SWaDS IC

[emeraldstreak]

Port Fang. Just recently, this was the end of the world, a location so remote it rarely appeared on maps. Now, it is the gateway to, hopefully, fabled riches. Or perhaps to gruesome death.

As with any enterprise, there are those who will risk it all to sail to those newfound shores a thousand miles to the West, and then there are those who will be the profiteering middleman. And while the former arrive on sloops and galleys from all the West and beyond, the latter are a collection of local talent. You see some of them in the pricey tavern you are at: a few black-clad officials of Citadel Bleak, all men as the master of the Citadel (and the Isle, really) employs no women; several flamboyant merchant counselors from the port city itself; a couple of foreigners whose complexions suggest they hail from distant Scavenger Lands but whose weathered faces reveal they've been experiencing the elements of the great ocean for years.

And then, there are the lot of you. Adventurers, perhaps, belonging the the first group...although, who is to tell what the limit of your appetite is?

[emeraldstreak]

This tavern is possibly the most expensive in all of Port Fang (whose idea was it to meet here anyway?). Floors, walls, and furniture of lacquered wood surround you, some of it dark, and some of it a lilac color that seems like a rarity. The building itself is perched on a rocky outcropping that offers view to the harbor on one side, and to densely packed city blocks on the other side. Night is about to fall, and in the dusk you can clearly spot the reddish glow of the wyld-infused lava river Port Fang is famous for. Ancient lavawheel-powered workshops line it, their everspinning fins made of some unmelting material whose secret has been long forgotten.



https://i.imgur.com/x8lqKoA.jpg


OOC thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?536603-SWaDS-OOC)

[Gunhaven]

Onyx Stitcher of the Encroaching Shroud awoke as Lessers Bowing to the True Reason eased into Port Fang's harbor, safely tucked away on the bottom of the sea. Slowly the Abyssal worked movement back into his corpse as he checked to insure that his necrotech vessel was still in as pristine condition as possible and that his supplies were still at acceptable levels. Only when he was satisfied did he finally leave through the vestigial remains of the digestive tract that served as an airlock so that the otherwise hollowed out interior wouldn't flood every time someone left. Outside the mouth the exalt began a steady march toward the city proper, emerging dripping with water onto one of the docks. He reoriented himself toward the correct tavern his liege told him to go to and began to walk once more towards it as the hot air helped dry him off.

He knew the sun was a thing but still cursed at the lack of the comforting sky of a shadowland and hoped to return to it as soon as possible. Thoughts of forming one here danced in his mind as he nearly radiated his disdain for the noises of the living but he didn't; he knew most of his future companions weren't the murdering type just because he didn't recognize any names from Skullstone. When he finally got to the tavern even that barely stopped him and he pushed his way in and marched to the back table he was told to go to. He gave a bow to those gathered and said in his sad, hollow tone "Greetings all. Onyx Stitcher of the Encroaching Shroud or Stitcher for short present. Who consents to a more private means of communication?" He spoke first in Seatongue, Skullstone dialect before he said it again in Low Realm if there was some confusion over language.

[Necroticplague]

To contrast, one the former thief, and now power-hunter, of a Lunar was feeling quiet a bit better. Having arrived earlier then she had meant to on a lucky headwind, she took some of the spare time to have a nice moment of relaxation in the lava to rest herself. Being near a Wyld spot like that had a comforting familiarity, like being back home again, though without the child-eating birds. She was at the waiting spot with a blindfold on, largely loitering around when the deathknight spoke up in his wierd tongues. Her head turns downward as she peers slightly over the top of her blindfold at the pale-skinned ally before raising her head back after the confirmation.

Fortunately, weird as they might be, there at least enough familiarities in the tongue to recognize it and respond in her own native Rivertongue. "Most definitely. Hate having to wear this thing when I'm out in public. You have a place in mind?"

[OracleofSilence]

"Oh lords, this isn't going to be a problen, is it?" Dian''s own high-realm entered the mix, confusing the vocal milieu yet further. The ex-Dynasty was leaned back as far as the chair would allow, sandaled feet resting on the table and cup of tea balanced on his out stretched forefinger. The deathknight had been comprehensible, if a little rural in affect, but the moon-chosen... "I dunno, isn't here fine? What could we possibly have to hide."

The trip had been quick but dull. And with this new land less then a days journey to the west, the layover was starting to wear on his nerves. Even the tea wasn't helping, the the near burning temperature of the cup did feel nice.

[Failed Phantasm]

No matter how many of Creation's little settlements he entered — and "little" they all were, by the measure of most Malfeans — it was always amusing to see the wide-eyed, slack-jawed, hushed-whisper, come-look-at-this sense of awe and wonderment that he provoked. Vulkorizel watched as they moved like a living wave around him, gathering at a "safe" distance to watch him as he passed, not daring to draw too close, before breaking away to resume their routines once their curiosity was satisfied. No doubt they could wring some sense of sense out of his appearance, of what he could be: "a god?" was most common, followed by "a lizardman?" or "a Wyld mutant?" by those familiar with either. Always a question, never a statement. Curiously, he was never "a demon(-blood)?" in spite of the Creation-born constantly condemning demons as the cause of every evil, the source of such ceaselessly strange superstitions; even a Terrestrial sorcerer, retinue of angyalka and neomah (naturally) in tow, failed to make the connection. He raised an idle hand to his necklace of orichalcum beads and rubbed one reassuringly as he recalled that chance meeting. If only the Creation-born knew how much he returned their sentiment, that he was just as awed by them and their appearances and all their comings and goings.

His own comings and goings would have drawn far less innocent interest and far more Immaculate ire, but if any of them noticed the few grains of silver amidst the half day's worth of sand clinging to his bare claws and feet, no one gave any indication of it. Yet he was carefully watching those who watched him, looking for shaved heads and linen gi and, more importantly than even those things, the telltale elemental glow of jade that was alive with the infused soul-stuff of its master. There had been no surprises in the Hundred Kingdoms, but the Scarlet Empire had a longer grasp in the West than in the East and he did not want to be caught off-guard. He continued down what must have been one of Port Fang's main thoroughfares, lined with market stalls whose goods were being packed away as dusk fell, past merchants who were no doubt eyeing his fine clothes and debating whether they could make one last sale for the evening. He gave a courteous nod to those who met his gaze, but stopped for none of them.

The city's spirits were no less active as night fell. He could sense the vague impression of the myriad little gods, turning the lava-wheels in their perpetual motions and nestling into the harbor as their ships lay anchor. As he neared the docks, he saw a spirit with fair blue hair and bronzed skin dressed like a merchant marine captain, whose weather-beaten coat and shabby hat stood at odds with the abundance of gold and silver jewelry that smacked of recently-improved fortunes. If the Shogunate-era sextant secured by his belt were any indication, it was Port Fang's city god, as old as the fort that stood further inland. If Vulkorizel was right and if he were to keep up the ruse of being a god, they would likely be having a chat sooner or later. For now, the spirit didn't seem to notice that the Exalt was aware of him, even as they traveled in the same direction.

Vulkorizel was not surprised to find himself at what looked like the port's most important tavern, nor that its most important spirit had wanted to come here: it stood out from its surroundings like a palace of verdigrised brass stood out from the black stone of the Demon City. The abundance of lacquer, he noted as he entered, would have been more practically spent on a ship or ships prior to the port becoming popular. He ignored the stares as he climbed the stairs, finding a pleasant perch from which to watch the windows; and while he tried not to glance askance at the conflicting glare of silver-white and deepening darkness emanating from below, he could not help but notice the harmonic mismatch between these essences and the jade their owners wore. He tugged at his sleeves in the hope that his own bracers were well-covered, while those gathered below spoke amongst themselves. Vulkorizel recognized the languages from his time in the Scavenger Lands, but did not understand what was being said. 'They cannot be mortal,' he thought, as his tail swished from side to side. 'Are they all Exalted? Even in the East, I've never met so many in one place. I wonder what they're saying?'


ACTIONS TAKEN

Vulkorizel spent six motes of Personal Essence to activate All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight when he arrived in Port Fang.


CONDITION
Essence 42 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 13 + (6) / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

ACTIVE EFFECTS

All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight – (One scene)

[Exthalion]

Mo'inui had arived with the dawn, the morning mist veiling him and his conveyance which returned to the sky as soon as he and his companion stepped from it. The non-descript Western-looking man kept his eyes on the veiled sun even as he kept everything else within his keen awareness. He had not forgotten who this would-be-king had been.

"Privacy would not be untoward, if for naught else than to grant a freer hand in ending this confusion."

There was Seatounge again, spoken without preamble as the Solar settled into an unoccupied chair.

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher sighed, the kind of sigh that can only be accomplished by someone well used to disappointment. He said in High Realm "No issue at all on my end." Then, in Rivertongue, Thorn Dialect, he added "Lessers Bowing to the True Reason is private enough, although I was talking specifically about telepathy." He looked about again and did another disappointed sigh as he muttered over and over "I doubt the murder would be worth the trouble. Or the screams of terror" in Seatongue, Low Realm, High Realm, and finally Rivertongue.

[balanthejakal]

Contagious Damnation of Eternal Despair arrived at Port Fang the night before to get a feel for the port before going to the tavern. She would have been there earlier but a rather nasty squall blew the ship she was on off course, costing her a day or two. After an uneventful night, she walks from the cabin of The Rusty Monsoon towards the tavern. "Damn storm! Damn weak mortals! That storm was not even that bad! I have half a mind to learn to sail just so I won't have to put up with this anymore. But the Echoes seem to be leading me in another direction." After fuming for a little bit she notices the crowd in front of her behaving differently from what she observed the night before, she quickly spots the source of the disturbance, a rather imposing bipedular lizard. "Wyld mutant" she mutters under her breath and briskly continues on, until a shift in the wind brings her downwind of the creature, stopping her cold. "That thing does not smell of creation, nor of the Underworld. Interesting."

Following Vulkorizel to the tavern Despair realizes that he is one of the people she is to meet with. Once he stops she walks up to him just barely inside what Despair believes the limit of his peripheral vision should be and addresses him in Seatongue "You do realize that you have the subtlety of a tyrant lizard in a pottery shop"

[emeraldstreak]

The tavern keeper - an elderly but still fit man with scraggy white beard and a black eyepatch - approaches you in Seatongue, "This fine establishment offers a private hall. The cost for the evening isn't high, and we accept cowrie, silver, or jade."

The cost is Resources 1. It doesn't include anything you'd want served.


A fairly difficult Perception+Linguistics roll can reveal something about the keeper.

[Failed Phantasm]

Over the growing din of the growing crowd, each new face heralded by the creaking of hinges and the slam of a door, Vulkorizel leaned against a wall and pressed his face against a window and he listened to the sound of seagulls screeching as they flocked back to shore for the night. He understood their cries only slightly less than the conversations taking place around him. ‘He’d probably pretend to be annoyed with me if he were here,’ he thought with a slight smirk; ‘translating for me every time we’re together.’ From the floor below, the sound of clapping and a bark of triumphant laughter mingled with a very angry shout of what was clearly profanity — the near-universal indicator of someone having just lost a bet. ‘Does he speak Seatongue? Perhaps I should learn in case we run into each other out here, and then I could repay the favor.’ Someone had brought him a cup of thin tea and a bowl of rice unbidden, and not wanting to be thrown out for loitering, he fished out the very last quarter-yen from his pockets to pay for it. Officially and literally penniless, he would have to find free lodging for the night or else sleep on the beach; tomorrow, he would assess whether the townspeople here needed a sifu or a scholar more, and then get to work.

His thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected approach of a woman, which he caught only out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t look as if she worked at the tavern, but it also seemed as if she were moving towards him, specifically, and with a purpose. Neither did she seem to notice that she was drawing the mortals’ stares nearly as much as he had. When she addressed him in what sounded like Seatongue, he spent a few seconds looking around, in case she might really have been speaking to someone else nearby. When it was clear she wasn’t, he sighed inwardly and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, as clearly as he could and as slowly as he dared; “I don’t understand you.” Experience told him the odds were poor she spoke Old Realm, but one never knew who was a learned thaumaturge or sorcerer just by appearance alone. He craned his long neck and looked over the railing at the assemblage of probably-Exalts, pointing them out to the strange woman. “Are those the sort of people you’re looking for?” he asked, sparing a glance for her weapon, which to his essence-senses sounded as if it were emitting a faint chorus of tormented moaning.

Since he was paying attention to that group already, he saw the tavern keeper approach and give a perfunctory bow. As with almost everyone else in the building, it sounded like he spoke Seatongue — but now Vulkorizel had the benefit of having heard the language in multiple variations, from the outbursts of fellow customers, to the Exalted below, to the woman who tried and failed to start a conversation with him. Taking a slow drink from his bowl of tea, he started comparing them all in his head, listening to the sounds of different accents and trying to pick out common words like pronouns and verbs. He had been too busy and too sequestered to learn Riverspeak while in the Hundred Kingdoms, but now he’d been practically handed a fantastic opportunity to learn Seatongue and he intended to take advantage of it. After all, who knows how long he’d be here?


ACTIONS TAKEN

Perception [2] + Linguistics [0]: [roll0]

➜ Stunt dice, if applicable (from left to right): [roll1]
Result: 3 successes (8, 10 [×2])

CONDITION
Essence 42 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 13 + (6) / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

ACTIVE EFFECTS

All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight – (One scene)

[Volthawk]

While the gathered Exalts try to get to know each other, Felun arrives - a Western man, wiry in frame and with scarred flesh visible under a heavy robe, Old Realm script (in a Malfean style, referencing Malfeas and She Who Lives in Her Name) embossed in the hem and cuffs. He looks over the assembled people, and when he sees Dian he grins and walks over to him, his attention clearly visible. So the runaway is here, and it seems that the two of them are the only ones of their kind - although another seemed like he had demon blood. Interesting. For now he didn't speak, content to merely listen and observe.


Although I don't believe we ever settled any background links, Oracle, I'm working off the assumption that GSPs generally have an idea of who each other are, particularly given Dian's history.

[emeraldstreak]

Vulkorizel

The accent of the keeper isn't quite right - so probably not a native Westerner - but you are unable to pin his origins.

[Necroticplague]

Realizing the motley crew she seems to have found herself with have the minor problem of several not speaking any real language, just some bastard barbarian tongues. Fortunately, the spark of her enlightenment has given her a wide variety of ways to deal with mundane problems like this. She takes a moment to speak as me moves her hand, before her voice is abruptly silenced she exhales an unusual cloud, practically literally tearing the words from her own mouth before gripping it, and slamming it down onto her own face, where it congeals into a form much like a bandana, further concealing her face. She then addresses her companions, her voice now crossing languages in its echoing tones "Much as I'd appreciate it, and pay if I could, I am a woman of very view means. If any of you would be so kind?"

Casting The Sacred Tongue from Peripheral, using Subtle Chameleon Practice to avoid flare.

Essence pool drops to 23/23/0(23/44/30)

[Volthawk]

Felun grins as one of the others display an understanding of sorcery and follows suit, summoning a green-tinged flame that he forms into a gold and brass mask before speaking, his voice also surpassing all language boundaries. "As I was delayed, I was expecting you all to have sorted these petty issues out. Someone pay the little man so we can proceed."


Also casting The Sacred Tongue, using the Malfean enlightenment hence the aesthetic (unless bossman has a problem with my way of making it influenced my Malfean elements), a diff 5 Wits+Occult tells you guys about that.

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher almost laughed at the exchange...almost. Instead he rustled around in his robes before he pulled out a strand of shells, pristine as could be and threaded with dried kelp. His hands were covered in black leather gloves, almost like that of a blacksmith, as they briefly left his robes before the returned. To any concern he gave a nod and said in first Seatongue, Skullfolk Dialect and then in High Realm "The Silver Prince provides those that work. Shall we move to the new locale?"

[Failed Phantasm]

Vulkorizel visibly tensed when he saw that one of the group was shaping magic in the middle of a crowded tavern; as if by rote, the fingers of his free hand flicked seamlessly through the motions of a mudra nearly as ancient as Victory Over Primordials. Only the next moment’s recognition that the spell was essentially harmless made him stay his attempt at countermagic and settle back against the wall, his mane bristling slightly. ‘Definitely Exalted,’ he thought. ‘A mortal sorcerer would spare a thought for discretion in a place like this.’ The reactions of Creation-born to his own first attempts at sorcery as a mortal were unpredictable, to say the least — as likely to be driven from town, whether with frightened smiles or flung stones, as to be worshipped or humbly supplicated. On more than one occasion, Mara failed to hide her disapproval of her pupil using his Primordial-given powers to repair a village’s walls or mend old heirlooms.

He had only a moment’s relaxation before another one of them shaped the same spell, but the realization was instant this time: how could he mistake the distinct sheen of brass, or not know the color of Ligier’s light? ‘She never taught me to do that with my magic,’ he thought, slightly awed and curious in spite of himself. He took another slow drink of tea to calm his nerves and focus his mind, sifting through his memories for anything Mara might have once taught him on the subject, or perhaps anything similar he might have ever seen in the Demon City. But more importantly than the “how”, he wondered what could it mean for a sorcerer to interweave two of a Yozi’s strongest associations into his magic. If it were just for flair, surely the method would be taught more widely in Malfeas?


ACTIONS TAKEN

Vulkorizel spends six motes of Personal Essence to add three successes with his Second Occult Excellency.

Wits [3] + Occult [5]: [roll0]

➜ Stunt dice, if applicable (from left to right): [roll1]
Result: 6 successes (10 [×2], 7, 9, 10 [×2]) + 3 successes

CONDITION
Essence 36 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 7 + (6) / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

ACTIVE EFFECTS

All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight – (One scene)

[Exthalion]

The tanned Westerner didn't bat an eye at the sorcery. Merely took another sip of his tea and set the cup down again.

If I believed Heaven cared I would suspect it had inflicted this mummers troop on me as punishment. More likely decent people never earn the attention of the gods, making me as much a farce as the rest.

[emeraldstreak]

The keeper now has a bearing who might be paying for this motley, if distinguished, company. He leads you underground via a creaking stairwell. While the stairs are made of the ubiquitous black lacquer wood, the private hall is decorated in pale blue with sea motifs. It almost looks like a mysterious limestone cave, but in fact is just as comfortable as the common tavern hall above.

Your host asks if you would have any other wishes as of this moment. He assures you Port Fang, while not Arjuf, Nexus, or Chiaroscuro, has much to offer.

[balanthejakal]

Despair follows the keeper down and promptly ignores his question. Slowly pacing around the room in an apparent trance with eyes half closed, taking slow breaths, she moves close to the wall lightly running her fingers over various features in the room. An air of menace and death grows with each step she takes. As she nears completion of her circuit she suddenly stops and walks purposefully towards the table and sits, the feeling of approaching death disappearing as if it were never there.

[emeraldstreak]

ACTIONS TAKEN

Vulkorizel spends six motes of Personal Essence to add three successes with his Second Occult Excellency.

Wits [3] + Occult [5]: [roll0]

➜ Stunt dice, if applicable (from left to right): [roll1]
Result: 6 successes (10 [×2], 7, 9, 10 [×2]) + 3 successes

CONDITION
Essence 36 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 7 + (6) / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

ACTIVE EFFECTS

All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight – (One scene)



The Yozi-tainted nature of the Sorcery is unmistakable.

[Necroticplague]

Shean turns towards the sounds of the keeper "No thank you. Should we need something, we can ask later." as the keeper walks away to attend to his other business, the moon-blessed makes first remove the blindfold that helps hide her horrific eyes, now that she's stands in only in the company of those who wouldn't run away screaming. She goes near a seat, but continues to stand to bring things to order quickly. "O.k, a few more people than I was expecting, but I assume you're here with someone else. Let's cut to the chase: I know we're all sent here by different masters, Chosen by different patrons. Sun, Moon, Green Sun, Void, whatever. However, this is not about our minor differences. This is about all of us having some interest in the rumors of new islands even further West. To that end, we all have at least a common goal for now. Does anybody have anything to comment on this point before we continue on to the plan-making portion of this meeting?"

[Exthalion]

"Only that a modicum more caution would go well for us. No doubt the whole host of patrons are talking about the Sorcerer and by even' it shall be half the town as well."

Mo'inui was lounging in his chair keeping an eye on the door as he spoke. He did not have the gift for supernatural awareness, but that was far from necessary for the induction he was making.

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher let out a sigh and nodded his understanding before he slumped into a chair, looking like a man exhausted. He muttered in Seatongue, Skullfolk Dialect "This sun and color is terrible." He looked up at the group and said loud enough that they could hear "I don't know how you people deal with being outside a shadowland." He pulled back his hood and revealed his ivory skin with the only indication of the skull underneath being the odd flap of flesh that wasn't having any of the ruse any more and instead hung on feebly.
He flashed a forced smile as he said about as close as he could get to sarcastic "Maybe we can form a new one somewhere to go with this new land. We can repurpose the corpses, set up a nice lab to help repair them every couple months, maybe make Lessers a companion eventually. Won't be as good as I can do without my Prince to help reanimate it, though." The longer he talks about necrotech the more alive he looks before he catches himself and pulls his hood back up over his head, a look of recognition that maybe not everyone is a fan of small scale genocide.

[Volthawk]

Felun grins as some of the others start talking, and he doesn't take a seat before speaking, his voice still ignoring any language barriers. "Good, they should be aware. Their knowledge of my sorcery means they know their place without the annoyances that knowledge of my true glory would bring. In any case, let's not pretend that maintaining secrecy about our natures is anything other than just delaying the inevitable. Once we start enforcing our will on the new land, none shall be in any doubt as to what they face, and all shall tremble before us."

[OracleofSilence]

"Alternatively, they might stick direlances through our throats and display us on the battlements. That's an option as well." Dian was clearly unworried by the prospect. "Or am I to assume that we shall succeed in our aims through shear force of psychopathic will?"

[Necroticplague]

"And we appear to have hit our first major point of disagreement: that of our goals. I was under the impression this was supposed to be a relatively strict 'scout and grab'. Check out the island, gather information, and grab any artifacts we find. No need to impose our wills on anything. However, I agree that splurging a little sorcery around isn't that big a deal. After all, claiming we're a mortal or Lookshyan cabal seeking exotic ingredients or lore on the edge of Creation is perfectly reasonable. Any cover just has to last long enough for us to screw off to the next island. Assuming anyone cares about Immaculate bull this far out."

[Volthawk]

Felun laughs. "We don't have to worry about the people reporting us problem the Realm. They will be there, along with every other power in the region. Conflict is inevitable, and we won't just have to deal with men and dragons. More like us will be there, I guarantee it." He then looks over to Dian. "Naturally. I thought you would've learnt from your time in Hell, about how such things - will, emotion and strength of self and Essence - give you the power needed to be victorious. If nothing else, our shared martial arts style and Malfean power is proof of that."

[OracleofSilence]

"Hardly. It's proof that I was a fool once and remain a fool now, 'else I never would have listened to the mad ravings of pavement and lead." Dian grins, turning his attention to the rest of the group. "Well then? Why not discuss it in full. What do you aim to do with this new land?"

Of course it is totally reasonable for the group as a whole to have discussed this already,
But I figure we might as well make it official.

[Necroticplague]

"Officially? As a member of the Silver Pact, to report on any pertinent information about the new portion of Creation we have to protect. As a member of the Swords of Luna, to see if this land has any lost First Age artifacts that can be used against the Fair Folk that constantly seek to invade the world. Personally? See if a new part of Creation means new and powerful, exotic or useful forms to add to my library."

[balanthejakal]

Despair sits calmly, almost demurely, waiting for those present to finish speaking before looking at Stitcher. With a small smirk she says "I deal with being outside a shadowland about as well as you, miserably. And you seem to have the same idea that I do for this new land, although for entirely different reasons. Maybe at some point in time we could discuss the possibility of seeding a shadowland or conquering one for our mutual benefit."

Shifting her focus to the group at large she speaks again, without any hint of amusement, just the cold clinical efficiency of a predator, "Our goals are going to be as vastly different as the masters we serve. There will be conflicts. I am sure we all can see this. That is not the issue as I see it. The issue that I see is that the Realm likes to send their packs of rabid dogs to kill us whenever they can. These 'Wyld Hunts' as they like to call them are a problem for each of us as individuals. They wear us down with their numbers. Each one of us can probably handle 3 of the Terrestrial dogs without a second thought. But will that be what they send at us with this new land up for grabs?" Despair waith a split second before continuing. "No, they will send large scale forces to keep us from claiming anything from this land. With all of us together, they will be far less likely to send anything less than an entire legion at us. And Even then, I LIKE our odds. I believe that we should at least agree to keep any conflicts over our goals non-violent, and that we reserve the right to keep said goals secret. Does that sound fair to everyone?" Despair looks each person in the eye as she asks her last question.

[Failed Phantasm]

Vulkorizel slowly drained the last of his tea as he watched the group of Exalts file away, following them with his gaze until the tavern-keeper took them down a flight of stairs and out of sight. As if breathing a collective sigh of relief, the crowd became loud and rowdy again once the strangers were gone, but he didn’t need to understand Seatongue to know what the evening’s new conversation topic was. If he had more scrip and fewer scruples, he might even have bought a few rounds for the house and then prayed to the gods of alcohol that the memories of all involved would be lost in a haze of beer of questionable quality. He set the empty bowl on the table and stared down at the dregs. After a long moment of deliberation, he shut his eyes and sighed. ‘Best see what this is all about, then.’ He picked up the chopsticks — which looked and smelled clean enough — and the uneaten bowl of rice, and started down. It was a small blessing that few spared him so much as a brief sideways glance this time; he was hardly the most interesting thing to have walked in any more.

As he descended, and being about a minute behind the rest, he met the tavern-keeper returning to his rounds. In the instant that they passed each other, the old man looked up and stared at him while very pointedly saying nothing at all. ‘Was that a warning or an accusation?’ he asked himself, over the sound of creaking footfalls moving ever more hurriedly away from him. From below, he could clearly hear a conversation beginning, and though he understood what the woman was saying, he also knew that she was not speaking Old Realm. He might have followed suit now that there were no unwanted witnesses, but he was still feeling the strain of his earlier efforts. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his free hand, wordlessly wondering about the difference between shame and discretion as he stepped off the final stair and into the room. The woman had finished speaking, then a man offered a quip, and now a third was speaking animatedly about what may well have been the mating practices of Western birds for all he could understand. Rather than try to sit in a chair and awkwardly position his tail to accommodate, Vulkorizel leaned against the nearby wall as he did upstairs and began to eat his rice while the others conversed.

Even though the two sorcerers had the most to say, it was still very much hearing only half of the discussion. He could try to infer from context what the others said, just as when the Lunar woman’s response implied that one had asked “What are you doing here?” He finished a bite of vaguely vinegar-flavored rice and chewed thoughtfully on the end of a chopstick as he considered that question, while the pale woman who had approached him earlier spoke at length about who-knows-what. ‘A new land does sound exciting,’ he thought, the tip of his tail whisking back and forth at the intrigue of the proposition. ‘Or maybe it’s not “new” so much as “lost during the Balorian Crusade”. But…’ He glanced around the room. There was at least one openly megalomaniacal Exalt in the room at present — likely more, if history were any indication — and while that wasn’t automatically a negative quality, such people could be extremely difficult to work with. “Like Octavian,” he muttered under his breath. ‘Maybe the Lunar might agree in principle with the idea of helping mortals to stand on their own,’ he thought, ‘but she clearly has other immediate goals. The rest seem as if they would think me naïve for wanting to spend my time teaching.’ He took another slow bite of rice. ‘What do I say?’


CONDITION
Essence 36 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 7 + (6) / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

ACTIVE EFFECTS

All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight – (One scene)

[Necroticplague]

As the second one obsessed with the dreadfully dreary lands finishes his proposal, Shean's position is more than willing to shift it helps things go smoothly. "As long as that right is contingent on that agreement, and not attempting to provoke anything, that's more than reasonable. Probably best if I can claim ignorance anyway."

[Volthawk]

Felun grins as the others discuss their intentions, and looks over to Despair. "I agree. This is what I was saying - this many Exalted together will draw their attention and their forces, and we will overcome it all. I have no intention to oppose any of you in your goals. I merely wish to take all I can from this opportunity, and fighting with you all is just as much a part of that as any land or artefacts I may gain. Our time has come - soon all shall know of us and know we are forces to be reckoned with."

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher for his part nodded along as they spoke and cleared his throat, more for effect than actually needing to, before he corrected in his native tongue "I didn't suspect that murder would be the answer; it's just easier to get information from a corpse for someone who's used to the dead such as myself. I'm in favor of less Fair Folk involvement, like most of us probably are, and the Realm is something that I've personally had minimal dealings with since they don't typically visit Skullstone. Plus it'll be easier for us to 'scout and grab' if we first set up at least an outpost. Some place we can catalog our findings and prepare for our explorations. Maybe some light reminding if we expand said outpost into a proper city." He rustled about in his robes for a moment before he stopped and mumbled "That's right, they're in the crab still...no matter."

[Failed Phantasm]

Vulkorizel looked over at the only other member of the gathering who was being just as taciturn, who seemed equally distant from the rest. ‘Are you as ill at ease here as I am?’ he wondered. When the conversation continued, he turned his attention back to the table; neither the topic nor the berobed braggart’s boasting did much to reassure him that he was making a wise decision. ‘This is the kind of adventure you’ve been dreaming of!’ he reminded himself; ‘Lost cultures, ancient ruins, unaltered accounts of the High and Low First Ages: who knows what you’ll find?’

‘But for the fractious company I’d be keeping,’ replied his cynical inner voice. ‘Have a little courage,’ he imagined-remembered in his mate’s voice. ‘You’re a Solar now.’ Vulkorizel sighed internally, with equal parts mock and real exasperation. Even when he wasn’t around, and even when they weren't (strictly speaking) his words, he couldn’t argue with Talons. ‘Time to make a headlong leap into the unknown, then.’

“I’m not one to agree to something without knowing what it is I’m agreeing to,” he said, in a smooth and soft-spoken way; “nor am I inclined to make inferences based on the half of this conversation that I can understand.” With a shrug and a more dry tone, he continued, “Disregarding the sorcerers, I’d count myself fortunate if even one of you speaks Old Realm.” To the Lunar, he nodded and said: “My goals, such as they are” ‘— and inasmuch as it’s boundlessly optimistic for me to have any at this point —’ “are somewhat similar to yours, but as I know so little of the situation, my expectations are limited to ‘exploration’ and ‘danger’.” Having finished, he leaned back against the wall and took another bite of rice.


CONDITION
Essence 36 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 7 + (6) / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

ACTIVE EFFECTS

All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight – (One scene)

[emeraldstreak]

Suddenly a low rumble shakes the room. Dust pours from the ceiling. No further quakes follow, though.

[Necroticplague]

Shean acts with some surprise at the abrupt tectonics in the middle of their meeting "I'm not sure whether I'd prefer that to be something one of you're responsible for, or a natural side-effect of living near an active drama-reactive volcano."

[Volthawk]

Felun shrugs. "It was not me, and so far it seems like it has just been the two of us casting sorcery here. It is separate from us, although I can't tell you whether it is man, spirit or something else without further investigation."

[emeraldstreak]

You overhear muted curses from the stairwell. Next, a flamboyantly dressed man barges into your private hall over the objections of an unseen maid. The man quickly brushes aside some fallen dust, then bows before you, "Councilor Eel the Enterprising, at your service." Eel backheels the door closed, "As private as you are, your might is hard to conceal, my masters. Councilor Eel ganders your purpose and thinks you'll be interested in information about your rivals..." (all spoken in Seatongue)


Perception+Socialize will reveal more about Eel the Enterprising

[Volthawk]

Felun laughs as the politician finishes his little speech, looking around to the others. "The man recognises our might and wishes to gain our favour with information on our enemies. He, at least, sees how our path leads to glory." He turns back to Eel. "I cannot speak for my peers, but I wish to hear what you have to say. Know this, however - if you make any attempts to lie, betray or mislead us, I will find you and you will wish that I merely kill you."


Perception+Socialise [roll0]

Felun is not the cunning statesman type - hell, he's exactly the kind to allow such flattery for the sake of his ego.

[Exthalion]

"Perhaps of equal worth would be how it is you gained such keenness as to pierce such concealment as we have."

Perception + Socialize
[roll0]

Activating Virtue Discerning Sight (3m)

Activating Courtier's Eye Technique (3m)
[roll1] + 3 successes

Activating Consumer-Evaluating Glance (2m)
9d10

[Necroticplague]

"Rivals? I was not aware we had any as of yet. They must be very proactive sorts to be such while we still attempt to sort our first steps."

Perception(5)+Socialization(0):[roll0] 1 Success.

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher shook his head at the accusation that he was somehow responsible for the tremor and said "Don't look at me, Lessers isn't that big and I don't want to stretch myself too thin before I have some means of recovering." He sighed during the dramatic entrance of some OTHER person and muttered "This place truly is terrible..." Another sigh, dripping with disappointment, and he said loud enough to be heard easily "What are they and are they as gaudy as you?"
[roll0]

[balanthejakal]

As the tremor hits, Despair looks around the room quickly, as if expecting something more to happen. Hearing the commotion outside she gracefully slides out of her seat a wicked looking knife appearing in her hand. "Drago... Oh wait, nevermind. Its just the town jester." Despair relaxes slightly, but keeps the knife in her hand. "Tell me, little eyesore, is this place good enough for what you feel you need to tell us or do you want us to move somewhere where you might have protection? Barging in on a meeting you were not invited to, attended by people who count the Realm as an enemy is foolish, almost suicidally so." As Despair addresses Eel, she has an almost sweet smile on her face that does not touch her eyes, which are fixed on the interloper with an intensity that is almost palpable.

[roll0]

[emeraldstreak]

The councilor's reactions reveal he understands more than just Seatongue...
Mo'inui and Felun are the only ones to gain insight into Eel's play (info to be PMed). In the meantime, lets roll his Valor (2+1 virtue specialty into Daring Schemes [roll0])

[emeraldstreak]

The interloper musters his courage:

"My lords, what's to be gained in punishing an eager lesser of you?"

"Eel the Enterprising is no Sage to sense your power, nor a Sifu to recognize your prowess...I am a politician, and as big as Port Fang is, a well-connected councilor knows when serious-faced strangers meet here...which begs the question why, and the only thing that has changed since we were the most forgotten rock in the West is this new land all crave to explore..."

"And all have to resupply at our port, and we learn about them. This knowledge would carry a price with rival explorers, wouldn't it?"

"If so, Eel offers you insight in the Ones Before You, and the Ones After You - yes, the Enterprising knows something even about the latter."

"If you so wish, a payment in cowrie, silver, or jade is acceptable. However, there's a greater value in exchanging my long-term services for a moment of your brilliance."

"Our Isle's progress is impeded by old-fashioned, obtuse, black-clad imposters. Their organization once spoke for the Lord of the Isle, but he is long gone and their claim to authority can be proven phony...if one can brave the ruins of Fortress Fang, that is..."

[Necroticplague]

"Hah. It is not bravery for us to stroll through some meager fort. What kind of proof should we be looking for in there?"

[Gunhaven]

If it weren't for the robe hiding his rotting skull, Stitcher's eyes would twinkle with the possibility as he almost audibly licked his lips at the thought of some proper feasting. He said "Do you care about whatever still lives in this fort? And I trust you can provide us with a layout for us to use with this momentary exercise." His voice remains dead but there's just that hint of excitement that's clearly becoming obvious when death is involved, despite his best efforts to remain impartial to everything.

[emeraldstreak]

"It was once a behemoth of a fortified complex built by the Shogunate of old to deter the enemies of Creation. Nowadays the barracks, the armories, and the other walls are in disrepair. Two buildings still stand: the ascetic Academy where the black-clad Magistrates of Fang are trained per Shogunate tradition, and the central Citadel Bleak which is immune to the ravages of time."

"It is said the last Lord of Isle Fang was a legendary Shogunate Itinerant-Magistrate, a traveling investigator, judge, and executioner all in one. When he grew old he sought a more sedentary position and was awarded this command. He trained younger Magistrates: back then, they were all Dragon-Blooded."

"Protected in Citadel Bleak, the Lord survived the Great Contagion, and his teachings were the foundation of the bureaucratic order of mortals who claimed the Isle. But that was a long time ago..."

"Today, the Magistrates falsely claim mandate from this long-dead Lord, I know it! They forbid civilians to approach Citadel Bleak...but they cannot forbid access to you. Once you reach the Citadel, it will soon become obvious there's no Lord - or anyone else for that matter - and that the Magistrates use a ruse to keep the enterprising population of Isle Fang under control."

[Necroticplague]

"Ah. So anything that proves the lord is dead." Good. If they chafe under Mandate rule, they're probably not horrifically friendly to Realm rule either. Useful to have more open areas like that, gives one a bit more wiggle room when deciding when to travel (without having to head all the way to the edge of Creation).

She turns to face more of her new circle to make sure the gist of the message gets across "Head to the central citadel of Fort Fang, look for evidence the lord is dead, come back when we have something solid. In exchange for this, we'll get info on our competition."

[emeraldstreak]

The Fang archipelago doesn't even appear on Realm-printed maps. You are not aware of any official relations between the two.

[emeraldstreak]

She turns to face more of her new circle to make sure the gist of the message gets across "Head to the central citadel of Fort Fang, look for evidence the lord is dead, come back when we have something solid. In exchange for this, we'll get info on our competition."

Councilor Eel nods, "Now and in the future, we keep an eye on them for you."

[Exthalion]

"Before we depart, there is the small matter to attend to regarding the most honorable Eel planning on making this same offer of information to all of our competitors as well. Such wonderful stories he might tell regarding the villians who came from the sea and struck down the state. Ah, but you are the storyteller, do tell us how that tale would go."

[emeraldstreak]

Eel is momentarily startled before he regains composure and bows, "A fair observation, my master. Information has a price, discretion has a price. Both can be paid: with cowrie, or with gifting the people of Fang with freedom from the black-clad oppressors."

[Necroticplague]

"Well, since it seems all the important details seem nicely squared away, that leaves only one point left:" The lunar addresses her circle exclusively "Shall we head off at once, or do some of you require some time to prepare yourselves?"

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher sighed and said "I should be ready. Just so I know; how much would it cost in cowrie? And just so I'm clear you are perfectly okay with us using violence as long as we keep it to the Fort." He rustled around and got out one of his tiger claws and a sheet of driftwood from beneath his robes, the wood giving him a moment of trouble before he succeeds in working it out, to scratch out a map of the descriptions granted since they aren't given an actual map (or at least not yet).

[balanthejakal]

"You are a Councilman, correct? So if we strike down these 'oppressors' as you call them, would that not advance your power and status? Instead of being just a bureaucrat, you would be a ruler. I have no problem with killing to change a lands leadership. Oblivion only knows I have done so before." Despair walks up to Eel and places her hand gently on his neck, "However, know this Eel, if you turn on us for any reason you will NOT survive. It is nothing personal, I simply cannot tolerate liabilities left behind. And selling us out is a guaranteed way to make yourself a liability." As despair finishes her speech she gives Eel a couple of light pats on his cheek before going back to her seat.

[emeraldstreak]

Eel to Onyx Stitcher: "I wouldn't presume...suffice to say those who defy you ought to blame themselves for the consequences."

Eternal Despair's words and actions obviously cause conflicting emotions in the councilman. He gulps and clears his throat, "Loyalty is a better foundation for long-term relations than lies...I see you value quality over quantity when it comes to partners."

[Failed Phantasm]

Vulkorizel was vaguely reminded of home as he contemplated the Councilor’s words, sifting through the sycophancy for anything of practical use. He noted his associates’ (?) attempts at intimidation and said nothing, but privately thought it unwise. Oh, it had its practical uses to be sure, and Heaven knows he’d seen enough of it in his lifetime, but they knew too little about the man’s personality beyond this one display of exaggeratedly theatrical grovelling. How could they confidently predict his reaction to being threatened? ‘Let’s hope this doesn’t incite him to cause more trouble for us instead of less,’ he thought.

Turning his attention to the sorcerers, he said, “Perhaps one of you should ask if the citadel is a manse?” He idly pointed a chopstick in the councilor’s direction and continued, “I don’t know if calling it ‘immune to the ravages of time’ is simply a poetic turn of phrase or not, but that kind of geomantic weirdness is something we should know about beforehand.”


CONDITION
Essence 36 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 7 + (6) / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

ACTIVE EFFECTS

All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight – (One scene)

[Volthawk]

Having just listened and translated for a little while, Felun speaks once more.

"Very well then. Tell us more of the Citadel and the Magistrates. You call it powerful, immune to the ravages of time...are you speaking of a manse or a similar structure? What do you know of it past...history and poetry? As for the Magistrates, what power do they possess? Are they merely mortal, or do they count any of the dragon's children among them, or any like us? Any weapons of true might?

Let us also consider the future. I am convinced that you have heard enough on the subject of treachery to ensure you will stay loyal to our agreement, whatever form that may take, so I won't continue to labour on that one point. I wish to know of your own plans - as my peer has said, you stand to gain from this, yes? Good, I expect nothing less, and encourage that. If we assist you, it is in all our interests that you succeed, so you can better assist us in turn."

[emeraldstreak]

"It's easy to spot the Bleak Citadel jutting north on a clear day, but to actually get near it - for a civilian - that's difficult. Still, the young and reckless do try every year or so, and sometimes evade the black-clad patrols. The story is always one and the same - a structure of ancient glory unmarred by the ravages of time. Is it a manse? Probably, but I am no expert."

"The Magistrates are mere mortals, and not particularly inspiring ones", Eel sighs. "It is said that once upon a time anyone graced by the Dragons on Fang were brought before the Lord, but the last such event must have been centuries ago. Dynasts - or any Dragon-Chosen really - didn't visit our isle, didn't leave traces of their elemental bloodline."

"The black-clad order aren't enemies...but they are a relic of bygone times that serves the people of Fang no more. Should the Merchant Council establish full control, we will do much good. Port Fang can become a city of commerce and industry rarely seen in the West."

[Necroticplague]

"Gotcha. Head north till we see a largely, untouched building complex. Sounds like everything we need, so I'll be leaving now. "
Putting her blindfold back on so she can walk among normal people more discretely,the Lunar walks out of the room to start out on the hike.

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher gave a nod, made sure the robe was in place, and said to the room in general "I will return to Lessers Bowing to the True Reason and meet the rest of you due north of the target. Although I'll be waiting below the waves. Anyone else wishing to accompany me can come as well, we will work out the breathing underwater if we must." He waited a moment before he too left the room and made his way back to the docks, walking casually into the harbor itself as if nothing was wrong with it. To those that wanted a ride and couldn't just walk or swim to the undead monstrosity he would pick them up outside the town proper and close the rest of the distance under the sea.

[emeraldstreak]

Night has fallen by the time you leave the tavern. Citadel Bleak is dozens of miles to the north. What road do you take?



There's the crab and obviously some of you could simply fly or likewise get there with ease. For the rest, there two paths: the sea, or the one road north which is patrolled by the Magistrates. Leaving this road in the middle of the isle will get you perilously close to the volcano.

[balanthejakal]

Despair walks to where Stitcher is, "I will be going with you, this press of life grows burdensome." She pauses a moment a thoughtful expression on her face, "You said you would be waiting below the waves? Meaning your craft travels submerged? I am assuming it is necrotech, and if so, HOW did you make it? If it is large enough to fit more than you the requirements to animate it must have been massive!"

[Necroticplague]

Unfortunately, as the night breaks and the sun's light dissipates, Shean's bandana seems to dissipate back into its component motes, leaving her just as linguistically lost as before. Thankfully, at present, one with a great gift for languages was with her, and she didn't need to talk to others, just follow the dark spots on her fold. "Don't worry about me breathing, I can do fine on my own."

[Failed Phantasm]

With the others filing out of the private hall and the meeting apparently concluded, Vulkorizel set his empty bowl and chopsticks on the center table before he turned to leave himself. Councilor Eel remained behind for the moment, perhaps to gather his thoughts or perhaps not wanting to follow so closely behind the people who had openly threatened his life, if the translator was to be believed. He gave the human a polite nod of acknowledgement, wishing he were better at understanding their facial expressions: anything short of a smile or a frown was difficult for him to read, and Councilor Eel was doing neither. ‘What a strange evening this has been,’ he thought, as he climbed the stairs back to the tavern proper. The noise that greeted him was a welcome relief from the tension of whatever it was that happened downstairs — a negotiation? — like the first sound to break the silence in Adorjan’s wake. As he passed the tavernkeeper, he put a hand to his chest and bowed slightly, saying, “Thank you for your hospitality.” A futile effort, most likely, but hopefully the context made it clear enough. Stepping into the cool night air and closing the door behind him, he saw some of the others gathering a short distance away, nearer to the water than the road.

‘If I am to go along with this business,’ he thought, rubbing one of the beads of his necklace, ‘would it be better for me if I travel separately?’ A large group traveling in the dead of night would surely attract the attention of the island’s peacekeeping force, but a single “god”? Less so, he hoped. At the very least, Creation’s gods didn’t seem to keep mortal schedules. ‘If only I could still dematerialize!’ he grumbled, instinctively trying (and failing) for what must have been the thousandth time to reach for the magic his Exaltation had burned away. He gave up with a frustrated sigh, and looked up to check his bearings against the position of the moon, since Luna always traveled east to west, unlike Ululaya. Once he’d picked out which way was north, he started walking.


CONDITION
Essence 40 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 11 / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher nodded along and only spoke when they got closer to Lessers Bowing to the True Reason, sounding enthusiastic about his creation and not bothering to hide it. "Honestly I surpassed the ability to animate it almost before I exalted. Before I did I managed to hone my craft with baubles and tools for the Skullfolk." When they got to the necrotech itself he paused and marveled at the giant crab for a moment before he began the process of entering it, pausing as the water drained from the mouth before they entered the interior itself stuffed with crates for their journey and a half dozen beds that looked comfortable enough with enough room to awkwardly move through the scooped out and braced interior.

[Volthawk]

While the others start to journey directly to the Citadel, Felun lingers in the city a little longer, seeking out his spies here. Of course, technically they weren't his (although he was loath to admit it, their true loyalty lied with his patron, not him), but through his efforts and his nature as a Defiler he had gained access to many of her agents in the West.

It was through them that he learnt of this opportunity, and it was through them that he planned to learn more about the councillor and the order he wished them to take down. Felun was not an underhanded man, but nonetheless he was a strategist who knew the value of knowing the vulnerabilities of both friend and foe, should you need to strike at either. Eel had done a fine job of assuaging his doubts but nonetheless the doubts of his peers stuck with Felun. No harm being prepared.

[emeraldstreak]

Felun descends from the ridge the tavern was perched on and ventures into the center of the city. Many citizens are out in the warm night despite the late hour.

Finally, the Glass Spider finds a crazed, raving dotard: the liaison to the spy network. As Felun spends time observing the man, though, he realizes the crazed act is not a front; the man babbles incoherently about being a spy and about the brass and viridian greatness of his dreams, and that's all there is to him.

About to leave, Felun senses an influence descending upon him. A foreign thought appears among the Glass Spider's own, "Ask."

[Volthawk]

As Felun feels the thought establish itself in his mind, he grins. The imagination and cunning of his agents never failed to impress. "Two subjects. Councillor Eel. The Magistrates. I wish to know their secrets. Their weaknesses."

[emeraldstreak]

More words pop in Felun's mind and describe what the agents know of Eel and his black-clad rivals.

It appears Eel is a power-hungry risk-taker, one that's likely vulnerable to Malfean corruption, and one you can prop up as the leader of the Merchant Council once the Magistrates' control has been curtailed. He isn't untrustworthy, but his loyalty lies solely with himself, for now. Despite Isle Fang's possible weak separation from the Underworld, it is a place that can be turned to serve Malfeas in secret.

There isn't much to be said about the Magistrates, most of them are conservative if honest guards of the people of Fang. Their time is likely at an end. Citadel Bleak itself is an Earth manse of tremendous power, but all knowledge about it is effectively hearsay passed from generation to generation.

[emeraldstreak]

All but Vulkorizel

Ultimately, the underwater journey to the great fortress complex proves uneventful. Whatever secrets the bay holds remain hidden in the inky nighttime depths.

Once back on land you soon spot the ruins of the Shogunate-era encampment all around you. At first they are engulfed in swampy mangroves that gradually give way to drier, low-growing, jungle of broad-leafed palm trees. Eventually, the grandeur of the central Citadel is revealed to you. You know some relatively preserved buildings around it host the Magistrates.

As for the Citadel itself, it is a massive structure mostly of pyramidal form, rising as a fang to the sky. At first glance it has only a handful of gateways and embrasures, and even those few are shut. At this distance Citadel Bleak's walls appear smooth and flawless...something tells you they are just as blemishless up close.
http://www.da-files.com/artnetwork/zeitgeist/paul-tobin/challenge-wrap-up/94-img-04.jpg

This, but at night...and fang-ier.


Dawn is not yet upon you - you realize nights and days are always the same length on Isle Fang - so you easily notice several moving beams of light, which you recognize as the bullseye lanterns of a scale-sized patrol some 300 yards away from your position at the end of the dense vegetation. The Citadel's closest gateway is even farther away, some 100-200 yards beyond the slowly moving guards.

[emeraldstreak]

Vulkorizel


The events below occur regardless of your speed on the road, but at different times depending on whether Vulkorizel travels with magic assistance or not.


Vulkorizel leaves Port Fang. At first, the road meanders among farmed hillocks, then it enters a tropical forest of high trees with thin trunks. Miles to the east, a darkened mountain slope is regularly illuminated by fiery flare ups from its other side, which is to say a Wyld-infused lava lake if stories are to be believed. The Exalt doesn't have much time to ponder on that, though, because he is interrupted by an ephemerally-clad woman of angelic beauty:

"Halt, peasant!" she commands in Old Realm. "Where is the closest...armory of yours. I am to become a great hero, and a need a weapon."

[Necroticplague]

With the companions inside the necromantic terror she rides within, Shean asks something she beleives probably should have come up earlier: "So, are we really going with the Eel's 'we're clearly important, jusk asking around', or are we going to try something more subtle first?"

[emeraldstreak]

Up to you if you have parked the necromantic terror or are still riding it.

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher urges Lessers toward their destination until they get to the edge of the swamps, skittering closer until there's no chance that the vegetation could possibly hide such grandeur. He causes it to lower to the ground so that on first look it looks less like an undead abomination and more like a strange rock in the night. Finally he turns when he hears someone talk, gently petting the love of his life, and says "It would probably be best if we do things stealthily, although that isn't my forte. Just as attacking from a distance isn't. What about everyone else?"

If the guards are actually at the edge of dense vegetation then I'll park Lesser further away than that. If it's something like Vegetation, then 300 yards, then Guards, then 1-200 yards, then Citadel then I'll find a nice place of dense vegetation to park Lessers.

Really I don't want the guards to see us walking around in Lessers Bowing to the True Reason. Gives us a better option to use stealth.

[emeraldstreak]

If it's something like Vegetation, then 300 yards, then Guards, then 1-200 yards, then Citadel then I'll find a nice place of dense vegetation to park Lessers.

This. As far as you can tell in the moonlight, the Citadel's nearest corner isn't that far behind them, but actual indentations suggesting gateways appear no closer than 100 yards from the patrol.

[balanthejakal]

Despair nods along with what Stitcher says "I agree, stealth is probably our best bet at first, then possibly a large commotion to get the majority of them in one place, then pick off the ones smart enough to avoid the ruckus. After that, kill the rest as they venture off alone."

[emeraldstreak]

The stealthy foray goes unnoticed by the patrol. You turn a corner, lose sight of the lantern beams, and huddle into a thirty-yard wide, 10-yard deep, indentation in the citadel's wall at ground level.

What's in front must be a stone gate of sorts. It's large, as wide as the indentation itself, and six yards high. However, you notice the outlines of five smaller doors into the gate itself. Four of them are at ground level, adorned with central plaques made of green, red, blue, and white jade respectively. One is below the ceiling, adorned with black jade.

[Necroticplague]

Ah yes, doors. So many options....none of which Shean is convinced is a good idea to enter through. After all, doors are watched. Rooftops are typically slightly less so. To this end, she takes advantage of the climbing ability borrowed from spiders to slowly make her way up the sheer face of it, intending to head over the gate instead of through it.

[Failed Phantasm]

Vulkorizel tensed when the ephemeral woman appeared, as if from nowhere, on the road; he held back the instinct to fight as he assessed her attire and appraised her address. ‘Did she call me “mortal”?’ was his first, quite bemused, thought, as his tail swept back and forth agitatedly. It was true, certainly, but no human he had yet met had correctly judged him so at first sight. Was she one of the island’s gods, materialized in order to accost passers-by? ‘Yet she wants to be a hero,’ he thought — a nebulous notion that, in his experience, few supernatural creatures aspired to, bound as they were to their own natures. He relaxed as he came to a tentative conclusion: that this strange woman who had wandered in his way from the direction of the Wyld was one of the Fair Folk. With another few moments’ thought and observation, it made more and more sense: the ephemeral beauty, the strangeness of her demand, the style of her Old Realm. He remembered reading much about them in the Demon City, and that their overwrought, melodramatic passion plays defined those who Assumed a shape; moreso when they ventured into Creation. But he was used to the pageantry, for the most prominent figures of Malfeas were not quite so down-to-earth themselves.

“I, Vulkorizel of Malfeas who am the Descant-of-Shadows and who dwell in the House of the Primordials, bid you humble greetings and warm welcome to Creation,” he said with a graceful bow and the same exacting precision he used to address an Unquestionable; “In what manner and by what name or title might I address You-who-would-be-hero, honored emissary of the courts of Rakshastan?” He was, at that moment, grateful to have his own Hellish brevet title, since it would be exceptionally awkward to invoke the old diplomatic formalities without one. “And if you would but indulge my curiosity, I would ask: what sword shaped of iron and mortal labor do you deem the equal of a Sword Shaped of Nishkriya and Raksha glamour?”


ACTIONS TAKEN

Vulkorizel spent two motes of Personal Essence on his Second Occult Excellency to identify the raksha (see here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?536603-SWaDS-OOC&p=22578580#post22578580)). He also spends four motes of Personal Essence on his Third Occult Excellency for the following etiquette roll:

Charisma [5] + Occult [5] + Artifact [3]: [roll0]

➜ Stunt dice, if applicable (from left to right): [roll1]
Result: 5 successes (7, 9, 9, 10 [×2])

Charisma [5] + Occult [5] + Artifact [3]: [roll2]

➜ Stunt dice, if applicable (from left to right): [roll3]
Result: 5 successes (7, 8, 9, 8, 7) + 1 OR 3 successes? (8, 10 [×2])

CONDITION
Essence 34 / 99, Health Uninjured (-0), Willpower 10 / 10

➜ Personal 5 / 19
➜ Peripheral 29 + (11) / 40
➜ Immanent Solar Glory 0 / 30
➜ Overdrive 0 / 10

[emeraldstreak]

Shean

Climbing the pyramid like a spider is easy. Nonetheless, all the possible entrances, be they more window-like or door-like, are barred. The one that might be most pliable to bypass is the portcullis beyond a high-rising terrace a hundred yards above ground level. The grate's bars are fairly thin, weave in ornate geometric patterns that leave openings wide enough for a small animal to get through, and are made of inscribed stone. There is no door behind the portcullis, just a corridor that goes pitch dark in the distance. As for the terrace, it's just massive slate slabs as floor, simple drainage, and battlements from where one can see the reddish glow of the island's volcano.

All is quiet. In fact, the citadel seems deserted.

[Gunhaven]

Stitcher pondered before he whispered to Despair "Say, should I just start making a new opening? We got time, right?" Even as he waited he dismissed the charm keeping his armor in Elsewhere and began the process of getting the chain swathing on over his robe and his tiger claws on his wrists so that if he did have to create a corpse he'd be ready to do so.

[emeraldstreak]

Stitcher
The guards have continued their patrol past the citadel. You can get fairly noisy without fear of being overheard.

[emeraldstreak]

Vulkorizel

"My name..." she mutters and raises her hand to her lips..."Daeva of Ways and Chequered Masks! My greetings, Descant-of-Shadows."

"I want to be a hero of the mortal folk...wield steel as you do, eat wheat as you do. It's only fair."


As far as Vulkorizel can tell, words like Primordial didn't elicit recognition in her; but the overall officiality did.

Successful 2-die stunt.

[Necroticplague]

The place is apparently abandoned, yet they still bothered to have some (if laughably easy) patrols....that either bodes very well, or bodes very ill. Either way, it definitely bodes. While 'small animals' may only describe an incredibly small handfull of forms Shean has, it describes at least one, which is enough. A small snakes appearing in many ways to be made of glass slithers its way through one of these insufficiently-secure portcullis before reverting to a shape more appropriate to journeying through this building. Which, given that she'd have trouble explaining herself regardless, is her war form. She stalks through the hallway with the hairs on there necks up, looking for signs of life or direction. Down 8 motes from the shapeshifting.

[emeraldstreak]

Shean warily makes the way inside. For a while the corridor is pitch-black as it leads farther and farther into the fortress...then the Chosen notices a faint light, whose source is soon revealed to be four luminescent gems stuck in the dome of a 30-yards wide hall which is the dead-end of the corridor.

Other than the four large gems in the ceiling, there are only two other things worth mentioning in the hall: a yard-high pedestal, covered with inscriptions and small rubies, rises in the very center; and an old, yellow-boned, skeleton is crumpled beside it. Most of the belongings of the dead person have long rotted into dust, but a sizable shield of pure, gleaming, moonsilver reflects the luminescent light as it lies next to the remains, as unblemished as it was on the day it was forged in some forgotten aeon.