To Stand Against the Crimson Tide

[Psychie]

Garret has a strong desire to find his own bed, but from what he’s heard of the damage to the city, the small apartment he calls his own is most likely destroyed since it was close to the docks where he works - or used to work. He’s not sure about his life now.

He’s not feeling too tired and in need of sleep in the same way that Sjet is, but some good food and relaxation does sound like a winning ticket. He offers up a respectful bow to Sayuri and says, “Well, considering that at the moment I am currently wearing all that I own in the world, I will be very grateful to the hospitality of your home. I am sure that no matter how humble you may think your residence is, it will be a far sight better than anything I have ever experienced before.”

He then offers up a helpful arm to Sjet and says, “Here. Lean on me and let me be your strength. I will help you get to the compound safely.”

 

[Red Shadow Claws]

Droplets listens to them, and makes herself scarce. She and Thousandfold Wings make their way to the city walls to observe the scene outside. Droplets is feeling torn. On the one hand, Sjet seems to be well accepted by the people of the city, and is getting the kind of life she deserves, both for being a wonderful person, and for being a hero of the city. She knew her path would be harder, but she wasn't afraid of that. In fact, some part of her relished the challenge of proving to the city that not only was she worthy, but that her powers, even if different, and darker, could prove to be important to the defense of the city, and especially in it's connection to the ancestors.

Thousandfold Wings followed silently, feeling her mistress' brooding mood.

The both of them made their way to the walls of the city. Droplets would nod at soldiers of the city, and anyone who gave her a nod, but kept generally to herself.

 

[Equusheart]

Sayuri smiled as Garret bowed to her in gratefulness and Sayuri gave a returning bow before turning to the page.

"Please let them know that I will be along shortly," Sayuri asked to page. The boy nodded his head before turning to Sjet and Garret.

"Follow me, my Lord, my Lady." The page then moved to escort Sjet and Garret to the Akechi compound, while Sayuri turned to head towards the docks.

 

[Random Word]

Garret & Sjet

The servant who escorts you presents a small token to the slit in the door that opens at his knock, and the heavy wooden doors decorated with the Akechi crest are swiftly unbarred and opened. You are ushered inside equally swiftly, and then the door is barred and sealed again before you've made it out of the entry hall and into the small garden courtyard at the center of the estate. It's beautiful - though Sjet is in little state to appreciate it - full of aromatic herbs, tea plants, and flowers. Soon you find yourselves in a hot bath, being gently or vigorously scrubbed down at your preference, then into a soft bed in small but well appointed quarters.

Your dreams are strange. Sjet, you dream of the library, a familiar sight, but the small crabs swarm over each other to form a multi-legged and disjoint creature like nothing you've seen before. It beckons you with undulating finger-claws to follow it through unfamiliar stacks, the crabs parting to flow through partially collapsed stairwells and reform on the other side, passed shelves of glass spheres that sing softly to themselves, through partially flooded halls where every dry surface is piled high with rescued scrolls, down deeper still. The air roils with heat, and sweat soaks your brow, and still the crabs descend. Finally you arrive in a chamber where the fiercely glowing blood of the earth flows freely. It has breached a wall and claimed several racks of stone tablets. Crabs string together to form bridges and towers to save the tablets from the slow but inexorable advance of the magma. Those who fall in melt swiftly. Many lose tiny limbs in daring attempts to reach tablets on small islands of cool stability in the heat. The amalgamation of crabs that guided you here wails piteously. You can sense the immense concentrations of fire and earth essence beyond these walls, threatening to burst forth and wash this all away, and moving through the magma you sense something alive, something radiating fury and grief.

Something else pulls at your attention, though. On the far side of the room, across the lava flow, the stonework has partially sidsided from the heat. Part of an elaborately carved gate has been revealed. It sings not with the essence of earth or fire, but of the stars. You recognize some of the symbols carved upon it as Old Realm, prayers for gentle repose and paeans to the honoured dead, but others are strange and alien to you.

Garret, you dream of a lake you recognize, less than a day's walk from Ombrelune. You have on occasion sat by its quiet shores on holidays with a sweetbread and a good beer to fish. You stand beside it not with the pale youth the Saint of Valour possessed in battle today but his full and mighty spirit form, every bit as tall and thick as you. The full moon is reflected in the lake's mirror-still surface, but strangely in the lake you can see the reflection of a pale silver staircase leading upwards into the sky.

Mor'du grunts and gestures with his head, hands clasped behind his back. "Many have thought themselves clever for finding this place. None have left with my panoply. Like as not you'll fare no better, but here it is all the same. When you're ready, it will be waiting for you."

[I'll leave it to you to decide what trials Mor'du left to test his future incarnations. The pocket dimension containing his tomb could have almost anything inside. Choose three challenges and an attribute+ability roll to go with them, and optionally another party member who can help you overcome it if you'd like. You can visit the tomb any night - it will always appear to be the full moon and clear when you're near the staircase, and you can descend into the lake to enter the tomb.]

Conrad

If only your minders could see you now. How they scolded you for climbing trees in the palace garden, an activity unbecoming of a prince, and yet now it may save you. From your lofty vantage point you can see much. The lighting is poor, but your eyes are sharp and well adapted to the dark, far sharper than they ever were before you drew your second breath. There is a large cart stopped on the road harnessed to an elephant, a small howdah upon its back, both packed to overflowing with lashed together goods from a household being moved in a hurry. A small group of warriors has accosted the caravan, and the two corpses by the road - killed before they could even fully draw their swords - bear grim witness to the fate of the household guard. Two others are tied up and disarmed nearby. The members of the household - two dozen or so all told, servants and family alike - kneel by the side of the road, heads bowed, as two of the warriors peruse the goods on the cart, tossing aside things of little interest.

More pressing are the two who you overheard, keeping watch on the perimeter some distance away, and now looking towards the stretch of forest you were moments ago cleaving through. The soft susurrus of swaying grass and the faint creak of gently moved branches, far softer than your mortal ears could have hoped to detect, gives away a third sentry moving quietly through the underbrush to get the drop on you while the two loudmouths distract you. If you're to evade this sentry you don't have much time. They'll likely pass nearby on their careful sweep in less than a minute.

Droplets

You feel more at home along the open walls than the arteries of the city, choked with life and death alike. Here death reigns, for the legions of the dead have come to relieve the walls for the midnight vigil. Ghosts bearing arms and armour from dozens of eras stand shoulder to shoulder or patrol silently, with only a handful of living officers to oversee them. They silently salute you as you pass. From the high walls you can see dozens of small fires rage in the countryside and a steady trickle of refugees arriving at the sealed gates to camp outside until they open in the morning, evidence of raiding in outlying farmsteads. The enemy is still out there somewhere.

Death has not inured you to the weaknesses of the flesh, though it has turned back time and given your body a vigour and strength you could only have dreamt of in your youth, and at least for one night you can keep vigil with the ancestors over the place you once called home.

[If you opt to stay up all night and don't want to catch up on sleep tomorrow, you can roll Sta+Res to avoid Fatigue.]

Sayuri

The market square is lit by pale green pyreflame lanterns hung from those tall black pillars still standing, lit by processions of dutiful ghosts who seem not to have even noticed anything amiss from their nightly routine. Dozens of tents have been pitched for healers, funerists, embalmers, and mediums to ply their trades. Those who can't afford a tent practice anywhere they can lay down a rug, with one notable exception: they give a wide berth to the great bronze aurochs, its fiery blood still flowing, the dancing flames casting eerie flickering shadows. It opens one flaming eye as you pass, gaze following you, before its eyes close again with a snort of steam. Your bodyguards take up their positions outside and inside the surgical tent with your family's crest where a space is quickly cleared for you. They are by this point well practiced in staying out of the way of irritable physicians.

The work begins immediately, and the unrelenting stream of pain and misery does not abate until finally you are too exhausted to work and seek your own brief respite. On the walk back to your family's compound an old woman in the robes of a soothesayer or bone-reader beckons to you as you pass. Her voice is gravelly and weathered, "Like sun but with mercy this thing you do is." She pauses, as if wracking her mind, "Another sun of mercy you have seen?"

One of your guards moves to rebuke the woman, "You dare address the Lady Akechi without being addressed? Begone, these streets need no more violence this day."

 

[Red Shadow Claws]

Droplets feels much more comfortable among the dead that guard the walls, and it seems that they pay her better respect than the living. But respect isn't what she came here for.
The enemy is still out there. Some might have disembarked to lay siege to the city, but some must have managed to swim ashore when Sjet burned their ships down. She was feeling a bit tired from this long and interesting day, but she needed to rest somewhere more restful. Creation, for all it's glory, just wasn't naturally the place for a deathknight. And so, she focused on her knowledge of the hidden ways, trying to recall what she could about what dark paths there might be nearby into the Underworld. Paths that only one in tune with the essence of death can find. And as she did so, her caste mark on her forehead began to glow, and bleed. When her eyes flutter open, she smiles, as the path becomes clear to her, starting there, just at the base of that tower.

Spoiler: Dark Roads of the Dead

Int (3) + Survival (5), + Navigation specialty, +8 dice from excellency +2 one-die stunt. Spending 18 motes and 1 Willpower. For a total of 19 dice, with double 9. 12 successes. Which is 9 successes over the base difficulty of 3. Which means there's a path to the Underworld from her current location.

 

[MasterDAF]

Conrad observed the scene before him, taking stock of the subdued household, their guard, and their rummaged property. From his heightened vantage point, he could effectively look over the crew of warriors that accosted them as well. He tried to figure out how this group fit together with the encamped invaders he observed earlier on the bluff above the shoreline.

Perhaps the soldiers on the beach are holding a forward position for raiding? They could have sent their ships to ravage more lightly fortified areas of coastline and draw away defenders. That would enable the camp to conduct additional raids while the city's guard is scattered.

He watched a couple of the warriors pick over the family's material goods, pocketing a few small jeweled trinkets and tossing aside items they deemed to possess less value. On either side of the rummaging raiders were short stacks of unwanted items unceremoniously dumped into piles. A canvas painting laid haphazardly atop one stack of discarded goods. It had once displayed a stoic individual, perhaps an idolized ancestor or beloved friend of this victimized family. Now, a broken chair leg had torn through the canvas and ripped a large gash through the image. The once proud picture had become just another piece of trash to be tossed.

This can't be allowed to continue.

He looked around at the thick vegetative vines and sturdy limbs surrounding him. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the calls of the shouting soldiers and ignore their taunts so that he could form a plan.

Perhaps I could scare them off? But how?

It was only then he heard the surprisingly faint noises of a third sentry. Their approach was incredibly quiet, and it was only the slightest of movements that betrayed their presence at all.

Conrad smiled. Perfect.

He silently lowered himself to the ground and retrieved his sword. Then he grabbed his shield and dug the edge of it into the ground so that it could lean visibly against a nearby tree a couple paces from his own. He laid the rest of his pack in front of the tree so that it was partially obscured by the rampant vegetation. He angled the top of his pack upward on a pair of large roots so it would appear as though someone was attempting to hide down amidst the undergrowth.

Conrad took a few steps back to quickly admire his handiwork and ensure it looked as he envisioned. He felt confident when his pursuer entered this grouping of trees, the visibly arranged pack and shield would immediately draw their attention.

If they're looking for something, I'll just have to give them something to find.

He quickly crept back up his makeshift ladder of limbs and tucked himself quietly into a patch of darkness behind a thicket of exceedingly leafy vines.

They will hurry beneath my branches to deal with the "figure" in the brush...

The Solar's gaze slid down momentarily to the steel blade gripped tight in his hand, his heart pounding in anticipation.

...and then they shall hurry no more.

OOC

Conrad attempts a Stealth roll to establish an ambush on the inquisitive sentry, rolling Dexterity (4) + Stealth (0) + 2 Pt Stunt (2) - Fatigue (1) = 5 dice. He also spends 1 Willpower for 1 success, and his 2 pt stunt adds another 1 success. In total he rolls 5 dice, adds 2 successes, and nets 4 successes.

Spoiler

Active Scene Charms:
- Sensory Acuity Prana

HEALTH LVLS
-0 [x]
-1 [ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
Incapacitated [ ]

ESSENCE
Essence: 1
Personal: 4 / 13
Peripheral: 33 / 33
Committed: 0

WILLPOWER: ●●●●● ●○ / ●●●●● ●●
LIMIT: [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] - [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

COMBAT STATS
Join Battle: 6 +3i

DVs
Dodge DV: 4* (3 w/ armor penalty)
Parry DV: 6
Resolve: 3* (4 against persuade)
Guile: 3

SOAK
Natural: +2
Armored: +5, +0 Hardness
Total: +7

Weapons
Short Sword
Type: Light (+4 ACC, +7 DMG, +0 DEF, OVW 2)
Tags: Lethal, Melee, Balanced

Shield
Type: Medium (+2 ACC, +7 DMG, +1 DEF, OVW )
Tags: Bashing, Melee, Shield

 

[Psychie]

Garret, you dream of a lake you recognize, less than a day's walk from Ombrelune. You have on occasion sat by its quiet shores on holidays with a sweetbread and a good beer to fish. You stand beside it not with the pale youth the Saint of Valour possessed in battle today but his full and mighty spirit form, every bit as tall and thick as you. The full moon is reflected in the lake's mirror-still surface, but strangely in the lake you can see the reflection of a pale silver staircase leading upwards into the sky.

Mor'du grunts and gestures with his head, hands clasped behind his back. "Many have thought themselves clever for finding this place. None have left with my panoply. Like as not you'll fare no better, but here it is all the same. When you're ready, it will be waiting for you."

In this dream/not dream, Garret nods at the ancient spirit and sets out for the interior of the vision. He looks about in wonder at the sights he sees, seeing things that he could only imagine in his wildest dreams before now.

The first barrier is clear enough; a large circular stone set as a door. A simple barrier sometimes calls for a simple solution, so Garret changes into his hybrid form and plants his feet wide for the best stability before grasping the rough surface of the stone. He then closes his eyes and pushes, slowly ramping up the force he’s delivering. At first, nothing. Then a tiny shift in the stone signals to Garret that he’s making some progress. Focusing his Essence, his caste mark burns bright as he lets out a mighty heave and smiles as the stone rolls to the side wide enough to allow him passage. Garret takes in a deep breath and releases it as he feels the tingle in his arms start to fade. Time to move on.

The second challenge is one to test the mind of the seeker, with a large chessboard filling the room as a mosaic on the floor and eight huge statues spaced in a ring around the edge of the playing field. A simple plaque made of etched moonsilver stands in front of him with the strange symbols of the Old Realm language with on it. Garret frowns, saying to himself, “Now what? If this is a set of instructions I can’t reads it. This is not a skill of mine.” As if in response to his words, the writing melts and reforms into seatongue. Curious, he reads the inscription.

Eight great queens in the High First Age,
They fought constantly, and dreadful war they would wage.
Then the Deliberative stepped in and warned them all,
Find a way to live in peace or the end works come for them all

Garret thinks back to his history lessons about the ancient leaders of the small cities that would fight amongst themselves, but he draws a blank. There were just so much history to try and remember. As he stands there, he is finding himself looking at the statues and the black and white tiles. “Why do I keep on thinking that this is a chess board? Hmmm. That might be the clue I’m looking for. What do I know about chess? In the game, the goal is to take the King. But the point of that they are to live in peace. And these statues are all queens. So, am I supposed to place these in positions …… that they can’t take one another? Yes. That sounds right. Now, let’s see if I’m correct.”

He walks over to the first of the statues and carefully slides it over to the mosaic on the floor and positions it on the first square. It fits perfectly and Garret nods in satisfaction. It takes him only a few minutes of maneuvering to get the statues all placed just so:

[#][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
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[ ][ ][ ][ ][#][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][#][ ]
[ ][#][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][#][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][#][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][#]

The door finally opens with its deadly traps disarmed.

The next barrier is one that would stop a mortal in his tracks. A large chasm that seems to have no bottom to it and no apparent way to cross it. But with his ability to turn into a bird, Garret simply flies across and returns to his human form on the other side.

Other challenges present themselves to Garret, but one by one he defeats them and continues further in. It then comes as a surprise when he is finally standing at the tomb of Mor’du where he sees the items left for the spirit to guard: a suit of armor and a mighty spear. As he touches the spear, a shock that runs up his arm jolts him from his dream, and as he sits upright in his bed, he feels the heavy weight of the armor and spear lying on top of him.

Quickly rising, Garret takes the spear reverently in hand and marvels at the workmanship as the cold metal warms in his hand.

 

[Sherwood]

When Sjet finally wakes and rubs the sleep from her eyes, it takes her a minute to remember just where she is and how she got here. She stretches and can feel a minor twinge of discomfort in her side where there used to be that nasty wound and she pushes the blankets away and looks at her side under her small clothes at the angry scar that is all that is left of the gaping wound. I remember reading that even when at the edge of death, Exalted heal quickly. Especially when given a bit of a healing boost earlier.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the loud rumble from her tummy. I wonder how long I slept? And more important, where can I get some food?

 

[Equusheart]

Sayuri

The market square is lit by pale green pyreflame lanterns hung from those tall black pillars still standing, lit by processions of dutiful ghosts who seem not to have even noticed anything amiss from their nightly routine. Dozens of tents have been pitched for healers, funerists, embalmers, and mediums to ply their trades. Those who can't afford a tent practice anywhere they can lay down a rug, with one notable exception: they give a wide berth to the great bronze aurochs, its fiery blood still flowing, the dancing flames casting eerie flickering shadows. It opens one flaming eye as you pass, gaze following you, before its eyes close again with a snort of steam. Your bodyguards take up their positions outside and inside the surgical tent with your family's crest where a space is quickly cleared for you. They are by this point well practiced in staying out of the way of irritable physicians.

The work begins immediately, and the unrelenting stream of pain and misery does not abate until finally you are too exhausted to work and seek your own brief respite. On the walk back to your family's compound an old woman in the robes of a soothesayer or bone-reader beckons to you as you pass. Her voice is gravelly and weathered, "Like sun but with mercy this thing you do is." She pauses, as if wracking her mind, "Another sun of mercy you have seen?"

One of your guards moves to rebuke the woman, "You dare address the Lady Akechi without being addressed? Begone, these streets need no more violence this day."

Sayuri walked in a somber silence as she and the guards that had accompanied her passed through the market square. Her eyes moved over the various tents as she went. A pained cry from one tent made her heart twist in her chest, while the deathly silence from another made her stomach feel like lead. So much hurt and death. Had it all been needless, she wondered.

She paused in her steps as she passed the aurochs. The great bronze bull with it's firey eye watching her. As her own eyes settled on the bull's wounds, Sayuri felt a pang of guilt in knowing she had caused some of them. She wished there was a way to mend those wounds, but she was no worker of bronze and flame.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, knowing it likely couldn't hear her. The bull closed its great eye and Sayuri continued on.

Some time later, Sayuri had aided in what she could before exhaustion forced her to retire and seek a bed of her own. She hadn't seen the old woman the approach. Only that she had blinked, her eyes heavy with need for sleep, and suddenly she was there. Before she could reply, one of her guard had stepped forward to confront the woman. Sayuri's eyebrows furrowed into a frown. Honestly, the guards were as bad as her brother.

"And there won't be any violence," she said to her guard, her tone firm and scolding. "Surely, I am in no danger from an old woman." Turning to address the woman, Sayuri's expression changed to one of polite apology.

"You must forgive my guard. They mean well, but sometimes they do their job a little too well." Sayuri's expression then turned curious. "Please, what did you mean by that? Another sun of mercy?"

 

[Random Word]

Droplets

You stride confidently into the tower, passed a ghostly sentry too shocked to attempt to stop you, down a spiralling staircase into the pit of suffering and human misery that is the holding cells beneath the wall. Tiny windows allow small shafts of moonlight into the cramped cells, and a small amount of fresh air which does little to alleviate the stench of unwashed bodies and offal. You descend further, into cells that have not seen the light of day in centuries, and in the darkness you hear the rattling of chains as those prisoners who can muster the energy flee to the backs of their cells at your passage.

You descend further still, into a chamber that smells of blood and fear, where two soldiers are working over a prisoner captured in the day's fighting by the light of a pyreflame sconce. The prisoner's face is swollen and blood runs in slow rivulets from his lips. All three turn at your approach, but you pay them no mind, striding confidently into a dark corner where the shadows unfurl to reveal a staircase of polished bone that descends yet further. The two soldiers look on in shock, then at each other, then as one they pale and flee up the stairs, leaving their unfortunate prisoner. His screams of terror echo down the stairwell after you as you descend.

Scalpel-sharp bone fingers caress your skin as you walk down an endless labyrinth of silent ossuary-halls in pitch darkness, effortlessly avoiding pitfalls, nightmarish maws, and false paths. The stagnant air here is refreshingly rich and thick in your lungs, pure in a way you've never tasted and sickly sweet with the scents of death. At one point you pass within arms' reach of an arch of skulls that opens on a curious scene - a once-finely dressed man perched in a tree looking down upon an unwitting warrior beneath, ready to strike. The air wafting in is rancid with the once-familiar and now vaguely sickening scents of the forest. You turn away and continue your journey.

You arrive in a hall with three great arches twice your height. Pale light spills through the thin sheet of crimson ice that fills each, showing distorted sights of the scenes beyond. You know instinctively that the moment you touch one of these surfaces the ice will shatter violently outward and you will make your grand debut entrance into the Underworld, after which the passage will close behind you.

Through the first mirror you see the laden tables, swirling bodies, and elaborate finery of a banquet and ball [Introduce yourself to high society]. Through the second mirror you see the chaos of a busy port, great ships moored on long piers, chain gangs of ghosts hauling heavily laden sleds of goods, and great crowds of common ghosts and sailors going about their daily business [Make an impression on the common people]. Through the third mirror you see a dark sepulchre of finely wrought stone covered in a thick layer of dust, likely not visited in centuries [Make a quiet entrance].


Conrad

Your tutor in strategy oft said no plan survives contact with the enemy, but clearly he failed to carve an exception for Solar Anathema. The ruse goes off without a hitch, the hapless sentry passing right beneath your hiding place as she moves to investigate what appears to be someone resting beyond a nearby tree. A flicker of motion in the corner of both of your eyes causes you to turn your heads in unison to the shadowy depths of the forest nearby where you could swear for a brief moment you saw an old woman with terrible injuries walking between the trees with a great wasp in tow. Then the shadows swallow her again. The sentry below you shivers and casts her eyes around in fear, but she never thinks to look upwards and your position remains concealed.


Garret

As you ascend from the tomb in triumph you are surprised to hear two voices arguing in a language you've never heard before. Equally surprised are they to see you as you climb the last few silver stairs of moonlight to break the surface of the lake. Perched in the boughs of a nearby tree above the Honoured Ancestor is a beautiful woman, her black hair cascading in waves down her back, her dress a cloth-of-stars as radiant as the night sky. Mor'du looks surprised and pleased to see you, a grin that looks ill-practiced these long centuries cracking those craggy features, "Well done, boy," he rumbles, "And well earned." The woman looks at you with a mixture of shock and curiosity that quickly turns to alarm. She seems to sense the dream's hold on you slipping as you return to the waking world, her arm darting out as she leans towards you, calling out something in that language you don't understand. You bolt upright in your bed, only your quick reflexes securing the lance tightly in your grip before it can tumble to the floor. It's real!

You stare groggily at it unbelieving for several long breaths before the early morning quiet is abruptly shattered by the cries of birds. Not perched on the trees nearby, but tearing through the thin rice paper that covers your windows. A hawk and an owl tumble through the window, grappling with each other for a moment before they fly apart and settle at opposite ends of the room, one on a table and the other a pile of cushions. In a flash the hawk is replaced with the woman from your dreams, and the owl a lithe man with sharp green eyes, a tousle of seafoam green Western hair, a hooked nose, an elaborately tattooed bare chest, sun-browned skin, and a skirt almost completely obscured behind all the charms, vials, bundles of herbs, and scrolls hanging from its many loops and overflowing its many pockets.

He and the woman trad pointed barbs in that same strange language before she turns to you and addresses you again. Seeing your incomprehension, she tries another language. This one you've at least heard before, from the mouths of foreign traders from distant lands to the east. You comprehend it no better, and she looks visibly annoyed. She huffs and crosses her arms.

"Apologies for the intrusion," offers the man with a small bow. Finally someone speaks something you understand! "Juruul Three-Trees. That was some potent dream-magic you used. Clearly Luna favours you greatly. Still, your ascension is as yet incomplete. It is my privilege and sacred duty to offer to give you the tattoos that will ward your soul and grow your power."

The woman scoffs, "Juruul is like... like... word is what... marid, untruthfully."

Juruul sighs longsufferingly, "You can't say it like that in Wavetongue. And Marid, really? That's uncalled for. How would I even translate..." He looks to you, "She's saying I'm untrustworthy, broadly. That I have the character of a malevolent trickster spirit, which I feel is a deeply unfair characterization."

"Truth," she offers, stubbornly. "I am tattoos you giving."

"That's not- You don't even know how!" Juruul protests, indignant.

"Is like children's games. Sand finding in desert like," she says, airily, waving her hand dismissively and turning away, eyes closed, clearly uninterested in any suggestion she might be incapable of figuring the ritual out.

"Why Sha'a summoned you, I will never understand. You're as insufferable as you are reckless," Juruul growls. "What are you even doing here? Did he finally cast you out?"


Sjet

To say you're feeling better would be the understatement of the year. A good night's rest has never done so much to improve your condition. Or anyone mortal who hasn't received the touch of the supernatural, you suspect. The rumble of your tummy is itself interrupted by the sounds of a commotion in the next room. The muffled sound of voices raised in anger can be heard through the wall. Peering outside your room you can see two young servants with their ears against the door of Garret's room, listening intently, whispering to each other anxiously about what they ought do. They start as they notice you, and look sheepishly at one another.

"A-ah, honoured guest. You are awake!" cries the closer of the two. She seems to abruptly recall your terrible injuries and pales further, imagining the thrashing she'll receive if your injuries worsen on her watch, "P-Please, you should not be walking so soon! Shall we bring your morning repast?" She darts forward to offer you her shoulder to lean on. The other servant girl scurries off, doubtless to alert someone to the commotion in Garret's room.


Sayuri

The old woman sighs, playing with a lock of hair idly while wracking her brain. "Person like sun, brilliantly. Spirit like fire, ... nicely." She looks visibly annoyed at this word choice. "You are seeing?"

Another of your guards looks concerned, "Perhaps a spirit afflicts her, or she has gone mad with grief. M'lady, by your leave one of us can escort her to an exorcist."

[Due to timelines, it would be awkward if Sayuri actually figured out what she was saying and decided to tell this random crazy stranger where Sjet was ]

---

You eventually make it to a soft bed in the family compound, having been assured your friend has been given food and quarters. Your deep sleep is rudely interrupted as the door of your chamber is thrown open and a servant stumbles into your room, crying, "M'lady! Your guests! Someone has been seen in their chambers!" There are cries of alarm and running feet outside.

 

[Psychie]

Garret blinks in surprise at the sudden appearance of the other two Lunar Exalts, then remembers some of the manners that his mother and father taught him and he bows deep at the waist. “My greetings, noble Exalted. I am no expert, but it does not take a genius to guess that you are fellow Lunar Exalts. Please forgive my ignorance in the proper way to address you; before I gained my blessing from Luna I was a simple dock hand. Most of what you say I don’t understand, so I hope you can explain. What brings you here to me? What tattoos? I lack the basic knowledge to know what I don’t know, if that makes any sense to you.”

 

[Random Word]

Garret

Juruul's lip curls, "Noble? Some by title, some by character," he observes dryly as the woman rolls her eyes, "but we are all equal under the light of the moon." His tattoos begin glowing with a soft silver light. "These tattoos are a gift, passed from one Lunar to another through generations in a sacred ritual that you do not just make up as you go. They focus your powers and grant you certain protections from the enemies of Creation. Enemies who draw dangerously near as we speak."

The woman sneers, "Enemies like friends, Juruul. Noble like title or character your friends are, Juruul? Tide-like he is knowing. Now like you are telling? Or I?" she taunts.

Juruul's expression sours and his voice carries an icy edge as he gives the woman a warning look, "In due time."

"Time is due, I am thinking."

There is a sudden commotion outside the door, cries of alarm and the thumping of heavy feet approaching on wooden floors.

 

[Equusheart]

Sayuri

The old woman sighs, playing with a lock of hair idly while wracking her brain. "Person like sun, brilliantly. Spirit like fire, ... nicely." She looks visibly annoyed at this word choice. "You are seeing?"

Another of your guards looks concerned, "Perhaps a spirit afflicts her, or she has gone mad with grief. M'lady, by your leave one of us can escort her to an exorcist."

[Due to timelines, it would be awkward if Sayuri actually figured out what she was saying and decided to tell this random crazy stranger where Sjet was ]

---

You eventually make it to a soft bed in the family compound, having been assured your friend has been given food and quarters. Your deep sleep is rudely interrupted as the door of your chamber is thrown open and a servant stumbles into your room, crying, "M'lady! Your guests! Someone has been seen in their chambers!" There are cries of alarm and running feet outside.

Sayuri eyed the old woman in a mixture of confusion and concern. The woman's made less sense than they had before. When one of her guard suggested the woman be brought to an exorcist, Sayuri turned her frown on him.

"I hardly think an exorcist is necessary," she replied. Her gaze returned to the woman, thoughtful. "Though perhaps she is just in need of some rest. This has been a trying day for us all." With a nod of her head, she turned back to her guard. "See that she is brought to somewhere she can be looked after."

Eventually, Sayuri found her way to her family's compound and to a bed of her own. With a sigh of relief, she laid her head down and was asleep the moment her eyes closed. It felt like it hadn't been more than a minute when Sayuri was startled awake by a servant. Blinking she sat up, wondering what in the heavens was happening.

"What do you mean by 'someone'?" Sayuri asked as she rose to her feet and started for her door.

 

[Red Shadow Claws]

Taking in a deep breath, Droplets steels herself. She was a Champion of Death to the people of Creation, but here' she's in the Underworld, where she is a ruler, even if these unsuspecting people don't know it yet. And as ruler, it's time to show the night society of the dead that Death's Lawgiver is here to take command. That full command might not happen just yet. But it's good to set a precedent.

And on she strides through the first mirror, gathering herself to her full height, and cloaking herself with her trappings of death, and letting her Caste Mark shine on her forehead. There's a hush in the crowd when she enters, and once she's got everyone's attention, she speaks, loudly enough to be heard, but not enough to be a shout. "My name is Droplets of Blood on the Chilly Wind, and I am a Deathknight that was just exalted in the fair city of Omberlune. This isn't really a time for revelry, when the city is wounded, and it's enemy is still out there. Know that I will work to make sure the city pays its due respects to its ancestors, but those ancestors" And she gives a dramatic pause, letting her gaze cross all of them, finally locking eyes with those she considers the rulers of this crowd "must uphold their own part of the bargain."

Spoiler: High Society

Activating Exquisite Elegant Style for 5m peripheral, to prevent penalties from unfamiliarity, and possibly enjoy the benefit of a minor positive Tie towards her

 

[Sherwood]

To say you're feeling better would be the understatement of the year. A good night's rest has never done so much to improve your condition. Or anyone mortal who hasn't received the touch of the supernatural, you suspect. The rumble of your tummy is itself interrupted by the sounds of a commotion in the next room. The muffled sound of voices raised in anger can be heard through the wall. Peering outside your room you can see two young servants with their ears against the door of Garret's room, listening intently, whispering to each other anxiously about what they ought do. They start as they notice you, and look sheepishly at one another.

"A-ah, honoured guest. You are awake!" cries the closer of the two. She seems to abruptly recall your terrible injuries and pales further, imagining the thrashing she'll receive if your injuries worsen on her watch, "P-Please, you should not be walking so soon! Shall we bring your morning repast?" She darts forward to offer you her shoulder to lean on. The other servant girl scurries off, doubtless to alert someone to the commotion in Garret's room.

Sjet weaves her hand in a dismissive motion, saying, “I am fully recovered from my injury thanks to the blessing of the Unconquered Sun and a good night’s rest, so you need not worry about that. While I do require food soon, I am concerted about what is going on inside that room. Is everything ok?”

She listens carefully to try and eavesdrop on the conversation in the room, hoping to hear what’s going on and if there is a threat that needs to be addressed.

 

[MasterDAF]

Conrad watched from his shadow cloaked position as the sentry emerged from the foliage. She began to cautiously pick her way across the dense undergrowth, stepping between the trees and avoiding stiff brush that might give away her approach. The executioner-to-be observed her movements with the focus of a hawk, waiting for the opportune moment to fall upon his prey.

The sentry weaved her way confidently towards the trap, and soon she was mere footsteps away from the baited location. Conrad took a deep breath and prepared himself for the drop. He moved out from beneath the draping vines when suddenly he noticed something from the corner of his eye that made his blood run cold and he held his position.

What in the name of the holy Sun was that?

Once the ghastly woman had disappeared back into the shadows of the forest, Conrad released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Shifting his attention back to the sentry below, it appeared she had also been caught off guard by the momentary appearance of the bloodied elderly woman.

The sooner I am out of these death shrouded woods, the better I will feel.

The young Exalt resumed his motion forward above the sentry, his blade held back in shadow to ensure it didn't catch the light of the moon. His target's attention appeared to remain focused on the strange apparition they had just witnessed, and she failed to take notice of him.

Conrad launched himself towards the sentry, muscles firing swiftly to propel his assault unavoidably into his oblivious quarry on the ground. The branch shook audibly with the force of his thrust. Before the sentry could act upon this change in her surroundings, the Lawgiver's blade found an opening above her armored collar and plunged deep into her neck. Her eyes widened and her legs gave out as the cold steel bit through her spine and protruded scarlet beneath her chin.

Conrad released his sword as the blow struck home, then tucked and rolled along the ground beside her before rising back to his feet. He observed her crumpled form on the ground and checked to see if she was still breathing. While he had no qualms about killing an enemy combatant, he had seen the Dynasts in Faxai use torture and cruelty enough to know he wanted no part in that. When he was confident she no longer drew breath, he retrieved his blade and proceeded to perform three swift chops until the head had been removed.

"A bit sloppy," he criticized his own handiwork, "but it should serve its purpose."

The Solar took the severed head in one of his hands and climbed quietly back up his tree. Once there, he called out to the nearby enemy forces in a booming voice.

"There's more to fear in these woods than the savagery of mere boar. You have wrought destruction and despair upon the living citizens of Ombrelune, and these crimes can not be allowed to stand unpunished. We have taken penance from one of your number already, an unwilling sacrifice to pay for your ill deeds."

Conrad hurled the head out from the treeline so that it landed amongst the enemy raiders and rolled to a stop near the elephant's feet.

"We are the Night Guard, and we shall give form to your greatest fears. Leave now, and your penance is paid. Or stay, and we shall teach you the true meaning of terror."

OOC

Conrad attempts an Intimidation roll to frighten the other raiders away from the household they are currently victimizing. Rolls Charisma (5) + Presence (4) + 1 Pt Stunt (2) - Fatigue (1) - Mass Non-Performance Social Roll (3) = 7 dice. He also spends 5m (4 personal, 1 peripheral) on Harmonious Presence Meditation to reduce social charm costs for the scene and gain 3 social dice, spends 3m (peripheral) on Presence excellency, and spends 1 Willpower for 1 success. In total he rolls 13 dice, adds 1 success, and (ignoring the three erroneously rolled dice at the end) nets 8 successes.

Spoiler

Active Scene Charms:
- Sensory Acuity Prana
- Harmonious Presence Meditation

HEALTH LVLS
-0 [x]
-1 [ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
Incapacitated [ ]

ESSENCE
Essence: 1
Personal: 0 / 13
Peripheral: 28 / (32) 33
Committed: 1

WILLPOWER: ●●●●● ○○ / ●●●●● ●●
LIMIT: [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] - [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

COMBAT STATS
Join Battle: 6 +3i

DVs
Dodge DV: 4* (3 w/ armor penalty)
Parry DV: 6
Resolve: 3* (4 against persuade)
Guile: 3

SOAK
Natural: +2
Armored: +5, +0 Hardness
Total: +7

Weapons
Short Sword
Type: Light (+4 ACC, +7 DMG, +0 DEF, OVW 2)
Tags: Lethal, Melee, Balanced

Shield
Type: Medium (+2 ACC, +7 DMG, +1 DEF, OVW )
Tags: Bashing, Melee, Shield

 

[Psychie]

Garret

Juruul's lip curls, "Noble? Some by title, some by character," he observes dryly as the woman rolls her eyes, "but we are all equal under the light of the moon." His tattoos begin glowing with a soft silver light. "These tattoos are a gift, passed from one Lunar to another through generations in a sacred ritual that you do not just make up as you go. They focus your powers and grant you certain protections from the enemies of Creation. Enemies who draw dangerously near as we speak."

The woman sneers, "Enemies like friends, Juruul. Noble like title or character your friends are, Juruul? Tide-like he is knowing. Now like you are telling? Or I?" she taunts.

Juruul's expression sours and his voice carries an icy edge as he gives the woman a warning look, "In due time."

"Time is due, I am thinking."

There is a sudden commotion outside the door, cries of alarm and the thumping of heavy feet approaching on wooden floors.

Garret gives his visitors a smile, saying, “It would seem that we are about to have visitors. These people have been kind enough to put me up for the night, so if we can avoid it let’s not kill anyone here, please. Once the alarm has calmed down I promise to listen to what you have to say, along with many questions from me, I am sure. I will tell the others outside that there is no danger, so if you will pardon me for a moment?”

Garret heads to the door to the bedroom and opens it up wide enough to poke his head out and look around. “Please pardon the noise; I just got a couple of visitors that I wasn’t expecting but they are more than welcome to see me. I assure you that there is no danger to the people of the household.”

 

[Random Word]

Sayuri

The servant, breathless, continues as she hurriedly helps you dress, "I'm sorry m'lady, I don't know. All I heard was there's intruders in the guest rooms, and the guard's up in arms." She looks like she's barely slept, her eyes red and bloodshot. The whole household is jumpy after yesterday, and knowing how powerful you are you imagine they'll feel safer if you're on the scene. After your exhausting night this wasn't the wakeup call you were hoping for.

Sayuri, Garret, & Sjet

Garret, you open the door to find two household guard, spears still planted on the ground, one reaching for the doorway; two servants peering curiously from behind a pillar a small distance away, and one curious young woman looking in considerably better health than when you carried her across the docks last night, slightly off balance from pressing her ear against the door.

Sjet, inside the room you can see the waxed paper covering over the window has been torn, and inside a black cat is sitting innocently on a dresser and a bird is perched nervously on a nearby washbasin.

The guard who was reaching for the door peers around the room first suspiciously, then sheepishly. "Jade, you said you heard intruders arguing, not a cat chasing a bird!" he declares indignantly. "Apologies, honoured guest, we'll get these pests out of your room immediately," he says with a low bow.

"I did hear voices! Angry ones! I swear on all my ancestors!" protests one of the maids, coming out from behind her pillar, not believing her eyes. You have to say you're inclined to agree, Sjet. You caught the last of what you're quite certain was a conversation between Garret and at least two voices you don't recognize only moments before Garret opened the door.

Sayuri, you reach the courtyard in time to see this strange scene unfold.

Conrad

There is much cursing from the assembled warriors as the head rolls out. One of the grabs it and wraps it quickly in canvas, glaring at you.

"I hate fighting ghost-worshippers," grumbles one of the warriors. "No chance she goes to the their twisted underworld."

"Fall back! See how brave they are by the light of day."

They're clearly spooked, but they're disciplined. They form up well for the retreat, leaving anything too heavy to move easily. Their hostages immediately begin struggling against their bonds, looking for something sharp to cut their hands free to carry on with their journey before the enemy changes their minds, all the while casting fearful looks at the dark forest.

From the corner of your eye you catch a fleeting glimpse of that strange woman looking on approvingly before she disappears again.

 

[MasterDAF]

The enemy taunt floated crisp across the field. It belied the defiant bravado of a captain who was used to fighting inferior forces and just found himself in the uncomfortable position of being at a disadvantage to his foe.

The Quicksilver Falcon allowed a slight smile to pull momentarily at the edge of his mouth. He was glad his carefully crafted scenario had been able to turn the enemy soldiers away. Though they might return from their sudden rout hungry for revenge in the daylight, their victims had been let loose, and the ravaging halted. He would savor this small victory, however brief it may be.

Conrad waited a few minutes after the enemy troops had marched out of sight, then stowed his blade and lowered himself once more from the elevated position. He retrieved his gear and quickly brushed it clean of dirt and debris with his hand. He began to make his way towards the treeline but suddenly felt an uneasy chill cross the nape of his neck.

He turned his eyes swiftly back in the direction he had last seen the ghastly old woman. For only the most brief of seconds, he could swear he saw her again at the corner of his vision, a look of grim approval etched into the lines of her elderly face. By the time his gaze came to rest, however, there was nothing to focus on but shadow and vines where he imagined she had stood. He took a deep breath and shook his head to free himself of the troubling image emblazened in his mind. Then he exited through the foliage and made his way to the couple dozen people at the roadside who were currently attempting to remove their own bonds.

The young noble in tattered sweat-stained clothing and dark wet leather must have been the last thing the tired and pained villagers expected to see step out from within the forest. He made his way quickly to the two immobilized household guards to help cut free their bindings and retrieve their weapons in case more enemies came upon them.

Assuming the household does not become hostile towards him, Conrad helps them quickly pack a few of their scattered goods back on the howdah and speaks with the elders of the household. He explains there are no other warriors supporting him in the treeline and that they must move quickly along the route to their destination. His ruse worked once, but he can not guarantee success again if they run into another group of raiders.

He also requests, assuming their intended destination is Ombrelune, that he be allowed to don the cloak of one of their fallen guards and help in the same capacity until they have entered the safety of the city. After being granted entry, he would split off from the household and search for a companion he had promised to meet up with inside the city.

[If the household does not travel for Ombrelune, Conrad simply asks for the best directions to reach the city and wishes them luck on their way before departing.]

 

[Equusheart]

Sayuri

The servant, breathless, continues as she hurriedly helps you dress, "I'm sorry m'lady, I don't know. All I heard was there's intruders in the guest rooms, and the guard's up in arms." She looks like she's barely slept, her eyes red and bloodshot. The whole household is jumpy after yesterday, and knowing how powerful you are you imagine they'll feel safer if you're on the scene. After your exhausting night this wasn't the wakeup call you were hoping for.

Sayuri, Garret, & Sjet

Garret, you open the door to find two household guard, spears still planted on the ground, one reaching for the doorway; two servants peering curiously from behind a pillar a small distance away, and one curious young woman looking in considerably better health than when you carried her across the docks last night, slightly off balance from pressing her ear against the door.

Sjet, inside the room you can see the waxed paper covering over the window has been torn, and inside a black cat is sitting innocently on a dresser and a bird is perched nervously on a nearby washbasin.

The guard who was reaching for the door peers around the room first suspiciously, then sheepishly. "Jade, you said you heard intruders arguing, not a cat chasing a bird!" he declares indignantly. "Apologies, honoured guest, we'll get these pests out of your room immediately," he says with a low bow.

"I did hear voices! Angry ones! I swear on all my ancestors!" protests one of the maids, coming out from behind her pillar, not believing her eyes. You have to say you're inclined to agree, Sjet. You caught the last of what you're quite certain was a conversation between Garret and at least two voices you don't recognize only moments before Garret opened the door.

Sayuri, you reach the courtyard in time to see this strange scene unfold.

Sayuri allowed the servant to help her dress, but she lightly batted away the servant's hands as they went to her hair. Normally, Sayuri would've worn it back in some sort of braid or such in order to keep it out of her face. But there was no time for that, so her inky black hair was left to fall free passed her shoulders as she went to the door.

"Stay here," Sayuri said to the servant before leaving, hoping for the girl to remain safe should things turn violent.

By the time Sayuri reached the courtyard she was entirely confused at the scene that greeted her. Part of her wondered if this was some dream of delirium and if she should just turn around and go back to bed.

"What is going on here?" Sayuri was finally able to ask.

 

[Psychie]

Garret does his best to look innocent as he steps back and opens the door wider. "Nothing. It was . . . just these two animals going nuts chasing after one another, and here I am yelling at them to stop as I'm woke out of a deep sleep, not thinking that they were animals and that they won't listen to me. See? There is no one here but us."

 

[Random Word]

Droplets - The Hollow Stateroom - Underworld

The glass shatters at your touch and with a sudden lurch you feel more in your soul than your bones you step forth into another world. Immediately your senses are assailed from all directions. Ice cold ocean spray, black as night, soaks your clothing from behind. Droplets of spray seem to hang for a moment that stretches to eternity in the air with the thousands of shards of blood-flecked glass, shining in the light of dozens of pyreflame chandeliers and the many tall candles on tables groaning under the weight of a sumptuous feast. The smells of mouth watering delicacies, acrid incense, pungent oils, and the cold expanse of the sea fill your nostrils as you breathe deeply, filling your lungs with air that feels like peace. The dance floor stretches before you, filled with hundreds of ghosts dancing feverishly over a floor of criss-crossing narrow wooden slats over a chasm that drops precipitously into a bewildering mass of metal, stone, and flesh that whirls, grinds, groans, and wails in the darkness beneath, the sound pulsing like a massive beating heart. The music of the orchestra moves in time with the beating of this dark heart, and the dancers follow, each daring footfall inches from a swift end to eternity.

This is the Harrowing, you know it well. It follows any sudden influx of new souls into the city below. The living honour it in the city above every year, the laughing and screaming children running through the streets menaced by costumed threats to reach safe squares with sweetbreads and fried fish and mulled wine. For the dead it is a more life or death affair. The newly dead souls are even now running through the streets outside, evading as best they can - or, for the most daring and capable, besting - the press gangs of the Timeless Order, the fearsome reavers of the Headless Host, and the riddle-traps of the Gloaming Hall, all without plunging headlong into the bowels of the great city-ship to become one with it, ground to dust in its great and terrible machineries. It will be an unusually forgiving night for the newly dead, as many of those who might menace them are streaming forth into the land of the living above, though many more still remain. This is good, for these souls are necessary fuel for the fires that burn cold in the heart of the vessel and power its eternal journey among the great ports of the dead. Only the strongest most cunning souls survive to crew the ship. You do not envy those of the enemy dead who do not receive their culture's funerary rites to be whisked away to their people's afterlives. They will find no mercy in the streets tonight.

In each of the pairs of ghosts dancing before you, one is a newly arrived soul and another a noble resplendent in finery. The newly arrived souls are an eclectic mix, from destitute beggars, their deaths a mercy, to warriors clad for battle, to sumptuously dressed scions, their families having gone to great lengths to ensure the proper funerary rites were performed in time for this evening. They dance over the chasm beneath in one final largely ceremonial test that becomes alarmingly more real when, after a suitably dramatic pause, time seems to flow again and your stunning entrance is enough to send the nearest ghosts plunging screaming into the depths, riddled with glass shards. More than a few of the newly dead are so transfixed they miss their steps, but for most their noble partner steadies them before their unlife comes to an untimely end.

Amongst the dancers one new face is not new to you. There is a flicker of recognition in your eyes as your eyes pass over her in the crowd, and a flicker of terror in hers, much as when you last saw her feverishly attempting to complete the ritual in the temple of the fire worshippers. She attempts to flee the dance floor, but her partner mistakes her fear of you for a fear of falling into the bowels of the ship beneath and tightens his clawlike grip on her hand and waist.

Behind you, should you care to look, is the open ocean of the Underworld. That dark sea that links all lands of the dead, lit faintly from above by stars shining bright, sharp, and cold, like pinprick wounds in the dark flesh of the night. The ornately carved bow of the city-ship cleaves the waves to your left, the spray periodically cresting to crash against the intact windows beside you and wash over your feet.

The orchestra comes to a stuttering halt as you deliver your oration, and the dance floor and feast tables still as every eye in the room fixates upon you. One rheumy cataract riddled pair in particular, startled from slumber, open to cast about the hall wildly before triangulating your voice. The corpulent figure on the throne overseeing the hall, dripping in gold and faintly moaning cloth-of-soulsteel and dark onyx jewels, shakes its jowls and bellows, "What is this? Deathknight? More of you? No!" he roars, shaking the glass, "We will hear no more of the Lion's empty threats and fanciful entreaties! I am Arch-Factor Festus Everfull, and I bid you feast and dance and begone with you! Tell your Master he will find no purchase here! I will not join my slaves in chains."

The dancers clearly have their own opinions, many eyeing your brow with awe, fear, or naked curiosity.

 

[Red Shadow Claws]

Droplets back is straightened, and her eyes pierce deeply into the soul of the self-proclaimed Arch-Factor Festus Everfull. A brief smile, almost predatory, flashes across her face, quickly replaced by a fierce look.
She takes a calculated step forward, her move as graceful as she is hideous, and the rustle of her cloak matches the beat of the winds of Thousandfold Wings as it makes its presence known, hovering above her right shoulder. Those of the assembled dead before her that are nothing more than the hungry ghosts of the deceased, take a few steps back, as fear grips them, for in their eyes, this deathknight is nothing but a superior predatory stalking them.

But her gaze is fixed on the Arch-Factor, and to him her will is directed as she proclaims "You're not here to hear the empty lies of the Lion's emissary, I can tell you that, for I do not work for him. But do NOT dare to dismiss my presence so easily, for as I announced, I am tied to Omberlune, and with that tie, you are tied to me, like it or not. It is time to rise above and beyond what you ever done for that city, and to help us keep it safe, for your existence and fortunes are tied to it. We can, and will, work together."

Spoiler: High Society

Spending 3m on Superior Predator Style, and 5m on Elegant Tyrant's Majesty for the scene.
Doing a flurry of Threaten roll against the Arch-Factor, and a read intentions, spending 5m on excellency.
Calling it a three-die stunt, for two bonus dice and 2 extra successes, and spending the Willpower to gain extra success on the read intentions.

Threaten: Manipulation (4) + Presence (4) + Elegant Tyrant's Majesty (3) + Death's Unholy Visage (3) + Stunt (2) - Flurry (3) = 13 dice
5 successes + 2 from stunt for 7 successes.
Read Intentions: Perception (2) + Socialize (3) + Stunt (2) + Excellency (5) - Flutty (3) = 9 dice
3 successes + 2 from Stunt + 1 from Willpower for 6 successes.

Not sure if any dice are added from Appearance (4) to the threaten roll

 

[Random Word]

Conrad

Their palpable fear and suspicion as you approach melts away into relief and gratitude as you set about freeing them from their bondage. A portly older man who finds himself in a similar sartorial situation to Conrad, his more modest but fine travelling clothes now thoroughly soiled by sweat and mud, cranes his neck to look at you as you cut the rope binding his hands. "I am Lord Paolo and you have my family's abiding gratitude, sir. Sure as seasons. We would welcome your protection on the way to the city, and I'll hear nothing about this parting ways, not until I've commended you to our lords the Akechi." He looks at your clothing and face curiously, "I do not recognize you, so forgive me if I offend, but as you are not landed here perhaps you're looking for opportunities to advance yourself, or perhaps find quarter with a family befitting your station. Someone with your bravery and cunning deserves a place amongst a house guard."

One of the young household guard, barely more than a boy, shakes so much he can barely do up his sword belt, but his greying comrade offers a deep bow of appreciation. "Palm," he offers curtly by way of introduction, "Ancestors bless you, stranger. Many a brave man would have turned right back into those woods without looking back."

The bodies of the two dead household guard are carefully wrapped in canvas and slung from the elephant, but they permit only a small journey to distance themselves from the immediate danger before Paolo insists they stop to send the dead. The canvas is anointed with aromatic oils and pungent herbs, packed with small wooden and paper effigies drawn from a box the raiders had tossed aside, and finally burned. Palm offers a prayer with a nod to you as he lights the fire, "Grant this man your protection." The bodies catch surprisingly quickly, the conflagration burning fiercely and briefly pushing back the darkness.

You begin the journey through the dark forest, guided by the fiery light of the burning city, is tense but uneventful. Lord Paolo and his household tell you of how after a great light filled the sky they heard rumours the battle against the fearsome Bronze Tide had been won, but they fled their plantations after reports of raiders in the dusk and were accosted on the road before your heroic intervention. They ask many questions of your origins, dressed as you are like someone of means and consequence. You're halted outside Ombrelune by an imposing gate manned by headless warriors that glow faintly in the darkness, some in tattered mismatched armour and others in polished finery. "The Headless Host. Honoured ancestral warriors who protect our city by night. The enemy will not dare trouble us here," offers Lord Paolo by way of reassurance. You are forced to camp outside until just before sunrise when the shift changes, the ghostly warriors departing the walls in disciplined ranks singing marchings songs as mortal warriors take their place. Once the sun rises you are ushered through the gate first with the other minor nobility, at which point you get your first proper look at the city. The sight is not pretty. Fire has ravaged many neighbourhoods, the dead are still being gathered for ritual burning, and many streets are choked with rubble, though others have been cleared with neat piles of rubble by the roadside, and most fires have been brought under control. These people have been surprisingly industrious this night in beginning repairs.

Finally you find yourself before a much smaller but considerably more ornate set of wooden gates. Lord Paolo calls out, "It is Lord Paolo, your loyal vassal! I wish an audience with the Akechi to commend this man for his valorous, nay, heroic service to myself and my kin. I call upon the Akechi to honour him for his services rendered."

A wooden panel slides aside to reveal a surprised sentry who, after examining the presented seal opens the gates and ushers you inside into a courtyard filled with a beautiful garden.

Sayuri, Garret, and Sjet

The guards and servants bow deeply as Sayuri approaches. Ang, the sergeant on duty this morning, apologizes profusely. "M'Lady, apologies for disturbing you. Jade made up stories of intruders in the guest quarters. WIth things as they are... well, one can't be too careful." Jade glares at Ang from the corner of her eye without breaking her deep bow but decorum does not permit her to say anything, and she's in enough trouble as it is.

Inside the room the cat bares its fangs and yawns with an expression that might have passed for a wide smile on a human, then sets its eyes on the bird hungrily and resumes stalking.

A page enters the garden and is startled to see the Lady Sayuri up, but decides to take the opportunity to pass on the message. "M'Lady, Lord Paolo and his household are outside. They claim to have been saved by a hero and wish to commend him to your family, that you might take him into service."

Droplets

The hearts of the chamber are gripped by your icy words, instruments falling from the slack and shaking hands of the orchestra, revelers seeking shelter behind the laden banquet tables. The cluster of wizened scribes in fine robes that pool like liquid at their feet, backs bent beneath wooden boxes of crumbling scrolls, whisper amongst each other and in the Arch-Factor's ear. He startles, eyes casting about, seeming confused. "Not from the Lion?" There is a pause for more feverish whispering as a flurry of scrolls are unfurled in claw-like hands and hastily scanned. "We have no record of a Droplets of Blood on the Chilly Wind. No debts incurred or indenture owed. Have the living sent you? We have paid our debts in our strongest chain gangs and fine building supplies. We always pay our debts. What business have you with me, Deathknight and Necromancer, if not to do the Lion's bidding?"

A young nobleman amongst the crowd speaks up, dressed in white finery chased with purple and bedecked in wards and charms, and you note with some surprise he's alive. "The great house of Rashid knows of the hero Droplets of Blood on the Chilly Wind, and her will speak for her service to the city. Who amongst you believe those uncivilized foreigners would understand how to properly honour the Ancestors, let alone the smoldering ruin they might have left behind? We all owe her a great debt."

[I'm not sure what your Read Intentions was targeting, but I'll try to give you something useful. He has a Minor Tie of Fear towards Deathknights, and a Major Tie of Distaste for the Lion. He is, however, lying. He has probably sent aid, but his finest slaves and highest quality building materials is certainly not true. He has discharged the letter of his contracts, no more and no less, and has considerably more means at his disposal. No need to Flurry here, you aren't in combat.]