, and other assorted delicacies. Wine was poured into silver goblets as plates were filled with all manner of succulent foods. When the preparation was finished, Rinalta waved a hand, and all of the servants left – as did the guards, Kaliel noted.

“This room is in the middle of the palace,” Rinalta said as Kaliel’s eyes followed the guards. “No windows.”

“Of course.” Kaliel held up his goblet. “To you, and to your child.”

Rinalta returned the toast, and after they both drank, Kaliel said. “I must admit, this was somewhat more formal than I had expected. I know that I have been gone for some time, but I had hoped our relationship had not soured.”

Rinalta smiled, but it was a smile with little joy in it. “That is… complicated. Our personal, intimate relationship is fine; relations between our two nations may not be what they once were – at least, on the surface. But first, let me answer the question that has been on your face since you arrived; yes, the child that grows within me is from your seed. But it cannot be your child.”

“Few would suffer the spawn of an Anathema to live,” Kaliel said, nodding. “or its mother, or the land she ruled.”

“My people have tolerated you and your friends,” Rinalta explained. “But despite my personal politics, and my kingdom’s alliance with the Confederation of Rivers, the truth is that most of my people follow the practices of the Immaculate Philosophies, if not to the extent desired by the Realm. If I were to bear your child, their tolerance would end.”

“I understand this,” Kaliel said, “perhaps better than you realize.” His mind drifted back to relive the sight of thousands of once-loyal troops riding away from the ruins of Kryptos, some shouting curses at his name, calling him demon-spawn, and worse.

“For some months,” Rinalta continued, “I have been leading Mnemon Lyrik to believe that the child I carry was his. This will remain the official truth. I am afraid I must admit that his death will make the deception easier.”

“Our alliance will remain intact,” Rinalta said, “but it must appear that I am distancing myself from Chrysanthemum. The shipments of ore I have been sending to you must cease. Your soldiers have already been sent home, and we will continue training our forces internally. If I do need your aid in a military matter, I have already drawn up the papers needed to contract the services of the Chrysanthemum Knights as mercenaries. I do not think it will be too unseemly for me to have a prearranged contract with you. I do intend to continue sending aid your way in exchange for your support, of course, I must merely be more circumspect about it.”

“What did you have in mind?” Kaliel asked.

“No doubt you have heard that we have attracted a number of people from outside Lagan who are interested in joining our military, including some Dragon-Bloods. Not all who come are qualified for military service. So far, my commanders have been advising these recruits to travel to Nexus to join a mercenary company, to get some field experience before returning. I will see to it that some of the more open-minded are instead referred to a mercenary group that headquarters much closer than Nexus. In addition, although I cannot openly send you silver ore as I have in the past, it has come to my attention that river piracy may be on the rise next year, and some of the barges coming out of Lynnisbrook could lose their entire shipments.”

“You appear to have thought this matter through thoroughly,” Kaliel said.

“There is one other piece to this charade which must occur,” Rinalta said. “One I do not relish but which is necessary. There must appear to be some sort of catalyst for the souring of relations between Lagan and Chrysanthemum; otherwise the sudden break in our ties will seem suspicious. I have consulted with my advisors, and it seems that the most logical reason for such a severance of ties would be to accuse you and your companions of the murders of the Silver Guard.”

Kaliel frowned. “The investigation is not finished. The evidence points to the involvement of another Solar. If he is caught, then I and my Circle can simply take on guilt by association. Anti-Anathema sentiments are sure to rise when the identity of the assassin is known.”

“Perhaps, but that assumes he is caught. He has been elusive thus far. Your plan may work, Kaliel, if you do capture the killer, but even then it may require that I paint a more direct association between him and you.”

“Allow us time to think on this matter, and propose another solution,” Kaliel asked. “Though I understand your motivations, I do not relish I or my friends being branded as murderers.”

“Nor do I,” Rinalta admitted. “Very well. If you can concoct a reasonable alternative, I will listen. But first, capture this assassin.”

“We will, Your Highness. I promise you.”

They both lapsed into silence. Each looked down at their plates, and pushed their food around with their forks for a few moments. Finally, Rinalta looked up.

“Perhaps we should have eaten before we had this conversation,” she sighed.

“I think you may be right,” Kaliel agreed.

۞​

Zanka sat in a corner, a disapproving frown on her face, as her companions cavorted with prostitutes.

To be fair, ‘cavorted’ was an inaccurate term; Ayama was administering healing to some of the men and women who worked in the House of a Thousand Delights, while Ghost was questioning some of the women who Tearful Mountain had patronized in the past two weeks. The madam of the house, Lady Li, had agreed to allow the Solars to question her employees after Ayama had offered to cure the diseases that some of them suffered. She was currently administering to a cat-like beastwoman who went by the name Ginger, who Lady Li described as ‘our top attraction’ – until she had contracted syphilis.

Zanka could not bring herself to participate, even though she probably could have obtained the information they needed much faster than Ghost. Doing so felt to her as though she was tacitly approving of their business. Although the people who served here were free men and women who earned salaries, it still reminded her that many brothels were populated by slaves – which likely would have been her fate, had the Unconquered Sun and Kaliel not intervened.

After what seemed an eternity, both of her companions concluded their business. Zanka was only too happy to leave and go somewhere more savory.

“He seems to go there after a successful assassination,” Ghost said. “He seems to be indiscriminate in his tastes – he doesn’t have a ‘favorite’, but simply takes whoever is available. He apparently will use the services of several women in one evening – typically they run out of available women before he is sated.”

“He is a man of disgusting appetites,” Zanka said.

“He may also have an ulterior motive,” Ayama said. “The attacks he makes obviously rely on a great deal of his Essence. As you well known, once a Solar’s reserves are depleted, they must rest to restore themselves. However, certain recreational activities are known to be more efficacious in restoring Essence than simple rest. One of those activities is intercourse. His habits may be distasteful, but they may also be a means to an end.”

“It does mean that we are unlikely to catch him there, unless he has made a successful assassination,” Ghost observed.

“Did he not attack Ayama earlier today?” Zanka asked.

“But his attack was thwarted,” Ayama pointed out. “Thus his Essence was not fully depleted. He is also now aware that there are others hunting him, with abilities that match his own. I suspect he will simply lay low tonight.”

“We should return to the palace,” Ghost said, “and inform Kaliel what we have learned. We need to make a plan for what we will do now.”

“I could not agree more,” Zanka said. She had had quite enough of slumming for one day.

۞​

Later that night, a visitor arrived at the House of a Thousand Delights, cloaked and hooded. They were greeted at the door by Lady Li.

“Oh, it’s you!” she said. “I didn’t expect you back so soon! Come to experience one of the Thousand Delights? I’ll even give you the first one for free.”

Ayama drew her cloak back. “No, thank you, but I have a request. May I be allowed to observe one of your women as they perform their duties?”

“Ah, so that’s your thing. Not that unusual, we have a room set up for just that.”

Ayama opened her mouth to correct the madam’s assumptions, but then closed it. There was little point in quibbling over details, and Lady Li would likely discount her explanation as mere shyness or misplaced shame over her supposed fetish. She allowed Lady Li to lead her into a small sitting room, decorated with an overstuffed divan and numerous throw pillows. One wall was dominated by a large window; from the tint of the glass, Ayama could tell that the other side of the glass was mirrored, allowing a person to see into the other chamber undetected.

“You’ll have to be a bit quiet,” Lady Li advised. “No way to make the sound only go one way, you know?”

“I understand. Thank you.”

As soon as Lady Li left and the door closed, Ayama made herself comfortable, and waited for the adjoining room to be used. She carefully reviewed in her mind what she was looking for; the mannerisms of the young woman, the phrases she used, her body language. Those details would be important if she hoped to convince Tearful Mountain of her legitimacy.

There was a strong possibility that the Solar assassin would successfully kill again before they could capture him, and if so, he would come here. If she were fortunate, he would arrive while she was there, and would be very interested in ‘the new girl’. But she needed to pull off the deception convincingly; he was a man who was accustomed to such places, and had the acute senses and instincts of a Solar Exalt. If she could get him alone, and with his guard down…

 

[Delemental]

Ghost, Kaliel, and Zanka gathered in the spacious sitting room that was shared by the rooms that had been set aside for them by the palace staff. A light breakfast was laid out for them. After the initial morning pleasantries, they began to discuss the problem of capturing Tearful Mountain.

“I am not certain how to proceed,” Kaliel admitted. “Pursuing a murderer, not to mention an Exalted murderer, is outside of my experience.”

“We now know who he is, and places he frequents,” Ghost said. “Unfortunately, he has no reason to go to those places. He has all the supplies he needs for the time being, and he will not visit the House of a Thousand Delights until after he has made a kill. Unless he is presented with a target soon, and knowing he is now pursued, I fear he may choose to simply move on.”

“Then we require bait,” Zanka surmised.

The outer door to the suite opened, and Ayama walked inside. Though surprised to see that she was not emerging from her own room, they nonetheless greeted her warmly. As she walked past Ghost to take a seat, the Nightbringer thought he detected the lingering odor of inexpensive perfume and musk. A scent he was not unaccustomed to, but one he did not expect to find on Ayama. For a moment, he began to wonder, but then realized that most likely Ayama had returned to the brothel to administer more healing to the prostitutes. She would have little other reason to visit such a place.

“What are we speaking about?” Ayama asked.

“The necessity to provide Tearful Mountain with a target in order to capture him,” Kaliel said.

“You may not use my son,” Ayama said calmly.

“We have no intention of doing that,” Zanka said. “He is far too handsome; it would be a waste. Even if his tastes in partners are questionable.”

“He did bed Ghost,” Kaliel agreed.

“I would think that was a sign he has excellent taste,” Ghost countered.

Ayama’s brow rose. They had been embroiled in the matter of the assassinations since she had arrived in Lynnisbrook; this was the first she had heard of this liaison.

“He denied me,” Zanka said, affecting a pout. “That is the questionable part.”

“His tastes do not incline toward you,” Ghost pointed out.

“I understand, but it is still a grave oversight on his part.”

“Perhaps I could fill in for him,” Ghost suggested.

Zanka smiled. “I will take the offer under consideration.”

Now Ghost’s brow’s arched in surprise. Normally Zanka responded to his playful banter with much less… ambiguity.

“I believe we are losing focus,” Ayama said, making a mental note to follow up on these rumors later. “And though I realize the irony of my next question, I was interested in knowing how your dinner with Lady Rinalta went, Kaliel.”

“Ah, yes. Dinner.” Kaliel set down the slice of sweetbread in his hand. “It involved food, I believe.”

“Not the evening you had anticipated, I take it,” Ayama said.

“Not at all. Lady Rinalta finds it necessary to distance Lagan politically from Chrysanthemum. She requires a catalyst for this to occur. Unless we are able to provide her with a viable event explaining the sudden shift in relations, it appears that their plan is to blame the four of us for the Dragon-Blooded assassinations.”

“Why us?” Zanka cried.

“We are Solars,” Kaliel said. “It is easy.”

There was a sudden knock at the outer door. Without waiting for a response, the door opened, and Captain Gaius Rho entered the chamber.

“Forgive the intrusion,” Captain Rho said, “but we have urgent need for the Divine Gift to End Suffering in the queen’s chambers. Complications have arisen.”

Ayama rose. “I will come now.” As she walked across the room, she said to her companions, “I will return when I can, but I may be occupied for some time.” As she walked out and the door began to swing closed, she called back, “and you may not use my son.”

“So,” Ghost said as the door closed, “we need to come up with a way for Lagan not to like us that does not involve being framed for murder.”

“Can we blame the Immaculate Order?” Zanka asked.

“No. Lady Rinalta must try and foster relations with the Realm right now,” Kaliel said. “And many of the people of this nation follow the Immaculate teachings to some extent. I was considering staging some sort of argument between Lady Rinalta and myself.”

“That would explain a rift in your personal relationship, but not a diplomatic severing,” Ghost said. “Lady Rinalta is too well known as someone who does not allow her personal feelings to interfere with the management of her kingdom.”

“I am certain that Storyteller and I could craft a tale that would suffice,” Zanka said.

Ghost frowned. “I would advise against involving Storyteller in this case. By his very nature, he would be compelled to speak were someone to come looking into the truth behind the parting of Lagan and Chrysanthemum.”

“Perhaps exposing Tearful Mountain as a Solar might be enough,” Kaliel suggested. “Guilt by association can be enough of an excuse, if presented properly. All it would take is to force him into a confrontation where his anima is exposed. It would also have the advantage of being quick to implement, which is a good thing – it would be best if my face were being forgotten by the time Rinalta’s child is born.”

“I assume then that the child will look nothing like Mnemon Lyrik?” Zanka asked. Kaliel nodded.

“Mnemon Lyrik…” Ghost said. “That is a possibility.”

“What is?” Zanka asked.

“The news of Lyrik’s assassination has not been spread beyond the palace guard, correct?”

“This is true,” Kaliel said. “They are hoping not to spread too many rumors before they inform the Realm.”

Ghost smiled. “Then I think it is time for him to make a miraculous recovery.”

۞​

Mnemon Lyrik settled back into his bed, itching at the heavy bandages covering his torso. The light of dozens of lamps filled the room with yellowish light, which was somewhat disconcerting in the middle of the day. But his room had been moved to the palace interior, away from any windows.

There was a knock, and the door opened to admit one of his nursemaids. His only nursemaid, in fact; for security reasons, they only allowed one person to attend him. He watched as she moved about the room, checking to make certain that nothing had been disturbed. She then came and sat on the edge of his bed.

“And how are we enjoying life as a wounded Realm diplomat?” she asked.

Ghost smiled. “I could get used to it.”

His disguise was marginal at best. Ghost had never met Lyrik, and so only had descriptions to work from. It would fool someone at a distance for a few minutes, up close for only a few moments. They hoped that a few moments would be all they needed.

“How go the arrangements?” Ghost asked his ‘nursemaid’.

“As we planned,” Zanka replied, as she dipped lengths of clean linen into the warm water and wrung them out. The water had been infused with herbs and oils, the scent of which quickly filled the room. “The palace guards are spreading the news that Mnemon Lyrik was attacked by the assassin and believed dead, but that the Divine Gift to End Suffering was able to restore the sliver of life remaining in him. Kaliel is assisting with palace security, Ayama is still attending the queen, and you and I are in the city, still hunting the assassin.”

“And how is the security around me?” Ghost asked.

“Almost impenetrable. Kaliel has done his best to ensure the ‘almost’ part. The gap should be enough to tempt Tearful Mountain without making him suspicious. At least, Kaliel has done his best to ensure this is so. He came very close to admitting that he could have used your advice.”

“Alas, I must play my part here. This disguise is poor enough as is; if I am seen walking about and talking to others, I will fool no one.”

“But we do not expect Tearful Mountain for some time, correct?”

Ghost nodded. “It will be several hours before word reaches him that Lyrik still lives, and he can plan his entry into the palace.”

“If that is the case,” Zanka said, “Perhaps you might indulge me? Simply sitting here for hours will be dreadfully boring.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I have wanted to practice some of the techniques that I learned from Pearlescent Lotus Whispers while I was in Great Forks,” the Crowned Sun said.

“I will make a poor sparring partner,” Ghost admitted. “I have no training in unarmed combat beyond a handful of tavern brawls.”

“I do not need you to spar with me,” Zanka said. “Only hold still. Many of the techniques I learned make use of certain sensitive points on the body – I wish to refine my ability to find and utilize these points.”

“As long as you do not incapacitate me,” Ghost joked. “I would prefer to be able to respond when Tearful Mountain arrives.”

She smiled. “I will not be applying enough force to cause pain, but if I am doing this right, you will definitely feel… something.”

She helped Ghost to remove the bandages that were part of his disguise, and then led him across the room to an open area covered by a thick carpet. She then discarded the maid’s uniform she had borrowed for her own disguise, leaving her wearing only a form-fitting silk wrap across her torso and hips. Zanka circled slowly around Ghost, studying him closely.

“Tell me how this feels,” she said, as she pressed a fingertip into a spot near the small of his back.

“Uncomfortable. My legs feel somewhat numb.”

“Excellent. And this?” A spot just below the left shoulder blade.

“My left arm tingles.”

“Very good.” Her finger traced gently down the length of his spine, then circled around his waist as she came around to face him. Both hands rose, and Zanka’s fingertips pressed gently into Ghost’s sides just below the ribcage. “What about these?”

“That… feels good,” Ghost said, somewhat surprised. “No pain.”

“I thought it might.” She took a step closer, reaching up with both hands and bringing them around his neck. She began gently rubbing a pair of spots just below the base of his skull. “And tell me how this feels.”

Ghost suddenly became very aware of Zanka’s proximity, feeling the fine silk covering her breasts brushing against his chest. The gentle pressure of Zanka’s hands on the back of his neck was producing an unexpected reaction – not one of pain or discomfort, but warm waves of arousal.

“Zanka,” he began, as he tried to take a step back. She hooked her leg behind his, sending him sprawling to the floor. In the next heartbeat, she moved on top of him, straddling his hips.

“I am not finished with you yet,” she said. Her fingernails scraped gently down his chest.

“You play a dangerous game,” Ghost said. His hands moved up to caress her arms, her shoulders.

Zanka reached up and pulled out her ivory hairpins; her long, platinum hair spilled down her shoulders and back. She leaned forward, pressing against Ghost. “You should be flattered,” she whispered, her lips grazing his ear. “My first lover was a god. I wish to do better.” The tip of her tongue traced the outer edge of his earlobe.

Ghost had already unlaced the cords that fastened Zanka’s silk wrap. As she rose again, the garment fell away as water flows down a mountain stream. “I thought you had no interest in sharing my bed,” he said to her, even as his hands caressed her flesh.

“My opinion of such matters has matured.” She gasped as Ghost suddenly sat up, meeting her lips with his own. When they parted, Zanka smiled.

“Thank you for assisting me with my training,” she said coyly.

Ghost mirrored the smile. “Your lessons have only just begun.”

۞​

It was late in the afternoon. Ghost lay in the bed, feigning sleep, while Zanka, back in her nursemaid’s uniform, sat in a chair nearby, busying herself with some embroidery work.

The door to the room drifted open, no more than a foot. Zanka looked up, waiting to see what else would happen, but the room and the hallway beyond remained conspicuously silent. With no signs of disturbance, Zanka returned to her work, trying to maintain the guise of an unsuspecting servant.

Ghost’s senses, however, were more highly attuned than those of the Eclipse, and he could hear the sound of gentle footfalls as they entered the room and made their way across the ceiling. Ghost followed the sound for a while, and when he had pinpointed it, risked a glance. Hidden in the deep shadows of the ceiling, he saw Tearful Mountain, suspended upside down, as he drew a frog-crotch arrow and placed it on the string of his golden bow. A wild, fanatical look filled the assassin’s eyes as he took aim at his target’s throat.

Ghost leapt out of bed in a flash, somersaulting in midair toward the door. It slammed shut with a resounding boom, as Ghost then twisted around, rebounding off the door, and hurled his own orichalcum weapon at Tearful Mountain. He twisted away, narrowly avoiding the typhoon wheel. Outside the room, alarms were being raised throughout the palace.

The Left Eye of Mars arced back toward Ghost, who caught it one-handed and simply spun around in a tight circle, hurling it straight back at Tearful Mountain as he dropped down to the floor. Not expecting such a rapid assault, the assassin mistimed his drop, and the chakram sheared off a large chunk of his thigh. He screamed as he landed on the ground, blood pouring down his wounded leg.

“You are not Lyrik,” he growled at Ghost.

“And you are not worthy of the gifts you have been given,” he replied.

Tearful Mountain did not respond, but instead began darting about the room at incredible speed, flitting through light and shadow so rapidly that Ghost lost track of him, even though he tried to focus on the sound of the archer’s feet. An arrow flew across the room, scoring Ghost deeply across the ribcage. Tearful Mountain ran into the center of the room, leaping up and perching on the side of the bedpost, drawing back for a point blank shot on Ghost.

The door crashed open, the space being filled by Kaliel’s massive armored frame. Tearful Mountain turned his head to take in this new threat, which was Zanka’s opening. She leapt up on her chair and sprang into the air, delivering a solid kick to the assassin’s head as she flew past and landed on the opposite bedpost. Tearful Mountain’s head snapped back, and he suddenly dropped to the floor, his orichalcum bow clattering on the stone tiles.

For a few moments, no one moved. Then Kaliel strode forward and placed a hand to their foe’s chest. “I feel no heartbeat,” Kaliel said. “We may have killed him. That was easier than I expected.”

“I did not think I kicked him that hard,” Zanka said.

Ayama arrived a few minutes later, and after carefully examining the body, confirmed that he was dead, despite the suspicions they all held. Kaliel, meanwhile, had gone to confirm that Rutendo and the three remaining Silver Guard were all alive and well.

“The fact that a Chosen of the Sun was so easily defeated is almost… insulting,” Ghost commented.

“I still say that I was not striking with enough force to do this,” Zanka said.

“And yet his neck appears broken,” Ayama said. “Perhaps the man was simply more poorly prepared for close combat than we expected. Note that he wears no armor.”

Ghost sighed. “We can only hope that his Exaltation is passed to a more worthy recipient.”

Kaliel, in the meanwhile, had returned. “This leaves us with a small problem,” he said. “We had hoped to provoke him long enough to force him to display his anima publicly, thus linking him to us indirectly.”

“Perhaps we can go about this another way,” Zanka suggested. “No one but the four of us know Tearful Mountain is dead. We could say that we have captured him, but refuse to turn him over – tell everyone that this is a matter for Solar justice.”

“I am afraid I must offer a complication,” Ayama said. “I may not be able to leave. Lady Rinalta’s pregnancy is far more delicate than expected, and she will require considerable care.”

“Then we place the blame for taking this man away solely on me,” Kaliel said. “And make your disagreement with my decision public.”

“I will remain here as well,” Ghost said. “Both Ayama and I have some small measure of esteem here already, which it would be good to preserve.” He turned to Zanka with a smile. “That is, if you can tolerate being deprived of both your sparring partners for a few months.” Zanka simply shrugged in reply.

“I should go into town,” Ghost added. “Now that he is dead, I may be able to convince others in the city to tell me where he was living. There may be valuable information there. I should take something in order to convince others he is gone.”

“His head would suffice, I think,” Kaliel said. He drew his blade, Principle of Severity, and raised it to strike off the corpse’s head.

As the blade descended, the corpse suddenly rolled away, and sprang to its feet. Tearful Mountain bolted for the door as the orichalcum sword crashed into the tiled floor.

Swearing oaths to the Unconquered Sun, Kaliel slammed through the door, pulling out his flamepiece as Tearful Mountain bolted toward a window at the far end of the hall. The hall was filled with thunder and fire, as the assassin dove out the window, trailing smoke. A bright golden glow surrounded him as he sailed through the air to the courtyard below, the burning sun of the Dawn caste emblazoned on his forehead. Ghost was hot on his heels, leaping out of the window after him. The others, with no way to follow, raced down the stairs, but by the time they reached the gate the two figures were hundreds of yards away, leaping from roof to roof as they descended the slope. Ghost, though each leap crossed dozens of feet, was losing ground to the faster Solar, but was close enough to continue attacking, hurling the Left Eye of Mars every time he came within sight. Forced to burn more Essence to defend himself and maintain his supernatural speed, Tearful Mountain’s aura grew, until it manifested in a blinding display of golden light that looked like an erupting volcano. Despite his best effort, however, Ghost was eventually forced to cut short his pursuit, and watched from the roof of a small temple as the bright glowing form vanished into the hills east of the city.

۞​

The confrontation between Lord Kaliel of Chrysanthemum and Lady Rinalta of Lagan was said to echo through every hallway in the castle.

After informing Rinalta of the near capture and escape of the Solar assassin known as Tearful Mountain, the queen requested that Kaliel and his companions pursue the man and bring him back for justice. What she had not expected was for Kaliel to refuse.

“I have tended to the affairs of your kingdom for long enough,” he told her. “I have my own domain to see to. With none of my men here, and the immediate threat to your people gone, I have no reason to stay.”

When pressed further, Kaliel brusquely reminded Rinalta that he was an ally, not a subject. He further hinted at the fact that even should he eventually find and defeat Tearful Mountain, he was unlikely to return the assassin to Lynnisbrook for justice.

“This is a Solar matter,” he told her.

Rinalta’s tirade lasted a full fifteen minutes. In the end, Kaliel strode out of the room angrily, with venomous looks shot at his back by both Rinalta and Ayama, who had not wanted her patient upset so much.

Zanka was waiting near the outer gates of the palace when Kaliel came out.

“How did it go?” she asked.

A slight smile crossed his face. “Quite well, actually.”

Zanka handed him a scroll case. “The deed to Guild Factor Tunato’s former manor house, and a letter of credit for the balance of what you gave me. The Guildsman who they sent to negotiate on the price was poorly prepared to haggle – I got the house for a very good price.”

“Excellent. We will spend the night there so that I may attune to the manse’s energies, and then we will depart for Chrysanthemum. Ghost has already said that he will collect the hearthstone when it forms and bring it to me when he and Ayama join us after Rinalta has her child. What of Luc and Rutendo?”

“They have decided to come with us. We will meet them in the morning at the western gate.” She looked around at the city surrounding them. “Though this place has treated us well, I admit I look forward to leaving.”

“Why is that?” Kaliel asked.

Zanka smiled. “It will be nice to go somewhere that is properly cold.”

 

[Kosh]

Wow! Amazing story! Breathtaking! I love the political machinations and rumors that the circle spread. I try to be this cunning as a player, and I expect this sort of wit from my players, but your group rises to a new level. Thanks for sharing!

 

[Delemental]

Inner Conflict

They were half the distance to Chrysanthemum when Kaliel suddenly reined in his horse. He sat silently for a moment, an odd look on his face, as he stared up into the light rain that was falling around them.

Zanka was soon by his side. “What is it?”

“It is… strange,” he said. “The connection that I feel to my people, those that have chosen to revere me… I can feel it slipping away.”

Zanka frowned. She knew that there were a few in Kaliel’s city who worshipped him directly as a divine being, and that their faith helped to strengthen him in some small measure. But he rarely spoke openly on the subject – he did not try to prevent his worshippers from displaying their devotion, but neither did he actively encourage it. “Do you believe something has happened in Chrysanthemum?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “That would feel more… sudden, I believe. This has been more gradual, more subtle. Still, I would not be averse to traveling with a little more haste.”

Many days later, after an otherwise uneventful journey, the four travelers came within sight of Chrysanthemum. As they rose closer, Kaliel’s face darkened.

“We should have been met by outriders by now,” he said. “And I know that I ordered the sentry tower on the eastern wall to be raised.”

“Could this be related to the unease you felt earlier in our journey?” Rutendo asked.

“It is too early to tell. Come, let us make for the gate.”

The gate to the city stood open, with only a single sentry posted, who was half-asleep until their horses were only within a few yards. The sentry quickly rose and saluted as Kaliel rode forward.

“Soldier,” said Kaliel, in the stern tone he reserved for those under his command who had disappointed him. “Would you care to explain?”

“Explain what, sir?”

“Choose.”

“I… I’m not certain what you mean, sir.”

Kaliel closed his eyes, and took a breath. “Perhaps we start by asking why you are alone on gate duty, and why the gate stands open.”

“Orders, sir. Only one sentry per gate.”

“Where is Sergeant Brusk?” Kaliel asked.

“Gone, sir.”

Kaliel grated his teeth. Zanka stepped forward.

“I believe that this will go better for you if your answers to your captain are a bit more detailed,” she advised him coolly.

“Of course, ma’am.” The sentry looked up at Kaliel. “Sergeant Brusk is currently assigned to a long-range scouting mission to the north, in order to determine the status of the forces of the Bull of the North and what threat they pose, if any, to our city.”

“Brusk was sent on a scouting mission? On whose authority?”

“The town council, sir.”

“And they assumed control over my forces by what authority?”

“Why, yours, sir, of course.”

۞​

Things were worse than he feared.

None of the maintenance projects or defensive improvements he had ordered had been completed, and many had not even started. Discipline among the troops was lax, and many were spending their days idling. A few complained that the problem was the lack of a paying contract after their service to Lagan had ended, but most pointed their fingers squarely in the direction of the civilian town council, who had assumed much of the authority over the Chrysanthemum Knights. And everyone told Kaliel the same thing; that the council’s new powers stemmed from authority he had given them.

Less than two hours after they had arrived, Kaliel, Zanka, and Rutendo were standing before the the members of the city’s civilian town council, listening to their explanations. Luc sat off in a corner, trying not to look bored.

“Why have none of the projects I assigned been completed?” Kaliel demanded.

The council leader, a small balding man named Darrant, blanched. “We… we received your orders canceling those projects, my lord.”

“My orders?”

“Yes, my lord, sent by courier.”

“How were those orders verified?”

“Your seal and signature were on each,” Darrant explained. “They were matched and verified.”

“Where did my supposed orders come from?” the Bronze Tiger asked.

“I can’t say for certain, my lord. You were traveling extensively at the time.”

“No, I was not. I have been in Petgrana for several months, and then went to Lynnisbrook for a week. Then I came here.”

“This is troubling,” one of the other members of the council said. “You say that you sent no orders?”

“None. Why would I need to, when Sergeant Brusk was here? And please, explain to me why a command officer was sent on an extended scouting mission.” Kaliel held up a gauntleted hand. “No, wait. I assume that I ordered the mission?”

Several heads nodded in agreement.

“Show me these supposed orders,” he commanded.

Kaliel and the others were led back to the basement of the council hall, where records were stored. When he came down the stairs, he was surprised to see that the number of shelves in the room had trebled, and each was stuffed with scrolls. Each shelf was marked with a string of seemingly random numerals, and the outer edge of each scroll bore a similar set of markings.

“What is all of this?” Kaliel asked.

“My lord,” Darrant said, “one of the first orders we received was instructions to begin creating a new filing system. Once that was completed, we found that we had to significantly increase our storage space to accommodate all of the new paperwork.”

“New paperwork?” Zanka asked.

“Requisition forms, copies of new procedures, old procedures which Lord Kaliel insisted be transferred into written documents, and the like.”

“This is…” Kaliel simply could not speak.

“Admittedly,” Darrant said, “some of these orders seemed odd to us, but your seal was verified. But if you say that you did not send these….”

“Where is the order that sent Brusk away?”

“That… will take some time to find, my lord,” Darrant said.

“Then do it,” Kaliel snapped. “I will be with the Knights, arranging for someone to go and find Brusk and bring him back.”

“I will remain here,” Zanka said. “Perhaps I can help to sort out some of this and find some useful information. Luc, you may stay here and assist me.”

“Good,” Kaliel said. “And see what kind of orders have been given to the merchants and craftsmen in town. I want to know what we have been making.” He looked around the room. “It is good to be home again, but... damn.”

As they walked out of the town hall and down the street toward the main garrison, Rutendo spoke. “Kaliel,” he said, “allow me to go and find Brusk for you. I can travel faster than any of your scouts, and can track him just as easily.”

“That is true,” Kaliel admitted. “But I have no better information to tell you on where he went than ‘North’. Perhaps some of my men will know more details.”

They passed by the temple block along the way, noting that they appeared much the way Kaliel had left them, and a brief conversation with the priests revealed no change in the worship. Still uncertain what had caused the lapse in worship he had felt a few weeks ago, and with more immediate concerns on his mind, he returned to his office at the garrison to try and sort out what he could there, while Rutendo went to speak to the other Knights.

While he was reprimanding the soldiers assigned to outrider duty, one of the gate sentries approached him. “Captain,” he said, saluting. “There is a supplicant here to see you at the western gate.”

“A supplicant?” Kaliel asked.

“That was the word he used to describe himself,” the sentry said. “He also claims to be a ‘sun priest’.”

“Very well.” He walked out to the western gate, where he saw a man dressed in the garb of a monk, sitting quietly in the lotus position in the road ten feet away from the gate. The man was of indeterminate age, and his head was shaved clean. The most prominent feature of the man, however, was the golden disk of light on his forehead marking him as one of the Zenith caste.

“Welcome to Chrysanthemum,” Kaliel said.

The man unfolded himself and rose. The man was tall, but thin, with long, almost gangly limbs. The monk bowed. “I am High Bright Sun,” the man said. “With your permission, I have come to bring the worship of the Unconquered Sun to your city.”

“That is a faith which is already observed here,” Kaliel said.

“But is it widespread throughout the populace? Do they all believe in him with great faith and fervor?”

Kaliel’s thoughts could not help but turn to the sudden diminishment in worship he had felt recently. “At one time they did,” he said. “They had faith in me, and through me, him.”

“As I said, with your permission I would like to help restore their faith in him. And in you. If you wish to turn me away, there are other towns where I may be accepted.”

“Very well,” Kaliel said. “I will have to observe your conduct closely, however. We are in the midst of a delicate situation here.”

“All of Creation is in the midst of a delicate situation,” High Bright Sun said.

Kaliel escorted High Bright Sun into the temple district, and introduced him to the high priest of the Unconquered Sun’s shrine in the city. Once he had been settled, Kaliel returned to the garrison to continue his work.

Zanka did not return until late at night. “This will take longer than I expected,” she told Kaliel. “This filing system that you supposedly ordered is designed to make it difficult to find specific documents. It appears well-organized on the surface, but in fact there is no clear and obvious pattern to the filing.”

“Where is Luc?” Kaliel asked.

“He has been going around to the various merchants in the city,” Zanka said. “He is making ‘official’ requests for records from the merchants as part of an audit you are conducting.”

“I see. I hope to have some of my soldiers ready to assist you soon,” Kaliel said. “They have currently been assigned to attend to a few matters here at the garrisons which have been neglected for the past few months. I have given them until dawn to fix the problems.”

There was a knock on the door, and a soldier opened the door, letting Luc inside. He was dressed in an ill-fitting page’s uniform.

“What have you learned?” Kaliel asked.

“About half the merchants I talked to got real nervous when I started using words like ‘audit’ and ‘records’,” Luc said. “Very few even had anything they turned over to me. I think that some of your merchants have been up to no good while you were gone.”

“Another problem to deal with,” Kaliel sighed.

“There was something else, too,” Luc said. “I didn’t catch it at first, but I started noticing that everyone who got nervous when I asked questions was wearing a ring on their left pinky finger.”

“What kind of ring?” Zanka asked.

“Black iron, I think,” Luc said. “At least, I think so. I didn’t see any markings or anything. I saw a couple of rings just like it on people just walking around in the street.”

“Some sort of mercantile cooperative?” Zanka asked.

“Or something else, considering that only the dishonest merchants bore this ring,” Kaliel said. He stood up, and walked to the door. The soldiers stationed outside saluted. “Get Corporal Tapas and tell him to put a detail together,” he ordered them. “We will be detaining some of the merchants in the city. I will provide you with a list once the troops are ready.”

The door closed, and Kaliel turned to Luc. “Now, tell me, who exactly was wearing these black rings?”

۞​

Rutendo languished on a threadbare but comfortable divan, letting the smell of incense waft over him. The sounds of various conversations and activities filled the barracks, echoing off the solid stone walls.

He had come here to ask Kaliel’s soldiers about Brusk, in hopes of finding out more details about where he might have gone on his scouting mission. He found they were more than willing to speak to a companion of Lord Kaliel, and when Rutendo saw that some of them were giving him looks that were more than just professional courtesy, he decided to use a more casual approach in his questioning.

The subject of one of those casual encounters, Corporal Broxa, was now laying next to Rutendo on the divan, and was well into his cups. Rutendo had worked the conversation around to the recent problems in the city.

“Y’know,” he said, “it all started going wrong when those letters started comin’ in. That’s why I say that you never do orders on paper, because somethin’ always goes wrong.”

“I have seen the records in town hall,” Rutendo said. “I have seen many battles, but never something as horrific as those shelves.”

“Carnage!” Broxa agreed. “But that was only the start. Things got really nasty after Brusk started acting up.”

“Acting up?”

“Yeah, he was going around saying that somethin’ was wrong, that Kaliel wouldn’t do that, stuff like that. Then he got sent away. For a while, I don’t mind tellin’ you, we thought the captain has lost his mind or somethin’.”

“I remember Kaliel talking about Brusk constantly,” Rutendo said. “I was very much looking forward to meeting him. And now, to find out he has been sent ‘north’ on a fool’s errand…”

“It’s not a fool’s errand,” Broxa said. “We don’t know where the Bull of the North is hiding. If he decides to come wipe us out, we’d have no chance. But you don’t send Brusk for a job like that – if Kaliel is a god, then Brusk is like… God-Blooded, or something, I don’t know. You send Jaree for a job like that.”

“So, there is no way that Kaliel would send that order.”

“Right. Yeah, right!”

Rutendo smiled. “Well, until they sort out that bureaucratic nightmare, I think that someone should try and bring Brusk back closer to home. Any idea where he might have gone?”

The Dragon-Blood set out the next morning, little the worse for wear despite his night of debauchery. The soldiers had not had much information to give him, but it was enough to point him on a slightly more focused path. Less than an hour outside the city, as the walls disappeared from view behind him, Rutendo dismounted to begin searching for signs of Brusk’s trail, and was surprised to find relatively recent tracks. Following them, he soon came within sight of a lone mounted figure, traversing through the woods. Rutendo watched the figure for a while, and then, recognizing the pattern in the man’s travels, began to laugh.

He rode up to the figure a few minutes later, who regarded Rutendo warily. “I was wondering when you would come closer,” he said. “You are from the city, but I do not know you.”

“I am Rutendo,” he replied. “Son of Ayama, who is a companion of Lord Kaliel and someone I believe you do know.” Rutendo looked around. “So you have been riding in a circle around the city, just out of sight of the walls, in order to ‘scout’ for the Bull of the North?”

“A half-circle,” Brusk corrected. “We know the Bull is not south of us. I have learned, when given orders that I do not agree with, how to follow their letter if not their spirit.”

Rutendo laughed again. “I have a feeling that I could learn much from you.”

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

Yes, this is the story that answers the question, "Why would anyone buy Bureaucracy Charms?"

 

[Solarious]

Yes, this is the story that answers the question, "Why would anyone buy Bureaucracy Charms?"

The Answer: There are absolutely no rules for it and it is reduced to Storyteller Handwavium. This does not encourage people to purchase these charms without makeshift houserules.