The Lotus Blossoms!

[pfm1995]

Tuoni's grateful to have Kelam there to haul him bodily onto the docks, where his swimming vision can stare up at the naked sun and he can try to get his body under control. Lungs spasming, esophagus screaming, stomach cramping in sympathetic paroxysms - this wasn't the quiet hypothermia he'd been promised. Drowning was supposed to be painless...

But the hacking and the cramps didn't stop, and a spasm gave him the strength to flip himself over to where he could start filling the inside of his mask with hacked-up water. Slowly, saltwater and worse drained from the bottom of it and he gasped happy lungfuls of fresh air. It was heartbeats upon heartbeats before his stomach was emptied and his eyesight clear, before he could finally answer Kelam's question. "No... that was new. And here I was... thinking no-one living on a ship could possibly learn White Reaper. Heh." He chuckled to himself, just enjoying the feeling, before finally sitting up.

"All right. Which way?"

[Malozing]

"Sadly, this not just a social call. We are looking for some local Sun Chosen and the one guiding them.” Slang briefly closed their eyes. "Though it looks like we were too late for one. We heard of you and figure such a respected and prominent deity would be the most informed on the local news.”

Slang gestured to Wic with a hand. "We’ve brought a few tea blends he has crafted with us. I always preferred sharing rumors and gossip over a drink if you are amenable to talking with us. Though I understand if you too busy and have to turn us away, Grandmother.”

[Inspector Valin]

That was... to the point. Not offensive, but moving far more quickly than he'd expected. Wic's heart almost skips a beat as his mind races to catch up to the conversation. He coughs politely, moving his cane off of his case as the subject of sharing tea comes up. Once Slang is done, Wirric nods in agreement with their synopsis of the facts, "We're cognizant of the fact that asking most folk about such matters might prove... disruptive. And while we've just arrived, I suspect the passage of the Sun's chosen has already left a significant mark upon this city. No sense in risking making matters worse."

With a flick of a strap, Wic opens his hefty case. For the first time, Slang can see what lies within: a veritable cornucopia of jars and bottles, each in a carefully padded compartment. Nestled below, seperated by a sheet of leather, lies space for yet more racks of herbs and liquids. This is an alchemical treasure trove: the fruits of Wirric's slow and careful trade since his Exaltation, and worth more dinars than any humble coin pouch could hope to hold.

The northerner's eyes meanwhile are on Grandmother Bright. He's back in his element now, smiling easily at the ancient goddess with a gleam in his eyes. "All we'd ask is a little of your time, and some polite conversation about recent goings on. I assure you, Grandmother, my tea is worth such a price. I hate to brag, but with careful choice and a steady hand, I can make a brew that could charm the fae away from the Wyld. And I'm a member of the Guild: that's not an idle boast." The sorcerer chuckles, sounding as assured as he can. Always sell high. Always promise the best you're capable of. To do anything else when dealing with a god is an invitation to be ignored and cast aside.

Spoiler

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This feels like it could be a bargain or persuade action... I'm leaning persuade, hitting an intimacy towards Chairoscuro: Bright will want to know what we're up to and if we pose a threat. Talking to us is more in her interests than kicking us out.

(18d10)[8][8][2][8][4][10][8][8][1][1][2][1][6][3][6][2][3][1](82) 5 Presence + 4 Charisma + 2 stunt + 1 Tiger's Dread + 3 Harmonious Presence + 3 for Listener Swaying Discource, which I'm now invoking with Wic's major principle 'Never be afraid to meddle', which'll also throw a bonus success on there. Might regret that, but don't want Bright to stay neutral: want her to help us complete this investigation without getting disruptive.

[Eurus]

"It's fine, Brown Leaf."

Ivory Knife waves dismissively as if it's of no concern, and spares the "delivery" man only the briefest glance. She saunters belowdecks as if for unrelated reasons, secluding herself from any prying eyes off the ship, and waits for her messenger to come to her.

[Sticks]

"If you insist, ma'am." Brown Leaf stood aside and gave the courier what was supposed to be a small nod, but she couldn't help splitting into a big grin. She might be able to maintain the stone-faced facade while speaking with nobility, they were expecting nothing more from a rough-soled fighter, but among common people she just had to smile. Still...this man was probably of the uncommon variety, if he was a known agent of Ivory Knife. Best not to underestimate him.

[Ascension]

Tuoni:

Kelam watches warily to make sure that Tuoni is steady enough on his feet, but when she's satisfied, she nods toward a narrow street which will allow the Exalts to avoid the square where the bodies are displayed.

"This way."

Not far from the waterfront, the wall ringing the Old City looms large. Built from a sort of concrete, its surface is studded with the irregular chunks of colored glass used as aggregate. Kelam frowns at the sight of the guards at its gates, but takes it in stride.

"This section is more intact, anyway," she explains, as she leads Tuoni around the walls' perimeter, "we'll find what we're looking for more quickly behind the newer walls."

The newer walls she refers to are lower and cruder, built of mud-brick like most of the city's newer construction. Rather than intact towers, they ring broken stubs: half-height, quarter-height, and less. Chiaroscurans still live in many of these ruins - in fact, most still consider them higher-status than even the finest house of brick - but this quarter is still not so wealthy nor so exclusive as that enclosed by the higher walls. Kelam is surprised, then, to see that the new walls' gates are also being guarded, even in daytime, a local warrior and a soldier of the Realm standing at each entrance.

She steps back, eyeing the wall, some eight feet in height.

"Can you get us over this quietly?" she asks Tuoni.

The Plaza:

"I don't get out much these days," Grandmother Bright demurs. "All the news which comes this way is hearsay. Little more than village gossip. But..."

She gestures, and her unoccupied servant steps behind the curtains into the pavilion's inner sanctum.

"Let us see if you speak true, Guildsman."

She grins at Wic.

"I do enjoy a good cup of tea."

The servant carries out an elaborate tea service, which he places on the low table between Wic and the goddess. The set is fashioned in one of the styles popular in the Realm, featuring an unglazed clay teapot and two sets of small cups, only one meant for drinking; the other set of cups, taller and narrower, is simply for appreciating the aroma of the tea. There are conspicuously no more and no fewer cups than are needed for Bright and her two guests.

"Would you be so kind as to do the honors?" she asks the Northern alchemist.

Spoiler: OOC

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Valin, please give me a Craft (Alchemy) roll for tea. If it helps with stunting, the tea set I've described is for Chinese gongfu tea preparation, but if you want to pull a nice English kettle out of your pack or something, that's your prerogative.

The Remora:

The peasant-spy nods respect to Brown Leaf and the crew as he mounts the gangplank, but he continues on belowdecks, following Ivory Knife, without saying a word.

"Honored Daughter," he greets the Daughter of Elegiac Winds, "we're so glad you've come. There's opportunity here. This city's ready to tear itself apart."

[Inspector Valin]

"Gladly." To Wirric, this was starting to feel like an invitation to combat. Grandmother is an aficionado, a divine lover of tea, and has a proper Realm set ready? Formalities aside: Wic was far more used to a humble kettle and strainer, not the pomp and ritual that accompanied the drink when Islanders served it.

Still. He's out of options now. And it's not as if he's never undertaken a tea ceremony before. It was many years ago, but he can still remember the steps. Give or take a few. But he'll have to put on an impressive show of it all if they're going to make this work.

The sorcerer looks through his collection briefly before identifying three vials to use: one of humble tea leaves, a second of dried yīngtáo and the third of mint. He rises to his feet, presenting his vials to Grandmother Bright and then Slang for inspection, before slowly walking over to the tea set and checking each component. He pours a small helping of the kettle's water into the head of his cane, sloshing the wolfs head back and forth in his hands to gauge the weight and heat of the liquid within. He withdraws a pouch from his coat pocket, placing it delicately down upon the table. Finally, he bows his head to Grandmother Bright. "I fear I'm no highborn Dynast. But if you'll allow me my own method..."

And with that, he heaves the entire tray up into the air.

A Realm teaset has sixteen different components. At the height of the set's arc, all sixteen are tumbling in different directions, in a great spiral of chaos. The world in that instant slows for Wirric. To the other inhabitants of the tent, what happens next will pass in the blink of an eye. But Wic has studied every component of the set, calculated their trajectory and the forces his work will need to exert. To him, there will be fifteen seconds until the ceremonial set is destroyed. More than enough time for one Chosen of the Sun to work a little magic.

This might not be an achingly researched, unfailingly polite reproduction of the classic ceremony. But he couldn't do that. So the words of Wirric's old Sifu are echoing in his ears, from when she'd taught him her version of the tea ceremony, ready to perform in front of others. Be audacious. Be bold. And never let them question you. If he's going to make a good impression on Grandmother Bright... this is the best path he has. Boldness and skill. All he can do is push his limits to create the best pot of tea he possibly can, and hope and pray the venerable deity doesn't take his action as a sign of disrespect.

Now then! The ceremony begins with purification. To serve tea properly, the pot and cups must first be washed, to cleanse them symbolically and signify the beginning of the tea making. This was why he'd extracted a serving of water from the kettle to start with. Wic fires quick blasts of scalding smoke from his firecane, seven hissing shots in rapid succession blanket the tea-set's every cup, and the fine pot at the center of it all. Each is buoyed in the air for a fraction of a second. Little time for a mortal, pleanty of time for Wic.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen...

He lets Lusus fall to his side, the noble weapon's task completed. Next, the actual making of the tea. Wic can see the water already beginning to fall from the tumbling kettle: a great cascade rushing straight down towards the table. With a motion, he's unstoppered his three vials and flung their contents skywards. The combined leaves meet the boiling water with a sizzling sound, and as they do, Wirric pulls the teapot around the mixture perfectly, leaving every last drop of the liquid trapped in its moment of synthesis: that instant when it was neither water nor herb but both. Wic sets the teapot upright, and blows just a trace of firedust from the pouch he'd set down earlier across its base. Harmless embers, but enough to light the room and add just a touch more heat to the pot as the tea begins to brew.

Eleven, ten, nine...

Now he has time to organize things a little. Every cup must be in place. As everything continues to fall around him, Wic guides the sixteen items through the air, sorting the flying porcelain into its proper arrangement. Taste cup, aroma cup, the zishā, serving pot. He turns them, moves them, even as he hears the teapot begin to gently hiss and steam. Everything is still falling, but this will save him effort later when he has to correct that small issue.

Seven, six, five, four...

With the temperatures and his timing, the tea is already brewed, and any more time left to steep will dilute the taste. Wic brings the falling teapot to an angle, letting its contents fall through the strainer into the chahai, or serving vessel even as everything is finally starting to reach the ground. He's starting to run out of time, and a bead of sweat breaks out on the alchemist's brow.

Three, two...

This is the crucial moment. Wic's arms blur as he takes every piece of the set, one by one, gently cupping them in his hand as he guides each part of the ceremony to its proper place upon the tray beneath them. Each and every cup, the now empty pot, the server, kettle, brush and cloth is planted with care and reverence into its proper position. Not one component escapes the sorcerer's notice, and not a one is left out of place.

And done.

If either party had blinked, it might've appeared as if Wic'd conjured tea from nowhere. Nonetheless, everything is once again as it was: intact, and shining proudly upon their familiar tray. The Guildman takes the chahai and delicately begins to serve: beginning with the aroma cups, as is proper. The scent drifting across the room is one of fresh cherries, sweet and slightly tart, moderated by a companion mint smell following in its wake. A mint cherry tea: not a drink known to Realm orthodoxy, and generally taken cold rather than hot by its few adherents in Port Calin. But the combination had seemed to fit Bright somehow. Without lengthy questions, Wirric had made an instinctual judgement of the goddess.

Now all he can do is pray is that his instincts are right.

Spoiler

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(23d10)[7][1][10][5][8][3][9][6][10][2][6][5][2][2][2][10][6][8][4][1][2][7][3](119) +1 Willpower success

Maxed Excellency from Personal, CNNT from Peripheral (Wic is working with tools here, so that won't anima flare him). Hefty spend, but with a point: Wic's aiming to make good on his boast and to show Bright he's not a nobody

[Malozing]

Once Wic has everything set beautifully in front of them, Slang let out a low whistle.

"I should have known you would have pulled out some fancy tricks." Slang looked to Grandmother Bright. "Shall we?"

[Ascension]

Grandmother Bright tries to look unimpressed. She does a very good job, right up until she raises the aroma cup to her nose. Her eyes widen, and she looks at Wirric Stanton in a new light.

"I have observed, in the past, that Guildsmen are in the habit of making audacious boasts. But you..."

She takes a small sip from her other cup, just to be certain. She nods.

"Despite all the flair and falderal, you have certainly backed your claim. I do not say this very often, but I am impressed."

She gestures again to her servant. While he disappears behind the curtain, she begins to speak.

"Only one of the persons after whom you ask is still present in the city. She sees fewer visitors than I - a caution which I must admit is not unwarranted - but she's not fool enough to turn away such a cup of tea as this."

The servant emerges from the back carrying some small trinket. Grandmother Bright takes it in her hand and holds it out for Wic to inspect. It is a simulacrum of a butterfly, exquisite in detail, but made entirely out of a shard of dark black glass. The edges of its wings are razor-thin, sharp enough to draw blood at the merest touch.

"Do you know what this is?" she asks the alchemist, looking at him inquisitively.

[Inspector Valin]

"An Obsidian Butterfly. A product of Sorcery."

Wic's answer comes almost absently. He steps closer, examining the creature with a fascinated eye. "I've never heard tell of one... like this. Alive, individual. This is her work?" He would expect no less from a fellow Solar practitioner of the art, but he still looks enraptured by the sight of the little creature. Wic is not well equipped to hide when he is impressed.

[Ascension]

"Originally, yes," Grandmother Bright confirms, "Though the life would have gone out of it long ago, were it not maintained by my power."

As a point of emphasis to back her words, the butterfly flutters its wings and springs aloft, circling around Grandmother Bright's aged head.

"We should enjoy our tea first, of course," she says, lifting her cup for another sip, "and perhaps you will share a little more about yourselves. I do so rarely have visitors from so far afield as the two of you. But when we've finished, the obsidian butterfly will show you the way to its creator."

She smiles to herself.

"If you can keep up with it, at least. The way to her tower is not so easy as you might imagine."

[Malozing]

”A good challenge can make for a better tale later. Thank you for your help, Grandmother.” Slang gave her a bow from where they sat. ”What would you like to know about us?”

[pfm1995]

Tuoni nods, and a surge of essence lightens their bones as he grabs Kelam by one arm and leaps up and over the wall.

Spoiler: Charms

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Using Fluttering Cry and Wings Spread

[Ascension]

The Plaza:

"Well, the Guildsman has yet to introduce himself," Grandmother Bright gently chides, grinning over the rim of her coffee cup. "But beyond that, I would be interested in hearing what brought you together, and what brought you here. I have entertained few Tya, and straw-haired Northerners are an even rarer sight. To see the two of you together is unprecedented. A surprise, even given your..."

She arches a wry eyebrow.

"...status."

Tuoni:

Fortunately, any curious eyes drawn by the the Exalts' brief flight move too slowly, and the duo land within the wall unnoticed and unchallenged. This is not to say that they are immune to suspicion: to the contrary, the blank-masked, over-dressed tribesman and the death-pale, armored woman would seem out of place anywhere in the city. For the moment, however, they are in the clear.

"Can you feel it?" Kelam hisses.

The sun still streams hot and bright from above, and the cracked-glass street at Tuoni and Kelam's feet looks to lead on into a market square, bustling with undiminished mercantile spirit. Yet despite all evidence of life, something in the air has indeed shifted. The jagged stumps of towers-cut-short cast irregular shadows, and the breeze carries a hint of decay.

"They live in a graveyard. They squat in broken ruins and imagine that it makes them part of history."

She scans the streets with narrowed eyes, then gestures toward a tower shattered almost to its foundations. The empty arches of its ground-floor door frames open onto the market square, yet the ruin seems abandoned, in contrast to the surrounding buildings.

"There," she points out, "I think we've found our destination."

[Inspector Valin]

That lack of introduction is indeed quite the slip. Wirric, coughing ruefully, bows his head. "Wirric Stanton. Nobody of importance, I assure you, Grandmother. Just an innkeeper's son. trying to make his way in the world."

It's truth, as far as it goes. He doesn't feel up to claiming any greater title before Grandmother Bright. Instead he continues to her question, taking his first sniff and thence sip of tea before beginning. "We met by happenstance. A small band of...acquaintances were in need of rescue from an island. Wyld storm on one side, hostile men at arms on the other. Slang and their crew happened to be passing, and helped us out of danger." He smiles over at Slang, "A kindly act, and one I've not forgotten, Captain. Trust me."

[Malozing]

As Wic introduced himself, Slang took a whiff of the tea and tried not to wince. Fruity drinks weren't something that Slang enjoyed, but this was something brewed with their host in mind, not a picky Tya. They took a sip as to not to seem not impolite. The way the cherry and the mint played off of each other on the tongue surprised the Captain, and they shot Wic a look of awe.

At Wic's final comment, Slang gently bumped their shoulder against Wic's and returned his smile. "Don't worry about it. It's been worthwhile. Though the crew may need more grog to put up with the shenanigans you and the others seem to take part in." Slang chuckled. "The company has been entertaining and keeps me on my toes."

[pfm1995]

"Every life is lived in a graveyard, even if they are just the graves of trees." Tuoni replied. "Look at this city. A corpse as grand as any in the world, built by men unequaled for thousands of years - and these people are born, grow old, and die in its shadows. How can a man even dream of stepping out of his father's shadow, living in the ruins of such magnificence?"

Turning towards the shattered tower, Tuoni focused inwards for a moment and it was as if his mask suddenly grew more reflective - like it was returning more of the sun's light, more than maybe was natural. "I feel it; it almost reminds me of home. No point in delaying." He says, and he starts to limp his way across the square.

Something about the city must bring out the talkative side of Tuoni, because as he walks he talks in a low tone. "There's a bit of fireside wisdom, in the north. A child has two paths in life: to live in her father's house, where she will grow as great as her father allows - but no greater. Or to leave, and become a stranger."

Spoiler: Charms

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Almost forgot! Popping Spirit-Detecting Glance.

[Ascension]

The Plaza:

Spoiler: OOC

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I just remembered that I forgot to explicitly give Wic the Willpower for a 3-point stunt for the tea-making. I swear, I am trying to get back into the habit of assessing stunts correctly, but I may still forget.

"Is that the whole story?" Grandmother Bright teases, but, after a tense moment, she backs off.

"Of course it's not. It shouldn't be. If we sit here going over every detail, our tea will grow cold."

The conversation continues along a carefully mundane course, dancing just out of the reach of deeper meaning at every turn. Bright holds herself back from pushing the Solars for more detail, but evades any probes they might make. She gives the impression that, as with her favors, she views the sharing of information as an exchange. She will give nothing if nothing is offered in return. After this goes on for a time, the teapot is all-but-empty, the dregs long cold, and the silences amidst the small talk grow to uncomfortable lengths.

"Well, don't let me keep you," Grandmother Bright says at last. "Don't you have someplace else you need to be?"

The obsidian butterfly, almost forgotten as the exalts and the goddess had their chat, flutters into the air again, circling Slang and Wic once, twice, and then flying on out the tent flap.

"Go on now, don't let it get away from you!"

Indeed, any farewells will have to be hasty, as the butterfly refuses to stop or slow down. It weaves through the renewed line of petitioners who gathered outside Bright's pavilion during her conversation with the Solars, its blade-thin wings coming dangerously close to several people's faces in the process.

Once clear of the crowd, the butterfly makes a sharp turn, flying southwest. It leads Slang and Wic on out of the Plaza, a blast of merciless heat and wind striking them the moment they step beyond Grandmother Bright's domain. The little butterfly leads on, meandering over the glass dunes. The rolling hills of powdered glass give way to a forest of bare, ruined spars, but those do not lead on to more substantial ruins; rather, they merely fringe the edges of a scene of even greater devastation.

Wic and Slang hit an almost physical wall of heat as the obsidian butterfly flies blithely on. It soars gracefully up the powerful thermals rising off the plain of molten glass and orichalcum. The famed Field of Gold stretches before the Solars, its surface searing after a full day spent beneath the unblinking eye of the Unconquered Sun.

If they don't follow the butterfly, they will lose their only lead, and Bright is unlikely to give them a second chance. But if they follow...

Spoiler: OOC

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If you just run across, you'll be exposed twice to an environmental hazard requiring a Difficulty 4 (Stamina + Resistance) roll. Of course, there may be other approaches...

Tuoni:

The shaman's nuggets of wisdom take Kelam by surprise. She trails silently behind the shaman for a moment, processing his words. She idly rubs the tsuba of her blade.

"Even among strangers, a child can carry her parents' shadow with her. But... I suppose you're right. The proper shadow can be a comfort, compared to exposing yourself to merciless light."

Townspeople shy away from the blank-masked man and the dour woman as they enter the market square. Too late, Kelam thinks they might should have considered approaching by stealth, but there's no chance of that now. The flutter of gossip rises in volume and intensity as they approach the ruined tower.

"Salt lines," Kelam murmurs in confirmation, nodding to the warded thresholds. "They look fresh."

[Ascension]

Brown Leaf:

"She's something else, isn't she?" Cinnamon says, conversationally, to Brown Leaf, nodding after Ivory Knife. "Really, I don't think you have much to worry about at that dinner tonight. She could probably convince the townsfolk to prepare for snow."

[Malozing]

As the scorching heat hits them, Slang hesitated for a moment before rushing after the black butterfly. ‘Hope this work as well as it does underwater.’
The oppressive heat press against the Tya’s tattooed skin for several more steps but soon faded to a more gentle warmth. Slang laughed out of relief before looking over their shoulder at Wic.
“I can keep an eye on it while you catch up.”

Spoiler: OOC

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Spending 5 motes from personal to activate Hardship-Surviving Mendicant Spirit which is modified by Element-Resisting Prana.

[Inspector Valin]

Wirric, who'd been looking at the glowing field of debris ahead as if it were his own personal hell nods thankfully to Slang. The sorcerer steps back, starting to conjure his pet whirlwind: it'll be easier to circle around the field and follow Slang's progress with a higher vantage point on his side.

Spoiler

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So... Wic could've conjured this before we started chasing the butterfly, he doesn't have a clear reason to hide his sorcery, but OOC I didn't want to break up the prior post. So... yeah.

[Sticks]

"Heh, I reckon yer right." Brown Leaf stretched in the morning sunlight and luxuriated in the heat of the day. Unreality had its perks for traveling, but she had missed the southern sun. "Honestly though, I ain't sure what her game is. She's a fine lady an' mighty persuasive, but she don't try too hard. I 'spect she coulda talked her way outta any dozen sitch'iations we done landed in since we first met two months ago, but she ain't done more'n a lil' bit each time, s' far as I seen."

She regarded Cinnamon candidly, trying to parse the assassin's tone. There was more than mere respect there, and she wasn't hiding it. Time to probe gently. "I bet she'll have things sorted with the muckity-mucks while I see what I kin learn from the folk workin' the kitchens an' such. An' what 'bout you? You gonna take up here as a fashion designer fer' visitin' 'nathema?" She said it with a grin, but there was an edge glinting in her words.

[pfm1995]

Watching the packed market crowds make room for them, Tuoni is happy just to not be fighting his way through the press of sweaty flesh and raspy cough. "Hm, I hope that's true. You need light to grow, though, and I assume there will be little where we're going." He crouches to look at the salt line, before nodding to himself and stepping carefully over it. "I wonder who maintains these things? They would be interesting to talk to."

[Ascension]

Slang and Wic:

Squinting against the glare of the resplendent Field of Gold, Wic would have to strain to follow the sight of the obsidian butterfly from his airborne vantage, but Slang is easier to spot. Meanwhile the Tya captain, sheathed in the Sun's grace, strides over the plain uninhibited, feeling the oven-heat as no more than a gentle warmth.

That trial overcome, the butterfly wings on into thickets of denser, more tangled ruins. Wirric, in flight, might be able to find his way over such terrain given merely the correct direction, but on foot the path would be all but unintelligible without the little butterfly as a guide, gliding over low walls and fluttering around tight corners, charting a navigable, if winding, course through the ancient devastation.

At last, the butterfly dips underneath an overhanging beam of jade-steel. Slang ducks to follow, and, from Wic's perspective overhead, the Tya captain disappears.

Slang:

Spoiler

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Suddenly the obsidian butterfly seems to fragment into a dozen or more, all flying off in different directions. Walls of crystal rise around Slang, fully intact, their every facet polished mirror-bright. Even with the butterfly as a guide, finding the right path forward will be no easy task.

Spoiler: OOC

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Navigating the mirror maze will require Intelligence + Survival roll(s). Feel free to stunt creatively!

Wic:

Spoiler

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Slang is nowhere to be seen, but an intact structure rises just beyond where they disappeared, just now becoming visible beneath the overhanging ruins of canted towers. A seamless crystalline wall draws a circle about 90 meters in diameter, the whole disc roofed over with opaque glass. At the very center of the unusual building, a crystal spire, thin and slight in comparison with the great towers, but indubitably of ancient construction, juts up toward the sky. The spire, too, appears seamless, without door or window. Perhaps the only entrance is near where Slang vanished?

Brown Leaf:

"I don't know..." Cinnamon ponders. "You know, she has people here? People like u- like me, I mean. My people can't fight gods or beasts, but... maybe here we could make a difference. The Delzahn are men, aren't they? If need be, I'm sure they die like men."

Tuoni:

With the Sun still shining overhead, stepping over the line and into the ruin does not transport Tuoni immediately into the land of death, but the temperature still drops further than one would expect from mundane shadow. An unrealized tension goes out of Kelam's body as she follows, and her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath of the dank air...

...and scowls, her eyes snapping wide open.

"Fresh decay. There are bodies in this tower. No wonder they reinforced the lines."

She looks to Tuoni for his opinion.

"Should we stop to investigate? Or would you rather..."

She gestures back at the archway through which they entered, and the image of the bright, lively marketplace wavers. Tuoni glimpses another world, beyond or within it, an ash-grey mirror, the dim vault of its sky obscured by monumental towers of obsidian.

"...move on?"

[Inspector Valin]

Spoiler: Wirric

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Wic blinks at the area in which Slang had vanished, puzzled at the precise nature of the Captain's fate. They'd vanished so quickly, in just the blink of an eye. His first instinct is to jet for the last position he'd seen the disappeared Tya at, to try and finally catch up, in case something had gone wrong. In the end though, Wic's caution gets the better of him. He's too far behind Slang now, he can't confidently follow their path. Better to try and find his own, one way or another. Not much sense in worrying about the sailor who'd just run through deathly magnified sunlight as if it were nothing.

As such, the sorcerer brings his hurricane up to the height of the curtain-wall, alighting atop the glass dome and slowly walking towards the crystal spire. It's an impressive enough sight to be worth taking in more closely, and perhaps there might be some secondary entrance that requires a more detailed inspection.

[Sticks]

"Yep, bet so. Problem's in makin' sure the right folks is dyin' when they should be. Now me, I jes' listened t' the facts from all folks what was talkin' an' decided if'n somebody needed t'die. Then I'd find that somebody, ask 'em nicely if'n they'd do it again, an if'n I got the impression they was gonna do somethin' nasty once they'd seen the back'a my head goin' over the next hill, I'd do 'em in an say a prayer over th' body."

Brown Leaf covered her old spiel without passion. The role of the wandering do-gooder and wrong-righter did not have the appeal it had once held. She expected Wic would say something that involved the phrase 'judge, jury and executioner' in it before forcing a mad cackle and going on about some half-weasel monstrosity he'd made once. Tuoni would probably approve until she mentioned that she applied the same tactics to tyrannical salt gods and other spirits. Once she'd had to skip the interrogation entirely for a wood-spirit that had decided a village's orchard was its own property and that the villagers who had planted and cultivated the trees for generations had no place in its new home. It was hard to negotiate with a ravening spirit while it was trying to cut your feet off with an old scythe.

Ivory Knife...she was another matter. Brown Leaf still new little of her fellow Harborheadite, and now she had to trust to Knife's skills seeing them through what seemed to be some kind of state dinner, despite their utter lack of credentials. Brown Leaf could pass as an Immaculate anywhere, if she applied herself, but the fact was that they had no standing at all in this city, but Knife seemed more concerned with this visitor. Who was he? How did he fit into her plans? For that matter, how did Cinnamon?

Brown Leaf turned to regard the assassin. "Yer gonna kill for her if'n she asks it, ain'tcha? Not that I think you wouldn't kill, jes that you'd kill who she told ya without question, right? Is that how ya' operated under Seven Venoms?"

[Malozing]

As the multiple images of the butterfly scattered, Slang studied how each of their own images followed each butterfly and ran down the path that matched the reflections. The process slowed the Tya down considerable, but for many of the twists and turns it is enough.

At one juncture, however, Slang either fell behind too far or taken a wrong turn. There was no sign of the obsidian butterfly in any of the reflective crystals. The Captain came to a complete stop and glanced around them in a panic. They were sure of the way back…

‘Shoot! I forgot about Wic.’ Slang glance back the way they came.

At this point, the best they could hope for is that the Guildsman didn’t try to follow them into this maze. Heading back the way they came would cause them to lose what possible lead they had on the Hortatum. It would be best if Slang pressed on, and if too much time pass, the Captain could make their way out the way they came. Slang closed their blue-green eyes for a moment and listened. The slight difference in air pressure caused a small whistling sound to the right of the Night, and they dashed down that corridor. A stronger current of air pulled Slang down another path, and as they ran towards another twist in the tunnels, the Tya caught a glimpse of several dark images scattering in different directions. Slang redoubled their efforts to keep up with the troublesome stone bug.

Spoiler: OOC

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So, Slang will know how to get back if it comes to that due to Salty Dog. I am assuming that reading the wind and air pressure differences would come naturally to Slang because these skills are handy to any sailor.

Spoiler: Rolls

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(18d10)[7][10][8][7][3][5][1][6][6][1][8][9][5][8][9][5][2][8](108) INT+SURVIVAL+STUNT+EXCELLENCIES

[Ascension]

Slang:

Spoiler

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Spoiler: OOC

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Take 1 WP for a 2-point stunt!

By the time Slang catches up to the butterfly, there's not much further to go. The winding crystal maze ends as abruptly as it began, its last turn depositing Slang at the base of an elegant spiral staircase, its steps and railing alike seemingly wrought from orichalcum. Beyond the beautiful central staircase, the walls of the tower are monumental bookshelves, shelves stretching all the way from the floor to the far-distant ceiling, shelves stuffed full of paper books and slender crystalline wafers, more books than Slang has ever seen in one place before.

A crumbling-parchment voice whispers from the walls in Old Realm, "Welcome, Iron Wolf."

Despite the library's greeting, the obsidian butterfly has not stopped moving. Flapping its wings, it rises up the stairwell, on toward whatever might lie at the summit of the magnificent tower.

Wic:

Spoiler: OOC

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Please give me a Perception + Awareness roll. If you want to stunt it, be aware that this isn't for inspecting the base of the tower, this is for general situational awareness.

Stealth:

Spoiler: Roll

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(5d10)[1][1][2][7][10](21)

Brown Leaf:

"...I know what you're trying to say," Cinnamon says after a moment. "Seven Venoms Sea betrayed us. We placed our faith in the wrong god. But... that doesn't mean faith itself is a mistake."

She turns, leaning against the railing, looking out over the glitter and grime of Chiaroscuro.

"Besides... if I understand correctly, she doesn't ask her people not to question. She asks them to question everything."

She draws a knife from underneath her vest and points it toward the city, sighting along the blade.

"The blade of revolution, I think, asks, 'Why do we follow?' Why listen to gods? Why listen to satraps? Why not stand on your own two feet?"

She shrugs.

"Maybe we won't like the answers. But what we've seen... Seven Venoms Sea... Tenepeshu... they show it's past time to start asking those questions."

[Sticks]

"Heh, sounds like she done lit a fire under ya, don't it?" Brown Leaf regarded Cinnamon with cautious enthusiasm. She straightened up from the railing she had been leaning against and ran a thumb across it. The new bark covering it was smooth, though less-so than its old lacquered state, though there was no danger of splinters. She liked this new boat, it was one that needed less fixing, something that could be sustained and strengthened without her constant attention. She wondered if Knife's followers were the same way.

"I dunno where this'll take us. We're chasin' somethin' I can't even describe, 'cept that I know we're chasin' it an' it's important. Last time I set out fer somethin' so vague I wound up on an island with a buncha other chosen, an my life ain't been the same since. If'n we gotta go, we gotta go, but yer stayin' here, I unnerstand. If'n yer placin' yer faith in Knife, what'll that faith make y' do when she ain't 'round t' tell you? Who's throat you gonna cut with that blade? You been takin' orders from gods'n chosen, so what happens when you decide fer' yerself? I ain't sayin' you can't decide, jes' that I want you t'be sure who yer pointin' yer blade at..." She carefully placed a fingertip to the point of the blade and guided it towards the old city, in the direction Tuoni and Kelam had wandered off towards. Even from here it was possible to see the greasy smudges of smoke hanging in a haze from hundreds of cooking fires made in hovels and under lean-to shelters, a slum by anyone's reckoning. "...before yer revolution cuts somebody what's jes tryin' t' stay alive."

[Inspector Valin]

The golden haired sorcerer strolls atop the crystal dome, wind still whipping about the Solar as he goes. Wirric looks about him, taking in the curious scene. It feels a little as though he's stepped into a picture book. The distant traveler from a far off land, having come at least to the remote tower of the sorcerer. Standing all alone before her tower, on this mighty dome of glass. With a chuckle, he pauses for a second, stamping his foot gently down upon the dome. He has no doubt of its stability, but there's something miraculous to feeling the opaque sheen so firm under your feet. It's hard not to marvel at it.

Hrm? Just for a second there, the sorcerer could've sworn he saw something in the glass dome. The surface was polished to a mirror shine; and to his right, he'd seen movement. Slight, only for a second and far too indistinct to identify what had moved. But there's no mistake. He's not alone out here.

Wic starts moving forward again, looking towards the tower and humming to himself. He knows better than to make his observation obvious. But the sorcerer grasps his cane a touch more tightly, mentally calculating the angle of that figment's movement. He squints at the tower: its crystal might not be a literal mirror, but it shines enough to potentially catch a glimpse of the shadow if the creature was trying to follow behind him. Let no one say Wirric Stanton walked into the lion's den unprepared.

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Not too epic, but it's late, I've been distracted.... wanted to get this up.

(9d10)[45] Perception + Awareness + Stunt, spending a willpower for an autosux.