TenThousandBrokenDreams/Session19
- Mother Cypress speaks:
- “Welcome, my little starlings. You have come for another story. What tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of the city of Dazari, whose towers of silver and ice were infused with intelligence by the lords of the First Age? Would you know of how the city god of Dazari sought to gain a soul, and of how it took the form of a mortal to wander the world? Would you hear, too, of how the god of Dazari fell in love with a demon prince, and of how the god brought its city to Malfeas to join its beloved, dragging a million screaming mortals with it into Hell? Or would you hear more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and the end of the Second Age?
- “Then gather round, my children, and spread ears like elephants; that I may tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, of how they fled the Iron Tower after they freed the faerie queen Cessair, and of what dooms arose in the dark days of Calibration.”
* * * * *
Time passed in the dank of the cave. The spirits, tree and bear, grumbled and moaned softly through the slow hours. Worn down by travel and fatigue, Tepet Aekino curled into a ball in a nest of roots, covered himself with his cloak, and slept.
He slept, and he dreamed. He dreamed a sublime palace of alabaster and green chrysoprase, filled with a thousand wonders. Books and scrolls lay heaped with talking skulls and memory-stones; wolves of living copper capered with ribbons of jade fire. And at a table carved from a single sapphire, there sat the figure of a youth with hair of copper and eyes of all colors.
Aekino knew him, for he had studied the lore of sorcery, and he knew a demon when he saw one. The two greeted one another. The demon gestured to a chair of ivory and gold, offering repose.
“Thank you, Makarios,” said the Dynast in his dream. “Your palace is most sublime.”
“Thank you.” The demon youth smiled, and the dream-incense coiled lazily around him. “I see that you are learned in our ways; so we need not dawdle with explanations. I have a thing that may interest you.”
Aekino accepted the parchment from the demon. He turned it over in his hands; he could see what it was, but its details would not come clear. “This appears to be a map.”
“Indeed. I have drawn it forth from the skein of fantasies that coils through the airs of the Heptagram. It depicts a route to the edge of the world, where a book of power may be found. Or, more precisely, three books. I am sure you know of what I speak…”
“Why don’t you spell it out for me?” The sorcerer narrowed his eyes above his smile. “Just so that there will be no misunderstanding.”
“Of course. The first of the three books contains the spells of the Terrestrial Circle.” Makarios grinned with feline self-satisfaction. “The second contains the spells of the Celestial Circle, and the third contains the spells of the Solar Circle. I trust that you understand the nature of this thing?”
“Yes, I do. And what price do you ask for these books?”
“For the map, good Aekino, for the map… I require only three nights’ worth of dreams, from one upon whom you might place your sigil.”
Aekino sighed. The thing in question was truly a treasure beyond price. “But I cannot accept your offer… at least not at this time. I must consider it at length.”
“Of course.”
“It’s just a shame,” he added flirtatiously, “that I won’t remember your eyes.”
“You are kind,” said Makarios with equanimity. “And cleverer than your companions, I should think. But surely, that makes it all the easier to comprehend the value of what I offer.”
“This is true. Nonetheless, it seems improbable that you can grant me such a thing. Are there others with whom you have made such bargains, who have come away with that which they desired?”
Makarios raised a perfect metallic eyebrow. “Do you ask for references?”
“Yes.”
“I could give you some, but they are mostly long dead. It has been some time since someone attracted my attention.”
Aekino preened; he knew when he was being flattered, and enjoyed it. “Alas,” he replied, “that is not my only objection. Dreams are treacherous things, and the master of dreams must be treacherous indeed. I wish to cast no aspersions on your honor, but what guarantee do I have that you will uphold your end of the bargain? You are – and I mean no offense by this – a demon.”
“None taken. After all, you are a demon as well.” The demon-youth gestured vaguely, encompassing the massed treasures, the palace, or perhaps the world beyond its walls. “I thank you for your words, but I am not the master of dreams, and this… is not a dream.”
In the end, Aekino refused the offer. Makarios then informed him that there was another who would speak with him, and sent him through halls and corridors to a high tower, looking out over the demon city. There, a swarm of golden dragonflies entered through many windows, their wings glittering in the light of the green sun. The swarm became a gaunt white-haired woman, her eyes orbs of carved amber with insectile shapes locked within. He knew this for Langlaua, That Which Preserves, a demon prince of some power.
She brought him to a minaret that looked out, not on the demon city, but on a sprawling city beneath a blue sky, its streets teeming with people, its docks brimming with rainbow-sailed junks. This was the Imperial City, where incense rose from Immaculate temples and bells rang in the courtyards of Dynastic manors and citadels.
“This is your true home,” she said. “The body travels, but the heart remains.”
Aekino looked out with longing, but said nothing.
“This place, this Scarlet Empire, is doomed,” she said. “Destiny itself conspires against your home, your Realm, the society and civilization that you know. In the battles that are to come, that which you love shall change beyond recognition. But if I choose, I may lay my touch upon your Scarlet Realm, and it shall endure.”
“Your offer is vague.”
“I do not think so. But you shall have time to consider it, in dreams; for you shall not remember this in waking life. Come to me again, in dreams, for here I shall remain. I shall be waiting…”
* * * * *
Zera shook Aekino awake. The Dynast wiped his eyes, brushed away dirt and leaf-mould, as his friend said, “Wake up. We have company.”
The roots squirmed where they blocked the cave entrance. A small black shape squeezed in through that blue gap. As the entrance knotted itself shut once more, the visitor flapped its wings in the amber radiance that bathed the cave. It was a raven-spirit, its eyes alert.
It came, it said, from the Court of Secrets, and it bore tidings to the spirit Oakbrother who ruled the cave and some stretch of the woodland above. It spoke of a dark force moving upon the land, a foul stench of demons that gathered itself in two places: in the hills to the east, and to the west, in the city of Tul Tuin.
“I told you,” the bear-spirit grumbled to his tree-brother, “you should never have let them found that city.”
Aekino brooded over this news. Zera took it with greater poise; a fire lit behind his eyes. “We have done much evil,” said the ranger of Thorns. “It is time to counter some of that.”
The raven-spirit eyed Zera. “I have known this one,” it croaked. “He has spoken thus before.”
“Did you know me, in the time before?” demanded Zera. “Did you know Kuro the Raven?”
“You come from the same place and of the same flock,” it said cryptically. “Now I must fly, for there are others that must hear grim news.”
“Fly well,” said the tree-spirit, as it loosed the root-bindings and let the raven fly free.
There was some discussion amongst those in the cave, both Solars and spirits, as to what this meant, this gathering of dark forces, this invocation of Infernal power. Clearly this was a dreadful thing, though the spirits of the wild found the threat to the forest far more dire than that which loomed over the city of Tul Tuin.
“We do not have time for this,” grumbled the bear-spirit. It had merely stopped for a time on its way to a gathering of the Herb Court, and had no wish to become drawn into these events.
“Then I will say it plain,” Zera said. “I will banish this evil, or die trying.”
“Well, you’re in the mood for grand declarations,” the Dynast sarcastically noted. “Will you swear an oath?”
“You have my oath.”
Aekino groaned; he had only been jesting. “This binds us all!”
* * * * *
Muffled shouting penetrated the cave from outside. The tree-spirit leaned down. “Your soldiers,” it whispered, “they are here.”
“Anathema!” howled a voice from outside.
Aekino rose, stepped towards the root-barred entrance. “That’s Ledaal Rivander.”
Zera nodded grimly. He strung his bow with one swift motion. “Open the door.”
The tree-spirit shook its head. “Let there be no fighting in my home,” it moaned; and the cave entrance remained stubbornly closed.
“I have no quarrel with you!” shouted Rivander from outside. “But fire burns, and I will burn this whole forest down if you don’t open up!”
The roots unwound, and sunlight filtered in from above. The Solars peered out. The ravine floor lay only a few yards below; Rivander stood there, resplendent in a scarlet robe, encircled by soldiers clad in leather and bamboo. The general Shield Willow stood nearby, thin and lethal as a blade. Above, archers lined the far lip of the ravine.
Rivander peered up at them. “Come out and drop your weapons! I’ve been sent to take you alive!”
“Sure,” Zera replied, “I’ll give you my arrows, one at a time!”
“Shield Willow!” Aekino’s voice rang with sincerity. “Surely this is all just some misunderstanding?”
“Don’t be foolish, Lord Aekino,” replied that noble general curtly. “We know what you’ve done, what you’re responsible for. You will come before my lord Vir for judgement.”
Rivander shook his head at her. “These demons have great magic powers,” he said to her. “Don’t speak to them; they can cloud your mind with their words. Let me send a message that they’ll understand.” And with that, he flung two objects upward. They landed with meaty thumps inside the cave: the severed halves of the raccoon-spirit’s corpse, scorched by fire and pierced by blades.
“Come down,” barked Shield Willow. “Resist! Please!” laughed Ledaal Rivander.
Aekino made one last attempt at reason. “Do you not know of the demon in the wilderness?”
“Yes,” sneered Rivander. “I see you!”
* * * * *
Aekino and Zera put their heads together. Rivander ranted. Aekino nodded; Zera drew his bow.
With one smooth motion, Zera leaned out of the cave mouth and sent an arrow between Rivander’s legs, ripping through the crotch of his garments, its fletching tickling his nether parts. Rivander howled. And in a whirl of Essence, Aekino and Zera tumbled up along the ravine wall like spiders or feathers, eddying up amidst a clatter of poorly aimed arrows and spears.
At the top of the ravine, Aekino swung his staff a few times to sweep startled soldiers out of the way; then he and Zera bounded up into the treetops. As they leapt westward through the branches, Rivander crested the ravine’s edge, sparks zipping from his feet as he climbed upon air. Within moments, he was hot on the trail of his Solar quarry. Soldiers hollered at one another as they scurried overland in the Exalts’ wake.
The Sun’s children could not shake their pursuer. Zera’s arrows cut branches out from under him; he ran on air to catch the next branch. Zera shot Rivander with arrows; the Dragon-Blood deflected them with his bare hands. And still he followed.
“Did your father send you after us?” Aekino paused to shout at their pursuer. “Would he approve of this expedition of yours?”
“My father?” Rivander was incensed. Fire flew around him as he ran, setting yellowed leaves afire. “He is useless! A worthless old man, fit only to warm his seat and mumble in court! His Wyld Hunt is dead and gone. I will kill you myself!”
Arrows flickered back and forth through the trees. A couple of Tul Tuin scouts managed to keep pace with the Princes of the Earth, but their arrows were easily dodged or deflected by Aekino’s black jade staff, and Zera easily downed them when he returned their fire. But they distracted our heroes long enough for their master to close the distance. Even as Zera sank arrows into his flesh, Rivander landed on his branch and hit him three times, bruising and scorching the archer and almost tumbling him to the earth below.
A shower of leaves came down from above. Rivander looked up. Aekino fell upon him with the leaves, and struck him with his Havoc staff! Rivander tumbled to the earth! Reeling from the pummeling he’d just received, Zera caught his balance, then nailed the Dragon-Blood to the ground with an arrow through the arm. But more soldiers came into view at that moment, bows in hand; and our heroes turned and ran on through the trees.
“You can run!” roared Rivander at the fleeing branch-runners. “But you can never hide!”
* * * * *
Somewhere to the north, the young heroes Li of Orchid and Thorwald of Stonehold rested in their camp. And as they rested, the elemental named Fourth Breeze came among them, escorting two spirits into the presence of he who had once been his master.
The first of the spirits was a mighty thunderbird, cloaked in sparks and wind, its form melting from avian to human and back again. “I am Fanged Gasp!” it crackled. “And we have come here as emissaries.”
The second spirit took the shape of a green man with beard and hair of dripping emerald and gold moss. “Fanged Gasp speaks correctly,” it chuckled. “I am Two Hemlocks, and we come from the Spirit Courts of the East, from the Court of Five Winds and the Herb Court.”
Thorwald shook his head. “Emissaries come to see kings,” he replied. “And I am no king.”
“Why do you deny your power? Your power?” sparked Fanged Gasp, while Two Hemlocks added, “You are a Prince of the Earth, as are your companions. You are all kings of Creation.”
“Why do you come to us?” Thorwald bore his suspicions openly. “What do you want?”
“We are tied to these lands,” the tree-spirit replied, “and there is much amiss.”
The thunderbird shook its shifting head, and feathers eddied and swirled like mist in a wind. “We have come to take your measure, your measure!” it croaked. “We would know your purpose in these lands, these lands!”
The Zenith shrugged. “I have come to protect my brothers,” he said. “And to destroy the armies of the dead in Kaihan.”
“A blasphemous place!” Thunder rumbled as the storm-spirit spoke. “But do you want nothing for your own? Your own?”
“I want nothing.”
“You must want something! Something!” Thunder rumbled through the glade. “Care you for treasure? Or glory? Or to be a hero, saving the lives of mortals? Mortals?”
Thorwald laughed harshly. “I care not for the lives of others.”
“You care not about other life?! Other life!” The storm-spirit railed at Thorwald, pressing him for some other answer, some explanation of what drove him, of what he really wanted. But the northman stood firm in his bloody-minded refusal. So Fanged Gasp turned to its fellow emissary. “Gauge him,” it said, “and the silent one,” indicating Li. “She speaks not.”
Two Hemlocks nodded. “It is that silence I respect.”
In her own soft manner, Li spoke. “There are dark things in this world. Demons and the walking dead. They must be defeated.”
Two Hemlocks smirked at its comrade: “You see, they do have goals.” This only served to further irritate the storm-spirit: “They did not say it when I asked him!”
Fetek returned from his scouting. He regarded the spirits with a cool eye. “Who are your friends?” he asked Thorwald.
Fanged Gasp sputtered. “We are not friends!”
Thorwald shrugged. “Tell this Last Gasp –”
“It is Fanged Gasp!”
“Last Gasp will be your name –”
The others intervened to prevent a brawl.
* * * * *
“So will you not drive off the demons of the wood?” The spirits had explained how dark powers gathered to the west, over Tul Tuin, and to the east, over the woods and hills. Fanged Gasp frothed over the Solars’ stubbornness. “Will you not do battle? Do battle?”
Thorwald spoke. “I only fight to honor my ancestors. I care nothing for others. All these people, these city folk – they are weak!” He shook his head, exasperated by the entire discussion. “There is no goal to be had in this empty world. There is no meaning. There is only honor, and the keeping of one’s word. That is all.”
“And what of you, swordswoman?”
Li shrugged, her face in repose. “My brother speaks for me.”
* * * * *
Defeated at last by Thorwald’s obduracy and Li’s silence, the spirit emissaries departed, returning to the Herb Court and the Court of Five Winds. Our heroes sat in silence for a time amidst the sounds and smells of night, watching their small fire dance.
“We have let ourselves grow distracted,” said Li into the quiet, “set away from the course we have meant to take.”
Fetek scratched his scruffy chin. He had missed much of the debate between the Solars and the spirits, but he found it easy to prioritize those parts that he had heard. “Did they mention a demon in the forest?”
“Perhaps.” Thorwald sat as stolid as a stone. “It means nothing to me. I do not care what happens to the world.”
The Lunar observed him with a skeptical eye. “You are more like my siblings,” he said, “than you would like to admit.”
The northman scowled. He prodded the fire with a stick. Sparks flew upward. “Why do you travel with us, Fetek?”
“Because I am curious. You are unique in the world. The spirits sang of your coming, and your passing causes ripples in Creation wherever you go.”
“It should not be that way.”
“Whether or not it should, that is the way it is.”
* * * * *
“Did they ever say what they wanted?” Fetek asked.
“To destroy the demon, I expect.” Li’s golden swords blazed through the glade as she practiced, cutting at shadows. Her wounds were healing with remarkable speed. The daiklave Blazing Tiger lay wrapped in her cloak. She still would not touch the thing without need.
“The spirits want the unity that Blessed Wind once brought,” said Thorwald. “But it brings nothing but sorrow.”
“If so,” Fetek inquired, “why seek it?”
Calmly, Li slashed at the darkness. “Even mortal men seek that which makes them sorry.”
Thorwald nodded. “This is true.”
* * * * *
Aekino and Zera had pressed eastward for hours. They had lost their pursuers amidst the soaring trees, the tangled thickets, the ridges and gullies and tumbling streams of the wild lands that lay east and northeast of Tul Tuin. They camped amid the snarled branches of a fallen tree. At Aekino’s insistence, Zera consented to a few hours of sleep.
And as Zera slept, he dreamed; and as with his comrades before him, his dream brought him to the palace of Makarios. There he walked among the racks of shimmering bows and glittering blades, the display cases strewn with jeweled keys and rune-carved manacles, until he reached the sapphire table where the demon merchant awaited him.
“Here is a thing,” said the merchant after introductions were exchanged, “that I believe you will find most interesting.” He brought forth a box carved from sleek black jade, and opened it to reveal a phial brimming with some luminous fluid. “It is a liquid distilled from the dreams of a desert people and their memories of the sun. It has two properties: that of healing the sickness of the living, and that of bringing harm upon the dead.”
“And what price do you place on this treasure, oh demon?” Zera’s face bore a dubious expression.
“I require only that you place my mark upon the head of a dreamer, to provide me with three nights’ worth of dreams. Three nights only, and you may give me your own dreams, or those of another. Perhaps your friend the swordswoman, whose dreams seem to trouble her; or perhaps the dreams of a stranger. It matters not.”
“And how will I get hold of it, if I agree? Will it just appear?”
“It will appear somewhere convenient. Perhaps in your pouch, or before you, as you emerge from sleep. It will be unmistakable.” The demon offered a charming smile. “I will even throw in the box.”
“It’s tempting,” the archer observed, “but it’s too much of a gamble. The house always wins.”
Makarios bridled. “I am a merchant,” he replied smoothly. “If I sell, I win. When you buy an orange on the street, is that a gamble?”
“Perhaps not.” Zera came to a decision. “Very well, I accept your terms. Done.”
“When you wake, all knowledge of my sigil shall come to you. As I have said, you may give it to anyone.”
Zera pointed to his own forehead. “It will be mine.”
* * * * *
“There is another who would speak with you,” said the demon merchant. He showed Zera to a door. The door led to a stair, one that climbed high amidst galleries and towers. This brought him to a pale minaret that loomed above a convoluted landscape of brass and basalt, high above the seething hordes that pulsed through the streets and corridors of the demon city, all bathed in the light of the green metal sun.
“Greetings.”
Zera wheeled at the sound of that warm, amused voice. The speaker leaned rakishly against the parapet. His hair was auburn, his eyes burning emeralds. Each and every ornament in his panoply of brass drew the eye with the stridency of a mountain of jade, or a beautiful woman, or a sword pointed at the heart. He bowed ironically.
“I am Ligier,” he said. “Welcome to my city. Please, make yourself comfortable. I have a proposal that you may find... agreeable.”
* * * * *
Aekino and Zera continued on to the east. The raven-spirit found them; it guided them; and as light and dark passed them by, they met with their comrades in the eastern hills. Li, Thorwald and Fetek had chosen to stop the evil from entering the world, and they agreed that they would stop it in the wooded hills, for they cared more for the spirits of the wood than for the folk of the city, and they deemed that the Dragon-Blooded master of Tul Tuin could handle his own problems.
It was the hour before midnight, on the last night of Calibration. They could feel the shadow of Infernal power rising like an oily tide. Ahead lay a ridge where sentries stood silhouetted against a fiery glow. In a trice, Zera’s arrows cleared the sentinels away. Our heroes climbed to the top of the rise, and looked down.
They looked down into a hollow carved out of nightmare. Demonic figures cavorted amidst gnarled brazen trees and stands of black stone. Dark, greasy pools bubbled and rippled with unnatural patterns. At the center of the declivity, there stood a ring of menhirs to which cowering captives were tied. Hooded figures circled, chanting around an old man tied to an altar. The air twisted above that altar as something unholy tried to claw its way into the world.
The sword Burning Tiger leapt into Li’s hands. Fire filled her, obliterating thought. She charged down into the valley, where the demons waited. Her friends could do nothing but follow.
* * * * *
- Mother Cypress speaks:
- “In the city of Tul Tuin, deep within the Tower of Winds, the lord Ledaal Vir wiped the blood from his hands and turned away from the ruined thing that had once been a thief. The Violet Mask Brotherhood had risen up in a wave of assassination and mayhem, distracting his patrols at this crucial moment when dark forces threatened his city. But it was almost too late. He climbed the stair to his own chambers, stepped onto the balcony, and looked out over his city. Fires blazed through the night. Banners of smoke rose up to swallow the stars.
- “And in catacombs carved out beneath the city, in deep places forgotten by those above, robed figures chanted the names of their ancient gods, the Yozis and demons that had once ruled Creation, and might yet rule again. Their instruments of black metal, knives and staves and runes, blazed with a terrible potency. And in the ritual chamber, men and women and children lay chained to slabs of stone, feeling the cold edges of the grooves along which sacrificial blood was to flow, and they prayed for deliverance. But that deliverance was not to come…”
(Note: all PCs received 3 XP for this session. Li and Thorwald each received 2 XP for contributions. XP totals to date: Aekino 90, Fetek 73, Li 89, Thorwald 91, Zera 96.)
