A small, crazy fanfic by me. (Some NSFW.)
- Thread starter ShadowDragon8685
- Start date
0m3g413
New Member
I don't see why it would, if those are the required Abilities. Based on the Ability description of Craft: Magitech(see below), 3 dots in each of those skills should be MORE than sufficient for a normal auto mechanic, who generally doesn't need to, say, build complex machinery from scratch with a set of schematics. I don't recall how many ability dots normal mortals get at creation, but I'm pretty damn sure it's more than 9.jeriausx said:
WW80300 said:
Three dots in three different abilities though would be far and away not "normal". He'd be able to take ore, smelt it, shape the parts and build the car. Then create gasoline, motor oil, hydraulic fluid and vulcanized rubber. Then put it all together. Yeah, not heroic at all. Sure it wouldn't be a Ferrari, but that's still completely possible at three dots AND pretty damn impressive. Completely magic free too. Ability synergy FTW.
Jukashi
Four Thousand Club
Regular mechanics, and most professionals in real life, probably just have specialities for the most part.
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
Someone's been playing the Iron Kingdoms Campaign Setting. 
Anyway, going from ore and hydrocarbons to a finished automobile with only hand tools would be an epic feat. Even Henry Ford didn't do that all in his own factories; he bought steel and all elsewhere and such. Of course, epic feats are what the Exalted specialize in.
Still, unless you're planning to set up a Modern type civilization, it's kind of pointless. The effort that would go into making a purely mechanical conveyance would be analgous to that that would go into making a Magitech vehicle; you might as well. Hell, there are magitech vehicles that can be made which require only Hearthstone power - Warbirds, for instance, and you could certainly upgrade a mote-Commited design to Hearthstone power when you built it.
Anyway, next chapter, featuring a Colossus Climb. IfWhen this goes into truely outright sexual territory, you'll find the next chapter on The Freedom Stone, with a link from me to it.
Probably won't be for a while, though.
Ask Kyeudo. He knows the kind of sex scenes I tend to prefer.
Thank Sol, Civilization!... Sort of.
“Aieep! Don't pick at it, don't pick at it!†Nathan winced, looking down at the claw mark which had been drawn in the flesh, using his left hand to restrain his right from picking at it.
He'd spent the night in a tree, after having assured himself that there was nothing else calling the tree home which would pose a threat to him. Under the light of morning again, he was at a clearing with a clear pool, his trousers pulled down to his knees, examining the wound.
Once he'd washed off the blood which had been shed when the Dog of the Unbroken Earth had clawed him, it didn't look... Well, it wasn't as bad as that time he'd nearly slit his own wrist by shattering a china-glass towel bar and almost opened the artery, primarily owing to it being a flesh wound. The amazing thing was that it wasn't bleeding at all; not all that deep, just red and ragged.
And it hurt like a fornicator-of-mothers. Still, he could work through it – he'd managed to keep fighting on it, hadn't he? Was it really slowing him down that much? He didn't know – long-ago learned, half-remembered first aid classes told him that it really needed medical attention, stitches, and rest. He had no facility to stitch it up, even were he inclined to try it on his own, and he needed to keep moving.
Thanks to the hearthstone which made him a qualified expert in all matters of outdoorsmanship, he knew he'd been heading in generally the direction he wished to go – north-west. But unless he miraculously came into possession of something akin to a speeder bike, he certainly wasn't going to be able to simply bypass everything and go from point to point in his quest.
He hoped he came across some people soon-ish. With a sigh, he finished pulling his trousers up and buckled them, standing up. “Well, at least I know I'm a bona fide Solar Exalt. I can do this.†Pumping his fist into the air, he took a step forward, and winced as pain twinged through him.
“F-f-f-f-f-Fuck-a-doodle-dandy!†That hurt. Clearly, he had no dots in Resistance, he bitterly and sarcastically thought to himself, slapping at the side of his thigh, away from the wound, and took his second, then third steps.
Better. It only hurt about half as much that time. Nathan sighed, proceeding onwards. To where, he had no idea; he just hoped he didn't run into Linowans or Haltans. He hated the East setting; the sooner he could find civilization, or some facsimile thereof, the better. (Then again, he thought with a touch of irony, my chances of running into a Wyld Hunt are much, much lower out here.)
Exertion seemed not to be aggravating the wound so much as aggravating the owner of it. That dog's got it easy, he thought after his third day of marching onwards with a scratched up thigh. That son of a bitch is probably chilling intangibly, or inside a landmass or something. He's probably hibernating or something.
The leg wasn't hurting so much any more, though he couldn't see it had appreciably healed. He thought he was getting pretty good at swinging his sword; he'd taken to practicing in clearings to try and get accustomed to the feeling of the leg twinging while he was moving quickly. He didn't think it was going to give him any trouble if he got into another fight, but he still would have rather avoided pushing his luck.
The best thing he'd discovered, however, was that he apparently knew the charm Summoning the Loyal Steel. Having tried to climb a tree, he'd realized his sword would be a pain whilst climbing, and thought he had set it in the ground. When he climbed into it, though, he'd realized it wasn't on the ground; looking around it was nowhere to be found, and when he reached for it on his back, thinking that he had mistakenly attached it, he distinctly felt the sword's handle materialize in his fist.
I'm getting better at this, he thought. He'd been practicing the Charm; he needed to find someone to instill a better grasp of how to work Essence, but he found that it worked best at first by not thinking about it. Over time (and by trial-and-error) he'd found that he'd grown to recognize the feeling of banishing and recalling the sword in his hand, and by focusing on those feelings he could recall it.
So he'd started to practice tricks with it. After all, it wouldn't do very well to look like an idiot; he was most proud of the latest he'd mastered; flipping the sword in the air one-handed and taking a step forward, he caught it's hilt as it fell, swinging it from left to right and making it vanish at the bottom of the stroke, so it didn't slice into the ground.
Even better was how he could flip it into the air from nowhere – well, Elsewhere - using his left hand, reach up and catch it high above his head with both and take a swing. Have to amuse myself somehow, he thought as he tried to improve upon it. He'd found that his sword felt lighter when he was playing a trick on it than when he swung it. This, he had attributed to Essence; if the sword was too light, it wouldn't have done any damage when hit, but for faffing about and playing with it, having too much mass was a detriment, so Essence lightened it.
He couldn't really juggle it, but he'd gotten pretty good at several single-stroke moves, he thought, when the idea for another hit him. He adhered it to his back as he was walking along, the hilt standing tall over his right shoulder. If he lunged forward, throwing his shoulder forth and hitting the hilt with his right forearm just so, the blade might detach from his back gradually, from bottom up, resulting in it pivoting 'round his arm; and he could grab the hilt with his left hand.
The first attempt didn't work at all. The second resulted in the Grand Daiklaive landing twenty foot ahead of him, landing in the soft earth in front of a massive tree. With a grin at himself, he walked towards it to pick it up, but caught scent of a smell as he reached for the sword. He banished it Elsewhere and looked around; smelled like cooking. Proper cooking, not the hash he'd made of the job with fire pits and dead animals – he'd gotten to the point he'd eaten only fruits and berries for the past two days to get a break from his Solawful cooking.
It smelled good. Not like burnt furry thing, but chicken, flame-grilled/roasted and spiced with something strong.
Grasping the sword's hilt, he made it vanish into nonexistence, the blade and hilt simply wiping out of view and being put safely Elsewhere. Then he fumbled for the binoculars case he was wearing, took out the eye-gear. Removing the lens caps, he leaned around the tree to see where he should look.
There was a clearing ahead, a vast one. In the middle was a camp surrounded by a wooden palisade wall. That gave him pause – why a palisade wall? They must have something to fear – spirits? Foes? Possibly simply the wild animals. Bracing his elbow on the trunk of the tree, he leaned in and put his eyes to the cups of the binoculars, after assuring himself by rubbing his finger over the rubber cup that it wasn't coated with ink.
The village-camp was not terribly large, he estimated. Maybe a hundred or so? A warrior was standing on guard at the gate nearest to himself; tall (taller than his new body, he thought,) and well-built (as well-built as him). The guard was male, carrying a spear, and wearing a loincloth-like arrangement of what Nathan suspected were beads on leather straps. He hoped that the straps were tied together to make them move like cloth.
His most striking feature, however, was that his skin glistened with streaks of silver. Fuck... A lunar? Can't be, no Lunar would stand guard... They've had contact with them, though.
Biting his lip, Nathan pressed against the tree, weighing his options. On the one hand, if there was a Lunar, he might be in luck. If he had the tatoos, he was probably part of the Silver Pact; if his people were mimicking them, he was probably well-liked (or else feared.)
It was still a gamble. The Lunar might be friendly – but he – or she - might not be, either. The Lunar might be hostile, even, in which case Nathan was most likely stuffed.
But his stomach was demanding a good meal. And while he might not be able to outfight a Lunar, let alone a Lunar and a war-party of barbarians, he might be able to outrun them. Regardless, well....
“He who hesitates is lost.†Nathan stood up, cleared his throat, and took a breath. It didn't occur to him until he was more than half-way to the palisade-enclosed encampment that he didn't know how he was going to communicate with these people. By then he'd been spotted, and three or four more men with spears were approaching him.
He held his hands up, looking back and forth. Two of them looked to be prime examples of the barbarian archetype; carrying spears, broad-shouldered, older than twenty-five but not remotely old, and nearly naked. The one on the left was younger than twenty-five, somewhat scrawny; but he had a look like he could probably swing and whirl that spear around like an acrobat. What he lacked in power he'd more than make up with in finesse. The fourth was older, and unlike the others was armored; he was wearing a heavy animal fur that didn't flow, looking like it could probably take a hit or two. Unlike the other three, all of whom were clean-shaven, this one had a full beard, and his skin was darker, more weathered.
They approached him, holding their spears out carefully. Nathan coughed. “Hello,†he tried, feeling like an idiot.
The older man blinked, and held his hand towards his companions, who shifted their spears back, butts on the ground, tips in the air. “Who are you, stranger? How do you know our language, I do not recognize you.â€
I was wondering the same thing, Nathan thought, when he saw the older barbarian speak English. He coughed again. “My name is Nathan. I am a traveler who got lost. I was attacked in the woods by a Dog of the Unbroken Earth, and I'm seeking someone who can help me.â€
The old man blinked. “You? You fought a Dog of the Unbroken Earth and won?†It took Nathan a moment to realize that the man's lips weren't synching with what he was hearing, and it hit him; Oh, that hearthstone! It must be the Gemstone of Spoken Language. He was glad it worked even when the sword was Elsewhere.
Nathan nodded. “I did.†“Did you take its' paw?†“Er.... No? Should I have?†He was confused, and the old man shook his head. “How could you kill a Dog of the Unbroken Earth and not take it's paw?†“I didn't say I killed it; I said I defeated it. We parted ways with an understanding that he wouldn't attack me, and I wouldn't finish him off.â€
The locals looked highly impressed, though the older local looked impressed, but with a reserved skepticism. “Well... The tale will be worth seeing to that wound and feeding you; whether or not it's unenhanced truth. Come.†He motioned, and Nathan followed them.
Walking through the camp, Nathan noted that only the first guard he had seen had the silver tattoos. There were a lot of people here; all men, he noted. That didn't bode so well, in his mind. It meant they were either a war-party (camped in for some strange reason,) or... Something stranger. Barbarian mercenaries? He didn't know. He didn't care to know, but he did ask about the tattoos. “Why do you have those tattoos, and nobody else does,†Nathan asked to the man before him. The guard spun around, furious for some reason, reaching out.
Nathan found his throat enclosed by a hand; aggressive, but not choking. “Are you challenging me? Do you think I don't have the right to them?!â€
“Whoa, whoa! Easy!†Nathan held up his hands. “I'm not saying that! I don't know, I'm not from here. I was just curious.â€
The older man slapped at the tattooed warrior's arm. “He's a traveler, he wouldn't know. You may be Favored, but I am still chieftain, unless you think you can take me, whelp.†The younger warrior sent a long look at the chieftain that said he thought he could, but couldn't get away with it, so he let Nathan go, and cleared his throat.
“They were placed upon me by the Goddess. She compelled all the young warriors to battle each other. I won,†he added unnecessarily, flexing his muscles. “The rewards for my victory were my tattoos of valor... And a week in her tent,†he said with a satisfied smirk.
Okay. So he's not a Lunar... But he's met one. Nathan nodded. “I see. Good for you,†he said, unable to think of something else to say, and the warrior smirked at him. He was taken to the edge of a huge fire pit in the middle of the encampment; there were no structures, merely tents of hide, like teepees, sat on a log. “I will fetch the medicine woman,†the young man said, slipping away, as the older man sat on another log, facing Nathan. “Now, tell me this tale.â€
What the hell. Nathan told him, using his hands to mimic the sword-strokes, the lunges, the bites; he told of being flung against a tree, but fighting off the Dog's paralysis, of using his Grand Daiklaive to batter the dog into submission, and of how he'd told the Dog that if it left him alone, he'd leave it alive.
“That's incredible,†the old man said. “Impossible to believe, but incredible, so you can stay.†He laughed loudly, slapping his thighs. “Good story! Are you a storyteller where you come from?†“Er... Sometimes,†Nathan said. “It's not anything professional, I do it for amusement.†“Well, I enjoyed it. You can stay; eat with us, heal your leg. No doubt the Dog clawed you and you ran, very, very fast, but that in and of itself is impressive.â€
Nathan felt miffed at not being believed, but only slightly. The old man stood, and he smiled. “Ahh, good, the medicine woman is coming, and she has what she'll need to fix your leg.â€
Nathan smiled, as he heard footsteps approaching. He started to stand, but the old man put his hand on Nathan's head. “Stay seated, and push your fabric covering down.†Nathan complied, pushing his trousers to his knees, and looking around.
He wondered what kind of woman the medicine woman was. An essence-channeler? Perhaps a minor goddess taken human form. Just a woman wise in the ways of fixing people? Perhaps she was young, exotic, an old, stooped crone, or -
Nathan sucked in a deep croak of breath. The woman approaching was neither bent with age nor wrinkled. She was well-washed, with skin quite unlike that of the men in the camp – unlike theirs, it was very, very dark; he could think of no politically correct way to phrase it; to his senses her skin was negroid, though of course Creation had no Africa; without a hint of interracial relations in her past, it was very, very deeply dark. She wore a pair of leather sandals that wrapped up to her knees, a cloak of animal-hide, and a belt with a great many pouches upon it.
Her breasts had been hideously maimed – to the point of nonexistence. Scar tissue was what remained, they looked horrifically burnt, as if she'd been in a fire in the past that had only targeted her breasts; glancing down, he cringed at the sight of her pubic mound, which was crisscrossed with leather straps attached to rings piercing the flesh in a circle around it.
“Something wrong, boy,†she demanded; her voice harsh and angry. Looking up, he gulped. “N-No. No ma'am.†“Good!†She thumped his wounded thigh with the butt-end of the stick she carried. He yelped, and she slapped the back of his head. “Now shut up and let me work.â€
More than happy to do so, Nathan gulped, and she knelt down. He didn't know what she was planning to do; when in doubt about medical procedures, shut one's eyes. It was best that way; so he did, and when offered a leather-wrapped stick to bite, he did.
Fighting not to jerk his leg was an exercise in futility, and he had three of the warriors holding him down to let her finish her work. His eyes remained shut the entire time, as she applied what felt like stinging, sticky mulch to his thigh, then squatted upon his knee when he jumped, muffling his yell with the stick in his mouth.
When it was done, tears were streaming down his face, and the old man laughed. “You're soft, boy! What, you've never been wounded before? I'm surprised you made it this far!†Nathan gasped, gulping for air. He didn't really want to look. “N-No, no I haven't been.†“Haw! Well, good enough. You two, drag his ass to a tent, find him a skin to sleep it off on. He'll need it.â€
Altogether, Nathan felt glad for the rest. He woke up in the middle of the night with some kind of cold fowl next to him on a slab of wood; he gratefully ate it, passed out again. The next day he noted the wound was markedly better, though the old man still told him to simply stay in the tent.
Boredom was bad enough whilst marching determinedly through the woods. Worse, when stuck in a tiny tent with a hole in the middle of the roof, huddling against the side with a bear-skin curled around you, while it rained outside. In fact, it was almost agonizing, but eventually he focused on the sound of the rain hitting the leather tent, and closed his eyes. He often played Jedi characters who found the sound of rainfall so soothing it helped them focus; why not himself? Eventually, he found a place he thought of a meditative trance, and the rest of the day vanished.
At night he awoke again, and sitting up, his leg felt fine. Better than fine; checking it, he noticed that the stitching had fallen out, and where there had been a moderately severe laceration before there was now naught but a shredded section of his pants.
He felt like moving, so he stood up to leave the tent. He got to the edge when a guard stepped into his path from nowhere – he hadn't seen the man, anyway. “Are you leaving us?†Oh, great. You again. It was the man with the silver tatoos. “I thought I'd go for a run.â€
“You took advantage of our hospitality; supplies that could have healed one of us were given to you. The old man might have found your story amusing enough to let you stay, but I do not believe you've done enough for us.â€
He pointed his spear at Nathan, who felt a flash of ire cross him. Who the hell was this guy? Good, bad; he's the guy with the spear.
He thought about flippantly saying “do you take Credit? Debit?†but instead bit his tongue, and sighed. “I don't have anything on me I'm willing to part with. Can I pay you back by hunting skins or meat?â€
The warrior let out a nonplussed hmmph, as if he'd been trying to start a fight and Nathan's diplomatic (if begrudgingly so) response rocked his plans. “Fine.†He pointed at the woods. “If you don't return by morning, you'd better have been eaten, or I'll hunt you down.â€
Now that aggravated Nathan. Oh yeah? I'll show you. He walked carefully to the woods' edge, and further in. Once he was certain he was blocked from sight, he licked his lips. I need light. I can do light.
He'd been yearning to do some sword tricks anyway. Never know when you'll need a good routine to go off right while stunting back motes, after all. It didn't count if he was doing it all alone, right?
Once he was satisfied with the brightness of his burning caste mark, Nathan set out for hunting. His battle with the Dog of the Unbroken Earth had proven he could handle large-ish beasts; beasts with significant magical powers. Now he was on the prowl; he figured he could hunt up a few bears or something, drag their hides back to the camp and show up Silver, as he'd taken to thinking of the tattooed warrior.
He didn't have a bow, nor did he have time, so using his excellent flat Survival advantage would get him to the bears, he figured; Solar Melee would take care of the rest. Indeed, his first tracking seemed to be lucky; perhaps too lucky, for he found a mother-bear protecting several large-ish cubs.
“Oh damn,†he muttered when he saw the quartet of bears. He thought about scarpering, but the mother bear issued a roar, charging. Nathan set his jaw. “No. I can do this... And if not, then I can leg it!†He wasn't sure just how tough the bear would be in comparison to the Dog of the Unbroken Earth; he had a feeling he could kill it. He just didn't know how much killing it would take.
“Yaaaaaaaaaah!†Letting out a yell of anger, Nathan leapt at the bear as she charged – bringing his sword down heavily atop it's head, the bear let out a “Growf†as it went down, and he raised his sword for the second blow when he realized its' skull had been split in two.
One hit? One fucking hit?! Nathan stared, stunned, at the mess he'd splattered on the ground. Oh right! Cubs! Nathan pulled his sword around to smack the first bear's snout away, then the second. He felt a little drained when the third tried to rear and claw him, but his sword wasn't; shoving the blade's flat against the bear's claws, they both pushed at one another.
The bear gave way, a sword-and-shield, crossed, appearing over his sword's flat as he batted away the bear's attack. Yelling out in anger, Nathan whirled his sword around, launching a trio of overhead, right-to-left, left-to-right, dipping smashes, and found himself surrounded by the corpses of four bears, staring in fascinated awe. “My god... Sweet fucking Sol Invictus, did I just kill four bears in melee with a sword?†He stared at his reflection in the golden blade, his Caste Mark burning brightly. “Son of a submariner, I really did.â€
He'd known, intellectually, that it was possible; but how could killing four lethal animals be so easy? That was actually kind of – no, very frightening. Almost a sobering reminder of just how strong he now was, it scared him to the core... But, he'd just killed four bears. Time to get to business.
The grisly work of skinning the bears took time – a Daiklaive was not really meant for skinning, and while he'd been able to do the smaller animals by picking them up and manipulating them against it, that was not possible with the bears. Nevertheless, he was almost done, half-way through working on the fourth bear, without (he imagined) having ruined the pelts, when he heard a voice he didn't want to hear.
“Are you challenging me?!â€
Nathan set his jaw. “You again.†It had come from some way away, and he stood up. Had the warrior followed him out to start a fight? If he wanted a fight, he'd bring him back here and shove his damn head at the skinned bears and ask him if he really wanted to pick a fight.
“Are you challenging me?!â€
It was getting closer, and Nathan snarled, looking around. He needed to figure out from which direction it was coming. “I've had it with you,†he snarled. “I did what you ask, and now you're out picking a fight with me?!â€
“Are you challenging me?!â€
“Yeah! Fine, sure, whatever. I'm callin' your ass out!†Nathan knew the voice was getting closer, and he looked around. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, and sounded louder than it should have. “You think throwing your voice is scary?†It is. But I know a lot you don't, asshole, he thought.
“Whelp!â€
What? That time – that time it had been the old man's voice.â€What the,†Something gave him a twinge, a hint that something was not right. He spun around, holding his sword at guard position. A minute tensely passed; had the old man tracked down the warrior and given him a thrashing?
A roar shook his world, and Nathan spun around. “What the fuck?! He barely got his sword up in time. There was no way he could have blocked the incoming attack without magic; willing power into his arms, through his sword, he met the attack head-on.
He had barely been able to see the great, orange-shagged arm and attendant, black skinned paw-hand thrusting towards him. The hand wrapped around his sword when he blocked the attack.
“What? Leggo!†Wrestling with the gigantic hand for the sword was a losing proposition, the thing hauled him, sword and all, off the ground. What he saw was rather terrifying; an ape approximately the size of King Kong (or so it seemed, though in retrospect probably a third that size,) or something like it; more like an orangutang. It had shaggy orange hair, one monocular eye, gigantic horns, and (he looked) goat-like legs.
“Satan's chimpanzee?†“Are you challenging me?!†The voice emerged from the ape-beast's voice, and Nathan set his brow. “It was you? You big shaggy – waaaaaah!†He flew, his sword flew. They did not fly together, and the next thing he heard was a roar as he hurdled through the air. “Oh son of a – whouf!†He landed, curling his stomach around a branch, half-way up a tree; his Daiklaive had embedded itself about ten yards up the next tree over.
“Oh fuck.†Scrambling to the branch he was hanging onto, Nathan reached out, yanking down a dry, dead stick as the beast charged him. It paused several yards from the tree, as if puzzling out how to attack the man on the branch. Finally, it decided to knock him loose with a punch, while he was winding up a batter-up swing with his branch. “I don't suppose you want to talk about this?†“Are you challenging me?!†“Yeah, yeah I am!â€
The beast-thing wound up, and Nathan licked his lips. He aimed the stick high above the ape's head, the traditional taunt from a batter to a pitcher. The beast launched the punch, and Nathan swung. Gold swirled around the stick as he did, tugging the branch down into line with the ape's knuckles; it let out a picture-perfect crack!, and shattered to splinters, the golden swirl around it holding the beast's blow until all the momentum was spent, and the ape howled, rubbing the knuckles of that hand with the other, as Nathan started off towards the other tree.
“H-yup!†He leapt at the far tree as the ape's overhead, two-fisted, monkey-style slam crushed the branches on the side of tree he'd been standing on moments before. Feeling much like George of the Jungle (only much less invincible,) he impacted with the trunk of the tree his sword was embedded in, and started to climb, desperately.
It wasn't to be. The ape howled, launching a sideways swat; if that open palm hit, he'd be a mosquito-splat on the side of the tree. “Oh fuuuuuck!†Dropping out of the tree, Nathan held his hand outwards, up, screaming “Nooooo!†as his sword fell above him into the distance, wanting it, needing it, desperate for it's hilt in his hand.
He landed, and pain sang up his legs, but he smiled when the ape let out a yelp- his sword had wrenched itself free of the tree, and the blade had drawn a thin line down the back of the mimicking ape's ape. The Daiklaive sailed directly into his hand, and Nathan could feel energy coursing between his palm and the hilt; he'd called it, and it had come.
Oh fuck. That was a Charm. Yelping, Nathan dived off behind the tree as the ape tried to kick at him; squeezing the tree and one palm flat on the ground, it launched itself at him, hooves-first; though comically small compared to it's legs, each hoof was still large enough to paste his entire torso if it hit.
Rolling to the other side of the tree, Nathan got to his feet again, facing the Mini-Kong. “No. I am through running.†“Are you challenging me?!†“No. I'm killing you.†Filled with conviction to defend himself from the unprovoked assault by the beast, Nathan charged at it, swinging at it's conjoined hands at it tried to swat him aside with it's fists balled.
A freight-train of flesh and blood and bone and fur met the unstoppable juggernaut of the Solar Melee tree's iconic defensive Charm, the stoppable force being immaculately halted in it's tracks; it's arms battered away by the blow, the beast's defenses were open. Spinning around, under it's right arm, he hacked mightily at the beast's back; hoping to break it's spine in the lower back and render it paraplegic.
It wasn't quite to be; his blade sank in on an angle, digging deeply into the monster's waist, but to the side; blood started to spill, but it was not remotely a lethal blow. However, it seemed to have convinced the mimicking ape that withdraw was in order. It rolled back, and Nathan was forced to wrench his sword free and dive away as the beast performed a reverse-somersault courtesy of it's extra-long limbs, getting to it's hooves and starting a fast, primate run.
But now, Nathan had had it. His ire up, he wasn't about to let the orangutang pull a hit-and-run on him. He knew it had to be hurting – badly – he was going to finish this. Putting his sword over his back, adhering it to him, he took off after the ape at a speed that could charitably be called “superhumanâ€; he caught it before it had cleared the clearing the fight had begun in, and leapt up, getting a double-fistful of the fur on it's backside.
Ape yelped, and man climbed; into the small of it's back, higher, where it would have trouble plucking him off. It tried to shake him off, and the Exalt held on for dear life. “N-N-No you don't!â€
When it tried to smash him by slamming it's back into a great tree, Nathan knew he had the beast where he wanted it; leaping to the side and yanking his sword free, he drove the sword deeply into the side of the tree, flipping over the hilt and landing on the flat of the blade. “Not letting you get away!†He hopped, and bounced off the blade; it sproinged, launching him towards the ape's shoulder, and he held a hand out, behind him.
His sword flew into his hand, willing it to join him like a Jedi would will his lightsaber to him, and brought the sword down, hard, on the ape's head. It hit with a C-Crack sound, as Nathan fell down behind it. Landing, he batter-up smashed it's left goat-leg out from under it, bringing the unbalanced ape down to it's other knee and it's elbows, and he darted in, letting out a ferocious scream as he plunged the sword deep into the monstrous orangutang's crotch, where leg met pelvis. It thunked when he met bone, and the mortally-wounded beast began to surge deep red blood from the wound, his final attack having severed the artery.
He was glowing with the unleashed Essence, and Nathan grinned. “I did it. I pulled it off.†Stumbling backwards, he slumped against the tree, laughing as the mimicking primate finished. He didn't feel bad – it had, after all, attacked him; worse, he'd seen no sign of sentience. Like a big, shaggy, carnivorous (he presumed) orangutang-parrot.
Working through the night, he finished his job at skinning, and began the tedious job of hauling the skins back. By far the most impressive was the mammoth ape's; it was incredibly heavy, and he hadn't done many favors by adding it's hewn-off head, paws, and goat-legs to the pile of bearskins and orangutang-skin.
By dawn, he'd almost managed to haul the pile back towards the clearing where the camp lay, when he heard voices. “You had no right to order him to pay us back; the decision was mine to make!†“I gave the order, old man! I gave it, and it was done! Now he's fled, and I shall return with his head.â€
Nathan coughed; he turned around, banishing the sword Elsewhere; the two men, alerted by his cough, came crashing through the brush at him, calling out; the old man querying, the silver-tattooed warrior with his spear at the ready.
Said spear promptly dropped from his hands when he saw the pile Nathan was standing before. “I'm sorry I didn't return sooner,†he lied, “but this pile is rather heavy.â€
The look of shock on the faces of the two members of the camp was immensely satisfying. “M-Myrkul.†The old man blinked, walking over; he prodded the Orangutang's massive head with the butt of his spear, as if in disbelief.
“You've killed Myrkul,†he repeated, in utter shock.
Oh shit. Did I just kill their God? Are they 'you keep what you kill' or 'die, infidel'? The old man dropped his spear, and threw his arms around Nathan; the young Exalt blinked as he was tightly embraced. “This monster stole my son from me! Thank you!â€
Cries of jubilant celebration rang out when the three quickly hauled back the stack of pelts; the bear-pelts alone would have gotten him respect. Myrkul's head, paws, legs and pelt got him a measure of outright awe. He might have found it more enjoyable was there even a single girl (okay, a single non-mutilated female) to cheer for him; the medicine woman simply smirked, though she did at least offer up a begrudging look of being impressed. Myrkul's head, paws, and legs, it was decided, were to be dried into trophies. Come trading time, no doubt they'd fetch a good price going west; they decided to use the pelts; a cloak for Nathan was to be made from his back.
The idea of a conqueror's cloak made of the pelt of a gigantic ape he'd slain with his own Daiklaive was certainly appealing; but it would take a while to make. Then again, I'm heading North, he had thought.
The idea of losing time was a bad one, though; he offered to trade his impending cloak for one someone already had, but there were no such garments to be had. He resolved that he'd have to acquire one another way, then, and declined; but he did accept other gifts.
So it was he came to possess a good, strong steel knife – the Chieftain's own, in fact, one he'd carried for decades, which had never failed him, small price to pay for the head of the ape that ate his son on a pike. More disturbingly, a few of the younger, more hero-worshiping boys offered themselves to him. The ones who approached him ranged in age from twelve to sixteen; not being interested in boys, he'd turned them down (quite shocked and with a bit of anger with the first,) though he had to wonder how long that would last; this being Creation, and his lifespan now measured in millennia or violence.
He hd waited about half of the time it would take the skins to be ready as cloaks; faced with a conundrum, he realized that he might almost as well simply wait. It was a conundrum; in the north, a heavy, proper fur cloak would be helpful. But every day he waited, Misho and his caravan got further away.
When he came to the realizing that he'd have to make a decision, it was already nighttime. Several of the men had been off scouting for days, so he looked up at the stars from the edge of camp, and sighed. “I'll sleep on it,†he muttered, heading back to the tent he'd been given and curling up.
Anyway, going from ore and hydrocarbons to a finished automobile with only hand tools would be an epic feat. Even Henry Ford didn't do that all in his own factories; he bought steel and all elsewhere and such. Of course, epic feats are what the Exalted specialize in.
Still, unless you're planning to set up a Modern type civilization, it's kind of pointless. The effort that would go into making a purely mechanical conveyance would be analgous to that that would go into making a Magitech vehicle; you might as well. Hell, there are magitech vehicles that can be made which require only Hearthstone power - Warbirds, for instance, and you could certainly upgrade a mote-Commited design to Hearthstone power when you built it.
Anyway, next chapter, featuring a Colossus Climb. IfWhen this goes into truely outright sexual territory, you'll find the next chapter on The Freedom Stone, with a link from me to it.
Probably won't be for a while, though.
Ask Kyeudo. He knows the kind of sex scenes I tend to prefer.
Thank Sol, Civilization!... Sort of.
“Aieep! Don't pick at it, don't pick at it!†Nathan winced, looking down at the claw mark which had been drawn in the flesh, using his left hand to restrain his right from picking at it.
He'd spent the night in a tree, after having assured himself that there was nothing else calling the tree home which would pose a threat to him. Under the light of morning again, he was at a clearing with a clear pool, his trousers pulled down to his knees, examining the wound.
Once he'd washed off the blood which had been shed when the Dog of the Unbroken Earth had clawed him, it didn't look... Well, it wasn't as bad as that time he'd nearly slit his own wrist by shattering a china-glass towel bar and almost opened the artery, primarily owing to it being a flesh wound. The amazing thing was that it wasn't bleeding at all; not all that deep, just red and ragged.
And it hurt like a fornicator-of-mothers. Still, he could work through it – he'd managed to keep fighting on it, hadn't he? Was it really slowing him down that much? He didn't know – long-ago learned, half-remembered first aid classes told him that it really needed medical attention, stitches, and rest. He had no facility to stitch it up, even were he inclined to try it on his own, and he needed to keep moving.
Thanks to the hearthstone which made him a qualified expert in all matters of outdoorsmanship, he knew he'd been heading in generally the direction he wished to go – north-west. But unless he miraculously came into possession of something akin to a speeder bike, he certainly wasn't going to be able to simply bypass everything and go from point to point in his quest.
He hoped he came across some people soon-ish. With a sigh, he finished pulling his trousers up and buckled them, standing up. “Well, at least I know I'm a bona fide Solar Exalt. I can do this.†Pumping his fist into the air, he took a step forward, and winced as pain twinged through him.
“F-f-f-f-f-Fuck-a-doodle-dandy!†That hurt. Clearly, he had no dots in Resistance, he bitterly and sarcastically thought to himself, slapping at the side of his thigh, away from the wound, and took his second, then third steps.
Better. It only hurt about half as much that time. Nathan sighed, proceeding onwards. To where, he had no idea; he just hoped he didn't run into Linowans or Haltans. He hated the East setting; the sooner he could find civilization, or some facsimile thereof, the better. (Then again, he thought with a touch of irony, my chances of running into a Wyld Hunt are much, much lower out here.)
Exertion seemed not to be aggravating the wound so much as aggravating the owner of it. That dog's got it easy, he thought after his third day of marching onwards with a scratched up thigh. That son of a bitch is probably chilling intangibly, or inside a landmass or something. He's probably hibernating or something.
The leg wasn't hurting so much any more, though he couldn't see it had appreciably healed. He thought he was getting pretty good at swinging his sword; he'd taken to practicing in clearings to try and get accustomed to the feeling of the leg twinging while he was moving quickly. He didn't think it was going to give him any trouble if he got into another fight, but he still would have rather avoided pushing his luck.
The best thing he'd discovered, however, was that he apparently knew the charm Summoning the Loyal Steel. Having tried to climb a tree, he'd realized his sword would be a pain whilst climbing, and thought he had set it in the ground. When he climbed into it, though, he'd realized it wasn't on the ground; looking around it was nowhere to be found, and when he reached for it on his back, thinking that he had mistakenly attached it, he distinctly felt the sword's handle materialize in his fist.
I'm getting better at this, he thought. He'd been practicing the Charm; he needed to find someone to instill a better grasp of how to work Essence, but he found that it worked best at first by not thinking about it. Over time (and by trial-and-error) he'd found that he'd grown to recognize the feeling of banishing and recalling the sword in his hand, and by focusing on those feelings he could recall it.
So he'd started to practice tricks with it. After all, it wouldn't do very well to look like an idiot; he was most proud of the latest he'd mastered; flipping the sword in the air one-handed and taking a step forward, he caught it's hilt as it fell, swinging it from left to right and making it vanish at the bottom of the stroke, so it didn't slice into the ground.
Even better was how he could flip it into the air from nowhere – well, Elsewhere - using his left hand, reach up and catch it high above his head with both and take a swing. Have to amuse myself somehow, he thought as he tried to improve upon it. He'd found that his sword felt lighter when he was playing a trick on it than when he swung it. This, he had attributed to Essence; if the sword was too light, it wouldn't have done any damage when hit, but for faffing about and playing with it, having too much mass was a detriment, so Essence lightened it.
He couldn't really juggle it, but he'd gotten pretty good at several single-stroke moves, he thought, when the idea for another hit him. He adhered it to his back as he was walking along, the hilt standing tall over his right shoulder. If he lunged forward, throwing his shoulder forth and hitting the hilt with his right forearm just so, the blade might detach from his back gradually, from bottom up, resulting in it pivoting 'round his arm; and he could grab the hilt with his left hand.
The first attempt didn't work at all. The second resulted in the Grand Daiklaive landing twenty foot ahead of him, landing in the soft earth in front of a massive tree. With a grin at himself, he walked towards it to pick it up, but caught scent of a smell as he reached for the sword. He banished it Elsewhere and looked around; smelled like cooking. Proper cooking, not the hash he'd made of the job with fire pits and dead animals – he'd gotten to the point he'd eaten only fruits and berries for the past two days to get a break from his Solawful cooking.
It smelled good. Not like burnt furry thing, but chicken, flame-grilled/roasted and spiced with something strong.
Grasping the sword's hilt, he made it vanish into nonexistence, the blade and hilt simply wiping out of view and being put safely Elsewhere. Then he fumbled for the binoculars case he was wearing, took out the eye-gear. Removing the lens caps, he leaned around the tree to see where he should look.
There was a clearing ahead, a vast one. In the middle was a camp surrounded by a wooden palisade wall. That gave him pause – why a palisade wall? They must have something to fear – spirits? Foes? Possibly simply the wild animals. Bracing his elbow on the trunk of the tree, he leaned in and put his eyes to the cups of the binoculars, after assuring himself by rubbing his finger over the rubber cup that it wasn't coated with ink.
The village-camp was not terribly large, he estimated. Maybe a hundred or so? A warrior was standing on guard at the gate nearest to himself; tall (taller than his new body, he thought,) and well-built (as well-built as him). The guard was male, carrying a spear, and wearing a loincloth-like arrangement of what Nathan suspected were beads on leather straps. He hoped that the straps were tied together to make them move like cloth.
His most striking feature, however, was that his skin glistened with streaks of silver. Fuck... A lunar? Can't be, no Lunar would stand guard... They've had contact with them, though.
Biting his lip, Nathan pressed against the tree, weighing his options. On the one hand, if there was a Lunar, he might be in luck. If he had the tatoos, he was probably part of the Silver Pact; if his people were mimicking them, he was probably well-liked (or else feared.)
It was still a gamble. The Lunar might be friendly – but he – or she - might not be, either. The Lunar might be hostile, even, in which case Nathan was most likely stuffed.
But his stomach was demanding a good meal. And while he might not be able to outfight a Lunar, let alone a Lunar and a war-party of barbarians, he might be able to outrun them. Regardless, well....
“He who hesitates is lost.†Nathan stood up, cleared his throat, and took a breath. It didn't occur to him until he was more than half-way to the palisade-enclosed encampment that he didn't know how he was going to communicate with these people. By then he'd been spotted, and three or four more men with spears were approaching him.
He held his hands up, looking back and forth. Two of them looked to be prime examples of the barbarian archetype; carrying spears, broad-shouldered, older than twenty-five but not remotely old, and nearly naked. The one on the left was younger than twenty-five, somewhat scrawny; but he had a look like he could probably swing and whirl that spear around like an acrobat. What he lacked in power he'd more than make up with in finesse. The fourth was older, and unlike the others was armored; he was wearing a heavy animal fur that didn't flow, looking like it could probably take a hit or two. Unlike the other three, all of whom were clean-shaven, this one had a full beard, and his skin was darker, more weathered.
They approached him, holding their spears out carefully. Nathan coughed. “Hello,†he tried, feeling like an idiot.
The older man blinked, and held his hand towards his companions, who shifted their spears back, butts on the ground, tips in the air. “Who are you, stranger? How do you know our language, I do not recognize you.â€
I was wondering the same thing, Nathan thought, when he saw the older barbarian speak English. He coughed again. “My name is Nathan. I am a traveler who got lost. I was attacked in the woods by a Dog of the Unbroken Earth, and I'm seeking someone who can help me.â€
The old man blinked. “You? You fought a Dog of the Unbroken Earth and won?†It took Nathan a moment to realize that the man's lips weren't synching with what he was hearing, and it hit him; Oh, that hearthstone! It must be the Gemstone of Spoken Language. He was glad it worked even when the sword was Elsewhere.
Nathan nodded. “I did.†“Did you take its' paw?†“Er.... No? Should I have?†He was confused, and the old man shook his head. “How could you kill a Dog of the Unbroken Earth and not take it's paw?†“I didn't say I killed it; I said I defeated it. We parted ways with an understanding that he wouldn't attack me, and I wouldn't finish him off.â€
The locals looked highly impressed, though the older local looked impressed, but with a reserved skepticism. “Well... The tale will be worth seeing to that wound and feeding you; whether or not it's unenhanced truth. Come.†He motioned, and Nathan followed them.
Walking through the camp, Nathan noted that only the first guard he had seen had the silver tattoos. There were a lot of people here; all men, he noted. That didn't bode so well, in his mind. It meant they were either a war-party (camped in for some strange reason,) or... Something stranger. Barbarian mercenaries? He didn't know. He didn't care to know, but he did ask about the tattoos. “Why do you have those tattoos, and nobody else does,†Nathan asked to the man before him. The guard spun around, furious for some reason, reaching out.
Nathan found his throat enclosed by a hand; aggressive, but not choking. “Are you challenging me? Do you think I don't have the right to them?!â€
“Whoa, whoa! Easy!†Nathan held up his hands. “I'm not saying that! I don't know, I'm not from here. I was just curious.â€
The older man slapped at the tattooed warrior's arm. “He's a traveler, he wouldn't know. You may be Favored, but I am still chieftain, unless you think you can take me, whelp.†The younger warrior sent a long look at the chieftain that said he thought he could, but couldn't get away with it, so he let Nathan go, and cleared his throat.
“They were placed upon me by the Goddess. She compelled all the young warriors to battle each other. I won,†he added unnecessarily, flexing his muscles. “The rewards for my victory were my tattoos of valor... And a week in her tent,†he said with a satisfied smirk.
Okay. So he's not a Lunar... But he's met one. Nathan nodded. “I see. Good for you,†he said, unable to think of something else to say, and the warrior smirked at him. He was taken to the edge of a huge fire pit in the middle of the encampment; there were no structures, merely tents of hide, like teepees, sat on a log. “I will fetch the medicine woman,†the young man said, slipping away, as the older man sat on another log, facing Nathan. “Now, tell me this tale.â€
What the hell. Nathan told him, using his hands to mimic the sword-strokes, the lunges, the bites; he told of being flung against a tree, but fighting off the Dog's paralysis, of using his Grand Daiklaive to batter the dog into submission, and of how he'd told the Dog that if it left him alone, he'd leave it alive.
“That's incredible,†the old man said. “Impossible to believe, but incredible, so you can stay.†He laughed loudly, slapping his thighs. “Good story! Are you a storyteller where you come from?†“Er... Sometimes,†Nathan said. “It's not anything professional, I do it for amusement.†“Well, I enjoyed it. You can stay; eat with us, heal your leg. No doubt the Dog clawed you and you ran, very, very fast, but that in and of itself is impressive.â€
Nathan felt miffed at not being believed, but only slightly. The old man stood, and he smiled. “Ahh, good, the medicine woman is coming, and she has what she'll need to fix your leg.â€
Nathan smiled, as he heard footsteps approaching. He started to stand, but the old man put his hand on Nathan's head. “Stay seated, and push your fabric covering down.†Nathan complied, pushing his trousers to his knees, and looking around.
He wondered what kind of woman the medicine woman was. An essence-channeler? Perhaps a minor goddess taken human form. Just a woman wise in the ways of fixing people? Perhaps she was young, exotic, an old, stooped crone, or -
Nathan sucked in a deep croak of breath. The woman approaching was neither bent with age nor wrinkled. She was well-washed, with skin quite unlike that of the men in the camp – unlike theirs, it was very, very dark; he could think of no politically correct way to phrase it; to his senses her skin was negroid, though of course Creation had no Africa; without a hint of interracial relations in her past, it was very, very deeply dark. She wore a pair of leather sandals that wrapped up to her knees, a cloak of animal-hide, and a belt with a great many pouches upon it.
Her breasts had been hideously maimed – to the point of nonexistence. Scar tissue was what remained, they looked horrifically burnt, as if she'd been in a fire in the past that had only targeted her breasts; glancing down, he cringed at the sight of her pubic mound, which was crisscrossed with leather straps attached to rings piercing the flesh in a circle around it.
“Something wrong, boy,†she demanded; her voice harsh and angry. Looking up, he gulped. “N-No. No ma'am.†“Good!†She thumped his wounded thigh with the butt-end of the stick she carried. He yelped, and she slapped the back of his head. “Now shut up and let me work.â€
More than happy to do so, Nathan gulped, and she knelt down. He didn't know what she was planning to do; when in doubt about medical procedures, shut one's eyes. It was best that way; so he did, and when offered a leather-wrapped stick to bite, he did.
Fighting not to jerk his leg was an exercise in futility, and he had three of the warriors holding him down to let her finish her work. His eyes remained shut the entire time, as she applied what felt like stinging, sticky mulch to his thigh, then squatted upon his knee when he jumped, muffling his yell with the stick in his mouth.
When it was done, tears were streaming down his face, and the old man laughed. “You're soft, boy! What, you've never been wounded before? I'm surprised you made it this far!†Nathan gasped, gulping for air. He didn't really want to look. “N-No, no I haven't been.†“Haw! Well, good enough. You two, drag his ass to a tent, find him a skin to sleep it off on. He'll need it.â€
Altogether, Nathan felt glad for the rest. He woke up in the middle of the night with some kind of cold fowl next to him on a slab of wood; he gratefully ate it, passed out again. The next day he noted the wound was markedly better, though the old man still told him to simply stay in the tent.
Boredom was bad enough whilst marching determinedly through the woods. Worse, when stuck in a tiny tent with a hole in the middle of the roof, huddling against the side with a bear-skin curled around you, while it rained outside. In fact, it was almost agonizing, but eventually he focused on the sound of the rain hitting the leather tent, and closed his eyes. He often played Jedi characters who found the sound of rainfall so soothing it helped them focus; why not himself? Eventually, he found a place he thought of a meditative trance, and the rest of the day vanished.
At night he awoke again, and sitting up, his leg felt fine. Better than fine; checking it, he noticed that the stitching had fallen out, and where there had been a moderately severe laceration before there was now naught but a shredded section of his pants.
He felt like moving, so he stood up to leave the tent. He got to the edge when a guard stepped into his path from nowhere – he hadn't seen the man, anyway. “Are you leaving us?†Oh, great. You again. It was the man with the silver tatoos. “I thought I'd go for a run.â€
“You took advantage of our hospitality; supplies that could have healed one of us were given to you. The old man might have found your story amusing enough to let you stay, but I do not believe you've done enough for us.â€
He pointed his spear at Nathan, who felt a flash of ire cross him. Who the hell was this guy? Good, bad; he's the guy with the spear.
He thought about flippantly saying “do you take Credit? Debit?†but instead bit his tongue, and sighed. “I don't have anything on me I'm willing to part with. Can I pay you back by hunting skins or meat?â€
The warrior let out a nonplussed hmmph, as if he'd been trying to start a fight and Nathan's diplomatic (if begrudgingly so) response rocked his plans. “Fine.†He pointed at the woods. “If you don't return by morning, you'd better have been eaten, or I'll hunt you down.â€
Now that aggravated Nathan. Oh yeah? I'll show you. He walked carefully to the woods' edge, and further in. Once he was certain he was blocked from sight, he licked his lips. I need light. I can do light.
He'd been yearning to do some sword tricks anyway. Never know when you'll need a good routine to go off right while stunting back motes, after all. It didn't count if he was doing it all alone, right?
Once he was satisfied with the brightness of his burning caste mark, Nathan set out for hunting. His battle with the Dog of the Unbroken Earth had proven he could handle large-ish beasts; beasts with significant magical powers. Now he was on the prowl; he figured he could hunt up a few bears or something, drag their hides back to the camp and show up Silver, as he'd taken to thinking of the tattooed warrior.
He didn't have a bow, nor did he have time, so using his excellent flat Survival advantage would get him to the bears, he figured; Solar Melee would take care of the rest. Indeed, his first tracking seemed to be lucky; perhaps too lucky, for he found a mother-bear protecting several large-ish cubs.
“Oh damn,†he muttered when he saw the quartet of bears. He thought about scarpering, but the mother bear issued a roar, charging. Nathan set his jaw. “No. I can do this... And if not, then I can leg it!†He wasn't sure just how tough the bear would be in comparison to the Dog of the Unbroken Earth; he had a feeling he could kill it. He just didn't know how much killing it would take.
“Yaaaaaaaaaah!†Letting out a yell of anger, Nathan leapt at the bear as she charged – bringing his sword down heavily atop it's head, the bear let out a “Growf†as it went down, and he raised his sword for the second blow when he realized its' skull had been split in two.
One hit? One fucking hit?! Nathan stared, stunned, at the mess he'd splattered on the ground. Oh right! Cubs! Nathan pulled his sword around to smack the first bear's snout away, then the second. He felt a little drained when the third tried to rear and claw him, but his sword wasn't; shoving the blade's flat against the bear's claws, they both pushed at one another.
The bear gave way, a sword-and-shield, crossed, appearing over his sword's flat as he batted away the bear's attack. Yelling out in anger, Nathan whirled his sword around, launching a trio of overhead, right-to-left, left-to-right, dipping smashes, and found himself surrounded by the corpses of four bears, staring in fascinated awe. “My god... Sweet fucking Sol Invictus, did I just kill four bears in melee with a sword?†He stared at his reflection in the golden blade, his Caste Mark burning brightly. “Son of a submariner, I really did.â€
He'd known, intellectually, that it was possible; but how could killing four lethal animals be so easy? That was actually kind of – no, very frightening. Almost a sobering reminder of just how strong he now was, it scared him to the core... But, he'd just killed four bears. Time to get to business.
The grisly work of skinning the bears took time – a Daiklaive was not really meant for skinning, and while he'd been able to do the smaller animals by picking them up and manipulating them against it, that was not possible with the bears. Nevertheless, he was almost done, half-way through working on the fourth bear, without (he imagined) having ruined the pelts, when he heard a voice he didn't want to hear.
“Are you challenging me?!â€
Nathan set his jaw. “You again.†It had come from some way away, and he stood up. Had the warrior followed him out to start a fight? If he wanted a fight, he'd bring him back here and shove his damn head at the skinned bears and ask him if he really wanted to pick a fight.
“Are you challenging me?!â€
It was getting closer, and Nathan snarled, looking around. He needed to figure out from which direction it was coming. “I've had it with you,†he snarled. “I did what you ask, and now you're out picking a fight with me?!â€
“Are you challenging me?!â€
“Yeah! Fine, sure, whatever. I'm callin' your ass out!†Nathan knew the voice was getting closer, and he looked around. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, and sounded louder than it should have. “You think throwing your voice is scary?†It is. But I know a lot you don't, asshole, he thought.
“Whelp!â€
What? That time – that time it had been the old man's voice.â€What the,†Something gave him a twinge, a hint that something was not right. He spun around, holding his sword at guard position. A minute tensely passed; had the old man tracked down the warrior and given him a thrashing?
A roar shook his world, and Nathan spun around. “What the fuck?! He barely got his sword up in time. There was no way he could have blocked the incoming attack without magic; willing power into his arms, through his sword, he met the attack head-on.
He had barely been able to see the great, orange-shagged arm and attendant, black skinned paw-hand thrusting towards him. The hand wrapped around his sword when he blocked the attack.
“What? Leggo!†Wrestling with the gigantic hand for the sword was a losing proposition, the thing hauled him, sword and all, off the ground. What he saw was rather terrifying; an ape approximately the size of King Kong (or so it seemed, though in retrospect probably a third that size,) or something like it; more like an orangutang. It had shaggy orange hair, one monocular eye, gigantic horns, and (he looked) goat-like legs.
“Satan's chimpanzee?†“Are you challenging me?!†The voice emerged from the ape-beast's voice, and Nathan set his brow. “It was you? You big shaggy – waaaaaah!†He flew, his sword flew. They did not fly together, and the next thing he heard was a roar as he hurdled through the air. “Oh son of a – whouf!†He landed, curling his stomach around a branch, half-way up a tree; his Daiklaive had embedded itself about ten yards up the next tree over.
“Oh fuck.†Scrambling to the branch he was hanging onto, Nathan reached out, yanking down a dry, dead stick as the beast charged him. It paused several yards from the tree, as if puzzling out how to attack the man on the branch. Finally, it decided to knock him loose with a punch, while he was winding up a batter-up swing with his branch. “I don't suppose you want to talk about this?†“Are you challenging me?!†“Yeah, yeah I am!â€
The beast-thing wound up, and Nathan licked his lips. He aimed the stick high above the ape's head, the traditional taunt from a batter to a pitcher. The beast launched the punch, and Nathan swung. Gold swirled around the stick as he did, tugging the branch down into line with the ape's knuckles; it let out a picture-perfect crack!, and shattered to splinters, the golden swirl around it holding the beast's blow until all the momentum was spent, and the ape howled, rubbing the knuckles of that hand with the other, as Nathan started off towards the other tree.
“H-yup!†He leapt at the far tree as the ape's overhead, two-fisted, monkey-style slam crushed the branches on the side of tree he'd been standing on moments before. Feeling much like George of the Jungle (only much less invincible,) he impacted with the trunk of the tree his sword was embedded in, and started to climb, desperately.
It wasn't to be. The ape howled, launching a sideways swat; if that open palm hit, he'd be a mosquito-splat on the side of the tree. “Oh fuuuuuck!†Dropping out of the tree, Nathan held his hand outwards, up, screaming “Nooooo!†as his sword fell above him into the distance, wanting it, needing it, desperate for it's hilt in his hand.
He landed, and pain sang up his legs, but he smiled when the ape let out a yelp- his sword had wrenched itself free of the tree, and the blade had drawn a thin line down the back of the mimicking ape's ape. The Daiklaive sailed directly into his hand, and Nathan could feel energy coursing between his palm and the hilt; he'd called it, and it had come.
Oh fuck. That was a Charm. Yelping, Nathan dived off behind the tree as the ape tried to kick at him; squeezing the tree and one palm flat on the ground, it launched itself at him, hooves-first; though comically small compared to it's legs, each hoof was still large enough to paste his entire torso if it hit.
Rolling to the other side of the tree, Nathan got to his feet again, facing the Mini-Kong. “No. I am through running.†“Are you challenging me?!†“No. I'm killing you.†Filled with conviction to defend himself from the unprovoked assault by the beast, Nathan charged at it, swinging at it's conjoined hands at it tried to swat him aside with it's fists balled.
A freight-train of flesh and blood and bone and fur met the unstoppable juggernaut of the Solar Melee tree's iconic defensive Charm, the stoppable force being immaculately halted in it's tracks; it's arms battered away by the blow, the beast's defenses were open. Spinning around, under it's right arm, he hacked mightily at the beast's back; hoping to break it's spine in the lower back and render it paraplegic.
It wasn't quite to be; his blade sank in on an angle, digging deeply into the monster's waist, but to the side; blood started to spill, but it was not remotely a lethal blow. However, it seemed to have convinced the mimicking ape that withdraw was in order. It rolled back, and Nathan was forced to wrench his sword free and dive away as the beast performed a reverse-somersault courtesy of it's extra-long limbs, getting to it's hooves and starting a fast, primate run.
But now, Nathan had had it. His ire up, he wasn't about to let the orangutang pull a hit-and-run on him. He knew it had to be hurting – badly – he was going to finish this. Putting his sword over his back, adhering it to him, he took off after the ape at a speed that could charitably be called “superhumanâ€; he caught it before it had cleared the clearing the fight had begun in, and leapt up, getting a double-fistful of the fur on it's backside.
Ape yelped, and man climbed; into the small of it's back, higher, where it would have trouble plucking him off. It tried to shake him off, and the Exalt held on for dear life. “N-N-No you don't!â€
When it tried to smash him by slamming it's back into a great tree, Nathan knew he had the beast where he wanted it; leaping to the side and yanking his sword free, he drove the sword deeply into the side of the tree, flipping over the hilt and landing on the flat of the blade. “Not letting you get away!†He hopped, and bounced off the blade; it sproinged, launching him towards the ape's shoulder, and he held a hand out, behind him.
His sword flew into his hand, willing it to join him like a Jedi would will his lightsaber to him, and brought the sword down, hard, on the ape's head. It hit with a C-Crack sound, as Nathan fell down behind it. Landing, he batter-up smashed it's left goat-leg out from under it, bringing the unbalanced ape down to it's other knee and it's elbows, and he darted in, letting out a ferocious scream as he plunged the sword deep into the monstrous orangutang's crotch, where leg met pelvis. It thunked when he met bone, and the mortally-wounded beast began to surge deep red blood from the wound, his final attack having severed the artery.
He was glowing with the unleashed Essence, and Nathan grinned. “I did it. I pulled it off.†Stumbling backwards, he slumped against the tree, laughing as the mimicking primate finished. He didn't feel bad – it had, after all, attacked him; worse, he'd seen no sign of sentience. Like a big, shaggy, carnivorous (he presumed) orangutang-parrot.
Working through the night, he finished his job at skinning, and began the tedious job of hauling the skins back. By far the most impressive was the mammoth ape's; it was incredibly heavy, and he hadn't done many favors by adding it's hewn-off head, paws, and goat-legs to the pile of bearskins and orangutang-skin.
By dawn, he'd almost managed to haul the pile back towards the clearing where the camp lay, when he heard voices. “You had no right to order him to pay us back; the decision was mine to make!†“I gave the order, old man! I gave it, and it was done! Now he's fled, and I shall return with his head.â€
Nathan coughed; he turned around, banishing the sword Elsewhere; the two men, alerted by his cough, came crashing through the brush at him, calling out; the old man querying, the silver-tattooed warrior with his spear at the ready.
Said spear promptly dropped from his hands when he saw the pile Nathan was standing before. “I'm sorry I didn't return sooner,†he lied, “but this pile is rather heavy.â€
The look of shock on the faces of the two members of the camp was immensely satisfying. “M-Myrkul.†The old man blinked, walking over; he prodded the Orangutang's massive head with the butt of his spear, as if in disbelief.
“You've killed Myrkul,†he repeated, in utter shock.
Oh shit. Did I just kill their God? Are they 'you keep what you kill' or 'die, infidel'? The old man dropped his spear, and threw his arms around Nathan; the young Exalt blinked as he was tightly embraced. “This monster stole my son from me! Thank you!â€
Cries of jubilant celebration rang out when the three quickly hauled back the stack of pelts; the bear-pelts alone would have gotten him respect. Myrkul's head, paws, legs and pelt got him a measure of outright awe. He might have found it more enjoyable was there even a single girl (okay, a single non-mutilated female) to cheer for him; the medicine woman simply smirked, though she did at least offer up a begrudging look of being impressed. Myrkul's head, paws, and legs, it was decided, were to be dried into trophies. Come trading time, no doubt they'd fetch a good price going west; they decided to use the pelts; a cloak for Nathan was to be made from his back.
The idea of a conqueror's cloak made of the pelt of a gigantic ape he'd slain with his own Daiklaive was certainly appealing; but it would take a while to make. Then again, I'm heading North, he had thought.
The idea of losing time was a bad one, though; he offered to trade his impending cloak for one someone already had, but there were no such garments to be had. He resolved that he'd have to acquire one another way, then, and declined; but he did accept other gifts.
So it was he came to possess a good, strong steel knife – the Chieftain's own, in fact, one he'd carried for decades, which had never failed him, small price to pay for the head of the ape that ate his son on a pike. More disturbingly, a few of the younger, more hero-worshiping boys offered themselves to him. The ones who approached him ranged in age from twelve to sixteen; not being interested in boys, he'd turned them down (quite shocked and with a bit of anger with the first,) though he had to wonder how long that would last; this being Creation, and his lifespan now measured in millennia or violence.
He hd waited about half of the time it would take the skins to be ready as cloaks; faced with a conundrum, he realized that he might almost as well simply wait. It was a conundrum; in the north, a heavy, proper fur cloak would be helpful. But every day he waited, Misho and his caravan got further away.
When he came to the realizing that he'd have to make a decision, it was already nighttime. Several of the men had been off scouting for days, so he looked up at the stars from the edge of camp, and sighed. “I'll sleep on it,†he muttered, heading back to the tent he'd been given and curling up.
Aasharu
Member
Kyeudo, what type of sex scenes does ShadowDragon prefer?
BTW, I'm enjoying this fan fiction, mainly because it's a scenario that I imagine we all have wished to experience, at some point or another.
BTW, I'm enjoying this fan fiction, mainly because it's a scenario that I imagine we all have wished to experience, at some point or another.
Kyeudo
One Thousand Club
Lesbian seems to be his preference, but he also does hetero and occasional bondage stuff. At least, that was his record when I stopped being on his review team.Aasharu said:
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
The 'occasional' thing was one of those things that just came to me and I was like "*writewritewrite* *reads* "Where the fuck did that come from?..." *submits*Kyeudo said:
Aasharu
Member
Lesbian sex scenes are the best sex scenes. "Het is Ew," after all. Given, however, that ShadowDragon has yet to introduce any named female characters, and the only two unnamed ones are the mutilated medicine woman and the very, very disturbing Fair Folk, I imagine any such scenes are some ways into the future.
Lovin' it, you just keep doing great 
Honestly, there's somethings that bugged me, but I didn't have time to reply right after I read it and can't recall them now several days later, but it was nothing major, it was mostly just that your word choice bothered me some... I do remember that the description of what he was doing with his sword (the practice thing) I had trouble seeing that in my head. That was the only one that sticks out, I just couldn't see what you were trying to convey, at least not clearly. I have a vague idea, and what I think it is is pretty cool, but I'm probably wrong and it's cool in a different way.
Anyways, I don't have much in the way of constructive criticism, wish I did, but I don't. I could probably go through and highlight the stuff that doesn't work perfectly or isn't exactly clear, but as I'm not your beta, it'd just be insulting XP.
Overall, it's very awesome and I'm eagerly awaiting more.
(And I second Aasharu's sentiment, this is the basic idea that we all wished would happen at some point or another after discovering Exalted... damn, I just had an idea for a game... damn... that'd be awesome! *goes off to scribble some notes*)
Honestly, there's somethings that bugged me, but I didn't have time to reply right after I read it and can't recall them now several days later, but it was nothing major, it was mostly just that your word choice bothered me some... I do remember that the description of what he was doing with his sword (the practice thing) I had trouble seeing that in my head. That was the only one that sticks out, I just couldn't see what you were trying to convey, at least not clearly. I have a vague idea, and what I think it is is pretty cool, but I'm probably wrong and it's cool in a different way.
Anyways, I don't have much in the way of constructive criticism, wish I did, but I don't. I could probably go through and highlight the stuff that doesn't work perfectly or isn't exactly clear, but as I'm not your beta, it'd just be insulting XP.
Overall, it's very awesome and I'm eagerly awaiting more.
(And I second Aasharu's sentiment, this is the basic idea that we all wished would happen at some point or another after discovering Exalted... damn, I just had an idea for a game... damn... that'd be awesome! *goes off to scribble some notes*)
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
If you're running that via the internet and not play-by-post and you're allowing Solars, count me in.Andoriol said:
May I suggest OpenRPG+?
Aasharu
Member
ShadowDragon, what precisely is OpenRPG+, and how do I get it on Windows 7? Also, if said game is online and not play by post and allows Infernals, I'd like to participate.
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
This is OpenRPG+.Aasharu said:
DO NOT use the autoinstallers. They SUCK ASS. Get the appropriate Python and wxPython, then try the latest OpenRPG+ version, then try OpenRPG1.8.0Vista.exe.
Also, I should have more story up before I go to bed.
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
Yep! With 15 minutes to spare before I was due to go to sleep, too. Hurrah!
Compassion... Ahh, compassion.
It's funny, Nathan thought to himself, staring at the sky through the hole in the tent, just how when you have almost nothing,the tiniest thing is a big damn deal. Of course, he had gone and killed a pretty big fucking Orangutang by his onesies – and it hadn't been an easy fight, certainly. But chances were if he went north he'd find a place where they had cloaks he could have traded for.
I'm probably being greedy. Or maybe I just don't want to leave. He thought about that for a moment; Let's see... Gigantic camp full of men and boys who see me as some kind of desirable conquering hero, the only woman has tits that someone judiciously applied fucking napalm to in an act that would be considered a crime against humanity where I'm from, and I'm sleeping in a fucking teepee like my Native American ancestors did. This. blows.
While it was true, Nathan was only 1/16th Native American – hardly any whatsoever, and he'd always loathed the outdoors. Without the Wilderness Stone he had no doubt he'd have been screwed long, long ago.
Sitting up, Nathan looked at the guttering flame in the middle of the tent, and prodded it with a stick, stirring it up and bringing the flame up, brighter. Plucking a few pieces of wood from his dwindling stockpile, he stripped the bark off with his knife and set it up to burn more brightly. It was closing on dawn, and he sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest.
What am I doing here, he complainingly thought to himself. Am I really so fucking vain I'm going to wait for them to make a goddamned cloak out of an ape's skin for me?.. But it's preparedness, isn't it? He sighed, disgusted at how he was being disingenuous to himself; while he would need a cloak, he would most certainly have been able to find better winter clothes as he approached the North.
This sucks, man, he grumbled. He hated making decisions. I wish I had a coin to flip... He sighed, and slumped down to his side, shifting his body so as not to push the sack of red jade bits into his hip.
Wait...
Pulling out the sack, he sat with his legs spread, feet together, and poured the jade out on the skin he'd been sleeping on. “Ah!†He snatched up the Red Jade Obol that had spilled out with the bits – only one, but one was enough.
“Perfect!†Scooping his bits back into the sack, he looked at the Obol. He was in luck, and grinned to himself. I'm about 1/16th Irishman as well. Time for the Irish way of settling this.
It was something he'd read a long time ago in a good, good book; two characters, an actual Irishman who'd been born in the streets of Dublin and had made himself the richest man ever, and the police detective who was his wife's former trainer and was himself descended from Irish immigrants to New York, were trying to decide who gave his wife (and the current lead investigator on the project they were both working on) the bad news.
Roarke had suggested they solve things the Irish Way; the detective had asked if he'd meant drinking, or fighting, but Roarke had cited the third Irish way of settling disputes; gambling. It had served Nathan better ever since, mostly for minor things like trying to decide what to eat at a restaurant.
But since he was caught between two conflicting parts of his personality now, he figured he'd let the coin decide if he should stay and wait for the cloak, feeding greed and/or vanity, or go ahead and leave now, hurrying up to try and catch up with people who didn't even know he existed, but were his only hope.
As he thought about that, he grinned; “Help me Misho-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.†Breaking into a chuckling fit, he slumped forward, now unable to get the image of Misho in Obi-Wan Kenobi's outfit out of his head.
When he finally overcame his laughter, he looked at the Obol. It featured an image of a woman entering a doorway; the obverse had some kind of glyph on it, but he couldn't read it. Looking back, he pursed his lips. Wait... I bet that's the Scarlet Empress – perhaps... Oh yeah. He nodded; he wasn't entirely sure, but he thought it might have commemorated the founding of the Realm. It was very old; how it had come into his possession, he had no idea. And aren't Obols supposed to be green? Eh. He shrugged, and decided to designate the image as heads, with the glyph as tails. “Bitch I stay, tails I go.â€
Nathan flipped the coin, inelegantly. It bounced off the tent's wall, and landed between his legs, skittering under a thigh. Reaching under, he pulled it out, careful to preserve the side which had faced upwards.
The glyph was staring back up at him, and he nodded. “Right. Fuck the cloak. I don't need it, it'll weigh me down, anyway.†With a yawn, he flopped back, putting the Obol in his pouch again.
I'll just rest until the middle of morning, get some breakfast and bid them adieu. Maybe take some rations or something with me. Yawning, he curled himself back up, and sighed. I really wish I had some music, or something... He sighed; maybe he should search for a first-age music recording device. They are indestructible, after all.
Grinning, he laid back, staring up into the sky through the hole in his tent, letting the time wash over him. The medicine woman had mentioned that the rains were probably not going to come again for a few more weeks; suited him just fine. Good time to be marching, really.
“Do I stay, or do I go... Go, yeah, go,†Nathan muttered to himself. He took the knife he'd been given from his belt, giving it a toss into the air and catching it by the blade. It was about ten inches long, with a hook-billed tip like that of a bowie knife. Down the back side after the hook-bill, it was serrated, and it had a large cross-guard, but little pommel to speak of.
He had no way of telling how old it was. The chieftain who had given it to him said he'd taken it from a man he killed, so there was no investigating it that way. Nathan toyed with the idea of trying to awaken and interrogate the knife's Little God, but he had no idea how to do so; and it was a knife in any event. It'd be nice for getting along in the woods, but if he got into a serious fight – which, to his way of mind, was any fight – he'd just use his Grand Daiklaive anyway.
He was starting to get hungry – which meant breakfast time, and then time to leave, when he heard it. A shriek; a distinctly female shriek, pierced the quiet of the morning. It was an unusual sound, to say the least; but a sound that made his blood run cold. Had something happened to the medicine woman? Bitter an hideous as she was, he certainly didn't want anything bad to happen to her. Rolling and climbing to his feet, Nathan pelted out of the tent, but he wasn't alone; the men of the camp were also surging from their tents.
No. That shriek – someone's in trouble. He could hear the shrieks continuing, the sounds as if someone being restrained were struggling, and he heard a female voice – not the medicine woman, a girl – shrieking to be let go.
His blood running red, Nathan bellowed “Let me through!†as the crowd surged for the middle of the camp, and he bodily shoved through, pushing the men in front of him him out of his way.
This didn't seem to be abnormal behavior – everyone was shoving and pushing to get close, but Nathan thought he detected an undercurrent of excitement, anticipation, not the red dread hotly churning in his guts, bringing his blood to a nervous boil.
“Yaaah!†getting close to the front of the crowd, the pressure began to build, and Nathan simply shoved two men to the ground to get past them to see what was going on. What he saw felt like a punch to the gut.
They'd caught a girl. A very exotic girl.
Her arms tied behind the small of her back, she was struggling to get away from the two men holding tightly to her forearms. She was exotic, no doubt; her skin was a light gray that shimmered, with long, pointed ears. Her hair was a cascading shade of dirty-white with blood-red bangs hanging over the right side of her face, and vicious red markings on her left cheek. Her eyes were brilliant crimson in a sea of white; tiny, delicate nose with a silver stud through it, and a small, delicate mouth. There wasn't a shred of cloth on her, and she was in good shape, if obviously distressed at having apparently been taken prisoner.
“Look what we caught,†the warrior Nathan had designated Silver – his real name having been Maktal – shouted, holding his spear up high. The girl shrieked, “Let me go!†as the men of the camp cheered.
“What the fuck is going on here,†he found himself shouting, advancing on the two tribesmen holding the girl. “What in the holy hell do you think you're doing with that girl?!†Maktal blinked at him; after he'd killed Myrkul, the silver-tattooed warrior had backed off on his belligerence, but they were hardly friends.
“We've caught a woman,†he said, as if it weren't patently obvious. “Don't worry, you'll get a turn close to the front, too.â€
“A – A turn,†he incredulously repeated. This was a nightmare – certainly in the past he'd explored dark fantasies of forced sex via writing, reading, and pornography, but...
There was a shrieking, kicking, live, terrified, flesh-and-blood girl there, and they were proposing to gang-rape her?
“Are you out of your minds,†he exploded, darting forward. He didn't see it coming; the fist that connected with his jaw sent him sprawling, stars exploding behind his eyes for a moment. When he looked up, Maktal was crunching his knuckles. “My father favors you, stranger,†he spit, it landing between Nathan's legs on the ground. “But I do not. I caught her, not you; I'm not giving you my first turn because you killed that big ape that ate my little brother ten summers ago.â€
Sweet sol, is he serious? Did he think I was challenging him for the right to rape her first? Nathan grit his teeth; the girl shrieked when the man holding her by the other arm groped her breast, roughly.
“I'm not going to rape this girl,†Nathan growled. There was no question in his mind; he'd always been protective of females, and this one was no different. “And neither are you!â€
He'd been attempting a poetic strike, a kick to the groin, but Maktal was a better brawler than that; or maybe Nathan had simply telegraphed it far too obviously. Bracing on his elbows before kicking had been a bad idea; the silver-tattooed warrior danced back out of the way, and Nathan kicked air.
“What do you think you're doing,†Nathan heard from behind him; the chieftain had arrived, behind him; he felt himself seized roughly by the old man's hands, hauled to his feet. “We take you into our camp; we feed you, treat your wounds like one of us, and my son offers to share a prize with you and you attack him?â€
The old man's fist was no less gentle than his son's, but this time Nathan (somehow) managed to roll to the side, pushing the fist away from impact with his gut. He needed a weapon in his hands – he was useless in a brawl, and he knew it.
But he didn't want to pull out his Grand Daiklaive on these people. For one thing, he didn't want to risk being tracked down by the Hunt; on the other, he didn't want to risk having to chop any of them in half. It had been one thing to attack animals, but he hadn't had any stomach for killing the spirit dog, once he'd gotten his momentary rush of bloodlust under control.
His hand found the knife, and he slithered it out of his scabbard, shoving the old man back roughly. “Get out of my face, old man,†he growled, and spun, running towards the girl. “Just hold on,†he admonished; the fear on her face gave way to surprise, perhaps not having expected someone to speak her language. He sensed, more than saw, the spear coming at him from the side; lashing out with the knife, he caught it behind the head, deflecting it from his body, and grabbing it just behind the tip, his heavy leather gloves sinking in with good grip. He saw that Maktal had made the lunge; he was overextended. It would be the easiest thing in the world to plunge the knife into the silver-tattooed warrior's chest; straight through the sternum, he knew this body he was in had the power to do it.
He hesitated, locking eyes with Maktal. “I will not let you bastards hurt this girl,†he growled. “Back off.†Glowering, he tried to draw upon the spectre of intimidation itself; “Don't make me destroy you!†he followed up.
More and more of the men had armed themselves. Oh damn. This isn't good. His nervousness at being surrounded was clear, and Maktal smirked. “No stomach for killing men?†He yanked his spear back, sneering at Nathan. “Too bad. I have. I've wanted to do this for some time.â€
To hell with this shit. The spear coming at him was almost too easy to block, but this time he decided to go further with his intimidation; willing power through the knife, the blade took on a golden sheen as he raised the knife to meet the spear's thrust.
He'd already decided that the only way out of this was to intimidate his way out – no bluff was going to do it, and he didn't like his prospects of fighting out, even with a Grand Daiklaive in his hands. He might have been able to evade and escape, but the girl wouldn't have been.
Meeting the spear with his knife, a golden sword flashed through the air as two more men thrust their spears at him. Guided by magic itself, Nathan's knife found Maktal's spear, deflecting it high, while the ghostly golden figure of an armored Knight lopped the head off of one spear, shattering the second on it's shield.
Screams started to go up, the young Exalt seeing the golden fire burning around him as the totemic image that had come to his rescue vanished. He'd burnt a lot of Essence doing that; and wasn't honestly sure how he'd pulled it off (though he suspected it was a stunt and was profoundly sad he'd wasted it on these clowns,) but it'd had the desired effect.
The men who had been crushing in to see him now turned to flee; of them, the only ones with the stones remaining to face him were Maktal and his father, the Chieftain.
“And I've wanted to do that for some time,†Nathan replied, glowering at Maktal; who was, in all fairness, staring back in wide-eyed horror, the strong warrior's knees shaking. Guess the Caste ability is good for something, after all.
“You picked this battle, Maktal. You and the rest of your... Tribe. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't want to say anything; but now I think I shall.†Nathan felt his guts going cold; he was running on pure nerve here, he had to keep from running out. He flicked his left hand out and willed force through it, remembered the feeling of his Daiklaive appearing, and the massive sword flipped through the air, landing with a solid smashing thud in the ground, behind him, close to the girl.
Walking carefully backwards to the sword, Nathan sheathed his knife. “Trust me,†he whispered to the girl, taking her bound arms and running the rope down the blade of the sword, embedded in the ground. Fibers and hairs parted easily; like the Black Sea before the eponymous prophet, and the girl pulled her hands free. “We're going to leave. Keep the damn ape's skin.†Pulling his sword free, Nathan pointed the tip straight at Maktal's throat. “But remember that my compassion has limits. If I ever hear of you trying to rape another woman again, I'll come back. You do not want to see me again.â€
It worked; thank Sol, it worked! The warrior fell to his knees, spear dropping from his grasp, as if willing to accept execution if such was hit fate. Nathan simply put his sword over his back, stuffed his glove in his pocket and took the girl's hand; hers was weak from her struggle, and he led her carefully away. People were staring from the insides of tents and behind them, but a quick glare sent them scurrying for cover; he noticed, with some strange fascination, that objects around him were starting to bleach white; tents lost their distinctive rawhide color, the packed earth beneath the main travel corridors into and out of the camp was turning from brown to alabaster, and the stones and logs took on the look as if they'd been carved of ivory.
Even the hair of the girl he'd rescued was lightening; her dirty gray hair turning to brilliant snow, the red streaks in front becoming as vividly, violently red as the ferocious red markings on her cheek. She stumbled, he knelt to catch her. “Shhh. You're okay; I've got you.†She trembled, and he tugged off his other glove; stuffing it into his pocket, he carefully lifted her – sweet Sol, she feels light! and she wrapped her arms around his neck, whimpering softly.
Before, Nathan had marched; now he jogged as fast as he dared with the precious cargo trembling in his arms. Of course, though by now he was no longer thinking in the vein of a world-class hero (and more along the lines of a scared young man who's just gotten away with more than he ought to have,) the jogging rate of one of the Chosen of the Dawn, equipped with a Gemstone of Perfect Mobility, was greater than most mortal runner's best flat-out dash. He held the girl in tight to himself; burst of emergency badassery over, Nathan was now in “run like you stole something†mode, tearing up the ground in a generally northwesterly direction, cradling the girl tightly against himself as she shivered, her head buried in his shoulder.
In the end, he did not know how far he had run; only that he had run far farther than the men of that village could have chased him down, even if they'd run all day and night. It was lurking in the corner of his mind that chasing him was the last thing any remotely sane mortal would want to do. (Of course, picking a fight with one of the Chosen of the Dawn over a matter of a stolen woman would be exactly the sort of thing that Exalts someone as a Chosen of the Dawn, so there was that to consider, too.)
Regardless, he was in a state of cold fear; fear of pursuit. Fear for the girl. Finally, he'd been able to stop in a nice, broad clearing devoid of any threats, and set her down. He had to admit – she was stunning. She looked about sixteen or so to his eyes – curvy, with soft, blossoming breasts atop her shivering chest, a delicate vulva she barely tried to hide between trembling legs as she sat down, looking to be on the verge of tears, which had come and gone throughout their run.
“Are you okay,†he whispered, kneeling down to look into her eyes. The red-irised orbs without pupils stared back, large and shimmering, and she nodded, gasping out, “Y-y-y-you speak my language?†“No, I have a...†He cut himself off, biting his lip. “I have magic that lets me understand and speak any language,†he settled on, and she bit her lip.Awk-waaaaard. I don't know what they did to her or anything.
He settled again on asking “Do you have a name?†The trembling girl nodded, and he smiled, trying to keep his eyes on hers, and not let them drift down. “I'm Nathan. May I know your name?†Trembling, she nodded. “M-M'yena,†she stuttered out, and he nodded. “M'yena,†he said, hoping he hadn't slaughtered the pronounciation, “I'm going to keep you safe, okay?â€
Her big red eyes blinked once, and she nodded, slowly. “Y-You stopped them fr-from taking me,†she said, and he nodded. “Yes. They wanted to hurt you. I wouldn't let that happen.†Gulping, she nodded, curling into herself, “Thank you,†she whispered, closing her eyes.
Nighttime was hungry; he was afraid to leave her alone, as the sun was rapidly setting and M'yena was afraid to be left alone or to go out with him. He couldn't blame her, so he simply built a fire, and sat close to her.
This was a problem. He didn't want to leave her nude; but his clothes wouldn't really fit her, anyway. He thought he'd compromise and give her his shirt, but she shook her head, rejecting it silently. Nathan wanted to know why she'd turned it down, but decided it was better not to ask, and laid back, sighing.
The girl was trembling, and he didn't know what to do. He wanted to comfort her so badly, but he had no blankets, to curl around her, no bedspread to lay her upon. All he had was himself, and he sighed. She was so attractive; he'd been fighting not to get wood all day, but watching her sit there, curled in on herself, stirring the fire with a stick stirred something within him that he'd wanted to keep locked tightly away.
No. Can that noise, now, he sharply told herself. He had, after all, rescued her from being raped. It wouldn't be right in any way, shape, or form to impose upon her.
Even though he desperately wanted it.
Gulping, Nathan sighed, laying his head on his arms, staring at the sky. Though she was now out of his field of view, her nude form was indelibly etched in his minds' eye, just like that of the rare few other girls he'd had the chance to see nude in the past.
He was still a virgin, and that ate at him. He didn't like it; he wanted to have sex, to touch a girl. To push himself inside her.
And this one here... It would be so easy; after he'd saved her like that, she might not even object. She certainly wouldn't fight him if he suggested it; he could lay her back, have his way with her... He'd always wanted to have a teenaged girl, but never had when he was a teenager, and (on Earth at least) it was too late. Here?
Things were different. And that was the problem; it would be so easy. But then, hadn't that been what he'd objected to about what Maktal and the others were going to do?
Even if she says yes, how could she be saying yes for real. She saw what I did back there; she'd be an idiot to say no, either out of fear or hero-worship.
Sighing, Nathan looked over; she was looking into the fire, her eyes away from him. I suppose... Looking won't hurt. He did, letting his eyes drink in her young, slender form, the delicious-looking breast in profile, her hips. Refraining from an erection was a lost cause by now, and it strained painfully against his pants, making him curl one leg over the other to try and control it.
“Shhh,†he whispered softly, raising his hand to stroke the M'yena's back, between her shoulder blades, as she let out a quiet sound of fear. “I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you.†He'd have said it no matter what; now he had the power to enforce it. M'yena trembled for a moment at the touch, then slid over.
She rolled on top of him, making him acutely aware of three things:
1: that he had forgotten to put his shirt back on.
2: Oh wow, boobs!
3: M'yena was light. Not that she was small, no, she was maybe a head shorter than he, and he knew this body was much taller than his original. She was however, light; supernaturally light. Perhaps forty pounds?
4: Boobs. Pressing into his chest; soft, squishable, squeezable boobs.
That was four things, but he didn't care to tabulate again. His mind was kind of paralyzed by the feel of breasts pressing into his chest, and he gulped, curling his arms around her, carefully squeezing her.
I'm not going to get any sleep tonight, am I?, he bemoaned. The girl's weakness, the plight he' found her in, had triggered every protective instinct in him, but now that instinct went to war; his lust was leading a charge consisting of an army of Tiger Warriors and Space Marines with Dragon-Blooded Commisars for unit officers at his need to protect and safeguard.
At least, that was how he envisioned it, and daydreaming about a silly war within him was a good way to take his mind off how good her nude form felt against him, how he could feel the outline of her hardened nipples in his chest.
Surprising even him, sleep did come, over him much later than her. He had a lucid dream even; then he realized to his dismay he wasn't alone within it. He found himself laying in a vast crystalline forest, the pale-gray skinned girl on top of him, sleeping fitfully – as he'd fallen asleep in Creation – but this time he had Lord Jay's bitch leaning over him from above his head.
“Why don't you,†Lord Jay's assistant – he decided to call her Little Jay – asked, and Nathan scowled. “Because she's a hurt, innocent girl.†“So?†The fae turned her head. “You've been a good hero so far – generous, even, in going out and 'earning your keep' instead of taking it by your divine right. You fought off a hostile spirit and let it live as it was only doing it's job, and you conquered a mighty beast of the woods... Why not the nubile girl of the woods?â€
“Becau -... Because,†Nathan said, sighing. There was really no point in trying to explain compassion and delicateness and softness to a faerie, was there? “Because I'm not like that.â€
“Your mind says that.. The rest of you disagrees,†Little Jay observed. She plunged her hand through M'yena's phantom form – literally through it, and through his trousers as well; Nathan gasped sharply as he felt her cold fingers wrap around his member, which (in the dream, at least) was fully erect. His eyes slid up from her head; her breasts were bare, as usual, and she was standing over his head. He didn't know how, but he could see up the inside of her sarong; her legs were spread, and her vulva seemed to be pouting, as if ready – or everready – for sex.
Nathan gulped. “You could have her, so, so easily. Why don't you? I know your mind is a virgin – even if the body so generously provided to you by my Lord Jay was not. You could use this insignificant female; use her to teach yourself to take a woman, and so what if you make mistakes? She'll never amount to anything; much better to make mistakes now, in her, than later, say, if you got the chance to touch someone... More important. A fox-tailed Chosen of Luna, perhaps... Or a tragic, tiny figure with a heart of gold being choked by blackest soot.â€
Nathan grit his teeth; “S-Stop it,†he said, “G-Get out of my head!†“No. You'll have to bar me from entry if you want me out,†Little Jay said, kneeling down. She started to stroke, and Nathan gasped as he saw her hand vanishing through M'yena's back, rubbing his shaft, slowly. “Hell, you could do it now, in this dream. I could prevent her from waking, even; she'd never know.â€
Nathan winced. “You linked her to this dream? Fuck you, whore.†“We could do that, if you want,†Little Jay offered, sliding her sarong down to her knees; her free hand reached between her thighs, stroking herself invitingly. “Taking the whore over the innocent? A strange choice for one of the Chosen, but... Interesting story, nontheless,†she murmured, and squeezed.
Feeling his knees tremble, Nathan grit his teeth. Don't trust a faerie. Don't trust a faerie. Don't trust a faerie! Little Jay giggled. “Oh, I assure you, you absolutely can't trust me,†she said with a wicked grin, “but then, you can't trust yourself not to trust me, either, can you?†Licking her lips, she smiled. “But, I swear to you, you can indulge yourself with me like this without fear of anything negative befalling you or anyone else. I'll swear the full recital, if it would make you feel better?â€
Nathan cut off the instinctive urge to reject her proposal out of hand. He knew if she swore it properly, she was bound to it – and if she did the full recital, she'd be bound to it properly. And... Her hand really felt good; shivers were running up and down his stomach from the feeling, his lips trembling. He could just grab her and push her down, and...
“Nnnno.†Nathan summoned up the fortitude to reach out, pulling Little Jay's hand away from him. “No, I don't think so. G-Get lost.†“But, you -†“Out. Now!†He didn't know if he could 'kill' her in this dream state... But he did know that if she didn't vamoose, he was damned well going to try.
That sent her packing, with a “Hmmmph,†and Nathan found his lucid dream evaporating.
Upon waking, Nathan became cognizant of the first fact of the day; that he felt like hell; worse than he had any night since getting here. This, he imagined, was the psychic backlash of Little Jay deciding to fuck with his mind when he wouldn't play ball with her.
He had to get out from under those damn faerie's thumbs. That shouldn't be hard, if he could find Misho; if the boy had a berserk button other than “threatening innocents,†it was “being a faerie.â€
The second thing he learned awareness of was his stiff penis, in a pair of tender female hands, being hesitantly stroked. His eyes flew open, about to lambaste Little Jay (and possibly lay into her with his Grand Daiklaive – the Oricalcum surfboard one, not the one already in her hands) when he realized it wasn't Little Jay at all, but M'yena, who was staring at his shaft with what he could only describe as “shock and awe.â€
Why won't my goddamned trouser snake stay in my Soldamned pants, Nathan thought sarcastically as M'yena jumped away as though the turgid rod in question had suddenly sprouted fire-spitting flowers. “What are you doing, M'yena?!â€
In retrospect, he'd intended it to be a question, but possibly thanks to – probably thanks to – definitely thanks to last night's dream intrusion by Little Jay, it came out more as a snap, and the girl gasped. She fell over herself to apologize at once, “I-I'm sorry, mighty one, please do not be angry! I-I thought to respect you in th-the way of my people!â€
“The – wha?†He blinked, and the girl's gray cheeks blushed to a deep charcoal color. “I-I have offended you,†she said, gulping and raising her head. “I-If I have o-offended you t-too much, you m-may -†“Can that,†Nathan said, strongly, reaching up and taking her hands. “I will never hurt you, M'yena. I-I'm not offended, y-you just... You surprised me. It scared me,†he admitted, gulping. Her hands were so small in his, he rubbed them, and she leaned in, trembling in his grasp.
“You're safe with me, M'yena. Please don't be afraid of me,†he whispered, staring into her red eyes, and she gulped, nodding, slowly; still intimated, but trying to believe, he imagined. Slowly, Nathan got up, and pulled his trousers back up, then pulled his shirt on. M'yena slid up next to him, almost hiding in his shadow, and they set off again; he'd have to remember to hunt during the day this time.
He hadn't a clue where he was going, but M'yena wasn't objecting, so he imagined he was going in the right direction – that, or she wasn't going to object or leave her rescuer and current provider, even if he was taking her in the wrong direction. He hoped it wasn't that, so he asked. “No, my people should be this way. I... I was wandering from them, I got lost. My brother was with me, but those men who grabbed me...†She cringed, and Nathan instinctively wrapped his arms around her. “They... T-They used him, there... Beat him and stabbed him with their spears and left him for dead when they were done with him, Nathan,†she whispered, using his name for the first time.
Nathan felt his blood boil. Now he deeply wished he had cut Maktal down like the swine he was. He looked back over his shoulder, briefly entertaining the thought of going back to finish him, but rejected it. I can learn Stormwind Rider from someone and make it a much shorter trip, he rationalized to himself as he hugged M'yena tightly. “H-He was the tracker, not me,†the teenaged girl continued, hugging him tightly. “H-He might have survived. My brother was – is – tough, strong, resilient. I-I know he could have survived, if an animal didn't get to him, i-if he didn't bleed too badly.â€
Nathan chose to say nothing on that topic. He wanted desperately to offer the girl false hope, but the odds were so long a Corellian wouldn't have made book on them. Instead he whispered “it'll be okay,†and stroked her bleached-white hair, and she looked mollified somewhat.
“Not to change the subject or anything,†Nathan led, lying through his teeth, “but earlier you mentioned something about 'respecting you in the way of your people'... That was when you were stroking me while I was asleep. What was that about?â€
Smooth move, ex-lax. Get her off her brother's potential death and back onto the time she molested you. Mentally wishing to clobber himself, he resolved to find the time to ask someone to teach him how to be good at the whole “comforting people†thing.
“O-Oh.†M'yena blinked; she hadn't fallen to tears, though she'd hiccuped a few times. Now she had something to explain. “I-It is the way of my people t-that the below will respect those above them.†“I don't think I follow,†Nathan said, though he thought he really did. “Can you explain it?â€
“Um... Well,†M'yena slowly started, “we, um... We show such respect normally twice a day – upon waking and before sleep – though one above can demand it at any time from one below.†“And this respect is... What, masturbating someone?†“T-That was a prelude. Th-The respect happens with the mouth most often; sometimes, on rare occasions, respect is open-bodied sex. Um... S-Say you have a family of four, a mother, a father, a son and a daughter; the son was born before the daughter.â€
“Right... Go on...†“Well, the father would be above all, unless the household was unusual – but that's not unheard of. So, the daughter, being the youngest, is below all of them; she would awaken first, and go to her brother's bedside. She would roll down his blankets and bring him to hardness with her hands, then descend upon his boyhood with her mouth and... Suckle upon him until he released his boyseed into her lips. Then he would go to their parents' bed, spread his mother's legs, and plow her furrows with his tongue until the honey of her release lay upon his lips. Then the mother would awaken the father the same way the daughter awoke her brother.â€
Yep. I was right. The girl's frank description of casual incest left him hard, though he tried not to show it. “A-And this continues?†“Yes. Above all the normal people are the elders and the priestesses and priests, of course.†“So... Um, how does the chain work? Is it strict?†“No. It's customary, but not necessary; suppose the father wished to be awakened before the mother. He might command his son, or even his daughter, to descend upon him first. He might decide he wished to be respected during the day by any under him; it need not be only those directly so.â€
Blushing by now, Nathan found his curiosity piqued. He'd often woven stories of such customs in writing, but this was different. “And... At bedtime, the same thing?†“Nearly,†the girl murmured. “At bedtimes, the children would respect their parents simultaneously; then swap the parent they were respecting. Then they'd respect each other at the same time – usually the only time the youngest gets to be respected – before retiring for the night.. Of course, families which aren't the normal two parents, two siblings of differing ages, work out their own ways of dealing with respect.â€
“Um... I see. And guests?†“A special case,†she murmurs. “A guest is nominally above all in the house, but below the house at the same time. A guest could demand the respect of the children without being thought unusual at all; the wife would be a little imposing, but not so much. Demanding it of the father would be... Not rude, but a greater imposition. Such a guest would have to expect to be immediately required to return the respect.â€
Nathan rocked on his heels as they walked, letting it sink in. He opened his lips to speak, but M'yena beat him to the punch, squeezing his hand and whispering, “Gods are above all, of course.â€
“I am not a god,†Nathan replied, squeezing her hand, warmly. “I'm just... Just don't worry, okay?†“O... Okay, Nathan.†“And... you were the youngest,†he asked, then winced, but she shook her head. “I act it, b-but my brother was – is younger than me... I miss him. I just know he's made better time and is already home,†she murmured, and Nathan squeezed her fingers again. “I hope so, M'yena.â€
For ten more days they traveled; M'yena steadfastly refused to consider wearing an animal skin, even after Nathan had gone out of his way to hunt down a bear and skin it for her. He wondered why this was, but she said that she couldn't bear the thought of wearing it.
On the eleventh day, he found out. They came to a canyon, sinking straight into the ground – the trees at the edges were especially large and powerful, their canopy obstructing the canyon from general view above. He took out his binoculars as she sat atop a rock over a waterfall spilling down into the canyon; the village below was very, very far away, and it was already getting on in the afternoon, but gazing down, he saw more people with the same beautiful gray skin as M'yena.
Bracing upon the rocks, he dialed the magnification up as high as it would go, and realized why she hadn't wanted to wear the bearskin; the people below were beautiful, radiantly nude or near to it. They seemed to love adorning themselves in swathes of silk and beads, but covering their genitalia or breasts (for the women) seemed to be a taboo. None that he saw wore cloaks – the most concealing thing he did see was a vibrantly colored feather headdress being worn by a woman he assumed was a priestess. Though she was phenomenally far away, he imagined the details; M'yena filled him in when he asked about it; how the supplicants would approach the priestess after she'd said her rites; how they would give her a brief bout of 'respect' before departing.
This place is like a dream, Nathan thought. It really was like a fantasy made real; he had no doubt he could walk in as welcome as glad news with M'yena having been rescued and be treated gladly; they'd probably throw him a party.
He'd almost certainly get all the 'respect' he could handle. Biting his lip, he realized that he'd never asked her one thing. “M'yeena, how old does one have to be before one starts this, um, respect ritual?†“oh. Twelve is the customary age, though sometimes parents will push a particularly beautiful child to begin earlier, or save an especially pure one for later.†“Wow... That's just... Unbelievable,†he murmured. There was no taboo here; he blushed as he realized he could almost certainly indulge in any desires he wished.
“Your people are fae-blooded, aren't they,†Nathan asked offhandedly, staring from their high, far-away vantage point, and M'yena nodded. “We are.†“Huh...†He sighed. “You want to try and get down there today?†“We can't. The path's only open in midmorning,†M'yena replied, smiling. “Here, the tide pool is a great place to relax your worries away.†She slipped from the rock into the tide pool at the head of the waterfall, smiling and gesturing him in.
Uh-oh. Nathan gulped. Though he'd traveled with her for eleven days, the girl's body had never stopped affecting him. She'd sensed this; so close to home, on familiar territory, she grew bold, slipping his boots and socks off; stuffing socks into his boots, she set them aside, and he moaned softly as she started to rub his feet. “Nathan,†she murmured, “I don't know why you've been so adamant about not touching me.†Her fingers were running with cool water as the massage started to really work out the kinks in his feet. “But... I don't dislike the thought. You saved me from those who sought to take me by force, but that's in the past, now.â€
He rolled over, sitting up with a soft groan as he stuffed his binoculars back in their pouch, staring down at her. It was so tempting – doff his duds, slide in; press her against a rock... “I'd love to... Honor you, for what you did to me.†Pulling herself from the pull, M'yena sat on the rock next to him; spreading her legs, she stroked one finger over her charcoal-gray vulva, and parted them with her index and pointer fingers. Her insides were also charcoal-gray, matching her tongue and the inside of her mouth, and Nathan felt a lump lodge in his throat as there was zero doubt left in his mind about what she was offering.
“I wouldn't mind; whether you're a God, or something greater... I'd be honored – privileged – to be taken by you. You saved me, and... You've been so kind.†She squeezed his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a deep moan, as she continued, “and I can see plainly your member agrees with my offer; strains to feel me around it.†She leaned up, kissing his cheek. “I've never... Respected someone with my petals of girlhood,†she whispered, and he whimpered softly; fucking a willing teenage virgin who was all but throwing herself at him?
Why, sweet Sol, why?! the temptation was incredible, and he gulped repeatedly. “M'yena, I... I want to -†“Then do so! Right now, take your silly cloth off and be inside me and unite with me,†the girl burst out, and Nathan whimpered again. “It's not that simple.†“Yes it -mmmh!†He silenced her with a finger to her lips, then bit his lip, leaning over. Laid his lips exploratory upon her cheek; kissed, softly.
“The sex w-would be, I'm sure,†he lied; he was sure of nothing of the sort. “It's the... Ramifications of it that are damningly complex... Believe me, M'yena, it's not that I don't want to... It's whether I should or not.â€
She didn't look terribly happy at his explanation, frowning, but he stroked her upper arm, softly. “Please... Let me think about it.†“Okay,†she murmured, quietly, slipping back into the pool. She laced her fingers with his toes. “If you change your mind; even if I'm asleep, don't hesitate. Wake me for it if you have to.â€
He almost burst into tears. Good sweet addicted Sol Invictus, she wants this as much as I do, doesn't she? Nathan scrambled to his feet, slipping back off into the woods to think; he never left eyesight of the pool, nor the range at which he could dash back at magical super-speed, Daiklaive in hand, but he did need to get away from her.
Slumping against a tree, he watched as she... Frolicked was the only word for it, though she seemed as frustrated as he was; even watched her relent and masturbate, something she'd never done before. He wanted to do so as well, watching her and doing likewise, but if he did he had the feeling it would attract her to him; and there'd be no stopping it if she came close while he was exposed. Instead, he looked to the skies, blinking away tears of frustration.
I could. As easy as that, I could just have her. Hell, her mother too, no doubt, and all her friends. And her and her people would probably love me for it! But... He groaned; even faeblooded, they'd be more or less mortal.
He was one of the Celestial Exalted. The Solar Exalted to be precise. He'd feel like he was taking advantage of her, even with no coercion or magic involved, wouldn't he?
Is it right? Wouldn't I be taking advantage of her? 'm pushing on to bigger things, dangerous things. I couldn't take her along, no way, no how. Putting aside the cynical fact that she slows me down, I'd be taking her into peril; I can protect myself, but I don't know about someone else.
He dropped his head into his hands. If I stay in Creation – oh Sol, what then? My Lunar Mate? There's got to be one out there. Maybe a non-Mate mate, or a love with another Celestial. Maybe a Solar, or a different Lunar, or something. Maybe this is all a bunch of me being neurotic...
Sobbing softly, he sighed. How. How can the decision to bang a girl be this fucking hard? After that crazy party, I swore that if another girl ever offered me so much as a chance to lick her nipples again, I'd never ever say no, but I'm seriously trying to think of good reasons to turn down a nubile, exotic, sexy little elfblood who's all but begging me to pop her cherry!
Sighing, Nathan slumped, staring at the sky, considering the options. Obviously he could; one would have to be as dumb as great Mrykul not to know that. And the thought of watching the girl's folds split around his new body's penis was tempting, ripping at him like a hook through the guts attached to a chain.
But at the same time, she was mortal. He was not. Would it be right to say yes? Wouldn't he be abusing the trust she was placing in him?
Sol, why me?! Frustrated, he sighed, staring up at the sky. Day turned to dusk, dusk turned to night, and he presently found M'yena slid up close to him; head on his shoulder, arm around his waist. He didn't even remember her cuddling up, but he curled his arm around her in return.
You're so real; not a figment of my imagination. How could you not be; you're flesh and bone and beautiful skin and essence. You've got pointy ears, white hair, red eyes, and you're all but begging me to make love to you... Hah, make love. More like awkwardly ruin your first time... He sighed, caressing her slender feet with his, and she stirred slightly, caressing back. It was incredible, and he entertained the thought of her slim, delicate feet around his shaft, stroking, while he kissed her... Moaning quietly, he discontinued that thread of thought, eyes closed, hoping he'd be clearer on what he should do come morning.
=====
Out of curiosity, what do you gentleguys/gals/hermaphrodites/agendered/non-standard genders/things think of his plight and predicament? Of his line of reasoning - of his future course of action?
Compassion... Ahh, compassion.
It's funny, Nathan thought to himself, staring at the sky through the hole in the tent, just how when you have almost nothing,the tiniest thing is a big damn deal. Of course, he had gone and killed a pretty big fucking Orangutang by his onesies – and it hadn't been an easy fight, certainly. But chances were if he went north he'd find a place where they had cloaks he could have traded for.
I'm probably being greedy. Or maybe I just don't want to leave. He thought about that for a moment; Let's see... Gigantic camp full of men and boys who see me as some kind of desirable conquering hero, the only woman has tits that someone judiciously applied fucking napalm to in an act that would be considered a crime against humanity where I'm from, and I'm sleeping in a fucking teepee like my Native American ancestors did. This. blows.
While it was true, Nathan was only 1/16th Native American – hardly any whatsoever, and he'd always loathed the outdoors. Without the Wilderness Stone he had no doubt he'd have been screwed long, long ago.
Sitting up, Nathan looked at the guttering flame in the middle of the tent, and prodded it with a stick, stirring it up and bringing the flame up, brighter. Plucking a few pieces of wood from his dwindling stockpile, he stripped the bark off with his knife and set it up to burn more brightly. It was closing on dawn, and he sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest.
What am I doing here, he complainingly thought to himself. Am I really so fucking vain I'm going to wait for them to make a goddamned cloak out of an ape's skin for me?.. But it's preparedness, isn't it? He sighed, disgusted at how he was being disingenuous to himself; while he would need a cloak, he would most certainly have been able to find better winter clothes as he approached the North.
This sucks, man, he grumbled. He hated making decisions. I wish I had a coin to flip... He sighed, and slumped down to his side, shifting his body so as not to push the sack of red jade bits into his hip.
Wait...
Pulling out the sack, he sat with his legs spread, feet together, and poured the jade out on the skin he'd been sleeping on. “Ah!†He snatched up the Red Jade Obol that had spilled out with the bits – only one, but one was enough.
“Perfect!†Scooping his bits back into the sack, he looked at the Obol. He was in luck, and grinned to himself. I'm about 1/16th Irishman as well. Time for the Irish way of settling this.
It was something he'd read a long time ago in a good, good book; two characters, an actual Irishman who'd been born in the streets of Dublin and had made himself the richest man ever, and the police detective who was his wife's former trainer and was himself descended from Irish immigrants to New York, were trying to decide who gave his wife (and the current lead investigator on the project they were both working on) the bad news.
Roarke had suggested they solve things the Irish Way; the detective had asked if he'd meant drinking, or fighting, but Roarke had cited the third Irish way of settling disputes; gambling. It had served Nathan better ever since, mostly for minor things like trying to decide what to eat at a restaurant.
But since he was caught between two conflicting parts of his personality now, he figured he'd let the coin decide if he should stay and wait for the cloak, feeding greed and/or vanity, or go ahead and leave now, hurrying up to try and catch up with people who didn't even know he existed, but were his only hope.
As he thought about that, he grinned; “Help me Misho-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.†Breaking into a chuckling fit, he slumped forward, now unable to get the image of Misho in Obi-Wan Kenobi's outfit out of his head.
When he finally overcame his laughter, he looked at the Obol. It featured an image of a woman entering a doorway; the obverse had some kind of glyph on it, but he couldn't read it. Looking back, he pursed his lips. Wait... I bet that's the Scarlet Empress – perhaps... Oh yeah. He nodded; he wasn't entirely sure, but he thought it might have commemorated the founding of the Realm. It was very old; how it had come into his possession, he had no idea. And aren't Obols supposed to be green? Eh. He shrugged, and decided to designate the image as heads, with the glyph as tails. “Bitch I stay, tails I go.â€
Nathan flipped the coin, inelegantly. It bounced off the tent's wall, and landed between his legs, skittering under a thigh. Reaching under, he pulled it out, careful to preserve the side which had faced upwards.
The glyph was staring back up at him, and he nodded. “Right. Fuck the cloak. I don't need it, it'll weigh me down, anyway.†With a yawn, he flopped back, putting the Obol in his pouch again.
I'll just rest until the middle of morning, get some breakfast and bid them adieu. Maybe take some rations or something with me. Yawning, he curled himself back up, and sighed. I really wish I had some music, or something... He sighed; maybe he should search for a first-age music recording device. They are indestructible, after all.
Grinning, he laid back, staring up into the sky through the hole in his tent, letting the time wash over him. The medicine woman had mentioned that the rains were probably not going to come again for a few more weeks; suited him just fine. Good time to be marching, really.
“Do I stay, or do I go... Go, yeah, go,†Nathan muttered to himself. He took the knife he'd been given from his belt, giving it a toss into the air and catching it by the blade. It was about ten inches long, with a hook-billed tip like that of a bowie knife. Down the back side after the hook-bill, it was serrated, and it had a large cross-guard, but little pommel to speak of.
He had no way of telling how old it was. The chieftain who had given it to him said he'd taken it from a man he killed, so there was no investigating it that way. Nathan toyed with the idea of trying to awaken and interrogate the knife's Little God, but he had no idea how to do so; and it was a knife in any event. It'd be nice for getting along in the woods, but if he got into a serious fight – which, to his way of mind, was any fight – he'd just use his Grand Daiklaive anyway.
He was starting to get hungry – which meant breakfast time, and then time to leave, when he heard it. A shriek; a distinctly female shriek, pierced the quiet of the morning. It was an unusual sound, to say the least; but a sound that made his blood run cold. Had something happened to the medicine woman? Bitter an hideous as she was, he certainly didn't want anything bad to happen to her. Rolling and climbing to his feet, Nathan pelted out of the tent, but he wasn't alone; the men of the camp were also surging from their tents.
No. That shriek – someone's in trouble. He could hear the shrieks continuing, the sounds as if someone being restrained were struggling, and he heard a female voice – not the medicine woman, a girl – shrieking to be let go.
His blood running red, Nathan bellowed “Let me through!†as the crowd surged for the middle of the camp, and he bodily shoved through, pushing the men in front of him him out of his way.
This didn't seem to be abnormal behavior – everyone was shoving and pushing to get close, but Nathan thought he detected an undercurrent of excitement, anticipation, not the red dread hotly churning in his guts, bringing his blood to a nervous boil.
“Yaaah!†getting close to the front of the crowd, the pressure began to build, and Nathan simply shoved two men to the ground to get past them to see what was going on. What he saw felt like a punch to the gut.
They'd caught a girl. A very exotic girl.
Her arms tied behind the small of her back, she was struggling to get away from the two men holding tightly to her forearms. She was exotic, no doubt; her skin was a light gray that shimmered, with long, pointed ears. Her hair was a cascading shade of dirty-white with blood-red bangs hanging over the right side of her face, and vicious red markings on her left cheek. Her eyes were brilliant crimson in a sea of white; tiny, delicate nose with a silver stud through it, and a small, delicate mouth. There wasn't a shred of cloth on her, and she was in good shape, if obviously distressed at having apparently been taken prisoner.
“Look what we caught,†the warrior Nathan had designated Silver – his real name having been Maktal – shouted, holding his spear up high. The girl shrieked, “Let me go!†as the men of the camp cheered.
“What the fuck is going on here,†he found himself shouting, advancing on the two tribesmen holding the girl. “What in the holy hell do you think you're doing with that girl?!†Maktal blinked at him; after he'd killed Myrkul, the silver-tattooed warrior had backed off on his belligerence, but they were hardly friends.
“We've caught a woman,†he said, as if it weren't patently obvious. “Don't worry, you'll get a turn close to the front, too.â€
“A – A turn,†he incredulously repeated. This was a nightmare – certainly in the past he'd explored dark fantasies of forced sex via writing, reading, and pornography, but...
There was a shrieking, kicking, live, terrified, flesh-and-blood girl there, and they were proposing to gang-rape her?
“Are you out of your minds,†he exploded, darting forward. He didn't see it coming; the fist that connected with his jaw sent him sprawling, stars exploding behind his eyes for a moment. When he looked up, Maktal was crunching his knuckles. “My father favors you, stranger,†he spit, it landing between Nathan's legs on the ground. “But I do not. I caught her, not you; I'm not giving you my first turn because you killed that big ape that ate my little brother ten summers ago.â€
Sweet sol, is he serious? Did he think I was challenging him for the right to rape her first? Nathan grit his teeth; the girl shrieked when the man holding her by the other arm groped her breast, roughly.
“I'm not going to rape this girl,†Nathan growled. There was no question in his mind; he'd always been protective of females, and this one was no different. “And neither are you!â€
He'd been attempting a poetic strike, a kick to the groin, but Maktal was a better brawler than that; or maybe Nathan had simply telegraphed it far too obviously. Bracing on his elbows before kicking had been a bad idea; the silver-tattooed warrior danced back out of the way, and Nathan kicked air.
“What do you think you're doing,†Nathan heard from behind him; the chieftain had arrived, behind him; he felt himself seized roughly by the old man's hands, hauled to his feet. “We take you into our camp; we feed you, treat your wounds like one of us, and my son offers to share a prize with you and you attack him?â€
The old man's fist was no less gentle than his son's, but this time Nathan (somehow) managed to roll to the side, pushing the fist away from impact with his gut. He needed a weapon in his hands – he was useless in a brawl, and he knew it.
But he didn't want to pull out his Grand Daiklaive on these people. For one thing, he didn't want to risk being tracked down by the Hunt; on the other, he didn't want to risk having to chop any of them in half. It had been one thing to attack animals, but he hadn't had any stomach for killing the spirit dog, once he'd gotten his momentary rush of bloodlust under control.
His hand found the knife, and he slithered it out of his scabbard, shoving the old man back roughly. “Get out of my face, old man,†he growled, and spun, running towards the girl. “Just hold on,†he admonished; the fear on her face gave way to surprise, perhaps not having expected someone to speak her language. He sensed, more than saw, the spear coming at him from the side; lashing out with the knife, he caught it behind the head, deflecting it from his body, and grabbing it just behind the tip, his heavy leather gloves sinking in with good grip. He saw that Maktal had made the lunge; he was overextended. It would be the easiest thing in the world to plunge the knife into the silver-tattooed warrior's chest; straight through the sternum, he knew this body he was in had the power to do it.
He hesitated, locking eyes with Maktal. “I will not let you bastards hurt this girl,†he growled. “Back off.†Glowering, he tried to draw upon the spectre of intimidation itself; “Don't make me destroy you!†he followed up.
More and more of the men had armed themselves. Oh damn. This isn't good. His nervousness at being surrounded was clear, and Maktal smirked. “No stomach for killing men?†He yanked his spear back, sneering at Nathan. “Too bad. I have. I've wanted to do this for some time.â€
To hell with this shit. The spear coming at him was almost too easy to block, but this time he decided to go further with his intimidation; willing power through the knife, the blade took on a golden sheen as he raised the knife to meet the spear's thrust.
He'd already decided that the only way out of this was to intimidate his way out – no bluff was going to do it, and he didn't like his prospects of fighting out, even with a Grand Daiklaive in his hands. He might have been able to evade and escape, but the girl wouldn't have been.
Meeting the spear with his knife, a golden sword flashed through the air as two more men thrust their spears at him. Guided by magic itself, Nathan's knife found Maktal's spear, deflecting it high, while the ghostly golden figure of an armored Knight lopped the head off of one spear, shattering the second on it's shield.
Screams started to go up, the young Exalt seeing the golden fire burning around him as the totemic image that had come to his rescue vanished. He'd burnt a lot of Essence doing that; and wasn't honestly sure how he'd pulled it off (though he suspected it was a stunt and was profoundly sad he'd wasted it on these clowns,) but it'd had the desired effect.
The men who had been crushing in to see him now turned to flee; of them, the only ones with the stones remaining to face him were Maktal and his father, the Chieftain.
“And I've wanted to do that for some time,†Nathan replied, glowering at Maktal; who was, in all fairness, staring back in wide-eyed horror, the strong warrior's knees shaking. Guess the Caste ability is good for something, after all.
“You picked this battle, Maktal. You and the rest of your... Tribe. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't want to say anything; but now I think I shall.†Nathan felt his guts going cold; he was running on pure nerve here, he had to keep from running out. He flicked his left hand out and willed force through it, remembered the feeling of his Daiklaive appearing, and the massive sword flipped through the air, landing with a solid smashing thud in the ground, behind him, close to the girl.
Walking carefully backwards to the sword, Nathan sheathed his knife. “Trust me,†he whispered to the girl, taking her bound arms and running the rope down the blade of the sword, embedded in the ground. Fibers and hairs parted easily; like the Black Sea before the eponymous prophet, and the girl pulled her hands free. “We're going to leave. Keep the damn ape's skin.†Pulling his sword free, Nathan pointed the tip straight at Maktal's throat. “But remember that my compassion has limits. If I ever hear of you trying to rape another woman again, I'll come back. You do not want to see me again.â€
It worked; thank Sol, it worked! The warrior fell to his knees, spear dropping from his grasp, as if willing to accept execution if such was hit fate. Nathan simply put his sword over his back, stuffed his glove in his pocket and took the girl's hand; hers was weak from her struggle, and he led her carefully away. People were staring from the insides of tents and behind them, but a quick glare sent them scurrying for cover; he noticed, with some strange fascination, that objects around him were starting to bleach white; tents lost their distinctive rawhide color, the packed earth beneath the main travel corridors into and out of the camp was turning from brown to alabaster, and the stones and logs took on the look as if they'd been carved of ivory.
Even the hair of the girl he'd rescued was lightening; her dirty gray hair turning to brilliant snow, the red streaks in front becoming as vividly, violently red as the ferocious red markings on her cheek. She stumbled, he knelt to catch her. “Shhh. You're okay; I've got you.†She trembled, and he tugged off his other glove; stuffing it into his pocket, he carefully lifted her – sweet Sol, she feels light! and she wrapped her arms around his neck, whimpering softly.
Before, Nathan had marched; now he jogged as fast as he dared with the precious cargo trembling in his arms. Of course, though by now he was no longer thinking in the vein of a world-class hero (and more along the lines of a scared young man who's just gotten away with more than he ought to have,) the jogging rate of one of the Chosen of the Dawn, equipped with a Gemstone of Perfect Mobility, was greater than most mortal runner's best flat-out dash. He held the girl in tight to himself; burst of emergency badassery over, Nathan was now in “run like you stole something†mode, tearing up the ground in a generally northwesterly direction, cradling the girl tightly against himself as she shivered, her head buried in his shoulder.
In the end, he did not know how far he had run; only that he had run far farther than the men of that village could have chased him down, even if they'd run all day and night. It was lurking in the corner of his mind that chasing him was the last thing any remotely sane mortal would want to do. (Of course, picking a fight with one of the Chosen of the Dawn over a matter of a stolen woman would be exactly the sort of thing that Exalts someone as a Chosen of the Dawn, so there was that to consider, too.)
Regardless, he was in a state of cold fear; fear of pursuit. Fear for the girl. Finally, he'd been able to stop in a nice, broad clearing devoid of any threats, and set her down. He had to admit – she was stunning. She looked about sixteen or so to his eyes – curvy, with soft, blossoming breasts atop her shivering chest, a delicate vulva she barely tried to hide between trembling legs as she sat down, looking to be on the verge of tears, which had come and gone throughout their run.
“Are you okay,†he whispered, kneeling down to look into her eyes. The red-irised orbs without pupils stared back, large and shimmering, and she nodded, gasping out, “Y-y-y-you speak my language?†“No, I have a...†He cut himself off, biting his lip. “I have magic that lets me understand and speak any language,†he settled on, and she bit her lip.Awk-waaaaard. I don't know what they did to her or anything.
He settled again on asking “Do you have a name?†The trembling girl nodded, and he smiled, trying to keep his eyes on hers, and not let them drift down. “I'm Nathan. May I know your name?†Trembling, she nodded. “M-M'yena,†she stuttered out, and he nodded. “M'yena,†he said, hoping he hadn't slaughtered the pronounciation, “I'm going to keep you safe, okay?â€
Her big red eyes blinked once, and she nodded, slowly. “Y-You stopped them fr-from taking me,†she said, and he nodded. “Yes. They wanted to hurt you. I wouldn't let that happen.†Gulping, she nodded, curling into herself, “Thank you,†she whispered, closing her eyes.
Nighttime was hungry; he was afraid to leave her alone, as the sun was rapidly setting and M'yena was afraid to be left alone or to go out with him. He couldn't blame her, so he simply built a fire, and sat close to her.
This was a problem. He didn't want to leave her nude; but his clothes wouldn't really fit her, anyway. He thought he'd compromise and give her his shirt, but she shook her head, rejecting it silently. Nathan wanted to know why she'd turned it down, but decided it was better not to ask, and laid back, sighing.
The girl was trembling, and he didn't know what to do. He wanted to comfort her so badly, but he had no blankets, to curl around her, no bedspread to lay her upon. All he had was himself, and he sighed. She was so attractive; he'd been fighting not to get wood all day, but watching her sit there, curled in on herself, stirring the fire with a stick stirred something within him that he'd wanted to keep locked tightly away.
No. Can that noise, now, he sharply told herself. He had, after all, rescued her from being raped. It wouldn't be right in any way, shape, or form to impose upon her.
Even though he desperately wanted it.
Gulping, Nathan sighed, laying his head on his arms, staring at the sky. Though she was now out of his field of view, her nude form was indelibly etched in his minds' eye, just like that of the rare few other girls he'd had the chance to see nude in the past.
He was still a virgin, and that ate at him. He didn't like it; he wanted to have sex, to touch a girl. To push himself inside her.
And this one here... It would be so easy; after he'd saved her like that, she might not even object. She certainly wouldn't fight him if he suggested it; he could lay her back, have his way with her... He'd always wanted to have a teenaged girl, but never had when he was a teenager, and (on Earth at least) it was too late. Here?
Things were different. And that was the problem; it would be so easy. But then, hadn't that been what he'd objected to about what Maktal and the others were going to do?
Even if she says yes, how could she be saying yes for real. She saw what I did back there; she'd be an idiot to say no, either out of fear or hero-worship.
Sighing, Nathan looked over; she was looking into the fire, her eyes away from him. I suppose... Looking won't hurt. He did, letting his eyes drink in her young, slender form, the delicious-looking breast in profile, her hips. Refraining from an erection was a lost cause by now, and it strained painfully against his pants, making him curl one leg over the other to try and control it.
“Shhh,†he whispered softly, raising his hand to stroke the M'yena's back, between her shoulder blades, as she let out a quiet sound of fear. “I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you.†He'd have said it no matter what; now he had the power to enforce it. M'yena trembled for a moment at the touch, then slid over.
She rolled on top of him, making him acutely aware of three things:
1: that he had forgotten to put his shirt back on.
2: Oh wow, boobs!
3: M'yena was light. Not that she was small, no, she was maybe a head shorter than he, and he knew this body was much taller than his original. She was however, light; supernaturally light. Perhaps forty pounds?
4: Boobs. Pressing into his chest; soft, squishable, squeezable boobs.
That was four things, but he didn't care to tabulate again. His mind was kind of paralyzed by the feel of breasts pressing into his chest, and he gulped, curling his arms around her, carefully squeezing her.
I'm not going to get any sleep tonight, am I?, he bemoaned. The girl's weakness, the plight he' found her in, had triggered every protective instinct in him, but now that instinct went to war; his lust was leading a charge consisting of an army of Tiger Warriors and Space Marines with Dragon-Blooded Commisars for unit officers at his need to protect and safeguard.
At least, that was how he envisioned it, and daydreaming about a silly war within him was a good way to take his mind off how good her nude form felt against him, how he could feel the outline of her hardened nipples in his chest.
Surprising even him, sleep did come, over him much later than her. He had a lucid dream even; then he realized to his dismay he wasn't alone within it. He found himself laying in a vast crystalline forest, the pale-gray skinned girl on top of him, sleeping fitfully – as he'd fallen asleep in Creation – but this time he had Lord Jay's bitch leaning over him from above his head.
“Why don't you,†Lord Jay's assistant – he decided to call her Little Jay – asked, and Nathan scowled. “Because she's a hurt, innocent girl.†“So?†The fae turned her head. “You've been a good hero so far – generous, even, in going out and 'earning your keep' instead of taking it by your divine right. You fought off a hostile spirit and let it live as it was only doing it's job, and you conquered a mighty beast of the woods... Why not the nubile girl of the woods?â€
“Becau -... Because,†Nathan said, sighing. There was really no point in trying to explain compassion and delicateness and softness to a faerie, was there? “Because I'm not like that.â€
“Your mind says that.. The rest of you disagrees,†Little Jay observed. She plunged her hand through M'yena's phantom form – literally through it, and through his trousers as well; Nathan gasped sharply as he felt her cold fingers wrap around his member, which (in the dream, at least) was fully erect. His eyes slid up from her head; her breasts were bare, as usual, and she was standing over his head. He didn't know how, but he could see up the inside of her sarong; her legs were spread, and her vulva seemed to be pouting, as if ready – or everready – for sex.
Nathan gulped. “You could have her, so, so easily. Why don't you? I know your mind is a virgin – even if the body so generously provided to you by my Lord Jay was not. You could use this insignificant female; use her to teach yourself to take a woman, and so what if you make mistakes? She'll never amount to anything; much better to make mistakes now, in her, than later, say, if you got the chance to touch someone... More important. A fox-tailed Chosen of Luna, perhaps... Or a tragic, tiny figure with a heart of gold being choked by blackest soot.â€
Nathan grit his teeth; “S-Stop it,†he said, “G-Get out of my head!†“No. You'll have to bar me from entry if you want me out,†Little Jay said, kneeling down. She started to stroke, and Nathan gasped as he saw her hand vanishing through M'yena's back, rubbing his shaft, slowly. “Hell, you could do it now, in this dream. I could prevent her from waking, even; she'd never know.â€
Nathan winced. “You linked her to this dream? Fuck you, whore.†“We could do that, if you want,†Little Jay offered, sliding her sarong down to her knees; her free hand reached between her thighs, stroking herself invitingly. “Taking the whore over the innocent? A strange choice for one of the Chosen, but... Interesting story, nontheless,†she murmured, and squeezed.
Feeling his knees tremble, Nathan grit his teeth. Don't trust a faerie. Don't trust a faerie. Don't trust a faerie! Little Jay giggled. “Oh, I assure you, you absolutely can't trust me,†she said with a wicked grin, “but then, you can't trust yourself not to trust me, either, can you?†Licking her lips, she smiled. “But, I swear to you, you can indulge yourself with me like this without fear of anything negative befalling you or anyone else. I'll swear the full recital, if it would make you feel better?â€
Nathan cut off the instinctive urge to reject her proposal out of hand. He knew if she swore it properly, she was bound to it – and if she did the full recital, she'd be bound to it properly. And... Her hand really felt good; shivers were running up and down his stomach from the feeling, his lips trembling. He could just grab her and push her down, and...
“Nnnno.†Nathan summoned up the fortitude to reach out, pulling Little Jay's hand away from him. “No, I don't think so. G-Get lost.†“But, you -†“Out. Now!†He didn't know if he could 'kill' her in this dream state... But he did know that if she didn't vamoose, he was damned well going to try.
That sent her packing, with a “Hmmmph,†and Nathan found his lucid dream evaporating.
Upon waking, Nathan became cognizant of the first fact of the day; that he felt like hell; worse than he had any night since getting here. This, he imagined, was the psychic backlash of Little Jay deciding to fuck with his mind when he wouldn't play ball with her.
He had to get out from under those damn faerie's thumbs. That shouldn't be hard, if he could find Misho; if the boy had a berserk button other than “threatening innocents,†it was “being a faerie.â€
The second thing he learned awareness of was his stiff penis, in a pair of tender female hands, being hesitantly stroked. His eyes flew open, about to lambaste Little Jay (and possibly lay into her with his Grand Daiklaive – the Oricalcum surfboard one, not the one already in her hands) when he realized it wasn't Little Jay at all, but M'yena, who was staring at his shaft with what he could only describe as “shock and awe.â€
Why won't my goddamned trouser snake stay in my Soldamned pants, Nathan thought sarcastically as M'yena jumped away as though the turgid rod in question had suddenly sprouted fire-spitting flowers. “What are you doing, M'yena?!â€
In retrospect, he'd intended it to be a question, but possibly thanks to – probably thanks to – definitely thanks to last night's dream intrusion by Little Jay, it came out more as a snap, and the girl gasped. She fell over herself to apologize at once, “I-I'm sorry, mighty one, please do not be angry! I-I thought to respect you in th-the way of my people!â€
“The – wha?†He blinked, and the girl's gray cheeks blushed to a deep charcoal color. “I-I have offended you,†she said, gulping and raising her head. “I-If I have o-offended you t-too much, you m-may -†“Can that,†Nathan said, strongly, reaching up and taking her hands. “I will never hurt you, M'yena. I-I'm not offended, y-you just... You surprised me. It scared me,†he admitted, gulping. Her hands were so small in his, he rubbed them, and she leaned in, trembling in his grasp.
“You're safe with me, M'yena. Please don't be afraid of me,†he whispered, staring into her red eyes, and she gulped, nodding, slowly; still intimated, but trying to believe, he imagined. Slowly, Nathan got up, and pulled his trousers back up, then pulled his shirt on. M'yena slid up next to him, almost hiding in his shadow, and they set off again; he'd have to remember to hunt during the day this time.
He hadn't a clue where he was going, but M'yena wasn't objecting, so he imagined he was going in the right direction – that, or she wasn't going to object or leave her rescuer and current provider, even if he was taking her in the wrong direction. He hoped it wasn't that, so he asked. “No, my people should be this way. I... I was wandering from them, I got lost. My brother was with me, but those men who grabbed me...†She cringed, and Nathan instinctively wrapped his arms around her. “They... T-They used him, there... Beat him and stabbed him with their spears and left him for dead when they were done with him, Nathan,†she whispered, using his name for the first time.
Nathan felt his blood boil. Now he deeply wished he had cut Maktal down like the swine he was. He looked back over his shoulder, briefly entertaining the thought of going back to finish him, but rejected it. I can learn Stormwind Rider from someone and make it a much shorter trip, he rationalized to himself as he hugged M'yena tightly. “H-He was the tracker, not me,†the teenaged girl continued, hugging him tightly. “H-He might have survived. My brother was – is – tough, strong, resilient. I-I know he could have survived, if an animal didn't get to him, i-if he didn't bleed too badly.â€
Nathan chose to say nothing on that topic. He wanted desperately to offer the girl false hope, but the odds were so long a Corellian wouldn't have made book on them. Instead he whispered “it'll be okay,†and stroked her bleached-white hair, and she looked mollified somewhat.
“Not to change the subject or anything,†Nathan led, lying through his teeth, “but earlier you mentioned something about 'respecting you in the way of your people'... That was when you were stroking me while I was asleep. What was that about?â€
Smooth move, ex-lax. Get her off her brother's potential death and back onto the time she molested you. Mentally wishing to clobber himself, he resolved to find the time to ask someone to teach him how to be good at the whole “comforting people†thing.
“O-Oh.†M'yena blinked; she hadn't fallen to tears, though she'd hiccuped a few times. Now she had something to explain. “I-It is the way of my people t-that the below will respect those above them.†“I don't think I follow,†Nathan said, though he thought he really did. “Can you explain it?â€
“Um... Well,†M'yena slowly started, “we, um... We show such respect normally twice a day – upon waking and before sleep – though one above can demand it at any time from one below.†“And this respect is... What, masturbating someone?†“T-That was a prelude. Th-The respect happens with the mouth most often; sometimes, on rare occasions, respect is open-bodied sex. Um... S-Say you have a family of four, a mother, a father, a son and a daughter; the son was born before the daughter.â€
“Right... Go on...†“Well, the father would be above all, unless the household was unusual – but that's not unheard of. So, the daughter, being the youngest, is below all of them; she would awaken first, and go to her brother's bedside. She would roll down his blankets and bring him to hardness with her hands, then descend upon his boyhood with her mouth and... Suckle upon him until he released his boyseed into her lips. Then he would go to their parents' bed, spread his mother's legs, and plow her furrows with his tongue until the honey of her release lay upon his lips. Then the mother would awaken the father the same way the daughter awoke her brother.â€
Yep. I was right. The girl's frank description of casual incest left him hard, though he tried not to show it. “A-And this continues?†“Yes. Above all the normal people are the elders and the priestesses and priests, of course.†“So... Um, how does the chain work? Is it strict?†“No. It's customary, but not necessary; suppose the father wished to be awakened before the mother. He might command his son, or even his daughter, to descend upon him first. He might decide he wished to be respected during the day by any under him; it need not be only those directly so.â€
Blushing by now, Nathan found his curiosity piqued. He'd often woven stories of such customs in writing, but this was different. “And... At bedtime, the same thing?†“Nearly,†the girl murmured. “At bedtimes, the children would respect their parents simultaneously; then swap the parent they were respecting. Then they'd respect each other at the same time – usually the only time the youngest gets to be respected – before retiring for the night.. Of course, families which aren't the normal two parents, two siblings of differing ages, work out their own ways of dealing with respect.â€
“Um... I see. And guests?†“A special case,†she murmurs. “A guest is nominally above all in the house, but below the house at the same time. A guest could demand the respect of the children without being thought unusual at all; the wife would be a little imposing, but not so much. Demanding it of the father would be... Not rude, but a greater imposition. Such a guest would have to expect to be immediately required to return the respect.â€
Nathan rocked on his heels as they walked, letting it sink in. He opened his lips to speak, but M'yena beat him to the punch, squeezing his hand and whispering, “Gods are above all, of course.â€
“I am not a god,†Nathan replied, squeezing her hand, warmly. “I'm just... Just don't worry, okay?†“O... Okay, Nathan.†“And... you were the youngest,†he asked, then winced, but she shook her head. “I act it, b-but my brother was – is younger than me... I miss him. I just know he's made better time and is already home,†she murmured, and Nathan squeezed her fingers again. “I hope so, M'yena.â€
For ten more days they traveled; M'yena steadfastly refused to consider wearing an animal skin, even after Nathan had gone out of his way to hunt down a bear and skin it for her. He wondered why this was, but she said that she couldn't bear the thought of wearing it.
On the eleventh day, he found out. They came to a canyon, sinking straight into the ground – the trees at the edges were especially large and powerful, their canopy obstructing the canyon from general view above. He took out his binoculars as she sat atop a rock over a waterfall spilling down into the canyon; the village below was very, very far away, and it was already getting on in the afternoon, but gazing down, he saw more people with the same beautiful gray skin as M'yena.
Bracing upon the rocks, he dialed the magnification up as high as it would go, and realized why she hadn't wanted to wear the bearskin; the people below were beautiful, radiantly nude or near to it. They seemed to love adorning themselves in swathes of silk and beads, but covering their genitalia or breasts (for the women) seemed to be a taboo. None that he saw wore cloaks – the most concealing thing he did see was a vibrantly colored feather headdress being worn by a woman he assumed was a priestess. Though she was phenomenally far away, he imagined the details; M'yena filled him in when he asked about it; how the supplicants would approach the priestess after she'd said her rites; how they would give her a brief bout of 'respect' before departing.
This place is like a dream, Nathan thought. It really was like a fantasy made real; he had no doubt he could walk in as welcome as glad news with M'yena having been rescued and be treated gladly; they'd probably throw him a party.
He'd almost certainly get all the 'respect' he could handle. Biting his lip, he realized that he'd never asked her one thing. “M'yeena, how old does one have to be before one starts this, um, respect ritual?†“oh. Twelve is the customary age, though sometimes parents will push a particularly beautiful child to begin earlier, or save an especially pure one for later.†“Wow... That's just... Unbelievable,†he murmured. There was no taboo here; he blushed as he realized he could almost certainly indulge in any desires he wished.
“Your people are fae-blooded, aren't they,†Nathan asked offhandedly, staring from their high, far-away vantage point, and M'yena nodded. “We are.†“Huh...†He sighed. “You want to try and get down there today?†“We can't. The path's only open in midmorning,†M'yena replied, smiling. “Here, the tide pool is a great place to relax your worries away.†She slipped from the rock into the tide pool at the head of the waterfall, smiling and gesturing him in.
Uh-oh. Nathan gulped. Though he'd traveled with her for eleven days, the girl's body had never stopped affecting him. She'd sensed this; so close to home, on familiar territory, she grew bold, slipping his boots and socks off; stuffing socks into his boots, she set them aside, and he moaned softly as she started to rub his feet. “Nathan,†she murmured, “I don't know why you've been so adamant about not touching me.†Her fingers were running with cool water as the massage started to really work out the kinks in his feet. “But... I don't dislike the thought. You saved me from those who sought to take me by force, but that's in the past, now.â€
He rolled over, sitting up with a soft groan as he stuffed his binoculars back in their pouch, staring down at her. It was so tempting – doff his duds, slide in; press her against a rock... “I'd love to... Honor you, for what you did to me.†Pulling herself from the pull, M'yena sat on the rock next to him; spreading her legs, she stroked one finger over her charcoal-gray vulva, and parted them with her index and pointer fingers. Her insides were also charcoal-gray, matching her tongue and the inside of her mouth, and Nathan felt a lump lodge in his throat as there was zero doubt left in his mind about what she was offering.
“I wouldn't mind; whether you're a God, or something greater... I'd be honored – privileged – to be taken by you. You saved me, and... You've been so kind.†She squeezed his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a deep moan, as she continued, “and I can see plainly your member agrees with my offer; strains to feel me around it.†She leaned up, kissing his cheek. “I've never... Respected someone with my petals of girlhood,†she whispered, and he whimpered softly; fucking a willing teenage virgin who was all but throwing herself at him?
Why, sweet Sol, why?! the temptation was incredible, and he gulped repeatedly. “M'yena, I... I want to -†“Then do so! Right now, take your silly cloth off and be inside me and unite with me,†the girl burst out, and Nathan whimpered again. “It's not that simple.†“Yes it -mmmh!†He silenced her with a finger to her lips, then bit his lip, leaning over. Laid his lips exploratory upon her cheek; kissed, softly.
“The sex w-would be, I'm sure,†he lied; he was sure of nothing of the sort. “It's the... Ramifications of it that are damningly complex... Believe me, M'yena, it's not that I don't want to... It's whether I should or not.â€
She didn't look terribly happy at his explanation, frowning, but he stroked her upper arm, softly. “Please... Let me think about it.†“Okay,†she murmured, quietly, slipping back into the pool. She laced her fingers with his toes. “If you change your mind; even if I'm asleep, don't hesitate. Wake me for it if you have to.â€
He almost burst into tears. Good sweet addicted Sol Invictus, she wants this as much as I do, doesn't she? Nathan scrambled to his feet, slipping back off into the woods to think; he never left eyesight of the pool, nor the range at which he could dash back at magical super-speed, Daiklaive in hand, but he did need to get away from her.
Slumping against a tree, he watched as she... Frolicked was the only word for it, though she seemed as frustrated as he was; even watched her relent and masturbate, something she'd never done before. He wanted to do so as well, watching her and doing likewise, but if he did he had the feeling it would attract her to him; and there'd be no stopping it if she came close while he was exposed. Instead, he looked to the skies, blinking away tears of frustration.
I could. As easy as that, I could just have her. Hell, her mother too, no doubt, and all her friends. And her and her people would probably love me for it! But... He groaned; even faeblooded, they'd be more or less mortal.
He was one of the Celestial Exalted. The Solar Exalted to be precise. He'd feel like he was taking advantage of her, even with no coercion or magic involved, wouldn't he?
Is it right? Wouldn't I be taking advantage of her? 'm pushing on to bigger things, dangerous things. I couldn't take her along, no way, no how. Putting aside the cynical fact that she slows me down, I'd be taking her into peril; I can protect myself, but I don't know about someone else.
He dropped his head into his hands. If I stay in Creation – oh Sol, what then? My Lunar Mate? There's got to be one out there. Maybe a non-Mate mate, or a love with another Celestial. Maybe a Solar, or a different Lunar, or something. Maybe this is all a bunch of me being neurotic...
Sobbing softly, he sighed. How. How can the decision to bang a girl be this fucking hard? After that crazy party, I swore that if another girl ever offered me so much as a chance to lick her nipples again, I'd never ever say no, but I'm seriously trying to think of good reasons to turn down a nubile, exotic, sexy little elfblood who's all but begging me to pop her cherry!
Sighing, Nathan slumped, staring at the sky, considering the options. Obviously he could; one would have to be as dumb as great Mrykul not to know that. And the thought of watching the girl's folds split around his new body's penis was tempting, ripping at him like a hook through the guts attached to a chain.
But at the same time, she was mortal. He was not. Would it be right to say yes? Wouldn't he be abusing the trust she was placing in him?
Sol, why me?! Frustrated, he sighed, staring up at the sky. Day turned to dusk, dusk turned to night, and he presently found M'yena slid up close to him; head on his shoulder, arm around his waist. He didn't even remember her cuddling up, but he curled his arm around her in return.
You're so real; not a figment of my imagination. How could you not be; you're flesh and bone and beautiful skin and essence. You've got pointy ears, white hair, red eyes, and you're all but begging me to make love to you... Hah, make love. More like awkwardly ruin your first time... He sighed, caressing her slender feet with his, and she stirred slightly, caressing back. It was incredible, and he entertained the thought of her slim, delicate feet around his shaft, stroking, while he kissed her... Moaning quietly, he discontinued that thread of thought, eyes closed, hoping he'd be clearer on what he should do come morning.
=====
Out of curiosity, what do you gentleguys/gals/hermaphrodites/agendered/non-standard genders/things think of his plight and predicament? Of his line of reasoning - of his future course of action?
...I voted for option four, but I'm actually enjoying this quite a bit so far. The "ordinary person gets dragged from real life into fantasy" plot seems to have a bad reputation as being overused and often badly written, but this is rather good, and, really, who hasn't wondered what it would be like to be an Exalt?
On the subject of the OpenRPG game, I'm definitely in if I can make it.
On the subject of the OpenRPG game, I'm definitely in if I can make it.
0m3g413
New Member
There's a fairly bad typo you should probably fix.
The story is excellent so far, though.ShadowDragon8685 said:
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
...I voted for option four' date=' but I'm actually enjoying this quite a bit so far. The "ordinary person gets dragged from real life into fantasy" plot seems to have a bad reputation as being overused and often badly written, but this is rather good, and, really, who hasn't wondered what it would be like to be an Exalt?[/quote']
Woohooo! I got a WTF!
So now I'm a silly bugger, a WTF, and several flavors of good read.
As for the "ordinary person dragged into fantasy," well.. It tends to get overrused by neurotic teenagers and preteens who want to use writing to make themselves so much more badass than they are.
And they do so horribly.
I am not a horrible writer, and I do try to avoid Mary Sueisms, which is surprisingly hard when writing about the Solar Exalted.
It just can't be sunday, because I run a Star Wars game on Sunday.
:shock:0m3g413 said:
Wow, that's a bad one. Fixed.
ops:
Aasharu
Member
To me, it boils down to whether or not the "Ordinary person" is supposed to be a self insert, or not. For an example of published works that feature such a theme, check out the Everworld series, by K.A. Applegate, with 4 ordinary teens pulled into a realm where all myths are true, and most are trying to kill them. No self insert, lots of personality problems, and constant, omnipresent, unceasing danger. Good read. And if you want bad examples of such a story, well... just go and find a Twilight story with any self insert. (In other words, go read Twilight.ShadowDragon8685 said:As for the "ordinary person dragged into fantasy," well.. It tends to get overrused by neurotic teenagers and preteens who want to use writing to make themselves so much more badass than they are.
And they do so horribly.
I am not a horrible writer, and I do try to avoid Mary Sueisms, which is surprisingly hard when writing about the Solar Exalted.
)Pretty much any day is good for me, as long as it's in the later afternoon. Saturday would be nice, though.
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
Errrr... :|Aasharu said:To me, it boils down to whether or not the "Ordinary person" is supposed to be a self insert, or not. For an example of published works that feature such a theme, check out the Everworld series, by K.A. Applegate, with 4 ordinary teens pulled into a realm where all myths are true, and most are trying to kill them. No self insert, lots of personality problems, and constant, omnipresent, unceasing danger. Good read. And if you want bad examples of such a story, well... just go and find a Twilight story with any self insert. (In other words, go read Twilight.
*cough*
ops:Saturday would be awesome.
Aasharu
Member
Yes, I know the character is a self insert of you. The New Jersey line is indicative of that. However, so long as you don't cross over the critical mass into Marty Stu territory, it shouldn't detract from the story. Some of the best writers I know take an almost sadistic glee in causing bad things to happen to their characters, and that's what keeps them from becoming Mary Sues. And you are a writer, so I suspect you have ideas on how to keep your character from Marty Stu status.
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
Avoiding Marty Stuism is more than simply having bad things happen - bad things are part of it, of course, but the most important thing is not to make the character an omnipotent deity who cannot fail, knows no fear and can do no wrong.
Nathan is not an omnipotent deity. He's scared. What hasn't scared him - a big ape and some grizzley bears. What has?
Let's see... Not counting hypothetical fears like "the Hunt will find me" or "Sidereals AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" or "Malfeans OH SHI-" or "Deathlords, run!" there's:
1: A Dog of the Unbroken Earth. Now granted, he won the fight, but finishing the dog off wasn't in him, and he was terrified that if he didn't, the dog would come and sleepgank him.
2: The men of that warrior village. Even though he's starting to get a rough idea of just how powerful it really is to be a Solar Exalt, he still knows that mass combat rules will have him taken down in an instant since he has no War dots - or, more in-character (though he'd probably sarcastically cite the mass combat rules), he has no defenses against being zerg-rushed. So he resorted to magic to make them back off, a bluff to let them know he was powerful, but make them think he was more powerful than he was, and he ran from a tribe of loincloth-wearing hicks with sticks.
3: M'yena. Despite all he wants to dive headfirst in (and yes, that means the other head) he's still kind of terrified of it.
4: (The big one) Himself. He knows about the Great Curse, in all the gorey details. He's not stupid enough to think that knowing about it confers any immunity to it, and he's already proven that he's bad enough a dude to pull a Colossus Climb on King Kong's littler, oranger brother. He's terrified he could hurt innocent people, especially M'yeena.
[edit]As far as taking sadistic glee...
The editor for my Misfile story has said to me, "You know, everyone needs a hobby. Yours seems to be torturing fictional teenagers."
Which reminds me, I need to get back to torturing them one of these days...
Nathan is not an omnipotent deity. He's scared. What hasn't scared him - a big ape and some grizzley bears. What has?
Let's see... Not counting hypothetical fears like "the Hunt will find me" or "Sidereals AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" or "Malfeans OH SHI-" or "Deathlords, run!" there's:
1: A Dog of the Unbroken Earth. Now granted, he won the fight, but finishing the dog off wasn't in him, and he was terrified that if he didn't, the dog would come and sleepgank him.
2: The men of that warrior village. Even though he's starting to get a rough idea of just how powerful it really is to be a Solar Exalt, he still knows that mass combat rules will have him taken down in an instant since he has no War dots - or, more in-character (though he'd probably sarcastically cite the mass combat rules), he has no defenses against being zerg-rushed. So he resorted to magic to make them back off, a bluff to let them know he was powerful, but make them think he was more powerful than he was, and he ran from a tribe of loincloth-wearing hicks with sticks.
3: M'yena. Despite all he wants to dive headfirst in (and yes, that means the other head) he's still kind of terrified of it.
4: (The big one) Himself. He knows about the Great Curse, in all the gorey details. He's not stupid enough to think that knowing about it confers any immunity to it, and he's already proven that he's bad enough a dude to pull a Colossus Climb on King Kong's littler, oranger brother. He's terrified he could hurt innocent people, especially M'yeena.
[edit]As far as taking sadistic glee...
The editor for my Misfile story has said to me, "You know, everyone needs a hobby. Yours seems to be torturing fictional teenagers."
Which reminds me, I need to get back to torturing them one of these days...
ShadowDragon8685 said:
Aasharu said:
Uhhh... :shock:
Well, there's... a couple issues with that...
A). It'd be my very first time GMing anything
B). It'd be my first try at doing a RPG online (i've roleplayed online and done RPG's in person, but not RPG's online.)
C). It'd be my first Exalted game
D). I don't even have the core-book yet (nor the money to get it, though I'm going to rectify this one once I get paid for helping out the family)
I'd be willing to give it a shot if you insist, but I'd rather I just write up a basic outline/framework and let someone else be ST... considering I'm pretty sure I'd be too much of a n00b to do the concept justice and I don't know how well I'd be able to run a game
ops:Put simply, I think he's over-reacting. His concerns are valid, but the fact remains that she wants to do it, it's not this huge taboo for her or her people and he's going to leave her (at least he assumes so). If he doesn't at least give her something to remember him by he'll shatter her heart. She doesn't just want to do it, she believes she should, etc. etc.ShadowDragon8685 said:
That said, I have to reiterate: his concerns are valid and he should be worried about it, but not to the degree that he is.
ShadowDragon8685
Elder Member
Ahhh yes, I can see how those would be a bit of a problem.Andoriol said:Uhhh... :shock:
Well, there's... a couple issues with that...
A). It'd be my very first time GMing anything
B). It'd be my first try at doing a RPG online (i've roleplayed online and done RPG's in person, but not RPG's online.)
C). It'd be my first Exalted game
D). I don't even have the core-book yet (nor the money to get it, though I'm going to rectify this one once I get paid for helping out the family)
I'd be willing to give it a shot if you insist, but I'd rather I just write up a basic outline/framework and let someone else be ST... considering I'm pretty sure I'd be too much of a n00b to do the concept justice and I don't know how well I'd be able to run a game
What was your idea?
So in other words, he's an overreacting spaz? See also: my signature.Andoriol said:
Well, I got paid early it seems... now I've just got to get the book... meh.ShadowDragon8685 said:
And my idea? Well... originally it was basically a rip-off of your story only expanded to several people, but if people are seriously interested in it (especially those that ‘ave read this story) that wouldn't really work, my mind ricocheted around a bit till it settled onto a sort of Matrix-esque idea:
A first age Solar decided (for the hell of it and 'cause (s)he could) to run the technology in their manse/home/whatever you'd call it by using humans plugged into a massive computer, using their brains (through a bit of necrosurgery) as part of the computing power of the system, but to keep the unused parts of their brains from rebelling or causing bugs in the system, he created (basically) the matrix, except set however many years back that the second age is after the usurpation.
It wasn't found when the Solar was slain, and the memories of it were scrubbed when the shard was reincarnated, but the computer/base/set up kept running. The internal physics of the world were good enough that the humans in the system could advance technologically even without essence. (basically, our world is an Exalted Matrix)
However, after too many years left unattended, the bugs in the system reach critical mass (the three Matrix movies, two editions of Exalted, etc. etc.) and the number of human batteries is greater than the system was originally designed to keep placated, the matrix basically collapses and the failsafes are unable to keep up with it. Only a handful of the millions of humans are properly flushed (alive) as the rest of the system collapses.
The main people are shunted into the control room (originally that was designed to send rejects to the Solar so (s)he could decide what to do with them, but without a Solar…) in the control room there are several heartstones as well as connections to the armory and the way out.
Then things go from there.
Problems: Obviously I made a good portion of this up right now, and there are probably issues with it. The bodies will all be in good condition (the system won’t let you get fat, just think that you’re fat) but there’s no way to auto-inject exaltations into that… unless there’s a major god that watches over the whole place and held onto some exaltations… no, that wouldn’t totally work… anyways, that was the basic concept that was rattling around in my head (that didn’t involve ripping off your story horribly).
All in all, it’d give people an excuse to inject themselves into the Exalted world, but there’s no way to…
Well, maybe if the breakdown was caused by a circle that tried to attain greater power by hooking up to the system but instead of working the way they thought it would, minds from within the matrix system got put into their bodies instead of the right minds… mmm… I dunno, I’m just rambling at the moment.
Anyways, that’s the ‘basic’ idea I had, still kicking it around a bit to iron out the kinks, hadn’t really gotten to a plot just yet.
Yeah, he's an overreacting spaz, I don't blame 'im for it, but he's being a spaz.ShadowDragon8685 said:
THough I don't get what you mean by checking your signature... paranoia is a way of life for you/him? I dunno. Meh.