(Backdated entry)
Rozacia stood at the window, hands tucked into ragged sleeves. She left it open despite the whispering breeze that brought a slight chill in and unbound a few strands of spun sunlight from the hood of her tattered cloak. She waited, watched for movement in shadow on the rooftops in her vision. Her green eyes narrowed as she strained to catch a brief flicker of black against night. Straightening from the long strain that bore her down, she knew that her clothes could not hide her regal bearing, and she would be no less for him, even if they were forsaken.
After a time, her ears caught the faintest creak on the boards behind her. “I hate this,” she spoke into the wind. “Hiding in the night like rats.” She turned to catch the slight sardonic twist to his mouth, and immediately regretted the words, for the night was his time. “Aniam, I'm sorry…”
Aniam was perched, crouched and on his toes in the doorway, a small cat of a man in black as tattered as hers. The only thing of beauty left to them both was the bow in his hands. Everything else of power and station was left in the tomb of her husband. She remembered the day she gave the simple looking thing of wood and orichalchum threads to Aniam, made to hide it's strength so that he could be her eyes in the cities and those who did not know him wouldn't know him for what he was. He long treasured it as a sign of her hidden affection, she knew, and such it was. Aniam was the last left to her, and long been the only being Rozacia fully trusted. Aniam spied for her, killed for her, kept her secrets. He held the confidences of a friend, and more. Imprudently, he told her once before her mate died that she was his crime, that she came first among everything else, and so he truly was the Son of Sorrows. The name of the bow was Nakane, Sorrow in another tongue. He shook his head, cutting off her words. “No, my queen. This is not for you. I don't deny you your feelings.” Typically soft, Aniam infused the words with a hundred meanings.
He placed Nakane to the side and padded over to pour the last bit of wine they had. “What news, then?” Rozacia asked, firmly.
Aniam paused in his efforts to say, without a hint of fear, “They close on us like starving hounds on a wounded hare. I doubt we'll see another sunset.”
“At least it's ended then.” Rozacia patted the lesser sword she now carried at her side. “And maybe we will not be easy meat. Maybe some of them will fall as well.”
Aniam smiled some secret little smile. “I would expect you to say no less.” In old habit, he took a drink from the goblet he poured before
bringing it to her. Rozacia begged him a number of times to not do that, though now it made her smile back at him, despite the dark tidings.
Holding the goblet in both hands, Aniam presented it to her as if they were still in court. Instead of taking it, she put her hands over his so both held it. Blinking dark eyes at her, Aniam almost seemed to color in the moonlight. “Please, my queen, I would not sully you with the dirt on my hands.” She knew what he meant.
“Even now? Even though I am the one who put it there?” A wave of regret of excesses tore through her, penitent too late.
“Even so.”
“I don't care.” She inched a bit closer to him, adding softer, “My heart.” Pulling hands and goblet to her mouth, she drank deeply, then dropped her hands to his arms and kissed him softly, tasting the same wine on his lips.
Rozacia was relieved when he kissed her in return, almost shyly, the first real kiss of long time lovers. When it ended, they stood close and looked at one another, and Aniam intimately brushed the stray hair from her cheek. “I will not let them take you alive.”
“They will have to kill us both. I will not take your poison, Aniam. I told you that months ago.”
“I know.” She could see in the moonlight the heavy weight of sadness in his eyes. “That's why you already have. We both have.”
Gasping, Rozacia stumbled back, hand to her lips. Her eyes found the winecup. Yes, he would know what it would take to kill her. “Tra…” She couldn't finish the word, falling to a strangled 'Why'?
Aniam bowed his head. “You commanded me once to keep the Tor'avesh safe, even from you if I had to. I cannot risk letting them take you alive.” He looked up at her only with his eyes. “Can you forgive me in our final hour?”
Resignation pushed her to the floor and after a time she spoke. “What will it do?”
Aniam came closer to her. “We will sleep, love, and never wake.”
She reached up with a long fingered hand. “Then come, let us sleep together.”
A pair of bodies were found, a pair of forsaken Celestials. Whatever secrets they held were gone, and the only object was a plain-looking longbow that no one could use.
(Backdated entry)
Four pairs of hooves hit the ground at a fair pace. The pair of horses was nearly matched, raven manes and tails, seal brown over the rest. Both were young stallions, three year olds, and quite possibly the most agile and best ever bred in the area. The only difference between the two was one bore a white star on his nose and the other a wide white blaze that covered from nostrils to forelock. Starspell and Moonsong were the names the riders gave them respectively. They carried their riders with a steady rhythm of clip-clops punctuated by the occasional snort.
So nearly matched as well were the riders, save that Moonsong carried a young man dressed softly in a long tunic, where Starspell's was a young woman in well-worn leather. Matched pairs of brown eyes watched intently forward from their mounts, and wind whipped hair so dark it was nearly black, hers shot with gold and bound in a long braid, his gracing his shoulders. Both were paler than their family name would suggest, but browned by the sun. Ourna and Jiulan Torves, born together twenty years ago. Together in truth, for he had his tiny hand wrapped around her ankle, as if he was worried he would not find the way and she led him out.
They rode this time for militia business, beelining straight toward the home of the Matriarch, leader of the village Vesh and representative on the Council of Willows. Neither brother nor sister really cared they'd be interrupting her dinner.
And so the aged Matriarch stood in front of her thatched roof home, arms crossed and glaring as Ourna and Jiulan dismounted. Ourna moved to the rear of Starspell and unloaded something, dropping it on the ground at the feet of the grayhair.
“That's no rabbit.” The Matriarch spoke.
Ourna dropped her grisly package on the ground. The creature had been as long as a grown man's arm, gray fur, and possessed a mouth full of blade sharp teeth. Now it also sported a pair of arrow holes. “No, it's a nuisance. We found it having quite a meal on old Fizhter's chickens.”
“And so it's dead. Why come here with it?”
Giving the older woman a flat stare, Ourna answered, “Because it's the second we've caught since the beginning of Calibration. I thought you should know.”
“I know what you would say, Granddaughter, but I and the Council of Willows have spoken. That is all.” The old woman turned with finality to return to her dinner.
“It's a bad omen. I swear it.” Jiulan finally spoke up, stepping forward. “Please don't ignore this, Grandmother.”
The old woman drew herself up to her full formidable height and set her face. “You too, Jiulan? Why am I not surprised. Where one goes…” She pointed with a bony finger, seeming to take both of them in. “I will not say this again. I will not have you, either of you, turning lives upside down for Ourna's fantasies of glory. I would not let your father do it and I won't let you. The Council has given you both all that you will get. That. Is. All.” She turned on her toes and stormed back into her house.
Ourna took a step to follow, but was stayed by a hand on her shoulder. “Let it go, Ourna. She's not ready to listen to you yet. Not after the last meeting.”
“She mocks me, mocks my love of our people. If she thinks I seek glory….”
“….she doesn't know us. Or father. I do believe she wants the same as you, what's best for the Willows. But then…”
“…she's never forgiven him for being an outsider.”
Despite the conversation, matched pairs of deep brown eyes found one another and the siblings chuckled. “Speaking of Father, he and Mother are expecting us for dinner.” Jiulan squeezed his sister's shoulder. “And you know how they are when we're late.”
Ourna rolled her eyes, tension broken for the moment. “Yes, never hear the end.” She went to her horse and mounted easily, leaving the carcass of the animal quite on purpose. “But we shouldn't stay the night. Let's leave out after and head back. We can see if our chicken thief has a family.” She paused, tensing narrow shoulders again. “I think you're right. A bad omen.”
Jiulan merely nodded and swung up on his own mount.
The two rode their bark brown mounts past cultivated fields belonging to relatives, some they weren't certain of the relationship. Most everyone in Vesh called one another 'cousin'. It was a safe wager. Some late workers waved to them as they passed. They were both quite recognizable figures, Ourna, twenty year old captain of the Seven Willows militia, or what passed for it, and her twin, Jiulan, a tutor and teacher by trade. However, Jiulan was not simply stuck in books. Though the man favored a staff over a sword, he was nearly as good with his hunting bow as his sister. The same person trained both.
Mehtar Kotari was waiting outside the door as the twins approached and dismounted. Motioning to a boy in his employ to take care of the mounts, Kotari stiffly limped forward with a scowl on his face, still able to cut quite an intimidating figure, still the cut figure of an old warrior. In old habit, Ourna flinched and noted that Jiulan did the same. The aging man took another couple of agonizing seeming steps, then broke into a wide grin and opened his arms. “Kayiera!” He shouted over his shoulder. “Our children finally decided to drag themselves home.”
On the way in, the twins took turns telling what had happened that day, about the gray beast and the Matriarch. “Well, the council did give you a central headquarters for the militia, Ourna.” Kayiera spoke, cutting off any sort of soldier-talk from her husband.
“Yes, one that must be cleaned up for Jiulan's classes the next day.” Ourna retorted.
Jiulan, in turn, put an arm around his sister's shoulders. “We've shared much closer spaces.” Again, despite her irritation, Ourna felt tension drain out of her. Jiulan turned his attention. “What do you make of the beast, Father?”
The old man shrugged, also letting go of the topic of the Matriarch. “I don't go much in for omens and such. Seen far too many false. But it's troubling enough that I think you are doing the right thing and looking into it.” Kayiera nodded her agreement. The foursome passed into a room dominated by a long oak table and the smells of dinner, and each sat in their place.
For a time, the day's worries passed out of Ourna's mind and she concentrated on filling her belly. The others did as well, until Father broke the silence. “So, where's the appendage today? I half expected to be feeding him as well.”
“Tremaen?” Ourna said around a bite of chicken. Swallowing, she took a drink of the strong tea her mother often made. “His mother wanted him home today, so she had some unlikely story about needing the thatch patched.”
Kotari chortled. “Boy'd be more likely to fall through than patch. Either that or the Kiratu's will have the best roof in the Willows.”
“Kotari,” Kayiera broke in, “that's not nice. Trey's a nice young man. I've always liked him.”
“It's okay, Mother.” Jiulan said, chuckling softly. “I love him as a brother, but I know Father speaks true.” Ourna nodded in assent.
“Well, I always thought that we might be raising a house for you two, Ourna.” Kayiera straightened a bit.
Jiulan broke out laughing as Ourna choked on the next bite of chicken, forcing out emphatic “no's” between coughs. “I figured out years ago that that kind of thinking was a bad idea where Trey was concerned,” she managed, finally.”
“Missing tooth.” Jiulan nudged his sister with an elbow, and Ourna probed the space toward the back of her mouth with her tongue unconsciously.
Both parents blinked. “He had something to do with that? You told me it was a practice accident.” Kotari sounded on the edge of incredulous anger.
“Jiulan!” Ourna elbowed her brother back. She sighed and shook her head. “I was fourteen, Father, Trey sixteen, and it was when you and the Kiratus weren't speaking. We had this fool idea in our heads only a pair that young could possibly believe, that we could love and bring the families back together. So, we had this meeting place out in the woods.” She didn't look at either of her parents. “Trey and I would go there and speak all these wonderful sounding things. Then one day, we thought to try to kiss.” Ourna found laughter bubbling up in her. “Instead, he cracked his head so hard on the side of my face it chipped that tooth, and when he knelt to look at me, I accidentally raised my arm up so hard I broke his nose. Only Trey's luck.” She peered up at her father. He was actually laughing softly.
“I don't care that you lied then.”
“You would've killed him then. But, the end to this story is that we both decided that the fear of actually getting caught, as Jiulan did catch us only moments later, was far greater than this supposed great mythic love, and that was that.”
“Can't say I'm not relieved.” Kotari received another admonishment from his wife. The rest of dinner passed in silence.
As each rose from the table and the twins discussed leaving, Kotari held up a hand. “Before you two go running off again, I've got something for you.” He motioned with his hand for them to follow, limping into the sitting room. Ourna exchanged a puzzled look with her brother, who shrugged.
The twins each chose a seat, and their father remained standing. “I'm getting old, and when a man has more gray in his hair than anything else, he starts thinking about things, the past, the future.” Each twin moved to break in, but Kotari raised his hand and they stayed quiet. “And, since you've got this new building, now's as good a time as any to pass along a few things.” His voice dropped, and he grew that haunted distance that his children both recognized. “I brought little with me, and those things that did had meaning.”
From a table behind a chair, Kotari produced a bundle and hefted it over to Jiulan. “To my son, for his school.”
Though Ourna thought Jiulan had to know what was in the blanket wrapping, her brother still gasped. “Your books! But these ones are priceless out here. Father…”
“You have long had more use out of them than I have. Share them with Ourna, and say thank you, Jiulan.”
“Thank you, Father.” Jiulan was overwhelmed.
Kotari turned his attention to his daughter, and she found herself already shaking her head. “No, don't go digging your grave before you're ready for it.”
Ourna's father didn't even acknowledge he'd heard her. “Now, this bow…” She'd seen the weapon of pale wood on the wall every day in this house, often stared at it. “is clumsy enough that it's practically useless, but it would look nice in your headquarters. It was a gift from someone I respected and who respected me.” He handed it over, and she ran her hands over it.
“Thank you, F-”
“I'm not done.” Kotari retrieved his sword, a long, magnificent piece of gleaming steel. Though it must have seen dozens of battles in the old man's days, it looked new forged. “I know it's a bit heavy for you, but maybe you'll still grow into it. Heh, maybe you'll teach your brother the blade yet.”
“But, Father, what…”
“Say thank you, Ourna.” She looked into her father's eyes and saw what her brother must have, that finality of purpose that meant there was no arguing with the man.
“Thank you father.”
Each twin hugged the old man as he, in turn, kissed them on their foreheads. “Now, go hunt beast.”
Ourna and Jiulan chose a one of the safest of the ruins that surrounded Seven Willows to bed down in on their trip back south. No person in memory had been harmed there, but no animal would come near…and despite the relative safety, few humans would as well. Both could sleep the night without a watch. However, as what passed for dawn in Calibration approached, Ourna began to wake with the feeling something was not quite right.
She became aware that Jiulan had during the night plastered himself up against her, or she had him. Neither had ever thought much of it, a long habit since they shared a cradle when one or the other had become cold.
Cold.
In the middle of the months of Fire.
Suddenly Ourna was wide awake. She was greeted with the sight of Jiulan's breath frosting in the air, and then her own. Though it was still quite dark, every blade of grass, every stone, every tree seemed to be somehow grayer than they should be. Ourna bolted up, simultaneously reaching for her hunting bow and nudging her brother awake with a foot. “Jiulan!” She hissed at him.
Pushing himself up groggily, Jiulan rubbed at his eyes for a moment then stopped short. “What manner of sorcery is this?” He copied Ourna's act of reaching for a weapon.
“I don't know. Something seems like I should know something, but I can't think.” She got to her feet, bow drawn, and she started creeping around on her toes, expecting something, anything, to hop out of the darkness.
“I know the feeling. I know I've read this somewhere.” Jiulan joined Ourna in the search.
Suddenly, a horse was upon them, startling. In the split moment before she let an arrow fly, her mind recognized the odd white mount and stood down. Winterwind, half sister to her own Starspell. That meant the rider was…
“Tremaen!” She looked up at her old friend. The lack of light made his long pine needle green hair raven, and she could barely make out the trace of his fine boned features. But what was clear was that the man was trembling, and not entirely with the unnatural cold.
“Ourna, Captain…I…” She heard Tremaen swallow. “I'm glad I found you. Small…” He took an audible breath. “Small is under attack and quite possibly fallen by now.”
The twins moved quickly. “Who, what?” Ourna barked.
“The dead. I swear it, the dead are attacking.”
“That's where I've read this.” Jiulan said, with utter dread, mounting Moonsong. “Descriptions of Shadowlands.”
For a few moments, Ourna had the dread as well, but it was rapidly replaced by something else. “Why weren't the gongs sounded, Trey?” She asked in a tone of reprimand as she took her place on Starspell.
Her own sudden strength seemed infectious, as Tremaen's voice was much less shaky. “They were, but sound isn't carrying in this.”
Ourna nodded once. It made sense, then, that she didn't hear Tremaen's approach. “Very well then. Jiulan, ride to the closest village and start raising the rest. Trey, show me where.” She inched Starspell forward a couple of steps.
“Ourna,” Jiulan called softly, and she knew the tone of voice. Reaching out, she clasped hands with her brother.
“I have no time for discussion.” She said, gently. “Now, raise the closest village, send a rider on, and come join me. Come as quickly as you can.” They were born together, shared almost everything in life, and if they were to die today, they would die together. “I will not abandon you.”
“Nor I you.”
Letting go of Jiulan's hand, she cleared her throat and the voice of command returned. “Now, we ride, and I'll think of something before we get there.”
Every story has a beginning and an ending, and sometimes it is both. It is sad that heroes are not born of peace, for if they were, there would be few places in Creation more perfect than the small stretch of seven villages known as Seven Willows.
Though much is taken, much abides, and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are—
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from “Ulysses”
Start Date: 5 Calibration, Realm Year 768
Neither important strategically nor in trade, the people of Seven Willows did not know the bite of war save for in stories that drifted in from the few that made the venture from the outside. They were in a land of plenty, and did not know true poverty or privation.
Not to say the villages were perfect. There was enough trouble to maintain a small volunteer militia, and enough people to birth minor clashes and crime, and just enough outsiders to make it worth while. Of course, some few outsiders were drawn by the mass numbers of ruins that dotted the landscape. But for the most part, the people of the Willows lived day by day with little to worry or fear. I would know. I saw it then. And I knew them, at least by name, before.
The last day of life as we knew it was like any other, save for a few forebodings here and there, though being Calibration, few thought much of them. One was a strange beast our young militia captain, Torves Ourna and her twin, Jiulan, caught, and after a last dinner with their parents in Vesh, they went to hunt more.
But most people went on with life as usual. Manduar Develan dragged a tired old nag to be sold, though his real prize was a stolen amulet, taken from the Kiratu family of Atia so that Develan's family may eat. He almost lost his ill-gotten gains to a less savory one of his ilk, but Develan fought them off with the unlikely assistance of the skinny nag. One Kouramis Xylanthe, Nexus-born and drawn to our corner by the ruins, excitedly studied the chambers of Nolstane on the river-island of the same name. None of us could have known what she would find. Oh that we had!
For in the morning, Xylanthe found a new chamber with unfamiliar writings. A grand hall led to a door that had not been opened in a very long time. With the excitement of the scholar, she stepped up to the door and with effort, made it open. It was told that then the apparition of a young woman with pigtails like crimson blood spun once, then out of the chamber the open doors revealed. Xylanthe stepped in with awe and fear to the rounded chamber, still whole despite the years. The center of the room was dominated by an obelisk, upon which these words were read:
“I am Meshame, head of the Senteri Circle, Favored of Endings.
I have seen what is written in the stars. And I weep.
In an Age yet to come, the Crying Death will come. It will descend upon the land Rane-tah-serat, seeking Nai-Osane and the Ties-that-bind.
It will make this land its own. It will rule these people in the service of death.
This time will be marked by five signs. Hearken ye well:
* Beasts seen neither before nor since will prowl the land Rane-tah-serat at the time of Calibration.
* The Five Dragons will face befuddlement, one appearing in another's place.
* The unborn Several Trees and their lesser brethren will weep.
* The Sun and the Moon will come together as one, and the Maidens will sing.
* A Child of the Sun will read my words, the first to disturb their sleep since the End of my Age.
I am Meshame, head of the Senteri Circle, Favored of Endings.
I have seen what is written in the stars. And I weep.”
A great grinding Xylanthe heard as the domed roof above her began to open, lights dancing around the chamber in many colors. The very stone blossomed open to the sky above Nolstane, and the lights danced into it in awesome display. At that very moment, the noonday sun was eclipsed and a great chill came upon the Willows. The five maidens, who often wander the night in along roads chaotic, stood encircling the now-hidden Sun. Xylanthe fled the chambers, passing the now gray plants, blossoms of obsidian open and dripping the red of life.
And then the dead came, not unto Nolstane, but unto the smallest of the seven, farther to the south. And unto some of the other villages as well. Sound did not carry in the new set gloom, and thus the handful of fighters the village sported remained asleep.
Kiratu Tremaen, Tremaen the Fey-Touched, rode to find his companions, the captain Ourna and her twin, newly awakened in the ruins of an old amphitheater, and thus the militia began to be roused to head toward the tiny Small.
Jiulan the Twin was sent toward his home in Vesh while the others rode on.
In the mean, Develan, out for his morning chores when the sun blackened, holed his family into their house and headed into Metaia, the Breeder's Town, to see what was happening. He found the town overrun by the shambling, rotting dead, half the town burning, and stayed to the rooftops to spy.
Xylanthe raced toward her father to find him gone, asked to go into the town of Atia to look into the matter of strange beasts in the land, so she made her way instead to Vesh, confusion and dread warring within her. Distance this day seemed little, by the grace or horror of some grand Something, and she rode quickly. In Vesh, she did not find word of her father, but Torves Jiulan instead, who was seeking his father as well. Xylanthe joined the Twin then, to ride toward his sister and the battle in the south, neither father found.
Ourna and Tremaen rode as quickly as their grand steeds could take them, gathering fighters on the way. They came upon a figure in the funerary robes of Sijan, a man neither had seen before. No time for pleasantries or questions, they rode on to collect with others at the bridge. Behind the two, unseen, the man quickened his pace, feeling the weight of an appointment drawing nigh.
From his rooftop perch in Metaia, Develan laid eyes upon a figure in dark armor, the horrific creature for all that he was a man commanding the legions of the risen dead. The figure wore a length of chain as a belt, a clawed end holding a milky blue stone that seemed to move even in the non-light of this day.
Something in Develan had to have this stone! He did not know that the armored man was the Deathknight Anathema known as Li Long Sying, a creature who could easily crush the marrow of the little thief's bones and turn him to dust. Whatever fear that might have been, though, was overridden by the need to have the stone, so Develan followed the armored man. Li Long Sying entered one of the huts, roughly treating his guard of the dead, and soon removed the belt.
At the bridge leading to Small, Jiulan and Xylanthe with those they gathered met up with Ourna and Tremaen and who they had. Oh, but they wished they had the expertise of the Mehtar Kotari! Of all in the Willows, only he had ever seen real war, but the twins' father was nowhere to be found. But they had no time for regrets or maybes. Ourna commanded what troops there were forward. They followed the road, and soon saw the village in the distance.
Through the gray and dust, all could see the village overrun, hear the fighting and shouting! One boy of the militia pushed forward, unmindful of the orders cried by his commander. The onlookers gasped in horror as paths opened in the cornfield that flanked them, converging toward the hasteful boy. In a blink, he was gone, into the gray corn, screams ominously cut fast. A few moments spent trying to kill the Hunters in the Corn, but they could not be seen. Hoping they were occupied with the unfortunate boy, Ourna pushed forward again, toward the rapidly falling village.
Develan, others fought and others died, crept into the hut of the Deathknight, past the risen dead, who's brains had been rotted, it seems, and laid hand upon the prize the thief sought. With the wonder of the cloudy blue stone in hand Develan heard the man in black armor returning to the room, and without much stealth, dove out the window of the little house. He heard the Deathknight find the stone missing, saw him storm out and take the head of one of the guards, and then the thief was pursued.
Running as fast as his feet could carry with the dead and their leader close behind, Develan unwittingly cornered himself into one of the livestock corrals. He would have been lost, then, Develan the Thief's story cut short right there, had not a great voice come to him. The booming voice of a god, the Unconquered Sun as he is called by some but unknown to Develan, called out, “Take these gifts I give you and use them in my name!” It was a voice that should have echoed by reason, but was heard by Develan alone.
The thief hopped up on a fence post and perched still as his pursuers stormed up in great fury. But Develan with new gifts was wrapped in a cloak of night now, and went unseen. He kept very still until the knight in black took his fury out on yet another of the risen dead and left. After a time, Develan left to head back home to his family, uncertain of what had occurred to save him.
In Small, times were indeed desperate. The militia was far outnumbered, and many of the living that fell rose quickly again to join the ranks of the other side. On the far side of the battle sat three figures, all armored with the signs of the feared Anathema on their foreheads, black auras cast about them. They were afflicted neither with worry nor with hurry.
One, tall and thin, had the very image of a dual headed cobra within the glimmering black around him. One was nearly a giant, bearing a Goremaul, with the look of a Northerner. And the last was a woman of scant few years, a pale thin beauty, but cold as a statue of ice, neither smiling nor frowning.
Ourna knew then they were no match for the forces allied against their peaceful country, but commanded the militia to fight on, to a patch of beleaguered and diminishing defenders. As they pulled the scant handful of survivors onto horses, a rider came from the Council for guidance. “Evacuate,” she told him with heavy heart. “Get everyone out!” With that, she called the retreat to her valiant fighters, most barely trained but doing what they could. Even Xylanthe was there with her horse kicking and screaming. They began to fight their way back out.
Just then, the figure Ourna and Tremaen had seen on the road was there. The stranger cast aside the Sijan robes and began to glow golden, a massive axe in hand. It cast great confusion upon those who thought they knew Anathema and evil, for he was quite unlike the dark ones they had so recently faced. The stranger waded toward the battle, telling Ourna to take her people and run. She did so, leaving the stranger alone, respecting the man's decision, no matter what he might be. Never having known his name, she knew that she would remember him for saving all their lives. She took her tiring survivors and friends and rode northward, vowing to pick up whoever they could along the way out.
Develan returned to his farm after escaping the Deathknight and minions to find it all in ruin. He searched, and searched, but could find no trace of his mother or numerous siblings. No trace that they were dead, no trace that they were living, and his heart was heavy. All he found living was the old nag he had set out to sell a day and forever before. So he took this horse and headed northward himself.
Ourna, Jiulan, Xylanthe, Tremaen, and the rest of the survivors rode on until the gray started to fade and the air warmed. Turning, they saw a great tower of bone raising near where they thought Vesh must be, must have been, and the sound of a flute carrying through the air. The sound stirred Ourna's heart to fiery passion and she turned toward the land of her birth and called out her vow. “I know you hear me! This is not over! I will return, and I will cleanse my land of you, for my people. If it takes me the rest of my days, I will!”
Only Xylanthe saw, at that moment, that despite everything, a single ray of sunlight pierced through the heavy clouds and touched her. Chosen in that moment, by something greater, though Ourna did not know it. The moment passed, and the dragging refugees went onward, as far as they could, and set up a camp.
Xylanthe decided to confess what she knew of what happened, told Ourna and Jiulan of the inscription. The last line confused her. Xylanthe did not know anything about being a child of the Sun. That she was she did not yet know. While they were discussing, for Ourna's passions would not leave the topic rest, Develan stumbled onto his camp of countrymen, and joined them at last.
After a time, they all slept, and some of the Chosen then dreamed, though none really understood what had become of them.
And thus, our time of peace ended, and the greatest story I can tell began. That which I did not see myself was told to me by those who did, and I believe them, for the evidence tells me so. An ending, and a beginning, and every word true, this I swear.
End Date: 1 Ascending Air, Realm Year 768
The opening session went pretty well. I had plenty of time to plan what I wanted to do (3.5 pages of notes). Everybody came into the game knowing ahead of time that it would probably be fairly linear, and everybody seemed to enjoy my use of music. I tried to write this adventure in a way that would cause the various scenes to flow naturally rather than me trying to railroad things into going the way I wanted.
Converted from old logs
(Backdated entry)
The divine Essence that bonded with Manduar Develan was, in the First Age, a Night Caste by the name of Sethos. Publicly, he was a sort of wealthy nobleman. Imagine a sort of Bruce Wayne persona (and with Sethos, like Batman, it was this identity that was the persona), someone who throws lavish “social events” (otherwise known as parties), makes public appearances from time to time, and seems to live a life of leisure.
In reality, though, the truth of Sethos was something much more frightening. In the heart land of the Old Realm, one name was bandied about as a sure way to get rid of “obstacles”….if you were willing to pay his price. The name whispered in the dark was Runihura (Egyptian for destroyer). For centuries, this mysterious entity brought death and ruin where he was bidden. His “employers” feared to call upon his services and his victims never knew who stalked them in the night.
Sethos had been originally “created” as a weapon for the explicit purpose of killing the enemies of the Gods. To the grief of many, though, Sethos acquired a thirst for killing….the power and thrill it gave him had become too much a part of him for him to simply cast it aside. So, as civilization settled down and random killing became impolite, Sethos created another identity for himself……one that would hunt the night and garb himself in shadow. But Sethos didn't need money for his services….he was quite wealthy already and more money was not what he desired. Instead, he would ask for a unique price from each person who asked for his services. His purpose was to make his employer pay a price that would be truly dear to them. Many that would hire him had money…giving him some was no sacrifice. At the completion of his task, Runihura would then name his price. Two examples of payment he asked for and received:
“One day with your virgin daughter.”
Pointing to a priceless urn that was of immense sentimental value to the family, “I want that.” The head of the household picked the urn up, carrying it reverently across the room to Runihura and handing it gently to him. Without a word, Runihura raised the urn above his head, smashed it to pieces on the floor, and turned and walked out.
Amazingly enough, Sethos (and Runihura at the same time) did find a woman who fell in love with him and married him…in fact, not just one woman, but twin sisters. Their names were Shardis and Shadris, both of them Twilight Caste and potent sorcerors. In fact, these two Exalted created the powerful orichalcum fighting gauntlets that Runihura used (and which he named after them). In addition, they bound a Familiar to Runihura. A wind serpent called Mabuz-Amal; this elemental aided Runihura greatly in his work, as an invisible killer and a companion to watch his back.
As hard as it might be to believe of a man like this, Sethos did feel some compassion and perhaps even love for his wives. In the end, though, when it all went bad and the Dragon-Blooded and Sidereal turned against them, Runihura, Shardis, and Shadris fled to his Manse in the mountains. They sheltered there for a short time and the twins helped to set up defenses and concealing spells around the place. All of them knew that it was only a matter of time before they were found and overwhelmed…but all had hope that they might come again before the world died….and in that later time find vengeance. In preparation for that time, Shardis and Shadris enchanted Runihura's wind jewel hearthstone with a dual-finder spell. It would be drawn to Runihura's soul, when it returned, and would then, in turn, draw that soul towards his stronghold of old. Finally, the
combination of the jewel and Runihura's soul would unlock the Manse and cause its defenses to stand down. And waiting inside would be the fighting gauntlets and the elemental, all waiting patiently for as long as it took for their master to return.
With the preparations done and the Dragon-Blooded Host advancing on their position, they resolved to rest one more night at the Manse before setting out to slaughter as much of the traitorous army as they could before they fell. Runihura stayed awake the longest and quietly watched his wives slumber for two hours. During this time, he made up his mind. Too much was at stake for him to trust to the will and resolve of even his most trusted companions (aside from Mabuz-Amal). So, he crept silently to crouch in between them and, drawing two knives, he slit both their throats while they still slept. He crouched there, unmoving, and watched as their life's blood spilled out onto the ground. When it was finished, he buried them both, side by side in the same grave, on the very spot where they died. In the dead of night, he left his Manse for the last time and went to face the enemy. Hundreds … even thousands…of Dragon-Blooded fell before his deadly skills until he was finally cornered and overwhelmed.
Now the Manse sits empty….well, nearly. It is still watched over by the tireless Mabuz-Amal and by a huge weeping willow tree that rises from the spot where the two Twilight Caste were buried. This tree is somewhat unique in that very shortly after its trunk rose from the ground, it split in two and grew in two directions. With such violent and shocking deaths, one wonders if anything of the two sisters still lingers on that spot … watching and waiting….
The days began to stretch, on and on as the party of refugees left the road in an effort to shake quick pursuit. The Chosen stayed silent, still not comprehending their state, not saying a thing to one another and thinking themselves the only ones. On and on the little band plodded, the weight of creation on their shoulders. None moreso carried this weight than Ourna, it seemed. She came upon the idea of daily tasks for the poor people of the group, thinking that distraction would keep the band from despair. She knew, for she herself fought it each moment, each step, only responsibility, the fiery passion of her promise, and the closeness of the Twin and the Fey-Touched keeping her from it.
“The dew of the morning, Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning, Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken, And share in it's shame.”
—-George Gordon, Lord Byron, “When we two parted”
Start Date: 4 Ascending Air, Realm Year 768
Then, the tired monotony of this newfound existence for people of peace was broken by a voice from above. It was no spirit, no lesser god that called out to the band, but a man. High up in a tree he sat, clothing like the bright plumage of a grand bird, calling for assistance in tones that spoke of some far distant land. After deciding the stranger was, in fact, no spirit, Ourna asked others to bring the poor, funny little fellow down. And thus did Albrecht Torsten find his feet on solid land once more.
Ourna and Xylanthe questioned the man as to how he found himself up in the high trees of the Eastern forests. And what a tale Albrecht spun! He laid claim to being a captain of a ship, but no kind of ship any had ever seen, for this ship rode the currents of air as others ride the water! He said there had been mutiny, and he was tossed over to fall from above into the savior branches that caught him. Ourna, like many that would hear such a thing, thought it madness, but Xylanthe wasn't so certain. Perhaps this plumaged man spoke of something of the First Age! He also claimed a nation no traveler or scholar among them had ever heard of, so none knew what to believe. Part of the truth, however, Albrecht kept hidden, and none suspected! Madness or no, the man surely needed the strength numbers would give, and he was brought into the band of refugees as one of them.
And so the little band plunged onward through the trees with their new number, and soon stopped for the night as always. Watches were set, and to the surprise of the young captain Ourna, Albrecht immediately volunteered to take the second. And after, all save a handful of remaining militia went to sleep.
At that moment, back in Rane-tah-serat, a conversation took place between Xylanthe's father, Arskelos, and the female Deathknight seen at the battle of Small, who was taking her to see the Deathlord Tears of the Bloodflower. The father felt as though the woman was known to him, but for her part she denied this.
Sometime in the night, Albrecht woke on his own. It took him not long at all to realize it was well after he should have been awakened for the watch, and he looked about. He found that the previous watch was missing! He went and woke the young captain, who drew blade and began seeking for her lost people. And then, Xylanthe woke, roused from sleep by the strange masked woman she was dreaming about. And in turn, Develan woke, and all began creeping about in the stillness of the forest floor.
For a time, no one saw a thing, save that more than first watch was missing. Then there were Eyes! Large, shimmering eyes surrounding the camp, watching with golden glow reflected by the campfire! Some up in the branches, some on the ground. Ourna went toward one on the ground while Develan shimmied with ease up one of the trees. As they approached their quarries, the great shining Eyes blinked out as if they never were. Time and time again, they chased the elusive Eyes, Ourna calling out in fearful greeting, Develan making a grab for whatever may own the Eyes.
And finally, as the Thief caught one high in the branches, others stepped out to Ourna's call. The huge Eyes were attached to sticks. Yes, small branches with stick arms and stick legs! And they carried swords of carved wood, tiny for their small hands. No one had ever seen the like!
One of the stick-people introduced himself as Arbel, and he was their leader. Arbel introduced a few of his fellows as well, but remained the speaker. Arbel explained that they had taken the people to their king, the King of the Wood, for care and healing, but they were upset that the people were burning their fellows, even if it was only their dead. Xylanthe came beside Ourna and tried to explain the human need for fire, but it only seemed to trouble the stick-people further. Therefore, Ourna stuck to the task of trying to get the people back. Develan found the ground again, struggling stick-person in hand. He set the skinny creature down and watched it.
In some sort of token, Arbel offered berries. For fear of offending the Stick-people again, Ourna ate one at the protest of Xylanthe and Albrecht. For a time, Ourna was fine and kept speaking with Arbel.
Arbel finally agreed to go speak to the King of the Wood, and the camp waited under the watchful Eyes of the Stick-people. There was nothing to be done otherwise. In the mean, Ourna discovered that the berry she had eaten made the world strange, seeing things that were not there, yet her mind remained clear otherwise.
After a time, Arbel returned, now garbed in armor of bark and leaves, with word from the King. The missing people, now healed, will be returned. They were walking out of the trees as they spoke, in fact, and there was joy. Arbel, in the voice of the King, told the people that he and the Stick-people would see them to the edge of their lands on the agreement that there would be no more fires. Wanting no more trouble with these strange watchers of the woods, Ourna agreed, though knowing it would mean lean days for her and her people. And so, the camp slept again.
For days, the band of survivors of Seven Willows moved ever onward in the escort of Arbel and the Stick-people. They lived even more meagerly than before, eating only what they could find among the plants of the forest and wrapping blankets tightly around them at night. Ourna was relieved that after the first day, however, that the berry she'd taken from Arbel wore clean, and the strange sights that surrounded her vanished, and took great comfort in being with Jiulan in the night hours, for the Twins had each other, and both were glad of it. Finally, they reached the edge of the Kingdom of Sticks and bid farewell to Arbel and his kin.
Oh, but the band enjoyed the fire that night, lit after the trees of the Kingdom were long behind! Hot rabbit and quail lifted the spirits a bit, and each person left to their own thoughts. But one soon realized that some of her thoughts were not her own. Xylanthe began to hear the voice first heard in dream the night the Stick-people appeared, and found she could converse with it. The feminine voice claimed to live in a ring Xylanthe once found in a ruin. Xylanthe decided to speak with the Lady of the Ring and went a little ways from the camp to do so. She did not know that Develan was skulking around in the trees around and that Ourna had heard her speaking, to all appearances, to herself.
In her spot away from the others, Xylanthe continued to speak to the Ring Lady. All at once, to prove a point, the Ring Lady asked Xylanthe to repeat something. She did so, whispering strange words, and Xylanthe called up some emerald sphere around herself, and she began to glow with the light of the sun, mark of Twilight faint upon her brow. She did not go unseen, for the Thief saw from the trees and the Captain saw from the side.
Ourna came out in a rush and held Xylanthe at sword point. With her fire-passion, Ourna began to berate Xylanthe for consorting with the demon kind, despite the protestations of the new-minted sorcerer. Without realization, Ourna began to glow herself in the passion of her speech, but Xylanthe was quick to point it out, the faint glow of the sun and the mark of the noonday Zenith on her brow. A moment, stretched, of discomfited realization struck both, and they compared what they had been through. Yes, they had both been Chosen by the Sun!
From the trees, Develan continued to watch and listen, until the two women wondered if there were others. At some point, Xylanthe thought she had saw something about Develan, and he took his moment to drop from his perch to the middle of the conversation, and joined. The mark Xylanthe had seen upon him once was that of Night, though none knew what to call each other. At last, the three new Chosen, born of the strife of the fall of their land, stood revealed to each other, but none other.
Or was that true, for upon parting, Xylanthe found Albrecht had also heard part of the talking, but he said and revealed nothing of it. What motivated the strange man?
Develan went about his usual nightly routine.
And Ourna? That night, she wept. None thought it strange, for in all the time, the steadfast Captain had not fallen a moment to the despair that threatened to sweep them all under and drown, and most thought it was time. What was strange was the shoulder her bitter tears wetted was not the Twin's, but the Fey-Touched, who stood confused himself. Jiulan paced the camp, speaking not to his sister once in the latter hours. A talk with Xylanthe troubled him too.
And in the morning, when dawn kissed the land, Ourna railed at the sun, unheard by the rest. What she found, what Tremaen told her, was that Jiulan was gone, and by his own choice.
For Ourna had revealed herself to her Twin that night, and he rejected her.
End Date: 9 Ascending Air, Realm Year 768
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
—-Robert Frost, “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening”
This session was entertaining, but since the week prior was dead week (lots of papers and studying to do) I couldn't plan much detail ahead of time. As such, there wasn't a lot of complication to the story. Thankfully, the introduction of Ray's character and the last second inspiration of how Jiulan would react to his sister's Exaltation made the session more interesting than it otherwise would have been.
Converted from old logs
(Backdated entry)
“Find him!” Ourna plaintively commanded. She had thought her heart wrung to numbness with weeping the night before and in the anger of the morning, but now the rips were open again. Jiulan, her constant, her twin, the other half of her soul, was gone. Her eyes clung to the deep brown of her friend's, the bearer of bad news, expecting him to hop. To Ourna's surprise, Tremaen did not.
Instead, with brow furrowed in the confusion that was only continued from the night before, Tremaen pushed a stray bit of his pine needle green hair from his forehead and studied her for a brief moment. Then, he reached out a hand to her wrist and spoke softly, “Come, not in front of the others.”
Ourna yanked her hand from his grasp easily, spitting, “We're wasting time, Trey. He's out there alone!”
“Yes, I know, and by his own choice, it seems.” This time, Tremaen grasped Ourna by her shoulders. “Come aside and tell me what this is all about. A few moments won't make any difference.”
“No, but…” An image came into Ourna's mind, Tremaen's face etched with the same distrust and disgust as Jiulan's had been, and the proud woman's shoulder's slumped. “I can't,” she eked out. She was barely aware that she was letting him lead her away.
When they stopped walking, Tremaen spoke again, face tight with his own feelings. “Please,” he pleaded, “I have to know what you could have said to him to drive him to this.”
“I can't lose you both. Don't make me do this.” Ourna looked straight into his face and knew that she could no longer avoid this. With a deep sigh and a swallow, she started, “I am…” Again, like with her brother, she could not say it, but showed him the mark of the sun at noon on her brow. With that, her tongue loosened. “Anathema. Exalted. Chosen of the Unconquered Sun. However you say it, this is what I've become…through no choice of my own, I swear it by anything and everything I hold sacred. It just came to me when I vowed to retake the Willows. Jiulan called me a demon, Trey. I don't feel like one.” She
could not look at her oldest friend while she spoke. “I'm not evil!” She found herself becoming defensive. “He called me a demon. What do you call me?”
A hundred things raced through Ourna's mind in the stretched moment that followed. She knew what was coming, the sound of horror, the repeat of rejection. She startled to feel an arm come around her shoulders.
“Ourna,” Tremaen began in a voice that spoke no few emotions, “you remember that your father once wanted to kill me and my entire family for what we are, at least run us out of the Willows.” He chuckled once. “And he might have if not for the influence of your mother upon him. Worst kept secret in the land and it took him over fifteen years to hear it. You and Jiulan as well. Master Mehtar forbade you both to have any contact with me, and Jiulan saw fit to abide by that for a time, anyway, uncertain himself.” Ourna felt soft fingers in her chin trying to guide her face to look at him, and she complied. “But not you. You never doubted me, have always trusted me. Defied your own father, so firm were those beliefs. Sure, it worked out in the end, but your faith has never wavered, no matter what might happen around me. And I am very grateful for it.”
Stepping away from Tremaen, Ourna straightened her shoulders. “I do not want you to stay out of gratitude.”
Smirking, Tremaen replied sardonically, “Your pride clogs your ears. Can you really miss what I'm saying?” He threw up his hands slightly. “Winterwind. Do you remember the day I chose her? After all the family feud was forgiven? Your father gave me the pick of the lot to buy, and I chose her, despite all of you telling me she'd be weak or blind or any number of things.”
“You got lucky.”
“My luck had nothing to do with it. I saw something in her that you didn't, I think. My heart knew it was right.”
Ourna raised one brow slightly. “Are you comparing me to your horse?”
“Well, yes. It's too bad I don't own a mule.” Ourna cast him a withering expression to show her lack of appreciation of humor at that time. Shrugging slightly, he stepped to her again. “But you see now. I'm telling you that I know you, I know you both, perhaps better than you know each other. Either that or I'm fooling myself, which is entirely possible. But either way…” He smiled faintly, warmth in a face of cool angles. “I've heard you say it to each other so much, but now it's my turn. I will not abandon you. I believe you.”
Half of Ourna plunged into renewed anguish at the words, but the other half felt a heavy weight lift from her shoulders. She only managed Tremaen's name once.
“I know I'm no replacement for Jiulan to you, and I wouldn't want to be. Too temperate.”
“We have to find him. Let's go, you and I…” She started to turn, but Tremaen grasped her wrist again.
“Unfortunately, I think I have to be in this instance.” He sighed. “I am as worried as you are, and as ready to ride off after him, but I think I understand all the situations here. Sometimes I hate clarity.”
“You think I should just let him go?” She questioned him in a sudden snap of anger.
“I think you've taken on a responsibility for these people. I'll go whichever way you decide, but I think your place is with them.”
“Trey, this is my own brother we're speaking of.” A little voice in her head that sounded just like her own tried to tell her that he was making some sense, but she wasn't quite ready to listen to it.
“I know.” Tremaen's voice was thickening. “And do you think abandoning them will speak well of you to him?” He shrugged again. “There are other choices, you know. Send someone else maybe, send me, send no one, go yourself. But you have to make one, and soon. That Albrecht is right. Daylight's wasting.”
Synopsis: The Solars finally emerge from the wilderness and come upon a town. After settling in, they do some discreet research at the small Temple of Daana'd, on the subject of Anathema and Abyssals. They learn that Jiulan has been through the town, only a few days previously. They make an appointment to speak with the town elder. Then, the Deathknights show up at their inn.
Start Date: 13 Ascending Air
The refugees come out of the wilderness just as a thunderstorm is brewing. Through the driving rain, they spot a barn nearby. With little choice, they take shelter within for the night. The next morning, the storm has passed, and they emerge from the barn to continue their journey. They soon come to the farmhouse belonging to the barn and ask for directions. The inhabitants, seeing a large, armed party, are reluctant to speak with them.
Follwing the road, they crest a hill and discover a rather unusual town. It is built on a small lake … literally. The buildings and roads float on rafts. People are beginning to go about their usual chores, and the refugees speak to the local constabulary and ask about the town. It is called Ti'i wa'a wai. They are directed to the local temple of Daana'd and to the estate of the town elder.
At the temple, they meet the lone Immaculate Monk who maintains it. He tells them something of the history of the town, which was founded several decades before by immigrants from the Far West, which explains the unusual architecture and the predominance of blue hair and eye colors. They learn some of the Immaculate lore concerning the Solar Anathema. They leave the children and militia at the temple, and proceed to the elder's estate to speak about their people.
At the estate, they are told by the guards that they will have to make an appointment, because the elder is very busy. The earliest available time is the following day.
Frustrated, they decide to go back to the temple and take their charges to a local Inn, as they do not desire to remain closer to the Immaculate than strictly necessary, lest he discover what they are. Having obtained rooms at the Inn, they send Don Jurdat (the ex-merchant refugee) to purchase supplies and a cart. Ourna and Xylanthe discover that the town has western customs … specifically, communal bath houses.
Later, Develan is attempting to add to his coin by plying his usual trade. Just as he nearly has a merchant's fat purse in his grasp, his hand is restrained, allowing the oblivious merchant to escape. Develan looks up to see who is holding him back … and up … and up. A rather large man, red of hair, in disturbingly familiar black armor is looking down at him disapprovingly. He is carrying a frighteningly massive black hammer. The man tsks and shakes his head, and scolds Develan, telling him that that isn't right. Admonishing him to behave himself, the man turns and departs, the merchant now long since gone.
Meanwhile, everyone is gathering back at the inn for the evening meal. After drinking for awhile, Tremaen gets completely sloshed on something that tastes like it could strip paint. Ourna is unaffected by her alcohol, and she carries him up to his room. Xylanthe and Ourna are upstairs, Albrecht is downstairs with the militia. Two men come in … both are dressed in black armor. One is the man who met Develan on the street earlier; he proceeds to prop his hammer up against the wall as he takes a seat at a table. The other man fits the description of the Deathknight that Develan encountered in Metaia. Albrecht shrugs, not having been made privy to this information.
Up in the rooms, Xylanthe converses for a bit with the entity in her ring. The woman informs her that using her powers is flashy and likely to give away what she is. Ourna decides to come downstairs, and discovers the new visitors sitting in the dining area, within feet of the room holding the refugee children. She attempts to feign ignorance and proceeds directly out the door to retrieve Develan from down the street, telling him that she needs him to watch through the window in case she needs him to burst in to their rescue. She goes back inside and upstairs to warn Xylanthe. The two Deathknights appear completely oblivious to her, and the green-haired one actually flirts with the barmaid.
One of the PCs goes and convinces the innkeep to close the common area early. He reluctantly agrees. The Deathknights decide to leave, still paying no attention to the Solars whatsoever. Meanwhile, Develan has spotted a shadow flitting silently from roof to roof across the street, so he isn't paying attention until he hears the door start to open. The Deathknights move to turn in the direction Develan was watching through the window from, but he is faster … he hopes. He quickly ducks around the corner into an alley and climbs up the wall of the inn to avoid being seen if they should chance to look down the alley.
The Deathknights march right past the alley and apparently don't even notice him. He slowly climbs up to get a better look, when a dagger suddenly embeds itself in the wall right above him. It is an unusual dagger, entirely black. No further daggers follow it, so Develan pockets it and takes to the roofs to follow the deathknights. However, he soon discovers that they have already eluded him.
As the session ends, the characters hole up in the inn and pray that the Deathknights don't return.
End Date: 13 Ascending Air
I am happy with how this session turned out, given that (once again, this time due to finals) I was unable to plan much of anything. The players seemed to like the uniqueness of the town floating on the lake (complete with a basis in its history). I also derived a great deal of enjoyment from the fact that my Deathknight NPCs were intimidating by their mere presence, rather than by doing anything overtly threatening. This was also the first session after I got sound working on my laptop, so people seemed to enjoy the use of sound effects (until it started getting silly. Must curb that habit, and be careful to not accidentally play turkey gobbles by moving the mouse pointer to the wrong place.)
Ourna, Develan, and a young Lunar named Tonanti Amon recieve a vision of their former lives.
Date: The Gods' War
“Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”
- Edgar Allan Poe, A Dream Within A Dream
Ourna, Develan, and a young Lunar named Tonanti Amon have a dream of the past, a vision from the dawn of the First Age granted by the Unconquered Sun. Therein, they experience events drawn from the memories of the lives of the First Age Exalted, Rozacia, the Rose Queen, Zenith commander of an entire dragon of Realm soldiers, and her fellow Celestials: Sethos the Night Caste, his apprentice Aniam, and Satu-nem Amu the No Moon Lunar.
On Rozacia's command platform, a one mile diameter floating crystalline city, the Celestials are having a grand ball, both in celebration of a recent victory in the war with the Primordials, and to welcome an emmissary from Autochthonia. The ballroom's crystal walls reveal the lightning from the storm outside being refracted into myriad rainbows, mimicing the colorful costumes of the guests.
A strange flying craft resembling a mechanical insect approaches the city and docks in a hangar. An assistant informs Rozacia that the ambassadors have arrived. A group of strange people are then escorted into the ballroom. They look strangely artifical, with a variety of unusual mechanisms attached to their bodies. With a deep but hollowly echoing voice, one of the males introduces himself as Rabur-D, Orichalcum caste leader of this Alchemical circle.
Rabur-D identifies his companions: The stately, robed figure whose skin is outlined in fine tracery is the advisor, Kaddon. The sleek silver-tinged female is Bisruki, the Lieutenant. The stocky woman with faintly translucent skin is Zama-ub, and the onyx-skinned, watchful woman is Jebela. After formal introductions are made, Rozacia and her seconds retire to a private chamber with the Alchemicals to discuss their purpose.
As it turns out, the Alchemicals have come bearing gifts and a warning. Their warning is of the approach of the Iron City of Dis, last of the major Primordials still active in the war, from the land of Rane-tah-serat in the southwest.
Their gift is of a new set of Warstriders for Rozacia and her lieutenants: Golden Nova, Devil Shadow, and Behemoth Hunter. Two of these Warstriders were equiped with devices known as Anima Lenses, which channeled the pilot's anima into a weapon or defense system. Golden Nova had Supernova, an omnidirectional disintegration weapon. Devil Shadow had the Cloak of Shadows, which rendered the strider invisible. Behemoth Hunter had a Proteus Device in place of the Anima Lens, which allowed the warstrider to assume the forms of its pilot. It also had a miniature drone called a Homonculus.
After delivering their warning and their gift, the Alchemicals depart, as the enemy is moving on their own locations as well. Rozacia and her army make preparations for the coming battle.
Eventually, Dis is dimly visible in the rain-mist, a giant floating citadel of iron marked with glowing runes of power. Then the enemy combatants become visible, marching out of the mist beneath their patron: A group of champions dressed in enormous, emerald armor, and a horde of lesser minions. The six champions are: Hebis (a knight with a bulbous head and glowing red eye slits), Karia the four-armed giant, Shaddon and Shammur (the twins), Tchori (an emerald, four-winged dragon), and Sin.
Battle is joined in the shadow of the Solar platform and Dis. One by one the champions fall to the Celestials, while the lesser minions are held at bay by Rozacia's army of dragon-blooded. Several of the minions are nuked by Rozacia's Supernova, while Satu-nem seems content to lay into them, and Sethos is fond of sneak attacks. Eventually, the Champions lie defeated, and Dis begins falling to the earth on the heads of the combatants. Rozacia escaped only because Satu-nem Amu used his strider to bodily pick up hers and fly out from under the Primordial. Sethos escaped using a Shadow-walking charm to transport himself underneath the Solar platform. Most of both armies are crushed when Dis hits the ground, and the shockwave knocks the Solar platform out of the sky as well (and, fortunately for Sethos, back).
As the rain clears the dust away, the now-flickering runes of Dis become visible … … and then a man standing just in front of the Primordial's gates, surrounded by a huge billowing green anima banner-like aura, quite unlike a Wood Aspect's. He starts walking directly towards them, past fallen soldiers and minions alike … who then begin whimpering and staring blindly without so much as glance on his part. As he gets close to the Solars, he stops, and they can see large eyes — not in his aura so much as through it, as if it is a filter that shows the eyes of Dis himself.
The Celestial Exalted thus face a new enemy: Sidon, the Green Bulwark, Fetich to the Iron City. This battle is much tougher, but even Sidon cannot stand before them for long due to his weakened state from the loss of his Champions. Sidon falls, tears in his eyes, but his green “anima” remains in place, Eyes of Dis and all. Dis deigns to speak to the Exalted directly, yielding to them as he begins to shift his nature. The Unconquered Sun and Luna put in an appearance and sentence the new Primordial to exile and imprisonment, sworn on his name, Malfeas, never to enter Creation again. The Solar Exalted are placed in charge of Creation, with the Lunars as their seconds.
As the dream begins to fade, Rozacia looks at the ruins of her platform (which is to be left as a memorial). Ourna wakes up with its name on her lips: Nathir
Date: The Dawn of the First Age
This session was more or less a total failure, although the concept was interesting to me at least. A lot of that was due to lack of proper planning on my part (ugh, this is becoming a theme. This time, christmas intervened, and I was sick most of the week.) A lot of the remainder was due to the nature of the session and the fact that I didn't tell most of the players what I was doing ahead of time (overestimating people's openness to my experiments YET AGAIN). The game was divided pretty much into two halves: a roleplaying half, and then the big epic battle half. In the roleplaying segment, people didn't have a strong enough sense of their First Age lives to play them on the fly, and my “not-entirely-temporally-consistent dream/vision” premise merely made the problem worse. I also didn't have enough of a plot or a sense of the NPCs worked out for the roleplaying segment for anyone to grab onto. After I sensed this was going nowhere, I decided to cut it short. That made the entire game seem to be about combat, which didn't make Jenna any happier.
In the combat half, nobody was really familiar with what their characters could do, and the enemy was not as interesting as it should have been. (Also, I've condensed a battle that should by all rights have been the subject of an entire story arc, if not a campaign, into the space of a single session. This means the enemies were massively underpowered for what they are, which means they're a bit anticlimactic.) Jenna and Chris didn't seem to enjoy the session at all. Probably the only reason Randy was OK with it is because he actually came to the house while I was planning and got to write a lot of his First Age character himself.
Then there's the matter of disparate tastes on the part of my players. The one person (Ray) that probably would have appreciated the massive warstrider battle was not present (which I knew beforehand, but still it shows how wrong my thinking was). Jenna apparently hates the very concept of Warstriders, and on top of that, is bored with combat in general. Chris is, I think, indifferent to warstriders. Randy seemed to like them well enough, but I also know he's seen Escaflowne. Jenna thinks I need to streamline the combat system more, while Chris is not happy with the fact that I'm changing the system at all (I've been making tweaks to the ability list).
Ah well.
Converted from older logs.