[Mysterious Cities of Jade] Chapter 4: A Wyld Hunt appears!

Sarky

Sarky

Drunken master
Everyone who went to the bar:


Ow. What is this horrible painful thing in your head? Oh, it appears to be your brain. Oh. Oh dear. You're in rather a lot of distress. Quick, check limbs: One, two, three... four. Nope, all still attached. Wave a hand in front of your face... Yes, you definitely still have your eyeballs. This means the blinding pain is probably a hangover. Somehow, this does not cause any relief.


Ok, first things first. Try to get out of... Your bed. How the Yozi did you end up back on the Lusty Maiden? Oh, who cares, it's better than waking up on a slave ship bound for Arjuf. Are we at sea? No, probably not, it's probably you swaying sickeningly, not the floor. Need fresh air, down here smells like... Well like you were drinking very heavily the night before. Just open the hatch and OHFUCKINGHELLTHEPAINWHYISITSOBLOODYBRIGHT


Everyone, bar or no:


It's a beautiful day! The morning sun is shining down hard, not a cloud in the sky. It's probably going to be terribly hot come afternoon, but for the next couple of hours, there's cooling shadow to take the edge off, morning markets setting up for business, birds singing, town criers announcing what little news has already occurred today, mostly regarding trade, taxes and rat bounties.


The Lusty Maiden is moored at Pier 18 at the docks. The small Immaculate temple is just visible through the forest of masts and throngs of people on the streets. The glass towers sparkle. The guards do their rounds. Children play, running down an unused pier or diving into the harbour and splashing about in glee.
 
In a shocking clash with Fate and all that is good and right with the world, Shinji is not one of the few who'd gone to the bar. Well, perhaps for a short time, long enough to stumble out to the ship before all became a hellish haze of booze and bodies. In point of fact, he recalls the promise he'd made last night. Time to dig Elegy up. Finding a basin of fresh water, washing, shaving, and dressing somewhat decently, he comes up on deck. Takes in the view, takes a breath of fresh air. Not too shabby. And the headache wasn't so pounding, nor the sun so straining. This must be what a morning sober feels like.


Feels like heresy. Fitting!
 
One morning, when Gentle Elegy woke from troubled dreams, she herself transformed in her bed into a world-shattering blade of the Neverborn.


Well, old news.


But her dreams did trouble her still. She and Amaya had held an audience with something ancient, something powerful. What that thing was remained a mystery to Elegy. Time to hit the books; after this, she could commence her usual studies to find a countermeasure to Eye and Seven Despair's minions.


She cracked open a book of lore. Let us see what the ancients remember of the Bandaged God...
 
Elegy:


Most of your books don't deal with a subject so specific, in fact, you'd imagine only the biggest libraries would have much in the way of details. Still, you do have a couple of tomes that might have something...

Intelligence+Lore, please, +1 for your current stock of research material. Actually, I'll let you add your Whispers rating in dice as well.
 
Something. There has to be something!

Blowing a Conviction on this. Elegy wants answers!
 
Elegy:


This is infuriating, you've checked your books, and trawled your mind for answers, but any sickly bandaged gods referenced bear no real resemblance to the being you met in your dreams. The best you can find in these books is from an old tale on prehistory, uncensored by the Immaculate Order: The gods were created by entities much greater than them, who gifted mortals with their power to help them rise up against their masters. The Unconquered Sun, Luna, the Maidens, the Elemental Dragons... And others, who did not survive the war that followed. Not much help, your old tutors in Cold House taught you that.


But there is something, gnawing away at the back of your mind. The familiar whispers of Oblivion are paradoxically Nothingness Incarnate, and yet they know things. Voices of those long dead, ideas and people and images and all manner of things consumed by utter negation yet maintain an existence of a sort, or perhaps it is the hole left by their absence that merely gives the illusion of existence. Nevertheless, a handful of names and images flash through your mind; Isidoros, The Black Boar The Twists The Skies. The Lidless Eye That Sees. The names mean next to nothing to you, but there is a terrible weight and significance attached to them. The images of their blurry indistinct and vast silhouettes remind you of that terrifying moment when Eye And Seven Despairs led you through the Labyrinth, and you beheld the Neverborn for the first time. Perhaps these names are, or were, Neverborn too? They Rage at the 5 Maidens, for reasons unknown. Not, not at the Maidens, more at what they represent. There was a... Union, of some kind?


You are interrupted by a knock on the door. Sounds like Shinji is up and about.
 
Their bodies had rotted with maggots of rage, vengeance, despair, and suffering. Such suffering -- it had almost been a tangible thing around them, a miasma in the air. That Elegy had not gone mad at the sight of them was a stroke of luck, good or bad depending on her perspective. Time to shake such thoughts from her head and maintain reason. The Neverborn wailed and hated still, but what did they hate? A metaphor? Something that the Maiden's are a living symbol of? Who, or what?


A dead end, if it needs to be said.


The knock comes at her door. Yes, likely Mnemon. "Just a moment, Shinji, I'm not decent." She had leapt out of bed and into studies; time to wash up and put on something light.


Ten minutes later -- ish -- (very fast by her standards!) the door opened, and Elegy flashes a winning smile. "Yes, my dear cousin?"
 
Oh, women and their waiting games. Though it did seem rather fast - he'd barely finished reciting the Lateral of Us by the minstrels of Torsion. He smiles, "I'd actually like to consult you on something I came across last night. Something concerning the dead in the Old City. If you'd indulge me, that is."
 
Elegy frowns. "The dead, you say? What seems to be the matter? Of course, I will gladly look into it."
 
He fills her in on the way to Broken Wave College, animatedly talking with his hands. The ghosts, the great heaps of them from the Revolution, and the alarming manner in which they've been massing, pressure testing the salt wards in the Old City for several months. "So Mosuu believes, and I agree, that something is afoot. Something's guiding or goading them into massing and pressure-testing all of the wards, looking for weak points. I'd be very grateful if you'd take a look into it. I don't know how long we'll be in town still, but I figured someone of your standing within this region of knowledge would do well." He shrugs, wishing for a decent drink to calm his nerves. He'd never seen so many dead before. Spooky.


"What do you think?"
 
Elegy looks up to the sky as they wander the city. "...I agree. Very unusual behavior. Likely impossible unless something were directing them. Concerning. I would like to speak with this Mosuu."


Is this the work of her masters? Some other faction? Either way, if someone were orchestrating this, they wanted to free the dead from the old city and... do what? The obvious answer is 'run rampant,' but Elegy feels the obvious answer is rarely the right one.
 
Broken Wave College is less than 30 minutes away, occupying a nice outcrop overlooking the sea. It shares the promontory with a local bank and some Noble's mansion. Mosuu appears to be well-known about the place, so finding him is a simple matter of following directions.


Mosuu Rakai is at this moment sitting on a bench on the college gardens, a pleasing combination of traditional garden and rockery all the way up to the ocean cliffs. He's staring out at the sea while eating his lunch. No bodyguards today, just comfortable civilian clothing and a hat to keep the sun out of his eyes. He recognises Shinji, rishing to meet him.


"Shinji, good morning, I'm glad you came! And you must be the lady he mentioned yesterday. Mosuu Rakai at your service, madam!" He bows a little stiffly, perhaps unused to showing deference to those that look like they get it. "I do hope you can shed some light on the matter I discussed with your friend last night. Anyway, I was just finishing off my lunch. I have an office that might be better suited to the topic." He pops the last piece of sushi into his mouth. "Shall we?"
 
Amaya's pillow is stained with tears and her eyes are puffy red. She doesn't know why, but last night's visitation profoundly affected her. Her heart aches for the bandaged god and her empathy resonates with the sorrowful story he told. She had cried herself to sleep soon enough, only to fall into a reverie of disjointed dreams. Her sleep had been oddly refreshing, despite its troubled nature, as if her mind was struggling to work through things she could barely comprehend.


Amaya decides that today is a day for reflection and prayer, and that she should finally go back and pray at the temple like she keeps saying she will. She just wants to have some time to be alone with her thoughts, and to reminisce on a simpler time. The ruckus she caused yesterday might come back to haunt her though; even if the guards weren't chasing her, that nobleman could probably hire assassins of his own. Amaya really doesn't want to have to deal with that today.


Amaya pulls a few sticks of incense out of her pitifully small chest and sets them down in a star formation, lighting them with a stricken match. She sits down in the center of the incense, letting the indigo smoke curl around her, and starts to meditate, chanting a hymn under her breath. The prayer is not like anything the Immaculates are taught; it is not from any religion followed in Creation's present. It is a call and a request to an ancient and primeval being, and even if Amaya does not know the words she was speaking, she comprehends their meaning.


A few minutes later Amaya opens her eyes, her deed done. Nothing seems to have changed about the room, or about Amaya, but she seems satisfied all the same. She quenches the burning incense, wrapping it and putting it back into her chest. Amaya takes a few moments to strap on her armor, and ties her sword sheathe across her back. She throws her cape around her shoulders, covering up both items, and departs from the ship.


Her destination is the small immaculate temple, a place where maybe she can get some peace and quiet.

Amaya is using the ritual Lost Loves Forgotten in order to completely erase the world's memory of her! Unless a being is outside of fate or has an inviolable intimacy towards her, they completely forget her. Writing is affected, and any other possible clues to her existence. Unlike the other memory ritual, this one does not reinforce itself, so she can be remembered for her actions today.


Ritual Roll: [8,4,10,1] -> 3 Successes, and she needed 2 to get it off.


She is also using her new charm Another Face In The Crowd. This basically makes her completely unremarkable. People still see her and remember what she does, but she just appears to just be anybody else. Or succinctly, she makes other people think she's an Extra. :P
 
Amaya:

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A brisk 20 minute walk brings you to the Immaculate Temple of Chiaroscuro. It's quite well-to-do, as the Faith is the official religion of the place (although the Tri-khan is obviously canny enough to leave forcing it on the people to the Monks, and let them take the blame. A respectable building, devoid of iconography but sturdy, impressive architecture nonetheless. You recall most buildings in the Realm being like this: When a fifth of the population regularly sets itself on fire, the construction industry tends to favour non-flammable materials.


There is a moderate amount of traffic in and out of the temple. Peasants and middle class, mostly, but here and there a Noble or wealthy trader. The heady smell of incense and a low droning from inside suggests that a morning service is in progress. You mostly recall the words from your days in the monastery. It sounds like it'll be over soon.
 
Just like home. Amaya is comforted by the trappings of her past. It wasn't until this moment that she realized how much she truly missed her old life. Not enough to want to go back, but enough for it to have a large effect on her personality. Deep in her heart, she knows that she can't really go back; she's a demon according to her own faith, no matter how much her soul tells her that is false. Still, it is comforting to pretend every once in a while.


Amaya's chest heaves in a sigh as she slips into the morning service and assumes a seat on the ground, near the back of the throng. She recognizes the reading, a tract that goes over the cycle of reincarnation, the journey of spirituality that takes one closer to the Elemental Dragons. Amaya begins to mutter the prayer under her breath, following along with the monk.


Soon enough the service is over and the throng of worshipers starts to depart. Amaya does not join them, instead deciding to stay. The prayer had been helpful, but she still yearned for the company of her former peers. She tentatively walks up to the monk that had been doing the service, parting the haze of incense that surrounds the room. Amaya respectfully bows to the individual, a man wearing the robes of a third coil monk. "Greetings Honored Master, may I have a few moments of your time?"
 
Amaya:


The monk is busying himself rolling the scroll of the text he was reading back into its container, inspecting for damage with reverence and care. He doesn't look up as he replies. You may indeed, although I have students to train soon, so we shall have to keep it short, unless you wish to fight while talking. What troubles you?"


Shinji and Elegy:


"Good, good. I discovered something last night that I would like you both to see. This way please..."


He leads you into the college building proper, down corridors, up stairs, down more stairs, and into a rather sorry looking office; It's dusty and messy. Scrolls and maps and scribbled notes are everywhere, often with more notes stuck to them. A plate of mostly-eaten dinner obscures a map of Chiaroscuro spread across the one desk. Apologising for the mess with the usual excuses, Mosuu picks up the dinner, looks around the room, and places it on a precarious stack of parchments. It wobbles slightly. Removal of the plate reveals the map to be covered in minute and detailed notes. Bright red marks denote the occurrence of these phenomena he was talking about.


"Now. I've been tracking the congregations for 3 years at this stage, although only in any great detail since the city started funding investigation into it a year ago. I've noted everything I could on this map; Date, time of day, numbers, duration, all that. It looks fairly spread out, right? No real pattern to it at all. But look at this... Damn, where did I put it? Hang on... No, that's Gem... No... No... Ah! Here we are!"

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He produces a large scroll case, and carefully removes a most interesting map- It's slightly transparent. "Now, this is a map of OLD Chiaroscuro. I drew it on the thinnest rice paper I could find, and had a thaumaturge work her magic on it, she finished it yesterday... Here, would you mind taking that tinderbox and lighting that candle over there? If you hold a light to it, the Old City becomes more apparent..."


He unrolls the map over the one on the table, shining the candle here and there to line it up. Some parts match up perfectly- The shoreline, the glass towers still standing. The rest are a jumble- There are streets and buildings that no longer exist, a large plaza here, a gateway set in the wall there.


"If you look at these congregations in the context of the original layout of the city, you'll notice that the largest occur along an old main street that no longer exists. At least, it no longer exists in the land of the living. The other smaller occurrences, they too are beside roads that are long gone. And if you look at the dates, you'll see that each later congregation happened in order along this main street."


"There's too much order to these gatherings for it to be chance. Some intelligence is directing these ghosts. I don't know why. And that worries me."


Elegy:

An Intelligence+Occult roll, please. You can add your Whispers.
 
"Honored Master, I am a patrician from the isle, and it has been too long since I have attended the Immaculate services. I simply wish to spend some time at the temple today, to fortify myself before I journey off into the irreligious south again. I am well trained in the martial arts taught to itinerants, and if you would have me, I would be greatly pleased to train with you and your students." Amaya's tone is very respectful, even though a small bit of excitement creeps up into her voice. Sparring had always been the favorite part of her duties.
 
Amaya:


The Monk gives you an appraising look. "Is that so? I suppose it is dangerous out there, physically and spiritually. We do not pay much attention to the outside world, but the faithful, they bring news when they come to our services. The roads south are troubled indeed, if what I have heard is true. It would be remiss of me not to help keep your edge, should the worst happen and you must defend yourself outside the city walls."


He places the texts back in their case with care, and beckons for you to follow him outside, to a garden with a raised dojo floor in the centre. A half-dozen young monks are waiting there, looking nervous or cocky, as teenagers do. A clap from the monk, and they fall into line.


"We have a guest training with us today, students. I trust you will show her the same respect and courtesy you would any of your teachers."


"Yes, sifu!"


"Excellent. Let us begin. Danjiro, you will lead the warm-up exercises while I observe."


"Yes, sifu! Miss, if you wouldn't mind joining us... Ok, everyone, start slowly, roll your neck around gently, loosen the muscles..."


It feels good to get back to basics. Stretches, push-ups, jogging, getting the blood flowing. The exercise regimen includes some of the basic stances you learned at the monastery, with various punches and kicks being drilled into the body's limbs so they can react without thinking. The monk himself takes over, inspecting stances, adjusting the height of this strike or that block.

Dexterity+Martial Arts, please
 
Amaya flows through her warm up, easily falling back into the motions that had been the focus of her life for so many years. Her stances are perfect, her poise divine, each muscle in her body exactly following the ideal form. Amaya has long since become used to this kind of excellence, but she is always pleased when she is able to replicate the efforts of her practiced devotion. An unskilled individual wouldn't see much difference between what she was doing and what the other students were, but any devotee of Martial Arts would instantly recognize this demonstration of her great skill.

[7,5,4,7,4,7,9,7,6,9] -> 6 Successes
 
Amaya:


The monk seems impressed by your form. Eventually, the time comes for sparring practice. The students are paired off, and told what kind of attack and defence they should focus on today. The busy themselves around the training grounds, leaving the main floor empty. The monk bows to you, saying "Your style is subtly southern, I suspect your sifu trained in Paragon or The Lap. It is also advanced. If your warm up was any indicator, these children would be no test of your abilities. Perhaps I might prove a more satisfactory challenge. He steps onto the main floor and gestures politely in a "please join me" manner.
 
"I am honored by your praise. Your observations are very acute, my sifu was indeed trained in Paragon, and she taught me most of what I know." Amaya steps up to the arena floor and bows to the monk, her cheeks flushed a little bit from her happiness. "Do you wish to spar using the traditional styles, or would you like to see the form that I have developed on my own, for my travels away from the temple?" She asks as she assumes her position facing the master, poised to perform the bow that signifies the start of the bout.
 
He smiles. "And here I thought I was going to be teaching you. Very well, let us fight as friends, and see what you have to teach."


He adopts a simple, centred stance, left hand behind his back, right hand raised to eye level, open hand facing up as if he were holding a cup to the light. His robes conceal much of his body language, particularly the positioning of his feet and the distribution of his weight.
 
Amaya nods and grins with her normal mischievous smile, happy to be acknowledged by her former peer. Her simple clothing does not conceal her positioning as her opponent's does. She had removed and wrapped up her adamant gear, leaving it in a bundle on the side of the room, and now she only wears a simple cloth outfit that hangs tightly enough to not be a distraction, but loose enough that it doesn't restrict her movements.


Amaya's body shifts sideways to present a smaller target towards the monk. Her feet are pointed in opposite directions, a stance indicating her readiness to spring to any location. This is supplemented by her perfectly balanced posture, which spreads out her weight so that it is not concentrated in any one place. Her hands are held up high and all but two of her fingers are curled, which telegraphs that her style is based on precise jabs.


No sifu would ever tell their students to adopt a stance like Amaya's. A beginner could never shift quickly enough to take advantage of its balanced proportions; they would be caught in a position that is unsuited to defending or attacking against their foe. On the other hand, a skilled enough individual can utilize this type of stance to great effect, fluidly shifting in between postures, gaining the ability to react to any stratagem launched at them. This is a style for experts, one that requires a rapidity of thought and movement that takes a lifetime of training to achieve.


"I am ready to begin." Amaya informs the monk as she tenses for the bout.
 
Elegy curtsied to the man politely when he bowed. "A ple He seemed a diligent sort, committed to his work. A fine scholar -- never trust a scholar with a clean office, he is likely a dandy and a fraud. Now, to see what he had come up with -- and what he had found would put any student of the dead on edge.


Smoothing out the map, Elegy contemplated the spread of the ghosts. The man had a point: not only did they gather along old lines, they had started to do so suddenly. With a purpose. Testing the salt lines. An organized campaign, being devised by... what? Instantly she thought back to Eye and Seven Despairs. Would he come up with an organized plan to test the salt lines, to break them and torment the city just to get back at her? No, paranoid, jumping to conclusions. Not impossible, but not true either.


She sat down, contemplating what she saw.


The Neverborn whispered. Told her things. If only she could find the strength of will to listen.

Spending 5m on the First Occult Excellency and a dot of willpower.
 
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