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Verdant Waves

I was born a little over four and twenty years ago, on an island in the West. Don't bother asking which island. It's not there anymore.

You see, not too long after my birth, the Wyld swallowed it up. I remember images, snapshots, disconnected moments...the Fair Folk attacking the village...a man cut down by their blades...a woman, I think it was my mother, placing me in a boat...a view from afar as the island started to warp and distort as the Wyld gobbled it whole...

Enough. Those are bittersweet memories at best. I survived by pure luck. For whatever reason my mother placed me in a boat, it saved my life. I was discovered by Silent Ocean, a wyld warder who had been heading towards my island, hoping to avert the tragedy that he was too late to even witness. He took me in, though not as a son, but as an apprentice.

I can't say I had the happiest of childhoods with Silent Ocean, but it was better than being dream-eaten by the Fair Folk, and it allowed me to learn how to combat their predations, something I took to hungrily. Silent Ocean taught me other things too, such as how to petition the weather spirits, how to avoid offending the sea spirits, how to swim back to your boat if the island you're on vanishes, the rudiments of swordplay and much more. He was a strict man, but he never gave me a rebuke that was not justified, never gave me a punishment I had not earned. And when my knowledge rose he was there with warm praises whenever I managed to meet his high expectations.

By my sixteenth year, I was usually the one performing the rites necessary to a warder's station, though with Silent Ocean's close oversight. By my eighteenth, he no longer had to correct me, and trusted me enough to perform the rites unaided. It was then that I became aware of the loose community of warders, exchanging messages and news among themselves, be it about movements of the Wyld or Fair Folk, an apprentice's latest achievement, or the sad news of a warder's death. Such communications were sporadic, of course, travelling as best they could in the boats of fishermen and traders.

On my twentieth birthday, Silent Ocean told me he had taught me all he could. I was no longer an apprentice, but a warder in my own right. Silent Ocean was as proud as he had a right to be. He never tried to truly be a father to me, but he never claimed to be as much, either. I moved to another island, one without warder, and was welcomed there. For the next two years, I kept up with my work and my correspondence. I kept in touch with Silent Ocean as best I was able.

Eventually, however, I noticed Silent Ocean had not sent me a message for some time. I was concerned, but such things could be attributed to one of a hundred different harmless difficulties, be it bad weather, the message falling out of a boat, or a trader who did not carry the parcel to its intended destination, all normal perils of such haphazard communication channels.

But then I received a visitor from Silent Ocean's island. He had come to ask for my help, for Silent Ocean had fallen ill and died and the villagers could only do so much to keep the wards intact -- a semi-educated villager can make regular maintenance, but eventually the problems mount until the village can no longer maintain the ward. It is the duty of a warder to perform the rites to create the wards and to fix these unavoidable problems. When I asked how long it had been since Silent Ocean had brought the ward back to its full strength, the villager's answer struck me as odd...it was too soon for the advanced level of decay he was describing. More troubling is the fact that he mentioned that the problems were mounting at a rate that sounded too fast to my ears. As a precaution, I checked the wards on my home island, ensuring that they were at full strength, then I returned with the villager to his island.

When I got there, the other villagers were missing. The one who had guided me wept, for he knew that his family and friends were most likely lost to the Fair Folk. I had no such time for sentiment. If I did not hurry, the island itself was next. I raced to the town square and began the ritual to protect the island, when I heard the singing start, an eerie, haunting yet beautiful melody. I hardened my heart and focused on my task, knowing that time was running out. I turned and saw my travelling companion walking, as though in a dream, smiling with his eyes wide open. He passed right by me as if I was not there, and as he passed I noticed the trees in the distance swaying and warping. It was too late for the island, I had to think of myself and my companion now. I grabbed him and shook him, shouting for him to snap out of it and the both of us get out while we can. His response? A barely coherent mumbling about the song in the air, and having to go to meet the beautiful singer, and became violent when I attempted to drag him away.

A warder's duty is to protect people from the Wyld, to keep back the Wyld's ever hungry maw. What we warders don't like to talk about, is that when all else fails, we must prevent the Wyld from warping these people, to give them a clean end if all else is lost. I drew my blade and performed that grim task necessary to save him from further corruption. Then I ran towards the beach where my boat lay, the ground behind me rapidly wavering and contorting. The Wyld caught up with me, and the beach spiralled away out of my reach.

I remember praying, to any who would listen, not to let it end this way...I knew in my heart that if I fell here, my home would most likely be next, for they would not know until it was too late that I would not return.

In that desperate moment, as I struggled in hope I could still escape the wyld's new boundaries, a newfound strength burned through me, and I fought my way further outwards. My supplies turned into birds and flew away from me, my talismans warped into croaking frogs that I batted away. The iron sword at my side warped into a snake made of glass and slithered off. My clothes turned into mist and dissipated like a fog bank before the sun. And yet I pressed on, step by step until finally I fell into the water, and my shoulder collided painfully with my small boat. Exhausted, I climbed in and rowed away from the warped island. Shortly after I checked my boat, and found that my provisions had vanished, my supplies, maps, everything, gone, and I despaired. I had little hope of being able to chart a course in my head on the open sea, and without food or drinking water I was doomed. I looked into the water at my reflection and I was shocked to find the symbol of the Unclean blazing on my forehead. It scared me. Was I now a demon? Did the Wyld infect me somehow? I looked at myself again, and decided that for now I didn't think I was a demon lord. For starters, if I had become the horrible Anathema from the Immaculate Texts, I think I would be doing better than being naked, wet, and hungry without a whole lot of hopes.

I decided to simply keep rowing until my strength ebbed and I had to sleep. When I awoke, I kept rowing in what I hoped was the same direction, in the hope of coming in sight of an island that I could land on for supplies.

After the third day hunger and thirst started to make me weak, and before long I lacked the strength to seriously row, and my mind became fevered and hallucinations assaulted me.

The one I find most vivid is that of a huge metal serpent, rearing out of the water and staring down on me. It spoke, demanding something...when I tried to speak to it, it simply repeated its demands, the nature of which I couldn't understand. In the end, I lost consciousness again.

When I next awoke I found myself on a cool stone floor. A moment of confusion as I studied my surroundings, seeing light play in ripples across the floor, and for a moment, I panicked, thinking I had been dragged into some fae's keep. I staggered to my feet, looking about the room. and became even more confused. The room was dominated by a large pool, a platform forming a crescent around it. The wall across from the platform was made of crystal, and through it I saw fish swimming past outside. The crystal continued upwards in a smooth arc until I was looking up into the light that came down through the waters above, the source of the rippling lights on the floor. The room was underwater, somehow kept full of air. I looked again at the pool and realized that it had no bottom, it was merely an exit out into the waters outside. Near the structure was some kind of kelp bed. Somehow, though, I could feel this building was special...power hung just outside my senses, like a tingling on the back of your neck.

Turning, I faced the wall behind me, and saw a door leading inward, which I walked through. Beyond the door I found small room, with a small curtained chamber and and a bar from which hung several frayed suits of a material I couldn't identify. Beyond that I found several robes of a incredibly fine cloth that felt like silk or satin. I put one on and continued through another door leading further into this strange place.

The next room could only be described as opulent. Fine furnishings, and the floor was a slightly mossy mosaic with water running between the tiles. What caught my eye was a small plaque sitting on a table. Picking it up, I found it to be a map, with markings that I did not recognize, yet whose meanings where as clear as if they were talking to me. I saw the markings for the entrance I had come through, the room I was in was marked as "Lounge" and most importantly, rooms marked "Kitchen" and "Pantry."

If someone had told me I still had the strength to run five seconds earlier, I would have called them a liar. But I dashed towards the pantry, and to find to my wonder a room stocked with growing plants, apparently irrigated by the water running through the floor. From these plants, both familiar and strange, grew fruits that hung heavily from their branches. I did not hesitate, I dropped the map by the door and started pulling fruits off the plants and eating them hungrily. The fruits were juicy, delicious, sating my hunger and my thirst. My body content again, I picked up the map and continued exploring, hoping to find a way out.

What I first saw instead was a room marked "Study". In there was a few books strewn across a table and comfortable chairs to read in. The books themselves were made not of paper but some material I do not recognize, but it was apparently waterproof, else the books would be mildewed rags long before now. Also on the table were a pair of golden bracers, which fit me perfectly. I felt power flow from me into the bracers as I put them on, and then they became much lighter, harmonizing with my movements. I noticed one of them had an empty setting, suitable for an egg-sized gem.

Reading the books was enlightening, to say the least. It was then I learned I had become a Solar, a Chosen of the Unconquered Sun, and that the Immaculate Philosophy was a lie. In my heart, I knew this book's words to be true, though I had no other evidence.

I don't really know how long I was there, honestly. I ate when I was hungry, slept when I tired, and read the books voraciously. How many times did sleep or hunger strike me, I do not remember. When I slept, the dreams came. In them, I was a sorcerer with few peers, a man whose genius pioneered great works for the benefit of all. Wondrous devices such as irrigation networks and weather control devices that benefitted entire kingdoms, ships that sailed through the clouds instead of the waves, all of these and more were second nature to my predecessor. Ah, if only the dreams had shown me an inkling of how these wonders worked...

And then the dreams would turn darker. Platoons of Dragon-Blooded attacking my tower, chasing me across land and sea alike, dying as I struck back with war magics of terrifying power and scope. They sought to usurp my position above them, the fools...without my genius, did they think they could perform all the tasks necessary to merely maintain what I had already built?

Over time, I pieced together some of what my dreams told me. In the First Age, for no other time could have been as grand as in my dreams, the Solars, my kind, ruled. That golden Age was brought to an end by the Dragon-Blooded, who rose up and slew their betters. That would explain the lies in the Immaculate Philosophy, really. Having set themselves up as the top dogs, surely they wanted a means to inspire the populace to keep the true rulers suppressed.

But something continued to gnaw at my mind. When I was young, Silent Ocean once gave me the blocks of a puzzle set he had made, and told me to assemble it. I worked long and hard trying to figure out how the pieces fit together, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not fit them all together. When I shamefully conceded my failure, Silent Ocean held up the piece he had hidden from me, and told me that I should never assume I had all the pieces to a puzzle, to always be wary of a missing piece.

That lesson has served me well. And now, there was a piece missing. Why did the Dragon-Blooded rebel? My dreams showed me a beautiful utopia, even the poorest man lived far, far better off than the richest man I could think of. Maybe the Dragon-Blooded of the Realm had better living conditions, but I couldn't say for sure.

But the point is that what our time considers supreme opulence was the low end of wealth in that golden Age. The Dragon-Blooded, as Exalts, naturally had the werewithal to afford better living conditions than that, comforts undreamt of in our time. Why would they rebel in such numbers? Ambition? A human enough motive, we all seek to be better off than we are. But I doubt that they would unite in the numbers that I had seen in my dreams, that they would be so willing to die when they could more than likely improve their lives by earning a bonus from within that golden Age's society? Why would they be so eager to kill their betters that they would die for it?

The horror of the truth began to work its way into my consciousness as I continued to read the books, and my dreams turned...darker. In one dream, my predecessor surveyed the "sequences" mentioned in one of the tomes...ones which he had "terminated", sometimes in large numbers, when something went awry. I had assumed they were experiments of some kind, some sort of alchemical mixtures or machinery.

They were not. They were mortals used for his medical experiments, some taken from the ranks of the sick and cures tested on them, others deliberately infected with a disease so as to provide a test subject. Others still completely healthy, strange machinery or substances implanted in their bodies in order for my predecessor to observe the (often very unpleasant) effects. My predecessor created wondrous medicines, devices designed to be implanted to improve a mortal's capabilites. All wonderful inventions, but the cost... Clearly, my predecessor's nature was originally good, but he had let his power go to his head. He had let the ends justify the means, and lost sight of the staggering cost of those means. He was not a demon, but he most certainly had earned the name Anathema.

Memories continued to flow past my closed eyes as I dozed in one of the reading chairs. The Dragon-Blooded complained about his experiments and asked him to end them. He was angered by this, no, he was enraged, seething at the audacity of these upstarts to attack him. How DARE they? How DARE they turn against their betters! Was he not Chosen of the Unconquered Sun? Did he not have his god-given right to rule? As punishment, he took the families of some of his critics as test subjects for even more dangerous experiments...

And in the end, the Dragon-Blooded demonstrated that god-given right to rule or no, his authority was not limitless. His power slew many Dragon-Blooded, but in the end the sheer numbers of the Dragon-Blooded brought him down, as he cursed them with his last breath.

I awoke, without the anger of my predecessor. He was too blinded by his own arrogance to see that he was the one in the wrong. I sympathized more with the Dragon-Blooded than with the enraged tyrant of my visions. They had no choice. They could either overthrow him and have a better future for those who survived, or let him continue to rule and slowly crush the life out of them.

Refreshed by some real sleep, I returned to the pantry to eat more of the fruits and refill my belly, and discovered a room for bathing and the removal of waste, which I put to use. And at length I came to the Hearthroom. Upon a disc of orihalcum and jade lay an egg-sized gem, the Hearthstone. I grasped it, and concentrated, tapping into the flows within this place. the flows here were mainly Water, but also partially Wood, which explained the soft moss on the floors and the magical plants in the pantry, not to mention the kelp bed outside. I placed the stone in my bracers, and felt its changes wash over me. I returned to the entrance and swam to the surface, now as at home in the water as I was on dry land.

Fortunately for me, I managed to reach an inhabited island. From there, it was a series of hopping from trading vessel to fishing boat and back again to reach my home. I paid for my passage with my labors, using my Sun-given strength to make up for my lack of experience.

When I finally returned home, I restored the wards and contacted some other warders to see to it the island would be protected. Much as I had intended to be a warder for the rest of my life, the Unconquered Sun had Chosen me for a larger task. If I used my power to protect this island alone, my power would be wasted, and undue attention, perhaps even from the Realm, would be drawn to these people. Attention that in the end would most likely do more harm than my protection could do good. I made my preparations, and I arranged for a former apprentice of one of my fellow warders to take over my duties. I would be lying if my fellows did not frown on what I was doing, but I simply said that I had acquired duties elsewhere and managed to deflect inquiries into my new duties. In the end, I lost some of the respect of my peers, but most if not all are still willing to speak with me.

When my preparations were complete and I was about to leave my hut for perhaps the last time, I had a visitor. As he approached, he glanced at me, then pulled a small case out of his pocket, opened it, and looked inside. As he came closer, he closed the case and returned it to his pocket. I couldn't help but notice that the metal in the case wasn't one I recognized.

"Ready to leave? You're running late." he said as he reached my hut.

"I wasn't aware I had an appointment to make," I said dryly, walking past him, heading for the docks.

"We all have our appointments, young Twilight," he said, and I stopped, turning to face him.

"Who are you?"

"Think about it. Who could have possibly known what you became, the truth behind it and where you would be?"

My mind raced, attempting to piece together this puzzle. How did he know what I was? Was he friend or foe? And how did he know I would come here? And judging by his first comment, it's like he knew I would be leaving today, not yesterday, and not tomorrow. I hadn't shared my travel plans with the village. Well, other warders knew I was leaving the island, maybe they told him. But I hadn't stated my departure date, and certainly not to the day, he could not have known that unless he was watching me, and I would have known if a stranger came to the island, it would've been the talk of the town. It's just impossible.

Wait, no, Exalted are not constrained by normal possibility. So he's an Exalt. But he'd have had to have seen the future to--

Oh.

"A Sidereal."

"Precisely. You're young, Solar. Your might is the greatest amongst our kind, but right now, you need guidance," he replied. Well, that implies he's not going to be overtly hostile right now.

"Let me guess, you're keen on providing that guidance."

"Right again. I have lore you will need, and I think you will find my price reasonable."

"Let's hear your price then."

"It's quite simple. I presume you know the phrase, "I scratch your back, you scratch mine"?" I nod. "Well, my kind have always been advisors. But the fact remains that unless something is done, Creation will continue to crumble. As such, there are tasks that require a...bigger hammer...instead of a subtle touch."

"You want me to work for you." Wonderful. Barely started on the job and already people want me to do their dirty work.

"Not for, with. We both want the same thing, to protect Creation and restore it to its former glory. If we work apart, we will most likely fail. Together, we will most likely win."

"I'm sure you understand how disconcerting this meeting is to begin with. What have I to gain from this bargain?"

He chuckled, and drew forth a a pair of books, one white, one black, wrapped together with a yellow ribbon and held them out to me. "Everything."

My eyes widened in shock. The writing on the cover of the white book was clear to me, much like the writing in the Manse. I did not recognize it, but I knew its meaning. The White Treatise. The key to sorcery. The Sidereal held it out further towards me, saying, "Go on. Take them. Think of it as an Exaltation present. And of course, what you stand to gain by working together."

Slowly I took the books in my hands, looking at the black book, which was indeed the Black Treatise. To an established sorcerer, they are of little value I suppose. To one who has not yet learned sorcery, they are worth more than their weight and volume in gold combined. I managed to find voice to speak. "Somehow, I suspect your price will be high."

"To a mortal it would be," he replied, "but you should become accustomed to such things. Your nature is perfection, greatness, excellence. Such gifts and such tasks may be unsuited to us, but your nature will allow you to deal with them. Especially with the instruction I will provide you with."

I look at the books and think for a moment. "Very well, I see no reason for us not to work together. And I do not see that changing as long as you are as keen on Creation's salvation as you say you are."

He extended a hand, saying, "I am, and so are my brethren. Shall we shake on it?"

A year ago, if you had told me I would be making a deal that could effect all of Creation, I'd have called you a liar, for my abilities were just enough to protect a few islands and that was enough to make me content. Now, I no longer have the gift of such simplicity. Creation itself falls on my shoulders, and I need allies to help bear this weight. As I shake his hand I make the final step into a larger world.

"I am Verdant Waves," I said, hoping to get his name in return.

"I am Hidden Victory," he said, smiling, "and I am glad to have your help."

Verdant Waves, on Mortals

I would like nothing more than to sit in my underwater Manse and read, learn and practice until I have relearned the secrets necessary to lead the world into a new golden Age.

That is most emphatically not an option. I was not Chosen to sit on my hands. The Unconquered Sun chose me because he needed someone who would protect innocents. The Wyld's ever hungry maw will not politely wait until I am ready to restore the world to its former glory. The scions of the Realm will not hold off their squabbles until I am ready to repair the damage they cause. If I took all the time I needed, Creation itself could easily be devastated in the meantime. I have no choice. These people need my help NOW. The monsters hungry for their lives will not wait, and neither can I.

Verdant Waves, on the Dragon-Blooded

Lost children, every one of them. I bear them no malice for their rebellion. They had no choice but to rebel at the end of the First Age. But what I do not think they ever understood was they did not have the ability to manage Creation. (The fact that many of my kind booby-trapped their works didn't help either, mind you). Creation has only decayed further in the absence of the Celestial Exalted. The Dragon-Blooded play at being kings of the hill when in reality they are the least of the Exalted. They have lost their way.

Still, they are Exalted, and as such cannot be taken lightly. A Dragon-Blooded who is willing to listen to reason I will reason with, and I will show him the glories of the First Age and the potential to rebuild it. I have no reason to be cruel nor jealous. If a man has a talent that could benefit all, let him use it, be it for poetry, song, or rulership.

But a Dragon-Blooded who will not listen, who would rather see Creation crumble with him as king than see it prosper as knight, who would strike me down because his corrupt elders tell him *I* am the evil one, leaves me with a choice: kill, or be killed. And I will do as the Dragon-Blooded once did, and refuse to leave Creation in the hands of a tyrant.

Verdant Waves, on the Wyld

The Wyld is. That is the only way to describe it. It is chaos, possibility, and corruption all at once. I have heard tales that its sentient components, the Fair Folk, claim that the Wyld is the natural state of being, and that Creation, as a static thing, is a blasphemy upon its purity. Regardless of their viewpoint, the fact remains that mortals, and to a lesser extent Exalts, cannot survive in the Wyld. It matters not if that is the "pure" form of existence if we cannot survive its grasp. We must keep the Wyld at bay if Creation is to survive, and the Fair Folk parasites must not be allowed into Creation.

Verdant Waves, on the Sidereals

Hidden Victory's instruction has been invaluable. He is the source of most of my sorcerous knowledge. The spells he has taught me are flashy as all spells are, but they are effective when I need them, and I am grateful for his instruction.

What is frustrating is what he does not explain to me. How come there is no mention of the Sidereals in the Immaculate Philosophy? For that matter, if they are around, and as well equipped as he seems to be, why does the Immaculate Philosophy persist? Hidden Victory tells me that his kind have had to hide from the Dragon-Blooded, lest their numbers overwhelm his kind like they did mine, and that he does not have the power to affect the Immaculate Order. His responses to these matters are...incomplete. There is a piece missing from the puzzle, and it frustrates me to think that it is being held just outside my reach.

Verdant Waves, on Wyld warding

"How can mere mortal magic hold back the Wyld?" A very insightful question. In the Old Realm, entire economies were carefully managed, their trading patterns controlled to form a barrier against the Wyld. How could a few runes and chants hold back its hunger?

They can't. The only thing that holds back the Wyld is interaction. Interaction between animals helps, but to my understanding it's preferably between people, if only because people interact more than animals, on average. Human habitation is the first and foremost defense against the Wyld's maw.

The problem comes when you realize that parts of the Wyld are smart enough to understand this limitation. Those parts are collectively called the Fair Folk. They are in many ways the Wyld's insidious tendrils, seeking to destroy settlements in order to weaken the natural defenses of Creation. And that's where the wards really come into play. The wards keep out the Fair Folk, and without the Fair Folk's predations, the interaction between villagers, their very act of living in their village keeps the rest of the Wyld at bay.

As for why this isn't the open explanation, consider that most if not all Wyld warders are not interested in explaining the blow by blow of their work. A fisherman isn't going to explain how he performs his job of catching fish in excruciating detail to non-fisherman, all the outsider needs to know is that he catches the fish in order to adequately explain his craft.

And finally, if mortal magic can't keep the Wyld at bay, why do we try rituals to save an island when the people are gone? That's a bit more complicated. In theory, by reminding a place of its being, by reminding the Isle of Singing Waters that it *is* the Isle of Singing Waters, you could temporarily alleviate the need for habitation and interaction, hopefully long enough to resettle or at least evacuate the survivors. In practice, the effectiveness of such rituals are...dubious. I'm not sure they have any real chance of working. Still, even a slim chance is a chance, and thus the rituals are carried out in the hopes of keeping one more piece of Creation from the Wyld's hungry maw. No one said the job of Wyld warder was without risks.

Character Sheet

Moved to here.

Comments

Can't seem to think of a name for the Gold Siddie mentor. And, I have 3 bonus points remaining. I originally was going to put them in Allies/Contacts/etc, but can't seem to think of something suitable. Any suggestions, on name or point spending? - Nanaki

Hey, it's Mark again. I like the Wyld-warder explanation; very well said. I admit to having some... concern, I guess, about how much Verdant Waves seems to know, particularly about the Sidereals. If you're not 100% dead-set on having a Sidereal as a Mentor, I've been considering some alternatives. We'll talk more sometime after tonight's game. - DigitalSentience

Made a few revisions to space out Verdant's revelations, and I think it does help the flow and believability. Lemme know what you think. - Nanaki

Cool! I like the Manse, very awesome. Maybe I'll take a stab at putting up a character descrip. Or at writing one that's vaguelly coherent, at least =) -MeiRen

Awesome history. I especially like Verdant's takes on various bits of Creation (Dragonblooded etc.). I contemplate immitation, which as you know, is the sincerest form of flattery :) - AlsaceAndLorraine