Shallows/EotWCutMaster
For Quick reference:
Here is the Foundation page for The End of the World.
Here is the Introduction.
Here are links to the Characters.
Here are the House Rules.
Here are links to the Missions, as they are made available to the players.
Here you will find the additional elements about the version of Creation that The End of the world is played in. I call it Player Notes.
Here you will find the current disposition of the Sidereal Shards for this game.
Here are links to the Storyteller notes. (Players please refrain from visiting here.)
Cut Scenes – Sidereal Campaign
<The Dragonblooded – Early on>
The house was certainly not a simple cottage like those of the local peasants, yet it was not a powerful manse or great estate either. Surrounded by a copse of trees out in the midst of the Pangu prefecture, it made a quiet peaceful picture amidst the great farmlands of the Blessed Isle. It was a small country estate. Typical of those held by unexalted patricians, or sorcerers, or the more infamous members of a House. This modest house was well made and bore the Mon of House Tepet.
Inside the home there were only a pair of servants. There was a simple man who cared for the landscape and mended small items under the watchful gaze of the steward. The steward was a tall woman with thick luxurious black hair that she wore in a series of fine braids, everything about her was well made and fine. Save that she lacked a voice.
This evening there were few lights about the home. The local of the estate made such an unnoticed occurance. This evening there was more going on in the catacombs beneath the house than above. In fact beneath the home there ran a series of channels and chambers, which all created a great geomantic mandala focusing the power of one of the most powerful earth manses on the Blessed Isle.
The candles flickered across the room, their light rubbing across the scarlet of the tapestries that allowed the room to be secreted from the rest of the chambers. There were a vast number of candles throughout the place. Most had been burning for some time, the wax pooling at the base of the candles. The flames dancing gentle on the wicks.
There were five candles placed upon the floor at regular intervals. Within their circle sat a tall thin man. A gentle breeze blew softly through his long white hair and across his body, a breeze representing the power of his magical nature, as no such current of air would be found so far underground. He sat naked, and as his left hand drew out, essence flowed from his body, causing a series of ancient hidden runes to begin to softly glow forming the path between the candles. The symbols flowed from a sickly green to a blazing deep scarlet. Their shape and form screamed against the sanity of creation. They called forth for the old ones, the creators of the world.
Traditional sorcerers would follow such by drawing back the curtain between the realities of Creation and the Endless Desert, from the tear there would undoubtedly appear a demon of the first circle. The traditional wisdom of modern occultism suggests that these demons actually begin their journey five days before. Regardless, had this been the case, the sorcerer would be outside the circle and drawing the demon in.
The man within the circle had been alive for more than two centuries. Yet although many Dragonbloods would be fortunate to see a further century, this particular Dragonblood was no longer concerned with such things. In fact, he had given up such considerations long ago, far before he had made the decision to sacrifice his soul for the future of his House.
With a rush of wind about the room all of the candles flared and went out. All save the five within the circle. Then those five too flared like tiny bonfires. Yet their light was nothing in comparison to the light of the rune circle. Then as suddenly, both the runes and the candle’s light went out, leaving the room empty save for many piles of melted wax, and the slight sound of a name screamed in agony… Adorjan.
>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< < The Dragonblood Akuma – Meeting with the Fae >
The Agatha danced beautifully upon the screaming winds. It’s glorious form a blur of speed and motion as it bore its rider across the boundaries of Creation and deep into the more fluid areas of reality. He had passed beyond the mountainous glaciers, and the living mountain which had herded them. He had ridden through winds of molten steel, and memories of the spring, and the salty rain of widow’s tears. He had been unmoved.
In the places normally called the bordermarches he had been attacked by a swarm of flying stones, and fended off a winged badger the size of a yeddim. Spiders with the heads of lions chased them across the sky using great silken threads to ride upon the wind. Even as he did this he saw the land fall away beneath his demonic steed.
As he began to pass deeper into the Wyld, feeling the further thinning of the static power of fixed form, he saw off in the distance what appeared to be a great city upon a floating island of rock and stone. He had passed any number of these flying chunks of land, as well as similar masses of fire and water, of ice and even writhing masses of vines and leaves, yet this one bore a striking resemblance to the cities of the first age, and the myths of the lost city of the Ancients. Before the usurpation, there had been a city which was subsequently lost to the Wyld.
He ignored them all, most were likely formed from his own thoughts of what he hoped and feared might be waiting for him out here. Yet before him now lay his destination, and his Beauteous Wasp swung in gracefully for a landing on a great chunk of ice and stone that formed a massive tower the size of the Scarlet Prefecture who’s bottom disappeared into the clouds and shadow below. Certainly there couldn’t be a bottom to this part of the Wyld, so far out byong the pole of elemental air. Could there?
There was a wide terrace, stretched out from a graceful sweep of turrets and towers and flying buttresses of all sorts. In fact many of these didn’t seem to lead anywhere or to be linked in any obvious way. As the wasp landed, the servant of Adorjan dismounted and looked about. An odd half smile twitched at the edges of his lips as his eyes scanned the vast open terrace before him leading to a blank wall. Off behind him a dozen suns were rising and setting at various angles across the sky and the cries of wolves seemed to chase the wind around in the great drop of the Wyld.
The Akuma made his way towards the wall. The palace before him were really quite impressive. The walls were vast structure of pure clear crystal. As he looked forward he could see the rooms before him, vast ballrooms and court chambers, bedchambers and cookeries, and on and on and on. Yet it all appeared empty. There was not a single soul to be seen within.
As he looked about, a section of the wall seemed to melt into a humanoid shape. The being flowed up to the Akuma and seemed to be conituously melting. “Greetings Honored Visitor, you would be…”
“Names, bring such weight with them, do they not?” The man interrupted, “Your masters know me. That is enough. I should so hate to end your existence for a simply lack of courtesy.”
The melting figure bowed and motioned towards the wall. Leading the way it walked into the wall and passed through it. The man stopped and waited. Suddenly the figure melted back out through the wall. Forming again, it waved a hand and the crystal wall grew misty and then open, beyond lay a grand hall, the same as he had seen through the crystal, yet within were a myriad of beings engaged in what was amusingly traditional courtly behavior.
“Please forgive me sir,” the common Rhaksha bowed with a sardonic smile.
“I did, Once. That was my mistake.” The Akuma held out a hand and flame blazed about the melting ice figure. A shrill scream echoed throughout the hall, drawing the attention of the court as the commoner was destroyed. The Akuma entered the hall and the court patted allowing him to make his way to the dais and their queen.
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< Mnemon and Cainen>
Mnemon leaned back on her divan, the silks of her robes parting to allow a long and shapely knee and calve to pass through. Her pale and dainty foot twirled a soft satin slipper on the end, as she brought an amber wine to her lips and sipped.
“Well Cainen, it’s your move, in more ways than one.” She smiled, her teeth a pearly white and almost shining in the essence lamps.
The solid man sitting across from her sat in a high backed stiff chair. His chin rested upon his clasped hands, who’s elbows rested upon the carved arms of the great oak chair. His eyes wandered gently across the gateway board before them. It was beautifully made and crafted cleverly to resemble the blessed isle, with the tiers of the celestial level and the underworld designed to resemble the small island upon which resided the Heptegram and the scavenger lands respectively.
Cainen quietly drew up a gracefully carved piece of red jade. The piece was in the shape of a powerful figure mounted upon a great rearing charger. Cainen moved it into the center of the blessed isle upon the raised section made in a semblance of the Imperial Mountain.
“Mnemon, don’t be foolish. The move you suggest will be opposed on all sides. I cannot see wagering the resources of my Household in such a game.” The older dragonblood leaned back.
Mnemons eyes flashed for a moment, “Ware your choice of words old man, I have come to you in friendship. I should hate for that to change.”
Cainen chuckled and motioned to the board as her drank from a mug of thick dark coffee. “Easy, my dear. I only meant to suggest that you consider what a civil war might mean not only to the Realm, but also to Creation as a whole. You have heard the old expression, ‘The center must hold’?”
Mnemon leaned over offering a fine view of her more worldly charms as she made her move. Cainen’s eyes wandered appraisingly over her form, yet he seemed unmoved to the typical passions. Perhaps the rumors about him were true.
“I think the risk is less than you might think.”
Cainen raised an eyebrow.
“Well consider,” Mnemon waved at the board. “With our houses allied, my own people can easily secure the Immaculate holdings, and the Heptegram, as well as the Imperial city. Your legions can securethe rest of the Isle.”
Cainen chuckled, “We can HOLD, such places, but you say it as though we will be unopposed.”
Mnemon smiled back, her tounge flicking lightly across her lips. “Well perhaps not entirely unopposed, but consider… Should we ally, Ledaal will quickly make their decision to join us. V’neef is a young house, with merchant tendencies and only a small number of personal legions, the majority of which are assigned to the trade route for their wine and other transfer of goods. I think they can easily be intimidated or paid to mind their own affairs.”
Cainen shrugged as they continued playing he was slowly removing pieces from Mnemon’s side.
“House Tepet could have been a challenge, but now, they will either be quietly absorbed, or crushed underfoot. House Cynis will be a potent conflict, as will Ragara. But Cynis’s Dragonbloods are wastrels, and their legions scattered about the threshold dealing with the guild and their precious supplies of slaves and intoxicants.” Mnemon was defending her pieces after a brief retreat.
“I think you underestimate Cynis, my dear. They have a great deal more power than they let on. Tepet also troubles me, yet I know not why.”
Mnemon waved her hand dismissively, “Regardless, Cynis will easily fall before our combined might. Ragara has lent out most of their resources thinking that they will have greater power with favors and monies owed. Yet I think that I’ll absolve our houses of those debts after breaking them.”
“I owe Ragara a few more personal debts than I care to recall.”
“That leaves Nellens, who will undoubtedly side against us, mainly because it isfairly clear that I would destroy such a bastardization of a house.” Mnemon continued to play as she talked. “That leaves Sesus, I believe they will side with us, based on several of my more recent parirings. Peleps will be dangerous, but their might lay predominantly on the inner sea. And finally Iselsi, I relish the idea of doing what my mother should have long ago. If we can remove two of the above threats early on in the game, we can easily deal with the remaining groups…”
The game and the discussion continued as a shadow detached itself from the wall and passed through the window and into the night.
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Interlude: Somewhere between the Midmarches and the Bordermarches in the East
The being stepped from the mists from which all must rise. It bore no form of his own, though it had been forced to assume a vaguely humanoid shape in order to progress this far. As it entered creation it chose eyes that it might view all that surrounded itself. The eyes that formed were beautiful, almond shaped with emerald irises. They grew wide as it looked about at the fixed forms of creation around it.
Its head tilted to one side, and ears formed. At first they were large so as to be able to hear everything, but the being quickly realized these were ungainly and certainly not pleasing to its aesthetic sense. It began to reshape it’s ears, but the form was almost set. It forced its attention to the shaping of it’s ears, and reduced them to a manageable size. Long and tapered at the end they were now proportional to the beings head. However time was beginning to slip, and it’s form beginning to stabilize. It must begin to choose its form now. Thus did the remainder of the morning pass. It chose gender, hair, skin tone, fingers… length and form, height and build, it formed a nose and lungs, it began to breath, it chose to be strong, graceful, beautiful, it chose to be perfect in every way, but its conception of that perfection was flawed by its own lack of understanding of the concept of a permanent form.
As it stood, complete and naked to creation it smiled. It stared at its hands and feet, its genitalia and its ability to perceive the world around it via the various senses it was now constrained to. It reached out with its new limbs and appendages, for a moment it enjoyed the sheer majesty of creating form from nothingness, then it proceeded to fashion for itself arms and armor, a steed, and various accoutrements.
When it was finished it stepped from the bordermarches into creation. It had only three remaining retainers, the rest having been destroyed in its attempt to usurp his progenitor. They had forms to complement its own, and it was pleased. It fashioned lesser mounts for them. It fashioned equipment to suit the purposes they had been formed for, just as they had fashioned their bodies in the same manner.
It turned its form and gazed back out into the Wyld for a time. The servants silent in their place. They stood that way for the length of the day, and as the sun sank in the west it turned and faced Creation.
“I am LyKoot, the Root of Destruction!” He cried out to the world. “This day I make the first steps on the path that reclaims my dominion over reality. Let fear precede my name.” With that the Fae mounted and rode forth.
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Interlude: The outskirts of city of Melevhil, The farm of the Kiro family.
They gathered in the root cellar beneath the barn. It was adapted from an ancient house from the first age, which had stood here before the current members of the Kiro family were even born. All of the family members were there, and the members of three other families as well. When all were present, the doors to the outside were shut and barred, and with a gesture and ancient word, one of the walls opened, revealing a hidden chamber even larger than the cellar they were currently within. All of the people filed in and donned their respective robes.
Kiro Shenjinko, the Lawgiver, rang a soft gong after all those assembled were attired and in their respective places along the great crimson circle, or lined up against the wall. He then turned and nodded to his twin Kiro Leiki, the high priestess.
Raising her hands, the high priestess called for silence, and then as the final rays of the setting sun passed beneath the surface of the land, the ritual began. The details of the dark rite are a burden on the souls of those who witness them. Consider the blackness, which must imbue those, few who dare to practice them. At the climax of the ritual three children each less than a single winter old were sacrificed, and the ancient words of power were issued.
With the leaving of the children from this world, an opening was created, and Resalix, one of the mighty Teodozji entered into the world. He cast his awesome gaze across the mortals, and watched them fall to their knees before him. He roared out the wonders of his mighty scripture, and it seared into the minds of those around him. For he carried the word of the old gods, and woe betide any who dared question the holiness of its way.
Finally his eyes alighted upon the twins. They alone had not fallen beneath his mighty presence, and he was intrigued. He sniffed the wind, and their essence was upon it. They were not mortal, though their mother was. She had been taken by The-Whim-of-the-Wind, and in that binding, she had been given these two. They were mighty in the shadow of their father, and Resalix could smell his favor upon them. Thus, and for this reason alone, he bowed his head to them.
“You will take you place among your brothers in the great seal, that upon the night of the coming of the calibration we might open it and release out father into the world that he would shape it to the meaning of Cecelynne.” This was the female. She spoke in words that rang true and pleasing to Resalix, and thus did he allow himself to be bound with seven others in the pattern of the great seal within this room. When the master was let into the world, Resalix would be freed to join him and share the scripture of truth and destruction.
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Interlude: One of the private rooms at the Inn of the Silk Sash, Melevhil, the threshold
Cynis K’nem stepped out of the room, the dark figure waiting for him in the antechamber could have gotten a fine view of several of the more choice native female bodies from the locality. It did not appear to notice or care.
Securing his robe, K’nem stretched and waved the dark figure forward. “You are prepared to terminate the individual I have laid out in the contract?”
With a quiet whisper the figure responded, “You have the payment?”
“But of course my fine fiend, do you prefer silver or jade for the monetary portion?”
The whisper came from another portion of the room, and K’nem realized he was facing empty air. “Jade will be acceptable.”
“Ah… Yes, well then, you will find it in the chest on the right.” He gestured towards a corner of the room.
“And the rest?” Again the whisper and shadowy form had moved. K’nem smirked. Of course he would have trouble seeing the child of a deity of darkness and shadow.
“Three memory crystals bearing the contents you desire one pair of black jade daiklaives and one death shield ring will arrive at the location you specified within three days.”
K’nem had poured himself a fine full snifter of brandy. He swirled it in the light of the candles of the room. “So you are not concerned about the difficulties in eliminating multiple scions of the realm?”
K’nem turned “Hmmm..?” He was alone in the room. The chest was gone as well. He chuckled, realizing he didn’t even know the name of his contact. Ah well. He called out to his manservant, “Calse, CALSE!”
The side door opened and a tall albino entered the room and bowed. “Calse, see to it Kensara is prepared to move on Mnemon D’kaern’s assets in the unfortunate event of his disappearance.”
The manservant turned to go. “Calse, tell him not to act openly until I give him the order. D’kaern has an unfortunate habit of finding means to stay alive.”
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Interlude: The Lake of Fire, in the heart of a mountain east of Harborhead
The flames flicked about, rising from the waters themselves. On a small island in the heart of the lake a man lay upon a divan made from salted bones of the Lesser Flame Dragon who’s manse this had been previously. It gazed about at the bound forms of the various fiery elementals that had attended their master and now were bound into various jewels and trinkets for the new lord’s amusements.
At the sound of shattering glass, the man rose, his hair tinkling from the rubies bound into his hair. It caused his already fiery red hair to glow as though it actually were aflame, as each jewel held within it one of the fire beetles that formed Need Fires.
He approached a massive pentagram fashioned of pure glittering ruby laid in a massive dais of black marble. Rising up from the dais a woman clad in layers of beautiful colored silk scarves smiled a deeply seductive smile. The scarves were sheer and thin, allowing the viewer to see much of what lay hidden underneath. Of course the scarves were thick enough at all the important places to keep enough hidden to intrigue the viewer into wanting to see more. Her curves were amazing, full and round, with a slow motion to them even as she appeared to be standing still. The ripeness of her suggested a need to be taken, hard and fast, and the man became fully aroused as she descended from the platform.
“I see my presence has brought forth your steel.” He voice was soft, a gentle raspy cough, that could at any moment turn into a moan of pleasure.
The man reached out, his hands becoming long claws of tarnished moonsilver. They closed around her neck and lifted her from the ground. “What is it you have come for, Neomah? Speak quickly or you’ll not have the opportunity at all.”
Her voice was a whisper now, yet no less suggestive of the joy she would find in being taken. “Oh, my lord, so forceful. Perhaps you would like to strike me as you take me. I can cry or scream should it inflame your desire. Or perhaps you would prefer me to fight back.” She wrenched out a hairpin and drove it through the man’s wrist where it was holding her up. He did not flinch. “Oh my lord, you are soooo powerful. I need to feel your steel in my belly. Would you not enjoy piercing me?”
The man squeezed.
“My lord you are summoned. Your presence is necessary in Melevhil as the master’s soul is brought into creation. The master will be executing the first offensive, and you and your ‘soldiers’ will be required.”
“You may inform the master I serve at his pleasure.” He released the demon.
She bowed, giving him an excellent view of her ample bosom.
“First though, you will serve my pleasure.” And with that he took her.
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<R Rated until next divider line.>
Interlude: The Province of An Tang, The city of Prosperous Garden, The pleasure house ‘Silk Slippers’, The floor of satin sheets, a private room.
“Oh My Lord, I know you said you were strong in the ways of earth, but I did not anticipate that o much of you would be as hard as stone.” The woman was naked and riding gently on the Dragonbloods waist. She knew her methods well, and had been able to pleasure the Dynast for several hours with various techniques. She could never tell her husband of her own pleasure at the service of the conquerors, but she did not deny it to herself. Soon however, she would be forced to turn him over to the other two young maids, for no mortal could sate the desires of one of the Dread Imperials on her own, but not yet.
Ragara Banoba Dalsin lay back on the large bed surrounded by lush satins and three lovely women. Currently his favorite… ah he could never remember her name, but he called her Pearl, as he always tipped her with one, was riding him to his third of hopefully many orgasms or the evening. The other two were certainly acceptable, the same long dark hair as was common to these people, the lovely eyes, and demure smiles. He might have to kill the little one, she had spilled wine on him twice now this week. He could understand once, after all, he had been with a fine young man at the time, but twice was unacceptable. He was now enjoying the incredible effects of the imported rasp spider venom. He usually enjoyed cocaine on the isle, and usually simply switched to heroine on these holidays, but this time he was enjoying the benefits of his recent promotion.
Life in the Thousand Scales was frequently much too quiet for the typical Dragonblood. Most of them took some time to roam in the Threshhold or join the Legions for a time, then slide over to a more mundane position for a few centuries, and raise a dozen or so children to complete their service for a while. But not Dalsin, he had moved directly into the Scales into the offices of the registry and then on to the administration of the Deliberative. He was pleased to serve his father in setting up various opportunities to offer financial assistance to other houses.
His wife was fine, a Sesus of good lineage, they had sired a dozen children. He believed that at least nine were his, though it was truly irrelevant. She was the ruler of their manse, in all areas outside the family finances. She was an amazing woman actually, a Full Wing Commander, he was always amazed to see her powerful charms in place. Dalsin had been pleased to find that she would be on assignment in the Northlands during his holiday this year, and he planned to take full advantage of the freedom.
Dalsin lay back and enjoyed the giggling ministrations of his companions and the incredible sensations the venom was bringing out for him. Then a random thought occurred to him. What if he ‘Felt the Dragon’s Bones’ while he was stoned. Oh now that would be awe-inspiring. He drew forth on his essence, his skin beginning to glow with a brilliant white light. At first his companions were made frightened by this, and he felt their hands tremble, but he knew he would not be damaging them with such a small display, and it was good to remind them of his divinity.
His senses drifted about and his mind began to wrap around a great image of the area around him, the building, the street and the people. He saw much, but the venom made his visions amazing. Colors and lights spun about and filled his senses even as his mind drew forth the map. Shadows flickered about, including several in the room. It was almost as though…
Dalsin’s eyes snapped open, his mind, though still hazy with the drugs was sharp and perceived the danger. “Guards!” he cried out, his voice cracking. He was a large man, having enjoyed the pleasures of gluttony and disdained most exercises. Yet his form bore great strength, as the Wyld boar. He rose, knocking his companions aside and depositing his rider upon her back which a hard crack to her head.
The shadows understood their presence had been detected, and materialized about the room. These were no spirits come to haunt him though. They were mortal assassins, each bearing a scarlet hood to hide their identities. Their bronze bodies marked them for locals, and their bizarre vine tattoos marked them as worshippers of darker gods than even the Pale Mistress who walked these lands.
“Guards!” He yelled out again. Where were the pathetic fools. If they survived the assassins, he would be sure to have their skin flayed from their bones. Slowly.
He may have been considered a lowly beaurecrat by more martial Dragonbloods, but by the five he was still a dragon, and a paragon of earth at that. His hands flashed out twisting in the poses of power, and his anima flared even brighter as he assumed the form of the dragon.
His attackers wasted no time. Three had already garroted the surprised attendants, Pearl, his favorite was struggling even now. He had no time for her though, as three more leapt upon him.
The battle was brief. He ripped the heart out of two, but then found himself dragged to the ground by three others and pinned. He called out for his guards again and again. When the doors opened, his sigh of relief turned into a shriek as he saw two more men enter, their hoods and their bodies drenched in blood. The bodies of his guards slumped in the hall outside the door.
“Now now, Grand one. Is that any way for a God to die?”
Dalsin spat, but ended up only messing his own face. “You cannot kill me that easily.” His flesh grew hard as stone. His face turning to a dark sneer.
The one who spoke drew forward and drew out a long wavy blade, engraved with a serpent on the blade. “Really? Try this?” He stabbed Dalsin, the blade entered the fat man’s belly swiftly and with ease.
Dalsin cried out both in surprise and pain. “But how?”
“You disdain our mortal magic, call us hedge wizards. Perhaps in your final moments you will find a new respect.” He drew another blade and drove it into the held dragon.
Dalsin passed out from the pain only shortly before he died.
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Mnemon at the Deliberative
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Stark Cries of the Innocent Victims meets the walker in darkness.
It was dark, but that was not surprising. The great basalt pillars that pierced the earth and rose up into the sky cast little shadow, as there was virtually no light to beging with. The Powerful Curse, which had been laid on the lands surrounding Pyrron by its previous master.
A solitary figure passed beneath the Ebon Spires and made its way to the citadel. More shadow than substance, this was a thing of the dead, for so it must be to exist here, and yet it was not dead for it had never been alive to begin with. Death had been an intriguing concept to this being, and even more so when it became clear that the concept of death was not an ending, but simply another aspect of Nirakara to pass from one existence into another. Thus it had pursued the aspects of death and now it made its way to one of the most powerful beings associated with death in the Great Cyst.
The Balorian Crusade had chosen to renew acquaintances with old allies. There was much hesitation born from the First Crusade in the aftermath of the great contagion, but in the end the Collective had determined that the Deathlords were too potent a tool to not be used.
Arriving at the grand citadel, the shadowy figure reached forward a dead hand and knocked casually upon the door. The sound echoed for minutes throughout the locale. Then silence followed. In time an entity that had once lived in this part of creation opened the door and turned its head to one side. The great hole on the side of its exposed skull was left over from its once gruesome death. Now it served a master far greater than the king it had once been. “Casstra Ehn Tellagrah?”
The shadowy visitor nodded and followed the ghostly servant in through vast halls and into a grand reception chamber.
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The Hunter of Men collapsed upon the log deep in the heart of the swamp. His jet black blood stained the murky water of the swamp around him. Even his anima, a great black shadowy mastiff appeared weary from the chase. Though he was called the Hunter, it had been he that the servants of the Lover Clad in the Rainment of Tears had chased to ground.
At that throught he struggled into a position at least half upright and listened to the stillness of the swamp around him. He had destroyed more than twenty powerful specters and nemesaries in his flight, but he knew the Lover had many more where that came from. She also had the rest of his circle. The other Deathknights whos power rivaled his own. There were two whom he believed would delay and obfuscate and otherwise resist hunting him, one out of fear, the other out of… well, some other emotion. And there were two other who would gladly track him down. He had chosen his timing when that pair were away on another assignment.
He still feared he had made the wrong decision to flee, but the nightmares spoke too clearly of what would happen if he continued to serve. She would rise as a great dark queen, and the world would become a darker nightmare than any he had dreampt of before. She would destroy the other Deathlords, and defy the Malfaens themselves, and that would bring such pain and suffering to all that lived that even life under the Yozi’s would be preferable. She did not serve the masters, but she was still their tool.
Suddenly his body wracked and shuddered. A wave of nausea swept over him as he felt his bile and the dark essence of death rise up from within. The resonance of displeasure of his malfaen master ripped through him, shuddering out through the land about him. The Log he rested upon simpy crumbled into dust, while the water nearby boiled and curned, dead fish and frogs floating up to the surface. It was only a weak version of what he had been feeling since he ran, but it was still enough to drain him.
Drained or not though, he knew he must move on. He needed to find a stabble patch of ground and wood to make a fire. He needed to eat and to rest. Though the ones he served, and their minions who followed him were dead, he was not, nor did he intend to become so at this time.
There came from the depths of the Fen a low growl.
The Hunter moved, sloshing through the mire of the bog. He came upon a small island of solid ground, and the shattered remains of an ancient temple. He couldn’t be bothered to care to look at the inlaid mosaics of the temple, he simply made his way up to the center of the portico, and put his back to the remains of a wall. The Hearthstones of the manses in the underworld and creation he had once been attuned to had stopped working hours ago. No doubt the Lover made changes to the interior to render them useless. He was sure in the coming days the stones themselves would crumble into dust as she reattuned the manses. He had also lost access to the minions and authority he had once had. However, he had managed to take away with him a number of artifacts forged of soulsteel. He drew forth one of these now, Recurring Nightmare, the soft sound of weeping children emenating from the terrible soulsteel daiklaive as it came up into a guard position.
“Come forth, I’ll stop running here.” He said in a dark calm voice that belied little to his situation.
From the edge of the island a great dark shadow formed. The low rumbling growl coming from whatever this thing had for a stomach. It bore the stench of death about it, but the Hunter did not sense it as being dead. For a moment he wondered what sort of sorcery had the Lover woven, then he cast it from his mind. It mattered little where this thing was from, only whether he or it would die here and now.
He moved into a defensive stance and waited, and the shadow grew firm and from it stepped the figure of a great emaciated mastiff. Far larger than any mortal dog, this thing bore the marks of ancient and powerful sorceries and a long period of terrible anguish in it’s soul.
They stepped forward to face each other… and the world swam away…
Lehanan the Sunrise Champion stood amid a field of bodies and shattered stone. About him one of the greatest temples to the Unconquered Sun lay in ruin. The smoking remains of no less than three Jade Warstriders were resting in piles across the plaza. His own greatest wariiors had turned against him, and his anima blazed with the fearsome mein of a golden mastiff. His Orichalum Daiklaive saturated with their blood.
Yet his right arm was rendered useless, and he bore a dozen deep wunds of his own. He had been unable to get to his own warstrider which resided in the secret chambers below this temple.
Beside him he heard the raspy breathing of his great companion, Helgrifnir. The Hound had stayed loyal even when the Dragonblooded host had not.
Suddenly there was a soft thump, and an arrow slammed into the sorcerously changed dog’s side. Helgrifnir let out a moan, and turned to nip at the arrow.
As three more came flying in, Lehanan casually shattered them and reached down to pull the first from the side of Helgrifnir. Then with the expenditure of the last of his essence he laid his hand upon the mastiff’s side and the wound closed. He turned and raised a hand towards the shadow, “A moment…” Taking a deep breath he turned. Scratching the ears of his faithful hound he leaned in and nuzzled the six foot high at the shoulder hound. “You’re a good boy. This is not a fight we can win. Leave now, I’ll return to you and we shall wage a war of restoration.” Then he hugged the great beast… hard.
The dog looked at his master and began to whine, but a quick gesture cut the whine short. This was not a time to argue. They both peered into each others eyes, and an understanding was reached. The dog turned and ran.
Lehanan watched for a moment and sighed. Gently he whispered, “Good Boy.” Then he turned, blade in hand and faced the three who emerged from the shadows. His ire rose, “I just want to know one thing…” He looked at each of these people he once thought was a friend. “… Why?”
The dark beast moved forward, it was wary and defensive as it moved within daiklaive range. The Hunter was still reeling from the sharddream. The Mastiff leaned in and sniffed at the being, then it tilted its head. After a moment it whined and looked deeply at the being before it.
The Hunter lowered his weapon and in an oddly familiar gesture he reached out and scratched the creature behind the ears.
The First and Forsaken Lion and The Dowager at the Well of Urd.
It was an unlikely spot to be discussing the fate of reality. The wind whispered softly through the trees. The gentle rustle of the leaves left the small clearing less than perfectly quiet for the two figures who had only appeared within it momentarily ago.
The first to arrive was the guest. A tall figure stepped into the clearing. The light of Luna shown down, and for a moment his helmeted head turned upwards to regard her. There were only shadows beneath the openings within, and his gauntleted fist came up and shook at Luna. “You and yours will pay for the betrayal.” The moon shone down impassively upon Creation and a particular small clearing in the East.
He spun, his cape flaring out with the motion, the brilliant Lion’s face of his armor roaring its defiance to the world and beyond. He made his way over to a small well, and raised his foot to kick the small rise of bricks over and into the depths they currently surrounded.
“That might not be your best course of action.” A quiet voice mentioned from behind him.
Spinning, the mailed figure towered in his glorious might over the entirety of the clearing. There were none on the face of this reality that could challenge his personal prowess in battle, his ability as a tactician, his capability in any form of combat. He had been born to lead the armies of reality against their enemies. He had spend centuries learning technique and expression of both individual combat and massed armies. There were none that could stand against him either militarily or in individual combat. And yet, here he stood, having not claimed the world for himself or his masters in the many centuries since his betrayal and his death.
She didn’t hesitate, she crossed the clearing in her dark majesty and came up to him. For a moment his gauntlet rose as though to strike out at her and lay her down into the underworld both of them came from.
“Come Now, Leh…” She began.
“NO! That name is no more. I gave it to them when I became this. You should know that.” His fury roared like his totem.
She looked down, but then raised her eyes. “I’m sorry. You are right of course.” She laid a hand upon her his breastplate. At first he laid the flat of her hand above his left breast, then his hand ran down and began to trace to outline of the mane and the eye of the Lion’s roaring face.
The helm lowered, the face plate turned towards the woman before him. She was well dressed, in the typical manner of a Witch Woman, or not depending upon one’s taste for the bones of small dead things. “Your wrong to… I can’t… We are not…” The Helm dipped, “Not anymore.” The Helm faced down and shook from side to side.
She reached up to remove his helm. “Let me see.”
“NO! You know what happened. You know what remains.” He surged.
She looked up at him, and for a moment they both considered forgetting who they were now and becoming again who they were once before. Luna shone shown down on them with her full might. They stood for a moment. A moment that reminded them of an evening long ago in Meru…
“We are not those people! Dowager, we are who we are now, not who we were then. What do you have for me?” He pushed away.
She turned, she was quiet for a moment. She was one of the most powerful beings on the planet, and yet for a moment she was so small… so very small. Then she turned and brushed past him to the well.
It was a small thing. One wondered how something so small could be so important. It was difficult to understand how such an innocuous thing could be the birthplace of such bile.
“Why is it so small, so… pathetic?” The Lion asked.
“It doesn’t need to be anything more than what it is.” She answered.
Then the ritual began. There were dark words, in language and context that should never have been uttered. She had known some of them, and others had comefrom their masters, the Malfaens. This thing they stood before. This pretense of a well. This passageway to places none might speak of or dream to behold. It had been here when the Malfaens had shaped Creation. It had lent itself to the very idea. It could work for good or ill if one knew how to invoke it, unfortunately for the world, were the natures of those who held that information.
Time passed, and when they were done, they both felt drained from the ordeal.
“Well?” asked the Lion.
“Patience my dear.” The dowager responded. “If you are bored, I might suggest an activity or two.” She smiled.
Then there was a light and a sound from the well. The wind gathered and blew across the place. For a moment it felt as though the power of all of creation was centered on the well and then…
…a small insect crawled up and over the lip of the well. The world returned to normal, and even the cloud passing before Luna continuedon its way.
“That’s it!” The Lion was infuriated.
“Don’t judge.” She replied as she held out a hand and the insect climbed upon it. “She is a queen, and fertile unless I miss my mark. We shall provide her a host, and in a short time, she will provide us the means to bring Creation to its knees.”
The helm turned and watched as the Dowager walked out of the clearing. He turned back to the well, then looked back at where she departed. His form heaved a great sigh, “I’m sorry.” Was all he said.
Lookshy
The road to the Great Gate of Lookshy was long and winding. All the better for the defenders upon the walls to get a good look at those who came upon their gates. Yet now, in the closing of the second age of man, it was crowded with all manner of tents and shanties and other hovels built from materials at hand with the desperate hands of those who have found themselves on the short end of life’s stick either through bad fortune, a gods malice, or their own poor decisions. Lookshy’s Homeguard attempted to keep things neat and orderly, but eventually they settled for keeping the road clear.
Now caravans and travelers were only assaulted from the sides of the road with calls for alms and begging. Others looking for work of various sorts. There are few offering mercenary skills, most of those quickly found work in Lookshy or aren’t really interested in being anything more than thugs. The only groups not subject to this treatment are the emmisarries from the two nearest deathlords.
Through the gates and guards, the sorcerous wards and spirits, Lookshy opens up onto a beautiful day. The salty air of the inland sea provides a clean canvas for the smells of freshly backed bread and roasting meat from the stalls and tents of shopkeeps that set up in the main square.
Off to the left, a squad is drilling in light duty gear, while the majority of the square is frequently used by groups of up to a hundred residents working through the slow steady postures of Tai Chi or other form Katas of various styles. Periodically, the Dragonbloods perform a demonstrations of the immaculate techniques for the benefit of training and morale. It is highly impressive to see a hundred Dragonblooded monks and warriors with anima flaring and working through motions in sequence.
(Have the Prince of Shadows create a deathknight from the Guard Whisper slew)
Outside the Inn of the Wet Step the 5th of Ascending Fire
Sergeant of the watch Simple Orchid lay face down in the mud. His life’s blood flowing out into the boot tracks of the tall thin being that had just killed him. The knife wound was deep, but not so deep as the words the man had whispered to him. The words spoken in a voice less human and more serpentine than was appropriate for the form it wore.
Orchid’s life had been short it seemed. As though he had only been alive for a few moments and then cast aside as though he were some bit of scenery in one of the Mahai Theatre groups productions. Certainly he had never been able to distinguish himself, yet his heart beat out it’s last thuds with a deep anger and shame.
He had accused Orchid of Failure and stupidity. He had simply stepped forward, cast the man’s entire existence into the gutter and then did the same with his life.
“Do you want to pass quietly?” It was a female voice. Soft and seductive in his mind. “Are you ready to die, my love?”
“No!” He attempted to spit out. Yet he could not, for it seemed his body was no longer working.
“Excellent… Oh you will be a treat. So, what is it worth it to you to live, to get revenge?” The voice caressed his thoughts.
“Anything. Anything for my revenge.” Orchid thought as the world began to go dark.
“Are you sure? The method I use will be… painful… and permanent.” She spoke.
He was almost, but not quite gone, “I don’t care, I’ll do anything…”
“Excellent.” She said.
The sidereals did not even notice the missing body during their commotion with the Rhaksha.
An-Teng investigating the fight scene
“My Dear Commissioner, I think we can safely say that this case is ended.” The realm’s drgon-blooded magistrate said behind a perfumed kerchef held before his nose and mouth. The man who he was addressing at this moment was kneeling before the scoured remains of the earth where a blood ape had been forced back to Malfeas due to having its physical form destroyed.
“Ah, I am sure you are correct most honored magistrate Cynis Renaid. I am extremely grateful for your taking the time to review my own humble attempts to parse out the facts in this matter.” Pwah Rho rose from his kneeling position and bowed solemnly before the Dragonblood. “If you believe we have nothing more to gain, I am pleased to thank you and encourage you to enjoy yourself at on the Street of Sun Kissed flowers, at my expense of course.” That last bit was a slight stretching of the truth, the bills for all Dragonblooded activities were passed along to the prince who paid them probably without bothering to review even their math.
The magistrate smiled, and appeared ready to leave, but then cought himself and sighed. Rho’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, was there actually a thin line of integrity to the man before him.
“Now Look, Rho, I didn’t mean to imply the matter wasn’t serious. But let’s walk through the evidence again shall we? I know you don’t have access to the powers of the Immaculate Dragons as I do, but try and keep up anyways. I know your sharper than the rest of these rice farmers, so I won’t bother to explain the obvious.” They began moving in a circuit.
“Here,” The Dragonblooded pointed towards the scene of a great scuffle. “There was a fight. The larger of the two aggressors came form that alleyway over there. Quite an excellent spot to remain hidden if I may add. Though the architecture of this city provides many such opportunities for the unwary. Frankly it is a wonder to me that you don’t have more foul play on your streets. Yet I digress. The large one came out dragging something along the ground. From these markings I would believe it to be a pair of Javelins or Spears. I won’t claim to be an expert in the field of ancient weaponry, but the lengthy barbed nature of the Javelins reminds me of some of the more archaic designs in some of the jade direlances I had the opportunity to train with as a boy.”
They spun as the Dragonblooded continued to point. “There were also a series of the Blood Ape type of demon so commonly found in attendance with Yozi worshippers. Here… here… here… over there… and there.. and the last one is under that rock there. The lesser demons were all destroyed. One of the opponents seems to have been thrown into a building there, and that lesser shrine appears to be destroyed when an ape cast forth it’s unholy roar. Clearly, you have the work of a fairl potent sorcerer, a Dragonblood of some note and age I should think, who laid in wait for either a god touched adversary or perhaps even another Dragonblood. Then he made off with the body of his foe after his blood apes beat the snot out of him. The Blood apes were either slain during the confrontation, or released. I suspect a little bit of both myself. Frustrating I know, but really, beyond the need to investigate, no real harm done to the community after all. You won’t be able to handle him yourself, and I think it unlikely that even I could convince Shuri the scarlet to let some of his men be used to track down a sorcerer who may not even be in the city any longer.”
Rho smiled at the Cynis Magistrate and bowed. “Your powers of deduction are beyond the mortal ken. Again I thank you for your time.”
The Dragonblooded, properly handled nodded, and mentioned that he would now take Rho up on his offer and made his way off with his odd retinue of hangers on. Rho smiled as he left, and as soon as the Dragonblood was out of sight his face hardened. He had performed the same charm that the Dragonblooded had, his mother having born him to a visiting dynast. He had not exalted into one of the Dragonbloods, but he did bear the mark of their power. A lesser power ran through him. The foreigners called it dragon-touched, but Rho considered it his call form the gods.
Now, alone in the street he pulled out an ancient case. Opening it up he withdrew a blindfold woven of silk, orichalcum and jade, with ancient runes of power, and sorcery bound within. He bound it over his eyes and began to look around. Although the evidence the magistrate pointed out was accurate, his conclusions were not. The blindfold allowed him to see the patterns of essence all about him. The erythmoi had indeed been destroyed, but powerful essence weilders had done this. He recognized one of the essence signatures, that he had seen before. But there were two new ones, of a similar nature as well. His brow creased as he saw, similarly to his previous encounter with this essence signature, that even now it was fading, and the world seemed to be shifting subtly to cover it up.
He also noted that the large one, bore the essence signature of a demon, and it had gotten away.
