Onine/Fuchicco

"Do all the stars have names, Ei huan?"
"I do not know Fuchicco, I think that in the sky every star has a name just as every man and woman does in creation."
"And I thought you were wise."
"I am in my own way. I just have not met the stars yet."
"One day, I'll learn all of their names, and they'll know mine."
"Maybe Fuchicco, maybe."

Fuchicco, as told by Ei Huan

My fuchicco comes from a very unique village. One probably hears many tales of how a particular person's home is unique in its beauty or serenity, but Zephyr is a little different. It is a lush and fertile land that even in the hey-day of the Old Realm boasted wealth and as such even the people still speak a remnant dialect of the old tongue..

The fact that Zephyr valley is shaped like a fallen humanoid is hardly coincidence. At the culmination of the age of creation, the primordial creators of our lands were set upon by their children, the Celestial Incarna. These colossi were slain by the Gods and their chosen, the Exalted princes of the earth. Great battles waged across creation and threw the land into chaos that has never been matched even by the time of the Contagion. One of the most pestilent and loathsome of the old ones was felled by a particularly blessed army of chosen in our mountains. The great depression in the ground where its gargantuan body was felled became our valley - Zephyr.

Walking upon the soil that held the carcass of one the the titans of old is not something to be taken lightly and not something that did not come without a price. Ever since its death, an affliction known as the seeping death infects Zephyr, a poison that births from the ground and pools on the fertile valley floor capable of killing every man, animal and plant in terrifying short order. Such is the power of this poison that even metal in its throes becomes pitted and soft - jade loses its form easily in the presence of the poison. The great beast left a lingering curse that slays men and exalted with ease, a punishment for the world to endure. In still air the seeping death rapidly concentrates to lethal levels, even the span of a day the poison concentration is completely fatal..

But the lords of this Creation do not back down easily, and their might, creaticity and inspiration triumphed with unerring consistancy in the height of the Solar empire.

To combat the threat of the seeping death, a Twilight forgemistress constructed the manse that is known today as the Temple of Winds, a great control device that manages a complex network that spans the entire valley and halts the poison in its tracks. These mountains are riddled with caves, the crystalised veins of the fallen monster. Even the smallest of these passages is large enough for a child to crawl through. Like a spiderweb maze it spans the mountains, and these remains of the old beast were put to use in combatting the very catastrophy his fall created

High upon the mountain peaks are numerous structures, immense sails the Solar constructed to catch the east and north winds of the mountains and direct them into the tunnel networks. Once flowing the air travels through the caves and can be directed by windgates at the junctures, this way any wind can be utilised regardless and directed exactly where it is needed most. Strength is never a problem, the tunnels are also riddled with water-driven fans that maintain the windspeed, so that it does not wane in power by the time it reaches the valley floor.

Thus the windflow at the valley floor remains constant, enough to take the vapours of the seeping death and scatter it harmlessly out to sea. The village itself is littered and decorated with little pinwheels and windchimes as both a reminder and a warning system. Every villager secretly feared the day that these decorations were stilled.

The network was run entirely from the manse, there the Solar in charge can set the manse to control the tunnels and windflow to maintain a constant and safe operation. Since the Usurpation however there has not been even a lowly terrestrial in residence to protect the valley.

In her blessed wisdom, the Twilight drew up a contingency plan which I follow to this day. She anticipated a time where she or another solar would be absent, and thus by the manifesto she left behind, the responsibility of the valley's protection falls on my shoulders. I am Ei huan, God of the air, protector of the tunnels and the ward of the initiates.

The Twilight's plan centered around a quasi religious order of wind priestesses, selected on their 15th year to replace a priestess that had recently seen her 30th birthday. It would be their duty to manually control the individual sails and windgates to ensure the winds were favourable and aimed correctly - and they would be required to make offerings to me. The manifesto named me the god of the valley, which is not technically true, my origin is from far beyond - though to my knowledge such a cursed valley never had a spirit tied to it. Perhaps I was? Needless to say I was taken back, I did not expect to fit into the role of a creature to be worshipped and prayed to. Strangely I did. My duty was to ensure that the priestesses were performing their duties sufficiently and to select the new priestesses when the time was right. I was not an active god to them, they left their offerings on the alter and the offerings were gone the next time they visited. I am hardly a god that has the correct mannerisms of a ruler, I doubt that the order of priestesses would have lasted so long had I taken an active part in the day-to-day life of the village. That strange sort-of 'detatched benevolence' seemed to work well for other gods, and it worked well for me. As far as I recall, I had not materialized since the turn of the age.

I had a third task, but I will go into detail on it later.

I recieve an augery on one of the village girls, those who dream most of a call to the robes of the order are like a beacon to me when they sleep. When there is a need for a new priestess, one of the older members retires and through a combination of simple tricks and lures I test the prospective new preistesses in the tunnels. The tests are harmless, I observe their purity, resourcefulness and seek other such qualities that would make a girl a fine priestess

If she succeeds in passing my tests I mark her with three diamonds encircling the underside of her left eye and then spirit her out into the fields where a combination of euphoria and my charms make the memories of her trials become a hazy phantasmagoric dream. Half-remembered and half-forgotten but likewise ladden with deeper meaning and inspiration. The final test is to recognise the experience and know what she is. I dont recall a priestess ever dismissing these signs. Such experiences leave a memorable mark on a person which none deny.

Socially, it is a great honour for a family to have a wind-priestess for a daughter, and the family gains a prestige in the village. While the daughter as a priestess is forbidden from the sins of the flesh, alcohol, meat and of course carnal pleasures, the festival that is held in her honour is as such ripe with them. It becomes quite fashionable to marry into a Priestesses family regardless of their original standing in the village. Because of this I like to 'choose' the unlikely to emphasise that everyone has worth. It also balances the social structure of the village and immediatly puts a stop to family feuds as all attention is placed upon the new Priestess.

Why the daughters? The village people have their own spiritual reason for believing so, but the true reason is consistency - a consistancy that has kept the tradition of the call of the wind alive since the turn of the age.

It also serves to make the occasional boy that I frock on a whim immensly special to the village. Stories abound about these rare Templars. Stories such as that the assigning of one to the tunnels was a sign of prosperity to come, a sign that though the village may be in great danger the people would be delivered. It's hogwash pure and simple but it gives the people unity, making them value things so much more. In this way I have guardianed the village through abstract political means. My time in the celestial bureacracy was not with-out merit.

After their naming, the Priestesses are equipped and ordained in a private ceremony by the elder sisters of their order. The sacred tools of the priestesses includes a sky-glider, boomerang and a special gale-sleeves. The boomeranges are less a weapon and more a tool for activating certain features and mechanisms of the labyrinth of tunnels from a distance. There are numerous wind-gates that are across natural chasms in the mountains' heart. An accurate wind priestess can switch a gate to change the windflow from afar rather than travel for precious hours that they do not have to reach the gate on foot.

Most unique are the gale-sleeves. Resembling volumous sleeves on the priestess' robes, the gale-sleeves are used to catch updrafts in the verticle tunnels within the network. Opening her arms, the priestess can be carried hundreds of meters straight up, and in fact many of the tunnels were converted like this to provide fast and efficient travel. These only work with any degree of reliablitiy inside the caves, however a quick thinking priestess can use them outside the network to slow a lethal fall and land with little more injury than a twisted ankle or a scraped knee.

Alas I ramble.

Earlier this year I decided that after a few generations it was time to select a boy priest, a new templar. The chaos of the shattered Realm and the rumours of the Icewalkers move had the villagers in a state of near constant unease. To provide them a symbol to rally behind I selected one of the village boys, Roethe, to be my new Templar. He had all the qualities I needed, belief, will and a youthful exuberence that I digress I always find intoxicating. There's a certain vibrance that young mortals have that not even the Princes of the Earth can match. Something I didn't count on was his shadow, the neighbour's girl Fuchicco.

On a whim I allowed them both to take the trials together and their strange combination of affection and teamwork intrigued me. They passed my test with such flair and inventive ingenuity that I have not seen in, well, ever. Breaking the rules I marked them both as my servants. I often wonder if that break of tradition was my undoing. The village was in shock, but with a few quiet, subtle urgings from me through the other priestesses their shock was put to rest. In time it was largely considered an auspicious sign. I used some contacts among the air elemental bands in the region and had some especially pleasant winds blowing in the valley for weeks.

The winds however changed, soon our peaceful valley felt the sour winds of war. Weary from their march and paranoid that every village they crossed would harbour supporters of their enemies, an Imperial Legion from the Dragonblooded Realm marched into our village in search of supplies. I suppose that seeing such a rich fertile land untouched and raided by wars was suspicious in their eyes. I understand but do not condone them.

In order to bolster the ranks of skirmishers, aids, and to replenish their stores the legion troops rounded the villagers up and held them in the town square. The dragonblooded pursued the priestesses through the tunnels and the poor girls were either captured or killed for their resistance. Elder Sister Palo allowed two of her younger bretheren to escape by delaying a pair of the Terrestrials in the tunnels. The girls confounded their pursuers, sealing them between junctions of wind-gates and blowing them from their footing with gusts of wind strengthened by their windsongs. The girls fought so valiantly against those that would unknowingly cause the obliteration of everything they held dear, but as the hours passed, one-by-one they were captured and their blood spilled on the luminescent blue lichin. In the town the villagers watched as the pinwheels slowed, streamers grew slack in the air. Terrified of the immaculate presence, many of my wind-riding god allies fled, their subtle songs no longer pushed the wind into the sails. The villagers begged the troops to release the surviving priestesses so that they may see to the whims of the wind once more, but suspecting a trap the Legion commanders steadfastly refused. The poison seeped.

Using my meager power I was able to protect Roethe and Fuchicco for a short time from the poison, and as the soldiers began to grow dizzy and ill the two were able to escape into the wind tunnels.

The important thing to know, is that each wind priestess is selected to watch over a single network of tunnels that are governed by one of the great windsails. It is her sacred duty to know and keep the secrets of her own tunnels from the villagers and even from her bretheren. This encouraged independance and teamwork at the same time, but I soon discovered the folly of my imposed tradition when the only tunnels that Roethe and Fuichicco could reach were not their own. Admittedly, I myself did not even know them all anymore. It was all on their shoulders.

Dizzied and confused the pair reached the tallest tunnel in the entire network of caves. It has had many names over the age, each priestess destined to know it has named it differently and alas I have not remembered them all to add colour to my tale. I have already mentioned the gale-sleeves that the priestesses wear to allow them to catch updrafts which allow them enormous versatility in the tunnels however when Roethe and Fuchicco arrived the updraft was far too weak to carry them.

I knew that I selected Roethe for a reason. He realised that he would weigh too much, but Fuchicco was the right size that if she wore both of their sleeves together the updraft would be able to carry her to the mountain peaks. He was dooming himself to a lonely death, and I dearly hope that I will never forget witnessing such a noble sacrifice.

Fuchicco was able to make it into one of the smaller side passages before the updraft died entirely. It was still quite a distance before she would reach the windsail, and the tunnels were not in her favour. Though the airflow had kept the majority of the poison from entering the arterials, the seeping death had succeeded in invading as the sails above grew slack. Poor Fuchicco collapsed. The valley was dying and there was nothing Fuchicco and I could do to stop it. I sensed her fading and I realised that I was alone.

This was the point where I truly paniced.

I raced through my sanctuary, knowing that in it I would find the one person that could help save Zephyr. Many of the veins that were left behind by the fall of the primordial are special, in that they can only be accessed by the immaterial. In one of the deepest catacombs of the mountain I found the alter-tomb I had built, a stone platform floating on a sea of water and mist, the wide walls covered in luminescent moss that lit the strange grave with an eerie eldritch light. The alter held a crystal sphere bearing a golden light and a slender dagger, still stained with ancient blood. I discarded the dagger and took the sphere. I held it high over my head while a small voice screamed at me to stop, then with all my strength I smashed it into a million glittering pieces on the flagstones.

Then I sat down in the tomb and wept.

I cowered alone in my despair for a time that I can only describe as indeterminate before I recovered enough that I was able to leave the morbid place and venture out into the valley.

I exited the tunnels into a scene of apocalyptic and devastation. The valley lay dying - no. The valley was dead. Trees stood bare over sickening seas of half-liquified pools of filthy bubbling leaf rot, horrid green fungus grew in place of crops and flowers. Geysers of steam jetted from cracks that had opened in the stone soil. Everywhere the corroded corpses of farmers and soldiers alike lay twisted and eaten, contorted by a death of pain and confusion. Clothing and armour was mishapened and warped, pitted with holes and rended to the soft strength of mere ply. Buildings toppled as the wooden supports slowly rotted and disappeared into foul clouds of powder. The wind was once again favourable, but it did little to take away the stench of decay. The only sound was the few wind-chimes that survived.

As I moved through the remains of what was once the home of hundreds of families, I became aware of the existance of shallow graves. I realised that the seeping death had pitted and eaten away at all of the firewood, shovels and tools. Whoever the erstwhile gravedigger had been they had been digging with their hands. Even over the stench of the death I could sense the sorrow filled essence of a hundred-fold shed tears.

Tuning my senses to the flow of the world I followed the sickly-sweet essence of this sorrow over the hills and through the silent homesteads. Half-rotted girls' dolls stared at me with empty accusing eyes as I searched. In circles I followed, pursuing a tortured creature that did not know which direction to turn next, a path of random fancy and horror.

I found the wretch that had wandered my valley cowering in the center of a sandy crater where some great bubble of the foul poison has risen to the surface and burst, leaving a dead hole in what was once lush farmland. She crouched there amongst the fungus covered sand littered with bones. She did not move except to draw in ragged deep breaths. Her clothing and hands were stained with blood and dirt, I barely recognised the priestess robes under the tattered blanket she had wrapped herself in.

I did not quite know how to approach a mortal that had been struck with such torture and calamity, who's very mind was resting on a cliffside waiting for an unfavourable wind to blow her reeling into the abyss. I am not an easy spirit to comprehend, especially to a child. I resemble something of a serpent dragon with a feathery mane and long human arms. I find myself quite attractive, though I know enough to realise that after walking through a sea of bleached bones suddenly being confronted by a man sized blue snake could be... unfavourable.

Using some of my magic I materialised in the form of a young girl dressed in the garb of a priestess and approached the poor girl from the front so that she would have ample warning of my presence. She did not appear to notice me. I knelt in front of her and in all my wisdom I greeted her with the most creative hail one can give in the situation. "Hello?" I said. She did not answer. I lifted her chin and looked into her face and my shock was certainly more than complete. It was Fuchicco, youngest of my priestesses. Her face was covered in dirt and grime, and bore parallel scratch marks on it that were reflected elsewhere on her small body. I was confused for a moment, but I soon realised what had attacked her when the sun dipped below the horizon and a distant wailing echoed across the valley. The spirits of the dead were restless and would roam..

"Hello Fuchicco? Can you understand me?" I asked again, a flutter of fear tickling at the base of my heart. This girl had been surviving for days running from the tortured spirits of the eaten and slain. It was entirely possible that she hadn't even slept. At last she seemed to focus on me, her voice was just a whisper. "Palo? Is that you?" What I looked like didn't appear to matter as much as who she thought I could be.

I told her that I was Palo and she fell into my arms weeping hysterically. Hearing the hungry wails and groans grow closer I quickly carried Fuchicco through the tunnels and to the chamber where the Priestesses would make offerings and hold sunset ceremonies to honour me. Using what little mortal material I had, I constructed a bed for her and allowed her to sleep. Using some of my contacts I was able to gain some favours from a few of the now-scattered Air elementals in the highlands to collect food and water while I watched over the sleeping priestess. I did not mention that I had looked upon her essence and seen the power blossoming within her, I did not know how far I could trust them with such a secret. Air elementals were flighty gossips at best, conspiring connivers at worst. Right then I had room in my complicated life for neither.

Nearly a week passed while I watched over her, unsleeping. I gave her water in her few concious moments and held her while she cried out in her sleep. It has been many centuries since I have felt such pity and such heartbreak. So long has it been in my heart I no longer remember.

When at last she awoke properly, I greeted her in my true form. She did not fear me. The first mortal that has seen me in a thousand years asked not 'where am I' or 'who are you', but "I'm hungry." It may have been just a terrible break in tension, but I laughed. She did not appear happy with my reaction at first, but soon both of us were giggling in the shrine. It felt good. Natural. I imagine it must have been a most perculiar sight.

I explained in simple terms what I was, though I quickly discovered that Fuchicco had little or no memory of her life as a priestess and the terrible thing that had happened to her village. I was torn. Did I explain everything and risk irreversibly damaging her young mind again? Or did I keep it all from her and spirit her out of the dead valley.

I am a coward at heart. Looking into her eyes I could not bear to see them so empty again.

I spun a tale that she had become swept overboard on a voyage across the nearby sea, and that we both were trying to find her home town to deliver her to her parents. I told her that we had been traveling east for some time together and after an attack by spider gibbons (they do exist, look them up) she had taken a nasty knock to the head in the encounter. We had hid in this ancient shrine for a few days while she recovered and the spider gibbons had since given up the hunt at least temporarilly. I explained that we had to leave soon, and the opportunity was now, since the apes had gone in search of other prey during the night. We could slip out and they would be none the wiser. Fuchicco scratched her head and said she remembered none of it. I explained it off as temporary amnesia and that she would remember more as we traveled.

That night we fled the valley via the mountain paths. For some morbid reason I gave thanks to the roaming dead for their louder-than usual relentless moaning. They became the spider gibbons that had attacked us, and thus we made haste.

I have not told her the truth yet. Every memory she regains I explain away with another lie coupled with a simple charm illusion to put her mind at ease. The big lump in my stomach that my lying has gained me still hasn't gone away. She still cries out in her sleep and day by day her power grows - I won't be able to maintain such a facade for long.

I love her, and yet I am content and more comfortable in lying to her to protect her innocence. Is that wrong? Playing games with Solar's spirits is not a wise game, and a game I know I have learnt a lesson from a long time ago, a lesson I am aware that I have learnt, but the particulars I no longer remember.

I no longer remember as well as I once did. I am an old spirit, older than this age is long. Despite my age I am weak, I have grown fearful of focussing my power further, concerned both at the attentions of the Immaculate Order and of the Celestial Bureacracy. There would be a severe penalty if an audit ever discovered my aid to a Solar Exalted. I would likely be put down or disappear as many of the other spirits that aided the Sun's chosen did.

Perhaps my memories are too long and distant to be accessed with the meager essence I have, or perhaps many ages of supping on the innocent, boisterous and saintly essence from the offerings of pure maidens has eroded my wisdom. Ultimately I do not know, but I remember little over a few mortal lifetimes past. I remember the first age and the Solar exalted only as feelings and concepts now. I cannot fathom now why the Twilight's essence was in that crystal.

I know I sealed her spark, but I have not remembered why for a very long time. That was the third task she appointed me. In her defiance she vowed that she would never fall to a sword of jade, thus instead of taking off in a futile flight she impressed upon me the task of ending her life and sealing her essence in a container she had created.

I have flashes of the old Solar, nothing consistant, just emotions with pictures. They come most often in my dreams. Never have I known such love, companionship and happines. Likewise I have never known such sadness, hatred and fear. I remember her great works, her triumphs, and I of course remember her falls. I remember her terrible rages, I dream of them. Dreams so vivid that they are intoxicatingly real and unsettling all the same. On countless occasions she nearly demolished the temple, without reason and with inconsolable persistance. She would tear pieces off, inspect them wildly but never actually seeing the gears and wheels, then she would toss them aside muttering and shrieking unintelligably. She would then stand in the piles of mechanisms and try and fit the unmatching parts together, wailing about how they worked before and crying out in question as to why they would not work now.

I am frightened. I have made so many mistakes, mistakes that have affected Fuchicco in ways she barely understands. I fear the day that she reaches an understanding, and even more I fear the day that the old solar's darkness begins to creep in on that sweet little girl's soul. I have seen the signs already. If she can summon that much destructive rage upon a mere invention, what will happen when she knows the truth? I fear what she will do to me, but I fear more what she will do to herself.

I dont want to lose her. She is all I have left.