Exalted - Unofficial Wiki - User contributions [en]

Lossefion/Prose

2015-06-08T19:36:00Z

Derfel: /* The Rebel Archer */

== '''Campaign Prose''' ==

Return to [[Lossefion%27s_Campaign_Notes|Lossefion's Campaign Notes]]

Here follows some scene setting work, mostly used in-character to thoroughly confuse some of the players. Included is some personal prose written by players to help flesh out their characters. It's organised roughly in chronological order. - [[User:Lossefion|Lossefion]]

-----

== [[Lossefion/The Rebel Archer|The Rebel Archer]] ==

A tale of [[Lossefion/Characters#Morio_Miyamoto_.28PC.29|Morio Miyamoto]]'s ancestor.

During the Klarnorian wars, much of the legendary can be traced back to one lineage of men – that of the dragonblood Mitsuyo Morio
In the decades following the contagion, many nations were displaced from their homes – the destruction of a citystate was a mere footnote. Among the earliest notaries of the Aluvian settlements, Mitsuyo Morio appears at the forefront of the contagion wars. He was said to have accompanied Minetzula Seroa on her journey into Kaum, cleansing the last of the Cenerese. His expansive knowledge of the forests was vital in fighting the remnants of the disease when he returned to his home forests. He lived for three centuries before the dragons called him home.

His great grandson Kyutaro was one of the three resistance leaders in Cincoria who inhabited the north readies of the Klarn mountains when Klarnos invaded. In refusing to bow the knee to a Klarnorian overchief who now claimed his fathers lands, he was forced to prove his skill with a bow – inherited wholesale from his fathers. His own son was paraded in front of local villaghttp://exalted.xi.co.nz/w/index.php?title=Lossefion/Prose&action=edit&section=2e leaders, tied to a stake and a persimmon placed on his head. His offer – knock the fruit off and free his son, or death to them both. Kyutaro brought Morio’s bow and two arrows. He succeeded in the shot. The overchief asked what the spare arrow was for – his enemy calmly replied it was for the chiefs heart if he missed.

The death of Golias was attributed to a far ranging member of Morio’s bloodline.

Sadly Morio’s lands have been whittered away, rumoured to held against excessive gambling debts. The most recent scion of the dynasty has not been seen in some months, giving rise to all sorts of rumours.

-----

== Hitorii Danshin, The Man Alone ==

(''Developed by'' [[User:Lossefion|Lossefion]] ''and'' [[User:Stark|Stark]])

Hitorii Danshin, or The Man Alone, is a figure of modern myth in the Aluvian heartlands, and a man suspected to be alive today.

Ten years ago, the Bitter Forest shook with the sound of hunting Anathema. Demons strode triumphant, and a foolish sorcerer who drank deep of lake lit only by moonlight, also drank evil that hollowed her from within. The demon in her sought to bring others of her ilk into the forest of her host's birth - turning it into a very adjunct of hell pleasing to her masters. Lions were sent out into the world, deer stalked their hunters, and the rivers ran with the salted tears of crying women. The sorcerer was tricked and led astray, enslaved by the mastery she sought. She was tricked into a mockery of life, flesh moulding to the demon's whim. She made Widows, orphans and widowers, until he came.

From the north came soldiers, hardened to the battle. Prey did the Anathema seek among them. Hunters all, they hunted each other in turn. Days and then weeks were spent beating the brush. Two score and ten men, with armoured skin an inch thick, sought to no avail. Instead, the horror of flesh found them.

Through the trees, from the very rain it struck, knifing ten down where they stood. Their comrades were struck dumbfounded, and hastened in their retreat. Five more were lost in the muster. Their captain sounded alarum.

In the gathering chaos amid torrential rain, they fled through gully and tree. In the midst of them flew the Chimaera, striking deftly, as each made pass by tree, by root, by stem. Each man felled, uprooted, torn. Seperating the wheat from the chaff, did the Chimaera thresh the battalion, each talon cutting a life in its prime short. Each life’s story lost amidst blood in the soil.

Two score dead in the first fatal minutes. Ten good, worthy men left to stand against the monster. By a stand of ash trees, did their captain sound a rally. Against the green wood, did their spears shine bright. The Chimaera flew at them in fury, but could not dislodge them or their captain from their foundation. Blades flashed, points struck, and the beast was wounded.

It howled in anger, and folded in on itself, and then exploded outwards in a sea of ichor and teeth. Its limbs tore two men in half, and its claws disembowelled another. The good captain could not stand to see his men suffer so, and throwing his signifer down behind him, hewing his faithful hatchet at the sea of limbs as if hewing a tree. His order to flee did not go unheard. Tall he was, grand he was, Tragic he was, for he died beneath the onslaught.

A dragon fang, the last of the litter of wolves, and a mere cub left of the pack that day. Five men, and a boy. A den they need, to lick their wounds and gather their courage. To this end, they continue on up and up the hillside, darting through the rocky outcrops seeking best point of vantage.

Nature gifted them with a foundation, a rocky bowl of some strength with ramparts of living wood and stone. The way was narrow, the ground unsure. The men schemed and set the most fleet as bait to lure the terrible hound at their heels to this place of death.

The stripling set forth to catch his hunter’s eye. From every shadow was extinction, to every movement was his head turned. The fiend, deep in its cruelty, sought to savour this morsel as slowly as it dared. It revealed itself to him, step by infernal step, seeking to invoke fear in his heart. The heart of the stripling did not quail, and he tore weapons from the bosom of the earth itself, calling the monster pale coward, and defying it with his very voice.

The demon roared losing its interest in the play, and heading straight for the kill. The boy proved his fleetness, and stormed from the clearing stopping for naught, steering for the place of execution. He passed the gate, his comrades in wait in strong and hidden places. The gully ended with a cliff barring any escape. He entered stood, and faced his pursuer across the broken, mossy ground.

His weapons in a heap at the cliff base, he drew his own sword, poor weapon against such hate. His defiance gave the monster no pause, but drew it forward for the old wolves of the pack to tear into its flanks. Their arrows flew true, striking the belly of the beast. It howled in pain, but gave no quarter. Another volley missed, and it turned its attention to those nipping at its heels. To the hunters’ horror its face was that of their captain, screaming obscenities. Faces of their brothers bubbled in its flanks as they wordlessly prayed for a release never to come.

The old wolves' jaws dropped at that, and their hesitation cost them dear. Their doom was upon them, in hellfury, tendon and tentacle. Thick ropes of gut and gristle wrenched from the belly of the beast, tearing one asunder, and dragging a second screaming within its entrails to be slowly digested from inside. The third had his face dissolved by a vomit of bile from the open maw. The fourth, his mind blasted by the sight gave himself gibbering to the tide of flesh, screaming mindlessly even as it engulfed him. The last, the oldest wolf pressed, pressed in deep laying open its throat again and again, even to have it seal behind the trail of his axe.

The boy, now forgotten sees now. There is now way past, no way round. There is only through. Shaken arm, pale sword at the ready, he lunges, past the threshing limbs, over the dead flesh, into the centre of the beast…and lands a telling blow. Its scream is high, pained. It is not a scream heard before now. This heartens the boy, brightens the boy, enrages the man. He grabs the hilt with both hands, begins wrenching it backwards and forwards within the flesh, a lever against the tide, the strength of two dragons in his limbs. His captain turns to him, eyes mad with pain. The maw opens impossibly wide, and yet he keeps cutting, wrenching at the beast, leaving wounds impossible – enough to kill any man thrice over, this beast is not even dead once. The ground shakes and trembles with the fury of battle, the sky reddens with the mist of blood. The very spirits of the storm in their tumble, give pause to the storm below. One must give, one must yield, one must surely die.

And one does.

And it is not the boy. It is not the boy at all. For he is a man. The man Alone.

-----

== [[Stark/ReportsfromInaeva|Reports From Inieva]] ==

After-action reports from the escort CO. Written by [[User:Stark|Stark]].

-----

== [[Lossefion/Dividing The Spoils|Dividing The Spoils]] ==

A lengthy piece derived from correspondence between the circle.

-----
== A dream on the journey home... ==

The steady thrum of the waves overtakes you as the Reachfar speeds towards home, and the motion rocks you to sleep in the spartan though not uncomfortable cabins you berth in....

She stands at the prow, weeping, weeping.

There is nothing you can do to console her, you know. You watch the flickering mocking light of the city burning and dancing behind you, waving an insulting goodbye.

In the shadow, in silence she is weeping, weeping.

All that you have ever known is gone to ashes, gone to dust. You have taken ship and fled East, the siren song of your ancient souls' home. There are those among you that have driven armies before them, that have taken task with gods, monsters, and yet it is your fellow men and women that have cast you forth. There is a risen a pall of smoke cast across the heavens, and the stars are obscured. Touche, you think, for your ancient advisors are nowhere to be found. Your faithful, faithless retainers and majordomos, some whom you have raised since birth have cast off their oaths of loyalty and duty, and made their own play for the reins of authority. Some yet stood with you, dragons' blood being spilled on both sides. The dance was done 'ere the feast was yet over.

In the moonlight, over the waves, she is weeping, weeping.

The end of the five day feast was not yet come, but you had declined to partake in the City, choosing instead to renew older, more personal ties. There it was that you were caught in the echoes of screaming, that the sound caught you before the treachery did. You could not bear to face them, your fellows, it was not your way to war against those whom you had fought alongside - others played those games, not you. And so, you all fled...

Her salt tears stain the seas, her cheeks wet from weeping, weeping.

The gateway to the East perhaps yet stands open, Deheleshen and her towers, her might and her strength old friends. You join her at the prow to comfort her, putting a hand around her shoulders and squeezing lightly. It will be alright you say, hollow though the words sound. It is easy to think that there you may yet return, though it may be your last stand will be in the nexus of your own strength. You dismiss the dark thought with an angry toss of your head. You have allies that others do not, and therein lies your strength.

Even so, there will be pain, and blood, and death 'ere the end. You know this, and you see the fires that lick the underside of the skies ahead and behind, and know there will be

Weeping, weeping...

...and with the tears staining your cheeks, you waken, as though your heart should break.

-----

== [[Stark/LettersHomeNeverToArrive|Letters Home, Never To Arrive]] ==

[[User:Stark|Stark]]'s letters to his family.

-----

== [[Enkou/Arrival|Arrival]] ==

A piece, composed by [[User:Enkou|Enkou]], describing Max's welcome home.

-----

== [[Lossefion/The Tomb At Erdinghast|The Tomb at Erdinghast]] ==

An exercise detailing what lies beneath a broken manse.

Lossefion/Prose

2015-06-08T19:35:00Z

Derfel: /* The Rebel Archer */

== '''Campaign Prose''' ==

Return to [[Lossefion%27s_Campaign_Notes|Lossefion's Campaign Notes]]

Here follows some scene setting work, mostly used in-character to thoroughly confuse some of the players. Included is some personal prose written by players to help flesh out their characters. It's organised roughly in chronological order. - [[User:Lossefion|Lossefion]]

-----

== [[Lossefion/The Rebel Archer|The Rebel Archer]] ==

A tale of [[Lossefion/Characters#Morio_Miyamoto_.28PC.29|Morio Miyamoto]]'s ancestor.

During the Klarnorian wars, much of the legendary can be traced back to one lineage of men – that of the dragonblood Mitsuyo Morio
In the decades following the contagion, many nations were displaced from their homes – the destruction of a citystate was a mere footnote. Among the earliest notaries of the Aluvian settlements, Mitsuyo Morio appears at the forefront of the contagion wars. He was said to have accompanied Minetzula Seroa on her journey into Kaum, cleansing the last of the Cenerese. His expansive knowledge of the forests was vital in fighting the remnants of the disease when he returned to his home forests. He lived for three centuries before the dragons called him home.

His great grandson Kyutaro was one of the three resistance leaders in Cincoria who inhabited the north readies of the Klarn mountains when Klarnos invaded. In refusing to bow the knee to a Klarnorian overchief who now claimed his fathers lands, he was forced to prove his skill with a bow – inherited wholesale from his fathers. His own son was paraded in front of local village leaders, tied to a stake and a persimmon placed on his head. His offer – knock the fruit off and free his son, or death to them both. Kyutaro brought Morio’s bow and two arrows. He succeeded in the shot. The overchief asked what the spare arrow was for – his enemy calmly replied it was for the chiefs heart if he missed.

-----

== Hitorii Danshin, The Man Alone ==

(''Developed by'' [[User:Lossefion|Lossefion]] ''and'' [[User:Stark|Stark]])

Hitorii Danshin, or The Man Alone, is a figure of modern myth in the Aluvian heartlands, and a man suspected to be alive today.

Ten years ago, the Bitter Forest shook with the sound of hunting Anathema. Demons strode triumphant, and a foolish sorcerer who drank deep of lake lit only by moonlight, also drank evil that hollowed her from within. The demon in her sought to bring others of her ilk into the forest of her host's birth - turning it into a very adjunct of hell pleasing to her masters. Lions were sent out into the world, deer stalked their hunters, and the rivers ran with the salted tears of crying women. The sorcerer was tricked and led astray, enslaved by the mastery she sought. She was tricked into a mockery of life, flesh moulding to the demon's whim. She made Widows, orphans and widowers, until he came.

From the north came soldiers, hardened to the battle. Prey did the Anathema seek among them. Hunters all, they hunted each other in turn. Days and then weeks were spent beating the brush. Two score and ten men, with armoured skin an inch thick, sought to no avail. Instead, the horror of flesh found them.

Through the trees, from the very rain it struck, knifing ten down where they stood. Their comrades were struck dumbfounded, and hastened in their retreat. Five more were lost in the muster. Their captain sounded alarum.

In the gathering chaos amid torrential rain, they fled through gully and tree. In the midst of them flew the Chimaera, striking deftly, as each made pass by tree, by root, by stem. Each man felled, uprooted, torn. Seperating the wheat from the chaff, did the Chimaera thresh the battalion, each talon cutting a life in its prime short. Each life’s story lost amidst blood in the soil.

Two score dead in the first fatal minutes. Ten good, worthy men left to stand against the monster. By a stand of ash trees, did their captain sound a rally. Against the green wood, did their spears shine bright. The Chimaera flew at them in fury, but could not dislodge them or their captain from their foundation. Blades flashed, points struck, and the beast was wounded.

It howled in anger, and folded in on itself, and then exploded outwards in a sea of ichor and teeth. Its limbs tore two men in half, and its claws disembowelled another. The good captain could not stand to see his men suffer so, and throwing his signifer down behind him, hewing his faithful hatchet at the sea of limbs as if hewing a tree. His order to flee did not go unheard. Tall he was, grand he was, Tragic he was, for he died beneath the onslaught.

A dragon fang, the last of the litter of wolves, and a mere cub left of the pack that day. Five men, and a boy. A den they need, to lick their wounds and gather their courage. To this end, they continue on up and up the hillside, darting through the rocky outcrops seeking best point of vantage.

Nature gifted them with a foundation, a rocky bowl of some strength with ramparts of living wood and stone. The way was narrow, the ground unsure. The men schemed and set the most fleet as bait to lure the terrible hound at their heels to this place of death.

The stripling set forth to catch his hunter’s eye. From every shadow was extinction, to every movement was his head turned. The fiend, deep in its cruelty, sought to savour this morsel as slowly as it dared. It revealed itself to him, step by infernal step, seeking to invoke fear in his heart. The heart of the stripling did not quail, and he tore weapons from the bosom of the earth itself, calling the monster pale coward, and defying it with his very voice.

The demon roared losing its interest in the play, and heading straight for the kill. The boy proved his fleetness, and stormed from the clearing stopping for naught, steering for the place of execution. He passed the gate, his comrades in wait in strong and hidden places. The gully ended with a cliff barring any escape. He entered stood, and faced his pursuer across the broken, mossy ground.

His weapons in a heap at the cliff base, he drew his own sword, poor weapon against such hate. His defiance gave the monster no pause, but drew it forward for the old wolves of the pack to tear into its flanks. Their arrows flew true, striking the belly of the beast. It howled in pain, but gave no quarter. Another volley missed, and it turned its attention to those nipping at its heels. To the hunters’ horror its face was that of their captain, screaming obscenities. Faces of their brothers bubbled in its flanks as they wordlessly prayed for a release never to come.

The old wolves' jaws dropped at that, and their hesitation cost them dear. Their doom was upon them, in hellfury, tendon and tentacle. Thick ropes of gut and gristle wrenched from the belly of the beast, tearing one asunder, and dragging a second screaming within its entrails to be slowly digested from inside. The third had his face dissolved by a vomit of bile from the open maw. The fourth, his mind blasted by the sight gave himself gibbering to the tide of flesh, screaming mindlessly even as it engulfed him. The last, the oldest wolf pressed, pressed in deep laying open its throat again and again, even to have it seal behind the trail of his axe.

The boy, now forgotten sees now. There is now way past, no way round. There is only through. Shaken arm, pale sword at the ready, he lunges, past the threshing limbs, over the dead flesh, into the centre of the beast…and lands a telling blow. Its scream is high, pained. It is not a scream heard before now. This heartens the boy, brightens the boy, enrages the man. He grabs the hilt with both hands, begins wrenching it backwards and forwards within the flesh, a lever against the tide, the strength of two dragons in his limbs. His captain turns to him, eyes mad with pain. The maw opens impossibly wide, and yet he keeps cutting, wrenching at the beast, leaving wounds impossible – enough to kill any man thrice over, this beast is not even dead once. The ground shakes and trembles with the fury of battle, the sky reddens with the mist of blood. The very spirits of the storm in their tumble, give pause to the storm below. One must give, one must yield, one must surely die.

And one does.

And it is not the boy. It is not the boy at all. For he is a man. The man Alone.

-----

== [[Stark/ReportsfromInaeva|Reports From Inieva]] ==

After-action reports from the escort CO. Written by [[User:Stark|Stark]].

-----

== [[Lossefion/Dividing The Spoils|Dividing The Spoils]] ==

A lengthy piece derived from correspondence between the circle.

-----
== A dream on the journey home... ==

The steady thrum of the waves overtakes you as the Reachfar speeds towards home, and the motion rocks you to sleep in the spartan though not uncomfortable cabins you berth in....

She stands at the prow, weeping, weeping.

There is nothing you can do to console her, you know. You watch the flickering mocking light of the city burning and dancing behind you, waving an insulting goodbye.

In the shadow, in silence she is weeping, weeping.

All that you have ever known is gone to ashes, gone to dust. You have taken ship and fled East, the siren song of your ancient souls' home. There are those among you that have driven armies before them, that have taken task with gods, monsters, and yet it is your fellow men and women that have cast you forth. There is a risen a pall of smoke cast across the heavens, and the stars are obscured. Touche, you think, for your ancient advisors are nowhere to be found. Your faithful, faithless retainers and majordomos, some whom you have raised since birth have cast off their oaths of loyalty and duty, and made their own play for the reins of authority. Some yet stood with you, dragons' blood being spilled on both sides. The dance was done 'ere the feast was yet over.

In the moonlight, over the waves, she is weeping, weeping.

The end of the five day feast was not yet come, but you had declined to partake in the City, choosing instead to renew older, more personal ties. There it was that you were caught in the echoes of screaming, that the sound caught you before the treachery did. You could not bear to face them, your fellows, it was not your way to war against those whom you had fought alongside - others played those games, not you. And so, you all fled...

Her salt tears stain the seas, her cheeks wet from weeping, weeping.

The gateway to the East perhaps yet stands open, Deheleshen and her towers, her might and her strength old friends. You join her at the prow to comfort her, putting a hand around her shoulders and squeezing lightly. It will be alright you say, hollow though the words sound. It is easy to think that there you may yet return, though it may be your last stand will be in the nexus of your own strength. You dismiss the dark thought with an angry toss of your head. You have allies that others do not, and therein lies your strength.

Even so, there will be pain, and blood, and death 'ere the end. You know this, and you see the fires that lick the underside of the skies ahead and behind, and know there will be

Weeping, weeping...

...and with the tears staining your cheeks, you waken, as though your heart should break.

-----

== [[Stark/LettersHomeNeverToArrive|Letters Home, Never To Arrive]] ==

[[User:Stark|Stark]]'s letters to his family.

-----

== [[Enkou/Arrival|Arrival]] ==

A piece, composed by [[User:Enkou|Enkou]], describing Max's welcome home.

-----

== [[Lossefion/The Tomb At Erdinghast|The Tomb at Erdinghast]] ==

An exercise detailing what lies beneath a broken manse.

Lossefion/Prose

2015-06-08T19:34:20Z

Derfel: /* The Rebel Archer */

== '''Campaign Prose''' ==

Return to [[Lossefion%27s_Campaign_Notes|Lossefion's Campaign Notes]]

Here follows some scene setting work, mostly used in-character to thoroughly confuse some of the players. Included is some personal prose written by players to help flesh out their characters. It's organised roughly in chronological order. - [[User:Lossefion|Lossefion]]

-----

== [[Lossefion/The Rebel Archer|The Rebel Archer]] ==

A tale of [[Lossefion/Characters#Morio_Miyamoto_.28PC.29|Morio Miyamoto]]'s ancestor.

During the Klarnorian wars, much of the legendary can be traced back to one lineage of men – that of the dragonblood Mitsuyo Morio
In the decades following the contagion, many nations were displaced from their homes – the destruction of a citystate was a mere footnote. Among the earliest notaries of the Aluvian settlements, Mitsuyo Morio appears at the forefront of the contagion wars. He was said to have accompanied Minetzula Seroa on her journey into Kaum, cleansing the last of the Cenerese. His expansive knowledge of the forests was vital in fighting the remnants of the disease when he returned to his home forests. He lived for three centuries before the dragons called him home.
His great grandson Kyutaro was one of the three resistance leaders in Cincoria who inhabited the north readies of the Klarn mountains when Klarnos invaded. In refusing to bow the knee to a Klarnorian overchief who now claimed his fathers lands, he was forced to prove his skill with a bow – inherited wholesale from his fathers. His own son was paraded in front of local village leaders, tied to a stake and a persimmon placed on his head. His offer – knock the fruit off and free his son, or death to them both. Kyutaro brought Morio’s bow and two arrows. He succeeded in the shot. The overchief asked what the spare arrow was for – his enemy calmly replied it was for the chiefs heart if he missed.

-----

== Hitorii Danshin, The Man Alone ==

(''Developed by'' [[User:Lossefion|Lossefion]] ''and'' [[User:Stark|Stark]])

Hitorii Danshin, or The Man Alone, is a figure of modern myth in the Aluvian heartlands, and a man suspected to be alive today.

Ten years ago, the Bitter Forest shook with the sound of hunting Anathema. Demons strode triumphant, and a foolish sorcerer who drank deep of lake lit only by moonlight, also drank evil that hollowed her from within. The demon in her sought to bring others of her ilk into the forest of her host's birth - turning it into a very adjunct of hell pleasing to her masters. Lions were sent out into the world, deer stalked their hunters, and the rivers ran with the salted tears of crying women. The sorcerer was tricked and led astray, enslaved by the mastery she sought. She was tricked into a mockery of life, flesh moulding to the demon's whim. She made Widows, orphans and widowers, until he came.

From the north came soldiers, hardened to the battle. Prey did the Anathema seek among them. Hunters all, they hunted each other in turn. Days and then weeks were spent beating the brush. Two score and ten men, with armoured skin an inch thick, sought to no avail. Instead, the horror of flesh found them.

Through the trees, from the very rain it struck, knifing ten down where they stood. Their comrades were struck dumbfounded, and hastened in their retreat. Five more were lost in the muster. Their captain sounded alarum.

In the gathering chaos amid torrential rain, they fled through gully and tree. In the midst of them flew the Chimaera, striking deftly, as each made pass by tree, by root, by stem. Each man felled, uprooted, torn. Seperating the wheat from the chaff, did the Chimaera thresh the battalion, each talon cutting a life in its prime short. Each life’s story lost amidst blood in the soil.

Two score dead in the first fatal minutes. Ten good, worthy men left to stand against the monster. By a stand of ash trees, did their captain sound a rally. Against the green wood, did their spears shine bright. The Chimaera flew at them in fury, but could not dislodge them or their captain from their foundation. Blades flashed, points struck, and the beast was wounded.

It howled in anger, and folded in on itself, and then exploded outwards in a sea of ichor and teeth. Its limbs tore two men in half, and its claws disembowelled another. The good captain could not stand to see his men suffer so, and throwing his signifer down behind him, hewing his faithful hatchet at the sea of limbs as if hewing a tree. His order to flee did not go unheard. Tall he was, grand he was, Tragic he was, for he died beneath the onslaught.

A dragon fang, the last of the litter of wolves, and a mere cub left of the pack that day. Five men, and a boy. A den they need, to lick their wounds and gather their courage. To this end, they continue on up and up the hillside, darting through the rocky outcrops seeking best point of vantage.

Nature gifted them with a foundation, a rocky bowl of some strength with ramparts of living wood and stone. The way was narrow, the ground unsure. The men schemed and set the most fleet as bait to lure the terrible hound at their heels to this place of death.

The stripling set forth to catch his hunter’s eye. From every shadow was extinction, to every movement was his head turned. The fiend, deep in its cruelty, sought to savour this morsel as slowly as it dared. It revealed itself to him, step by infernal step, seeking to invoke fear in his heart. The heart of the stripling did not quail, and he tore weapons from the bosom of the earth itself, calling the monster pale coward, and defying it with his very voice.

The demon roared losing its interest in the play, and heading straight for the kill. The boy proved his fleetness, and stormed from the clearing stopping for naught, steering for the place of execution. He passed the gate, his comrades in wait in strong and hidden places. The gully ended with a cliff barring any escape. He entered stood, and faced his pursuer across the broken, mossy ground.

His weapons in a heap at the cliff base, he drew his own sword, poor weapon against such hate. His defiance gave the monster no pause, but drew it forward for the old wolves of the pack to tear into its flanks. Their arrows flew true, striking the belly of the beast. It howled in pain, but gave no quarter. Another volley missed, and it turned its attention to those nipping at its heels. To the hunters’ horror its face was that of their captain, screaming obscenities. Faces of their brothers bubbled in its flanks as they wordlessly prayed for a release never to come.

The old wolves' jaws dropped at that, and their hesitation cost them dear. Their doom was upon them, in hellfury, tendon and tentacle. Thick ropes of gut and gristle wrenched from the belly of the beast, tearing one asunder, and dragging a second screaming within its entrails to be slowly digested from inside. The third had his face dissolved by a vomit of bile from the open maw. The fourth, his mind blasted by the sight gave himself gibbering to the tide of flesh, screaming mindlessly even as it engulfed him. The last, the oldest wolf pressed, pressed in deep laying open its throat again and again, even to have it seal behind the trail of his axe.

The boy, now forgotten sees now. There is now way past, no way round. There is only through. Shaken arm, pale sword at the ready, he lunges, past the threshing limbs, over the dead flesh, into the centre of the beast…and lands a telling blow. Its scream is high, pained. It is not a scream heard before now. This heartens the boy, brightens the boy, enrages the man. He grabs the hilt with both hands, begins wrenching it backwards and forwards within the flesh, a lever against the tide, the strength of two dragons in his limbs. His captain turns to him, eyes mad with pain. The maw opens impossibly wide, and yet he keeps cutting, wrenching at the beast, leaving wounds impossible – enough to kill any man thrice over, this beast is not even dead once. The ground shakes and trembles with the fury of battle, the sky reddens with the mist of blood. The very spirits of the storm in their tumble, give pause to the storm below. One must give, one must yield, one must surely die.

And one does.

And it is not the boy. It is not the boy at all. For he is a man. The man Alone.

-----

== [[Stark/ReportsfromInaeva|Reports From Inieva]] ==

After-action reports from the escort CO. Written by [[User:Stark|Stark]].

-----

== [[Lossefion/Dividing The Spoils|Dividing The Spoils]] ==

A lengthy piece derived from correspondence between the circle.

-----
== A dream on the journey home... ==

The steady thrum of the waves overtakes you as the Reachfar speeds towards home, and the motion rocks you to sleep in the spartan though not uncomfortable cabins you berth in....

She stands at the prow, weeping, weeping.

There is nothing you can do to console her, you know. You watch the flickering mocking light of the city burning and dancing behind you, waving an insulting goodbye.

In the shadow, in silence she is weeping, weeping.

All that you have ever known is gone to ashes, gone to dust. You have taken ship and fled East, the siren song of your ancient souls' home. There are those among you that have driven armies before them, that have taken task with gods, monsters, and yet it is your fellow men and women that have cast you forth. There is a risen a pall of smoke cast across the heavens, and the stars are obscured. Touche, you think, for your ancient advisors are nowhere to be found. Your faithful, faithless retainers and majordomos, some whom you have raised since birth have cast off their oaths of loyalty and duty, and made their own play for the reins of authority. Some yet stood with you, dragons' blood being spilled on both sides. The dance was done 'ere the feast was yet over.

In the moonlight, over the waves, she is weeping, weeping.

The end of the five day feast was not yet come, but you had declined to partake in the City, choosing instead to renew older, more personal ties. There it was that you were caught in the echoes of screaming, that the sound caught you before the treachery did. You could not bear to face them, your fellows, it was not your way to war against those whom you had fought alongside - others played those games, not you. And so, you all fled...

Her salt tears stain the seas, her cheeks wet from weeping, weeping.

The gateway to the East perhaps yet stands open, Deheleshen and her towers, her might and her strength old friends. You join her at the prow to comfort her, putting a hand around her shoulders and squeezing lightly. It will be alright you say, hollow though the words sound. It is easy to think that there you may yet return, though it may be your last stand will be in the nexus of your own strength. You dismiss the dark thought with an angry toss of your head. You have allies that others do not, and therein lies your strength.

Even so, there will be pain, and blood, and death 'ere the end. You know this, and you see the fires that lick the underside of the skies ahead and behind, and know there will be

Weeping, weeping...

...and with the tears staining your cheeks, you waken, as though your heart should break.

-----

== [[Stark/LettersHomeNeverToArrive|Letters Home, Never To Arrive]] ==

[[User:Stark|Stark]]'s letters to his family.

-----

== [[Enkou/Arrival|Arrival]] ==

A piece, composed by [[User:Enkou|Enkou]], describing Max's welcome home.

-----

== [[Lossefion/The Tomb At Erdinghast|The Tomb at Erdinghast]] ==

An exercise detailing what lies beneath a broken manse.

Lossefion/Characters

2015-06-07T19:14:30Z

Derfel: /* Morio Miyamoto (PC) */

== '''Campaign Characters''' ==

Return to [[Lossefion%27s_Campaign_Notes]]

== Solar Exalted ==

== Amilar Koshiko (PC) ==

A bookish scion of one of Lookshy’s more studious Gens. Although like most children of the Gens she took her studies in the salons, and then took her tour in the Second Field Force, her talents lay in knowledge. Her wide readings allowed a number of her peers to draw upon many classical scenarios of war to confound foes. It was in the lost magic and technologies that her passions lay. Although her parents could not find sponsorship to enrol her for more than two years at Valkhawsen, a visiting dignitary offered her a position at the Houses of Learning in Great Forks. Oakheart respected her work, and offered his young peer a place on the Inieva expedition. Her family still plays a significant role in her life.

An Admiral of the Lookshy Sky Navy - Amilar Acraban - is a great-uncle of Koshiko, and the relationship is distant, if amicable. He hears of her exploits with amusement now.

Amilar Koshiko exalted as a Solar of the Eclipse Caste at the Battle of the Sunset Bridge. Her anima is one of the Eternal City, a vision of civilisation in perfection.

She has since initiated herself into the Terrestrial Circle of Sorcery, using an ancient copy of the White Treatise found in the Tomb at Erdinghast.

== "Kokage" Ryo (PC) ==

A wiry Nexus street rat and former “resource procurer” for the seedier portions of the Guild artifact trade, he was practically bought and sold by his bosses with drugs from a comparatively young age. He was eventually hired to steal an artifact being sold by Einar Oakheart to a peer in the Marukani redoubt, but was caught by an off-duty Laeo Stark. Subject to Lookshyan law, Ryo was sentenced to indentured servitude for five years, but strangely enough, it was Einar who bought his contract. Subjected to a strict regimen of purgation and callisthenics, Ryo has only recently gone cold turkey. He works for Einar as a courier, scout, and sometime canary.

He was indirectly worked for one of the Guild’s masters in artifact “acquirement” Hierarch Arys Shen, through Obsidian Monkey Band. Prior to that, he grew up with a small child gang, the Sweeps who helped with chimney sweeping (naturally), pest control, and messages. Other benefits for these gangs included protection in numbers for their members, and a pool of labour that can be tapped by adult gangs, and more unscrupulous merchants.

Ryo was exalted as a Solar of the Night Caste during the Battle of the Sunset Bridge. His anima is of the Nightbird Flock, an amalgam of many that is obvious and obscuring, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

== Laeo Stark (PC, Played by [[User:Stark|Stark]]) ==

Laeo is a Gunzosha commando of helot ancestry. His parents are both tanners. Laeo was originally contracted to protect a sensitive expedition to the Aluvian Heartlands. As part of using the minimum possible resources, Laeo only took a “discreet staff” of four trainee ashigaru, and one thaumaturge-artificer. Laeo has a single son named Iairos. His wife, Kynthia is a noted gardener and herbalist who now resides in the Green Hunt. In his youth, Laeo was part of a raid to oust a chimerical Lunar from the Aluvian Heartlands. The results of the raid led him to become a gunzosha, wanting to be able to fight the Anathema on more or less even terms. As the journey starts, Laeo is nearing the end of his lifespan, aged by his armour. He would be in his late thirties, but looks nearly seventy.

Laeo Stark was exalted as a Solar of the Dawn Caste during the Battle of the Sunset Bridge. His anima is of Yesterday's Heroes, wherein the memory of every soldier is apparent, and their vigour strikes anew.

== Maximillian Madorosu (PC, Played by [[User:Enkou|Enkou]]) ==

Realm expatriate, a son of House Peleps. His father Peleps Madorosu left Sdoia with his family after being framed for embezzlement twenty years before. He defected to Lookshy, and is now the captain of a First Age ship in Lookshy’s blue-water navy. Max’s brother Ryujin shares the same distinction. His sister remains married to a significant magistrate within the Realm. Max is a highly skilled alchemist and physician, and has a significant dislike for the Realm and the politics of the Scarlet Dynasty. He is in his late thirties, and is mentored by the somewhat (in)famous Einar Oakheart, who sees something of himself in the ineffectual angry young man of yesteryear. Einar would like to see Max pick up more of his adventuring streak and a little more bravery, which is why he has brought him on the field expedition to Inieva.

Maximillian Madorosu exalted as a Solar of the Twilight Caste during the Battle of the Sunset Bridge. His anima is of the Purified Caduceus, a messenger of cleansing water and fire.

== Morio Miyamoto (PC) ==

This man cuts a lonely figure. A scion of the much diminished House Morio of [[Lossefion/Locations#Cincoria|Cincoria]], his antecedents rose to prominance fighting the Great Contagion. In his youth, Miyamoto had an addiction to gambling that he has since overcome. As he is trying to live up to his ancestors - the unspoken masters of a heavily forested nation in the Aluvian Heartlands – he has made himself known as quite the huntsman and tracker, aided by his trusty wolf companion Akimaru. He is one of the ranking officers in his homeland's military, holding the rank of Ovykor, equivalent to Captain. He was hired for a not-insignificant sum by Einar Oakheart as a guide through the mountains to the south.

Morio Miyamoto exalted as a Solar of the Zenith Caste during the Battle at the Sunset Bridge. His anima is of the Celestial Wolf, a timeless predator that never lets go.

Lossefion/Characters

2015-06-07T19:07:29Z

Derfel: /* Morio Miyamoto (PC) */

== '''Campaign Characters''' ==

Return to [[Lossefion%27s_Campaign_Notes]]

== Solar Exalted ==

== Amilar Koshiko (PC) ==

A bookish scion of one of Lookshy’s more studious Gens. Although like most children of the Gens she took her studies in the salons, and then took her tour in the Second Field Force, her talents lay in knowledge. Her wide readings allowed a number of her peers to draw upon many classical scenarios of war to confound foes. It was in the lost magic and technologies that her passions lay. Although her parents could not find sponsorship to enrol her for more than two years at Valkhawsen, a visiting dignitary offered her a position at the Houses of Learning in Great Forks. Oakheart respected her work, and offered his young peer a place on the Inieva expedition. Her family still plays a significant role in her life.

An Admiral of the Lookshy Sky Navy - Amilar Acraban - is a great-uncle of Koshiko, and the relationship is distant, if amicable. He hears of her exploits with amusement now.

Amilar Koshiko exalted as a Solar of the Eclipse Caste at the Battle of the Sunset Bridge. Her anima is one of the Eternal City, a vision of civilisation in perfection.

She has since initiated herself into the Terrestrial Circle of Sorcery, using an ancient copy of the White Treatise found in the Tomb at Erdinghast.

== "Kokage" Ryo (PC) ==

A wiry Nexus street rat and former “resource procurer” for the seedier portions of the Guild artifact trade, he was practically bought and sold by his bosses with drugs from a comparatively young age. He was eventually hired to steal an artifact being sold by Einar Oakheart to a peer in the Marukani redoubt, but was caught by an off-duty Laeo Stark. Subject to Lookshyan law, Ryo was sentenced to indentured servitude for five years, but strangely enough, it was Einar who bought his contract. Subjected to a strict regimen of purgation and callisthenics, Ryo has only recently gone cold turkey. He works for Einar as a courier, scout, and sometime canary.

He was indirectly worked for one of the Guild’s masters in artifact “acquirement” Hierarch Arys Shen, through Obsidian Monkey Band. Prior to that, he grew up with a small child gang, the Sweeps who helped with chimney sweeping (naturally), pest control, and messages. Other benefits for these gangs included protection in numbers for their members, and a pool of labour that can be tapped by adult gangs, and more unscrupulous merchants.

Ryo was exalted as a Solar of the Night Caste during the Battle of the Sunset Bridge. His anima is of the Nightbird Flock, an amalgam of many that is obvious and obscuring, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

== Laeo Stark (PC, Played by [[User:Stark|Stark]]) ==

Laeo is a Gunzosha commando of helot ancestry. His parents are both tanners. Laeo was originally contracted to protect a sensitive expedition to the Aluvian Heartlands. As part of using the minimum possible resources, Laeo only took a “discreet staff” of four trainee ashigaru, and one thaumaturge-artificer. Laeo has a single son named Iairos. His wife, Kynthia is a noted gardener and herbalist who now resides in the Green Hunt. In his youth, Laeo was part of a raid to oust a chimerical Lunar from the Aluvian Heartlands. The results of the raid led him to become a gunzosha, wanting to be able to fight the Anathema on more or less even terms. As the journey starts, Laeo is nearing the end of his lifespan, aged by his armour. He would be in his late thirties, but looks nearly seventy.

Laeo Stark was exalted as a Solar of the Dawn Caste during the Battle of the Sunset Bridge. His anima is of Yesterday's Heroes, wherein the memory of every soldier is apparent, and their vigour strikes anew.

== Maximillian Madorosu (PC, Played by [[User:Enkou|Enkou]]) ==

Realm expatriate, a son of House Peleps. His father Peleps Madorosu left Sdoia with his family after being framed for embezzlement twenty years before. He defected to Lookshy, and is now the captain of a First Age ship in Lookshy’s blue-water navy. Max’s brother Ryujin shares the same distinction. His sister remains married to a significant magistrate within the Realm. Max is a highly skilled alchemist and physician, and has a significant dislike for the Realm and the politics of the Scarlet Dynasty. He is in his late thirties, and is mentored by the somewhat (in)famous Einar Oakheart, who sees something of himself in the ineffectual angry young man of yesteryear. Einar would like to see Max pick up more of his adventuring streak and a little more bravery, which is why he has brought him on the field expedition to Inieva.

Maximillian Madorosu exalted as a Solar of the Twilight Caste during the Battle of the Sunset Bridge. His anima is of the Purified Caduceus, a messenger of cleansing water and fire.

== Morio Miyamoto (PC) ==

This man cuts a lonely figure. A scion of the much diminished House Morio of [[Lossefion/Locations#Cincoria|Cincoria]], his antecedents rose to prominance fighting the Great Contagion. In his youth, Miyamoto had an addiction to gambling that he has since overcome. As he is trying to live up to his ancestors - the unspoken masters of a heavily forested nation in the Aluvian Heartlands – he has made himself known as quite the huntsman and tracker. He is one of the ranking officers in his homeland's military, holding the rank of Ovykor, equivalent to Captain. He was hired for a not-insignificant sum by Einar Oakheart as a guide through the mountains to the south.

Morio Miyamoto exalted as a Solar of the Zenith Caste during the Battle at the Sunset Bridge. His anima is of the Celestial Wolf, a timeless predator that never lets go.