Session Logs

Learning

Mon, 15 Oct 2012 00:27:49 -0400

Or, an attempt to stunt such…

Loquacious frowned, sitting down and slowly starting to remove her armor. There has got to be an easier way to do this.

Of course there is. You’re an exalt. Use that brain of yours.

Her eyes started to glaze over just a little bit, as the young Twilight was distracted from the real world by her former self. Oh, go fuck yourself.

Yeah you wish. But seriously, let’s play connect the dots here. In truth, Anaxandra wasn’t all that much bigger than Loq was, with the same wild curls - the Winter Lily was just pale and dark-haired, rather than dark of skin and red of hair like her exaltation’s newest host.

Not a child.

Compared to me…?

That just means you’re old. Loq made a rude guesture at her counterpart.

Did you want my advice or not? Ana’s hands went to her hips and she scowled at the younger woman.

Ugh, I’m listening. Loq rolled her eyes dramatically.

Watching, actually.

Before Loq could protest, her attention was drawn further inward, and she was almost overwhelmed with the memories—

“—TRANSFORM!” A young Ana squealed enthusiastically at the performance.—

“—I’m honored, of course,” an older Ana grinned to herself, hands pressed together as she bowed, silver-tone armor bursting into being around her as she straightened. “But I’m afraid I must refuse your offer—”

—Generous as I am, I’ll show you the proper method of it. Just like Marast’s clothes fade into Elsewhere when he changes forms… The soft whisper in her ears let the light-drinking armor slip sowly into Elsewhere. The hands weaving around her, invisible to anyone without the essence sight to see the faint motions of her unflared anima, coax it back. Slow and gentle.

Bullshit. Loq grinned. It’s called banishing for a reason! A single curt, flippant guesture dismisses the armor right back into elsewhere.

Ana gaped faintly.

Loqua scowled at the pure whiteness of her outfit - no time to mix up that fade-resistant dye yet. Typical.

Gosh Conky you're loud.

Fri, 20 Jul 2012 03:10:13 -0400

Really. The guy has no indoor voice.

THE UNCONQUERED SUN: I CHARGED YOU WITH EXPOSING AND REMOVING THE FOULNESS OF THE WORLD. IS THAT NOT A SAVIOUR?

THE UNCONQUERED SUN: ALSO. YOU’RE WELCOME.

Loquacious Dibare: “I… suppose it is. Thank you.”

Loquacious Dibare: So much O_O

Loquacious Dibare: She is never getting used to this.

Loquacious Dibare: “Can I ask a question before you go? Besides this one I mean.”

THE UNCONQUERED SUN: Hmmm?

Loquacious Dibare: She has a minor internal struggle. Questioning herself is against her nature but… “… Is Tempest right about my goals in regards to the Realm?”

THE UNCONQUERED SUN: … For once it is not a proclamation from on high. It has been two thousand years and more since last my Chosen honestly asked for my advice. I say to you now, that what is needed is not fractiousness or petty squabbles over the lay of Creation. The Exalted Host must remember what it was like to be hale, and whole. Each part considering the other welcome, if not needed.

Loquacious Dibare: “… Expose the truth so that what is sick may be healed, not so it may become a squabbling point.”

THE UNCONQUERED SUN: Indeed.

Loquacious Dibare: Even understanding that… “I just… everyone tells me to give it up. But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do! Even with- with the instructions that’s- it’s just-” Loq you’re not very coherent right now.

THE UNCONQUERED SUN: There are many things you could do right now. I gave the right to rule creation TO the Exalted. For instance, the city to which you already go… Used to be a bastion of My light in the southeast. It has long since been corrupted, but merely to slay all within would leave it to the Underworld.

Loquacious Dibare: Gears are clicking. It needs to be rebuilt. And that’s- that’s better than just tearing something apart. And it’s something she can do. Didn’t she want to lead a caravan?

Loquacious Dibare: “Thank you.”

THE UNCONQUERED SUN: YOU’RE WELCOME.

Loquacious Dibare: Right in the metaphysical ear ow. She grins anyways.

Sunlight

Fri, 20 Jul 2012 03:05:00 -0400

Background: They’re raiding Loq’s past life’s tomb, and well… the rest is explained under the cut.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: Nope, amazingly, it manages to just barely hang on to… A semblance of life, anyway.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: But it’s not moving.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: Loq, your turn

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare vaults onto the anvil and spins around. Her mad grin fades to perfect serenity, and her eyes slip shut. She holds her hands about an inch apart, just in front of her heart, palms together but fingers facing opposite directions. Each hand is slowly rotated to bring the fingers pointing upwards, and she breathes in deeply.

Loquacious Dibare: Silently, she prays.

Loquacious Dibare: Her eyes open, drowning in sunlight.

Loquacious Dibare: She breathes aurous essence out, willing her power to tip the balance of this forgotten place to blistering glittering-

Loquacious Dibare: Gold.

[OOC] Loquacious Dibare: Dumping 20 motes - most of which comes from a craft: earth action to help flood it. So we’ve got 9 dice, plus 9 more from first craftin excellency - 9m there- and CNNT to speed it up for another 5m 1wp- the rest are breathed out during her little prayer display here. Her anima’s now at the 11 mote level all on its own. tluthal: 18d10: 7 9 5 4 5 8 7 10 2 6 5 3 6 9 9 10 7 6 (Successes: 11)

[OOC] THE WHEEL OF FATE: … Add three dice

[OOC] Loquacious Dibare: tluthal: 3d10: 3 4 2 (Successes: 0) 8<

THE WHEEL OF FATE: The web seems to vanish, as, even a hundred yards underground, a crack appears, as if making a skylight, and for one grand moment, the Sun- the real one- meets the craft-room in a long, distant shaft and- and yet- the power of the sun seems magnified tenfold here.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: And then something UNDER the anvil starts to thrum.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: And pulse.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: Sunlight melts out from beneath the anvil, as slowly, fires not seen in an Age and more start to burn from the inside outward.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: The Subterranean Sun is reborn.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: Unable to retreat into the deep shadowland and hide itself, unable to reach its body, and, indeed, unable to even move, there is a vast chorus of screams of combined torture/relief as the souls that have been captures and subjected to the torment of assimilation all free themselves at once.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: Anaxandra, the po soul of Anaxandra, is a frightful, wailing thing, in First Age finery that is tattered and bloodied, full of holes and broken arrows.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: And then, the room dims…

THE WHEEL OF FATE: And Anaxandra becomes mist…

THE WHEEL OF FATE: And then, it is like the hungry ghost has never been.

Silent Tempest: Tempest, normally one for post victory snark, has nothing to say to this dispaly of Solar power, jaw hanging slightly open.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: Loq? These clothes? Now bleached.

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare just gasps for breath for a moment, then hurriedly jumps down off the anvil before it gets too hot to stand on.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition says it for Tempest by relaxing his pose, collapsing his pike with a professional motion, and standing up.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken slides down the shaft, and gently places the coffin on the floor. DAMN, that thing was heavy.

Arr Nax ‘T: Arr Nax ‘T bows his head and murmurs a snatch of prayer the Speech, “…so as his noon-spear reaches down into the darkness of the earth, his judgement must burn in the hearts of the dark and wicked.”

Silent Tempest: “Okay, those of us with Essence sight, can you please explain what just happened?”

Loquacious Dibare: “I, uh, called on Ignis Divine to help me tip the balance from death to light?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Basically.”

Wind’s Tradition: “But I wouldn’t call it ‘tip’.”

Loquacious Dibare: “And, uh, reactivated the manse. Only Solar-aspected.”

Loquacious Dibare: “I think.”

Wind’s Tradition: “It was more akin to a delicate balance on a playground seesaw, and Loq used a goremaul. A GRAND goremaul.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Was that overkill? I thought I barely made it.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Barely got Ignis Divine, perhaps. Once you did, though…”

Arr Nax ‘T: “Ignis Divine does not believe in it, I would feel.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest wiped a hand across his brow “Thank the Maidens. I thought this place was going to be ghost central for sure. Then guess who would have to clean it up?”

Arr Nax ‘T: “Us?”

[OOC] THE WHEEL OF FATE: The demesne was poisoned, on the tipping point of changing Aspect. Depending on how much Essence was spent here, the aspect would change; in all cases if you killed the Spider before the aspect was fully changed, you would have had a shadowland and Abyssal.

[OOC] THE WHEEL OF FATE: Tip: It would be his girlfriend back a few days ago

Marast the Unbroken: “I might have gotten out of here before that happened, but I concede the point.”

Loquacious Dibare: “That’s what I was countering, yeah. Hence the overt display of power.” She looks down.

Silent Tempest: “No, me. It… well, the worst didn’t happen and for that I guess I can be gratefull.” Tempest picks a wall and leans against it, sliding down as the adrenaline leaves his body. “Wow, been a while since I had to do that.”

Loquacious Dibare: … Everybody just learned some new words.

Loquacious Dibare: Because Loq is swearing up a storm at her now all-white attire. HOW DID HER BLASTED BOOTS TURN WHITE?!

Marast the Unbroken: “Does the Sun even have a mother who can do that?”

Arr Nax ‘T: Arr Nax ‘T frowns. Can Dragon Kings pout?

Arr Nax ‘T: “You look good in white.”

Loquacious Dibare: “I LOOK FUCKING RIDICULOUS! LIKE I THINK I’M SOME SORT OF SUN-FUCKING MESSIAH!”

Arr Nax ‘T: “…She was a Zenith.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Calm yourself, Tempest looks sillier.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest looks around. Thier clothes had been bleached somewhat, though not as completly as Loquacious had, being at the epicenter.

Arr Nax ‘T: “And declined his attentions, it is said.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare thumps.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition concentrates for a moment. The white washes out, returning to…well, he goes for blues and greens, to contrast with the white and the earth.

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare just sits there and pants for a moment.

Silent Tempest: “I’m telling you, there’s a thatmuturlogical solution to that problem just waiting to be found.” Tempest said slooooooowly picking himself up. “In the meantime, we have a tomb to raid.”

Wind’s Tradition: “That we do.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…but I thought we came here to pay respects?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Well. For us, here, the one is the other, I suppose.”

Arr Nax ‘T: “It may be argued that we have just done part of that.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare stands up slowly.

Loquacious Dibare: “Yeaaaah. We just blasted her into Lethe, I think that counts. Let’s raid.”

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken says a quick prayer to Luna on Ana’s behalf.

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare almost grumbles, but adds a prayer to the Sun on her behalf as well.

Wind’s Tradition: “But I have to wonder, what happened to the other half of Ana’s soul?”

Marast the Unbroken: “We could ask her.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare eyes widen. Thumps right back down again and holds up a finger. One minute.

Silent Tempest: “I don’t think she would know.”

Silent Tempest: “Buuut, as long as we have the option, I don’t see why not.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare is WIDE-EYED, looking just a bit shellshocked and extremely distracted.

THE WHEEL OF FATE: Well, the most obvious thing you notice is that there’s a large door that’s been blasted open- or was, a long time ago. Rust and decay have turned it into little more than a flaking ruin f its former self. Beyond is a hall so scorched with the fires of combat it’s not difficult to believe a multitude of dragon-blooded and mortals fought and died here.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition looks for jade artifacts, or any other essence-bearing thing that would have survived the ages.

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare is tearing up?

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition hugs!

Loquacious Dibare: She barely seems to register it.

Wind’s Tradition: “Is it Ana?”

Loquacious Dibare: Headshake.

Wind’s Tradition: “Then what?”

Loquacious Dibare: No reply! She’s listening hard to something else.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition just holds her, then, for now.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken stands at a respectfull distance.

Loquacious Dibare: The tears stop and she grins suddenly- a fierce grin. “Sorry. The Sun wanted to talk.”

WRONG

Fri, 13 Jul 2012 11:26:00 -0400

See the end for credits for this one.

Loquacious Dibare had a dream. A dream she had had unfailingly since the first time her chubby toddler fist had grasped a hammer and struck it to metal, since the first time she had seen sparks fly and how metal could be bent to shape. No oracle, thaumaturge, oneiromancer, or even any gods-damned psychologist had ever really given her a straight answer about it. Maybe it was significant, maybe it was just a product of her addled head and obsessive personality.

After all, who but an obsessive, addle-brained smith would dream of a strange forge-laboratory, lit only with the dimming embers of an ancient fire? Who else would dream of a womb of brass and gold, of a living sword cradled inside - of the incredible heat and tenderness birthing her entailed? Of a woman who was a sword, with hair of light-drinking metal and skin of shining golden metal? Of the details and the plans, of the words the newly birthed weapon would whisper for her mother-mistress?

Most simply said if it didn’t affect her, she should ignore it. That was where the problem was, of course - how could she ignore the dream that came no matter what drugged stupor she sank into, no matter how exhausted she was - hell, it even came when she was knocked unconscious.

So of course she had to act on it sometimes. Every year and a half on average - sometimes it was two years between, sometimes it was one attempt after another - she would seclude herself with the finest materials she could get her grubby gypsy hands on, and would seclude herself in a glen reasonably far from civilizations and threats. And then she spent weeks, months perfecting her craft, pushing her abilities ever farther. Her onyx-steel alloy was at the heart of the sword she strove to forge, was where she had gotten the idea even. Once she had made the sword-woman entirely from it - but it had been wrong. It was always wrong. Generations later, a dozen prototypes would be found scattered over the South-East. Scholars would theorize even more had been destroyed, cannibalized for other projects. Some had a golden skin, one was even made of jade - a particularly imperfect example, misshapen and unattunable - some of bronze and steel and electrum.

This one, though, her latest project - it was going to be right. She was sure of it. The water quality of the stream was perfect, the sun strengthened her fire, and the brass statue she had cast as a test was perfect - it had to be right this time. And so she worked the metal, from sunrise to sunset, weeks of nothing but labor, hurried meals, and tormented dreams of the living sword she strove to forge. The blade was elegant, the spine extending from it forming the core for the beautiful hilt, a perfect woman cast in flawless brass, the final stroke delivered as the sun passed the western horizon.

It was a weapon generations of rulers might have fought over. Deadly, perfectly balanced, a blade that seemed to drink in the light - but her eyes were dead. Her lips didn’t whisper, the arms didn’t grasp for the comforting touch of her mother-mistress.

It was wrong.

Again, again and again and again it wasn’t enough - it was perfect, she knew it, and it- was- WRONG-

With a scream she hurled the breathtaking masterpiece from her, hard enough her momentum spun her around. With a broken sob, she collapsed to the ground. It was wrong.

“… What. Have. We. Here.”

No one should have been there. It was days from any community, far enough off the path that most travelers wouldn’t bother following. No one should have seen her tears, her rage, the pain of failing again- She slowly looked up, ready to lash out at whoever it was but…

She’d never seen someone like this.

“Well, you’re a damn sight better than the last visionless idiot to summon US… Truly, a shard of OUR glory.”

Summoned? Loquacious, admittedly, wasn’t as well-versed in the occult as she probably should have been, but even she knew that summoning was for Elementals, Ghosts, and Demons… And this handsome nobleman, with his shoulder-length auburn curls - a far cry from her own garnet mane - his beautiful kilt and strange black-leather apron was neither elemental or ghost.

Had she been in her right mind she might have panicked, might have been embarrassed by her state of undress, but as it was the high of crafting and grief of failure were too overwhelming to allow room for such lesser feelings. The simple apron over her wrappings and long skirt wasn’t particularly revealing anyways, and there wasn’t much to see even if it had been. After all, a five-foot tall chocolate-skinned smith isn’t all that impressive, even if she does have yellow-green eyes and thick, waist-length curls of dark, jewel-tone red. The thick gloves that protected her hands helped hide her face as she froze, mental gears grinding against eachother as she desperately tried to understand what had just happened.

For the Green Sun’s part, he was correct - the sword now embedded halfway to its hilt in a nearby tree is simply breathtaking. He pulled it out- casually- for a closer look, though more to see himself reflected in its glory than to re-assess. The sinuous blade seemed to drink light from around it, but a close examination revealed the tiny grooves of lovingly detailed hair. The brass-skinned hilt is uncovered, without the green leather dress that would form the grip, and reveals exquisite detail - far more than was necessary for a purely nonmagical weapon, especially in an area that would almost always be covered. Her strong arms hold a thick staff as a crossguard, her delicate feet balance on a sapphire the size of Loq’s thumb. The sword-woman’s eyes are tiny shards of onyx, and her lips are scrapings of red jade from an accident with some jade coins.

One wouldn’t expect a weapon of such quality, let alone beauty to come from the simple surroundings. Though the forge is of high quality, placed perfectly to capture the sun’s rays, it’s still a clearing high in the mountains, with only a large, garish red-blue-orange wagon for shelter. A large gray horse stamps and snorts at the bizarre stranger. Loq’s jaw works behind her hand. “Who- I- how?!”

“Hmph. You do not know of OUR glory? Truly, this is an age that has fallen.” He only now bothered to look upon the maker of this masterwork. “Still, WE suppose WE must indulge you. OUR full titles and rank would take far too long to state. I am that which is the Heart of the Demon City. I am that which is king of all craftsmen, and fighters, who calls upon everyone to LOOK UPON MY WORKS. In a forgotten age, people sang the glory and magnanimity of Ligier.”

She was still on her knees, though as the fact that she somehow summoned Ligier sinks in, she ends up sitting with her legs folded under her. In her shock, her hands drop. Her thoughts… don’t really bear repeating, but are best summarized as - Of all the powers that could take notice, it’s the forbidden one, the Yozi, that takes notice of her. And part of her can’t help a spark of pride at being worthy of notice. She’s dirty of course, weeks of nonstop work left little time for bathing, even with her aversion to such a state. Her hair is barely restrained, just gathered back to keep the tangled mass from catching fire. Her tears haven’t even dried, though her expression is one of awe, rather than the previous grief.

And for once the blasphemous imprecations that normally accompany shock or discomfort for her, don’t come spilling out.

“And so it appears, I owe you a favor. Normally, WE would not do such a thing, but it has been a thousand years and more since WE last tasted the skies of that which WE helped create. Normally as well, this would be the gift of restraint. You would be allowed to live. But you, you remain properly on your knees in my presence, and you have freed the shackles that bind me, with no strings. So. WE will grant you a boon.”

Initially, the only response she can muster is a squeak. That was embarrassing enough on its own, but she hasn’t the faintest idea of how to even begin to deal with this. Her ethics don’t even surface, there was ultimately so very little she wanted - To never be utterly and helplessly dependent on another, to be someone her family would be proud of, and the sword to get out. Of. Her. HEAD. At the same time, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that her life could well ride on what she asked for, how entertaining she could be to the demon making the offer.

“Ahem. While WE are aware that the faculties of the typical human is… Less than is fit for OUR glory, WE would advise haste. My magnanimity leaves with sunrise.”

Mercury’s left asscheek that wasn’t demanding much, was it? But it does spur her to blurt out what’s driven her so far already. “It’s wrong! And- and no matter what I do it doesn’t come out right, it’s always off and, and it’s, it’s just dead!”

“… Hmmmm…” And now his eyes lit up with something that had not been seen on the face of Creation in well over a thousand years. Ligier has been given a challenge WORTHY of his time. “To make a spark of life… For such a thing… In… six hours? Truly?”

“… Please?”

“Heh. Hehe.” He looks at the sword, and shakes his head. “THE SPARK, CAN BE CREATED. THE WORK MUST BE YOURS.”

“What?” She blinks in confusion. It’s almost like she’s never really learned to hide her emotions. There are all sorts of problems with it being her work, though! She’s just a mortal, she doesn’t even have awakened essence-

He measured the wind. “… Ah… I think I have… A better deal for you. Come back, with me… And I will show you, how it is you will no longer fail yourself.”

She stares. Part of her screams that this is a terrible idea, that this is how people got killed - but that spark of pride, that need to create he’s appealed to is louder. “Alright.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and soon there is something that answers whatever call it is he puts out. A whisper.

In the beginning, there was logos. Accept the Word, and become something greater than Sun or Man.

She centers herself. She will become better than anything the world has ever seen before. I accept.

And now, the form of her transformation begins, as the Exaltation is grafted upon her soul. It was slow, and when she arrived in the Demon City, the Sun was already there.

She knew it smiled upon her, just as surely as she knew her first task - to bring that spark of life as proof of her worth and gratitude.

——————————

A friend asked for a picture of Ligier a couple of days ago, and referred me to the Rolls to get a good reference. I ended up reading the writeup in the middle of a break, and just happened to see the conditions for summoning him by accident. The first one just happened to resonate with a certain character of mine, but I knew I couldn’t write Ligier for shit. All the same, I only managed to hold out on babbling for a day, and once it was out I had to show people.

One of those people stepped up to the challenge of writing Ligier. A huge thank you goes out to Fabricati for making this more than a useless drabble. It’s still a drabble, but it’s pretty much the coolest Infernal Exaltation I’ve seen.

Weapons-Grade Derp

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 14:41:23 -0400

Well, this promises to be either enlightening or hilarious. Maybe both.

Fabri: “Buh….?”

Tluthal: “Uh. Crap.”

Fabri: “Mnuh.”

Tluthal: “Shitshitshit look at me you’re gonna be fine just- keep looking at me okay?”

Fabri: “Vluh?”

Tluthal: Chin is grabbed. “Look. At. Me. You… fell from really high up and I think you cracked your head and you are bleeding and just-” Deeeep breath through the nose. “You’re gonna be fine but…”

Fabri: The vision is going in and out of focus.

Tluthal: Shiiiit. She mumbles under her breath. She’s already called for an ambulance but… there are times she wishes they didn’t live in the ass end of nowhere. She didn’t even know this person she’d just seen them fall from the cliff…

Fabri: He slowly reaches up, touches, feels wet. No pain, though.

Tluthal: “Yeah. You smacked your head a good ‘un. Try not to move too much, the last thing you need is to choke on your own spew.” She’d be pretty if she wasn’t freaking out, with a shock of dark purple hair covering her left eye and the rest pulled back to curl on the same side, freaky-pale skin, and eyes hidden by the moonlight reflecting on her glasses. “Uh… fuck… What’s today? D’you remember?” Sirens… but distant. They’ll have to take the winding path and they’re kinda far back from the road, but there’s a flashlight pointing towards it…

Fabri: The air takes a cold snap. “December third.”

Fabri: … That is almost exactly as wrong as you can get without it not actually being a day.

Tluthal: “…” She holds up three fingers. “How many fingers?”

Tluthal: They’re getting closer…

Fabri: He holds up three in return, after squinting for a time.

Tluthal: “Okay. What’s your name kiddo?” Pffft kiddo his ass she’s barely his age.

Fabri: “Adept.”

Tluthal: Blink. Eyebrow raise. Not just a sleeper? Hmm. “Hi Adept, I’m Lemure.” She winces as the sirens finally get there. “And I think I’d better make sure your brains don’t get any more rattled than they already are.”

Fabri: He winces at the loud noise.

Tluthal: Luckily that’s when the paramedics find them! Cue twenty minutes of utter chaos, an uncomfortable ride, and doctors with needles. It’s about an hour later when they let her in to see him.

Fabri: Coincidental Life and Coincidental Time is your friend! “Say I was lucky.”

Tluthal: “Lucky my right ear.” She perches on the edge of the visitor’s chair, folds her legs, rests her elbows on her knees, folds her hands, and rests her chin on them.

Fabri: A cast around, who the hell else might be listening!? “Good fall, that’s all.”

Fabri: “Bleeding from the head always looks worse than it is.”

Tluthal: “Yeah. Y’scared the crap outta me, but you were conscious so I figured you’d be alright.”

Tluthal: Doesn’t seem like anyone is for the moment!

Fabri: “So… Lemures, was your name?” He missed having that little bit of handy gadgetry, but he’d been trying to stay the fuck off the radar.

Tluthal: “Lemure. Singular, and no, not like the monkey.” She smiles. “An’ you said you’re Adept?”

Fabri: “Guess I did. Still sort of hazy.”

Tluthal: “Yeah. Rock hard noggin’ on ya.” Headtilt.

Fabri: “Should have known I’d run into someone. It’s…” Hm. What was that name he usually used again? It had been such a long time since he’d been with anyone else in the community…

Tluthal: “Your timin’s impeccable even. I just moved back here a week ago.” She’s… new.

Fabri: He groans. A newbie!?

Tluthal: And an unusually… not chipper, but certainly not your standard Moros. She arches an eyebrow at the groan.

Fabri: “Thank you for visiting, maybe i could come see you some time over tea? And it’s David.”

Tluthal: “Yeah, sure. Sounds fun. We’re kinda night owls though so afternoon’s’re better.” She digs around in her jacket pockets and produces a metal-cased notepad. An address is scribbled down, then a phone number as an afterthought. “Nice t’meetcha David.”

Fabri: He takes the script, and knows that he’ll be released within seventy two hours once they’re sure the stitches will hold and the scar will heal and that there’s no apparent brain damage (which there isn’t, natch. That was a REALLY lucky fall. Not out of the bounds of the ordinary, but still very lucky. Obviously.)

Fabri: “And you as well, Lemure.”

Tluthal: She waves. “Get t’feelin’ better!” And heads out.

Tluthal: The house is in the middle of assfuck nowhere, miles out of town on a gravel countyline road, then up a long driveway [also gravel]. It’s a two story lightly victorian-looking affair, halfway through a repaint [from an ugly brown to a cheerful light green]. A car, a jeep, and an SUV are parked in front, and the garage stands open. There’s a large knocker on the door.

Fabri: “….So I okayed it, and we killed off the Eclipse in the next battle, which caused the player of the Lunar to freak out at me over killing off his character’s mate, because I ruined the character forever.” ]

Fabri: The old Volvo chugs up the drive- well, not really, aside from a carbourator problem it’s run like a champ for nearly a decade. He just keeps it well maintained and it hasn’t let him down yet, for well over… What, three hundred thousand miles so far, last he checked?

Fabri: He made sure to call ahead. Good old ‘66 volvo. It even had air conditioning.

Fabri: David got out and opened the trunk. Time to give it another once-over before heading in.

Tluthal: They’re ready for him, and a girl who looks nothing at all like Lemure pokes her head out, waves, and heads back inside, leaving the door open. Le shows up a moment later. “Yo!” … Black clothes, check, but in tanktop and shorts. It’s the middle of summer after all. “C’mon in.”

Fabri: “Hi!” David looked up from checking the oil and tire pressure- and after all, a stitch in Time… “So, who was that answering the door?”

Tluthal: “That was Anna.” She grabs a pair of sunglasses - the kind they give out for cataract surgery - and comes out. “We’ve known each other since highschool.”

Fabri: “She know?” Ah, that’s good. There’s a lot of spare car parts in that trunk oof his.

Fabri: Of course he called up a friend and they got the car to him at the hospital. Technically he wasn’t cleared to drive it until a follow up visit.

Tluthal: “Yeah. We used to scare the crap outta ourselves an’ a whole group.” Shrug. “She bought the house an’ invited me to move back up here with ‘er and I did.”

Fabri: He closed up the hood, and closed up the trunk. “Well, that’s one load off, anyway.”

Tluthal: “Yeah.” She nods and heads inside. It’s much cooler in there, though a window unit chugs away in the kitchen.

Fabri: “Well, means I can at least talk freely. I’m David. Ever since a bad run-in with a Paradox blow… I don’t remember when, actually… I’ve specialized in makin’ shit a coincidence.”

Tluthal: “Fair enough.” She takes a seat at the table and motions for him to sit too. Again with the crossed legs! “Ouch.” She does the hand foldy thing again, and her eyes lock on his. “Sounds… interesting?”

Fabri: “Survival skill, more like. I know it seems all flashbangs and rainbows right now…”

Tluthal: “Like about everybody else, yeah.”

Fabri: “People don’t like being reminded the world is far stranger and more terrifying than they thought. It’s what I mean by Paradox- something that shouldn’t happen, did happen.”

Tluthal: She nods. “I know that much! Got to know a few people down in Georgia before I moved back up here.”

Fabri: “Said you moved up here last week, thought that was a move to separate yourself from sleepers.”

Tluthal: “Partly that, yeah. That and it just kinda coincided. Was supposed to have a contact or three up here but they’ve gone and disappeared.”

Fabri: “… That’s not good.”

Tluthal: “No it is not.”

Fabri: “Hm. Any leads?”

Tluthal: “Lots of excitement, then lots and lots of paranoia. I’d suspect they’re just watchin’ me but there’s been some fear mixed in there.”

Fabri: “Excitement as in me?”

Tluthal: “Hmm.” She frowns a little and closes one eye, squinting the other. “Ssssome of it, yeah?”

Fabri: He pulls out a small set of major arcana, and lays down his three main paths- custom cards all. Judgment, an odd emphasis on an hourglass. The Magician- obviously Prime. … The World?

Fabri: Now he looks concerned. He flips over another card. Strength!? “… That’s… Not what I remember…”

Tluthal: She shifts to cup her chin and give her wrists a rest. “It isn’t?”

Fabri: “No, no it isn’t.” He flips over another card. Inverted Death isn’t a surprise.

Tluthal: She raises an eyebrow now.

Fabri: “… So what does Technocracy think of this new bastion? You know yet?”

Tluthal: “… Th’fuck is the Technocracy?”

Fabri: “… You know, those guys who have a vested interest in making sure mortal society goes on as it does, occasionally introducing new bits of power to the masses to give them advancement in technology? Those guys?”

Tluthal: “Never heard of ‘em.” She shook her head. “An’ I’m pretty sure that woulda come up.”

Fabri: “… Hold on. Should have done this ages ago.” His eyes get distant for a long moment. “… The fuck are these throne guys?”

Tluthal: “The exarches? The dudes tryin’a keep sleepers from awakening?”

Fabri: “… Okay, that’s the same sort of role, but completely different MO and org structure, holy crap. What happened to time while I was out?”

Fabri: “Those Qlippoths win or something? Holy fuck!”

Tluthal: “The what?”

Tluthal: “I don’t even know how long you’ve been out?”

Fabri: “Inverted mages. Bad news. Seek the destruction of the universe. Forget I said anything about them.”

Tluthal: “… Yeah not likely but puttin’ that inna box for now.”

Fabri: “Just like most normal mages seek Ascension?” … Dude, whatever you’re smoking…

Tluthal: “… You sure your head’s okay?”

Fabri: “… Ugh, of coourse I’m a time disturbance. Thank you, that’s so informative. Damn it, something must have come unstuck in time and I’m the result. Either that or I’m so nuts that I think the world has an entirely different history from the one I remember.

Fabri: “… There are still hints of other kinds of creatures hanging around in the shadows, right?”

Tluthal: “… Y’mean like vampires and werewolves? Yeah.”

Fabri: “Oh thank Source.” He chuckled a little.

Tluthal: “Yeaaah… I think yer theory about time disturbances might be right. You thought it was December 3rd when ya bonked yer head, December 3rd of what year?”

Fabri: “Two thousand two.”

Tluthal: “… It’s twenty twelve.”

Fabri: “… Fuuuuck.”

Tluthal: “Yeaaaaah…”

Fabri: “Okay. So it’s been ten years. Somehow, my old 1966 volvo is still around, and yet everything else has…” He blinked again. “Yeah, pretty much the whole history of the universe changed to produce a similar result- awakened Avatars either squabbling over what the proper path of the sleepers is, or wanting to shove them down, all the while seeking more knowledge and power for themselves.

Fabri: “Right. Got it.”

Tluthal: “Sounds about right, yeah.” There’s a sudden ‘fweeet!’ from the kitchen. “… Aaaand that would be the tea. We have iced if you’d rather?”

Fabri: “Hot tea is fine.”

Tluthal: “‘Kay. You might want to come pick it out, we’ve got a dozen kinds.” She heads to the kitchen. It would seem she has a proper tea set.

Fabri: “How about the mint tea? My stomach’s still kind of unsettled.”

Tluthal: “Sure. Package or fresh?”

Tluthal: She indicates a bowl of fresh mint leaves. Huh. Must be a garden out back.

Fabri: “Fresh, by all means.”

Tluthal: He gets a thumbs up at that, and tea is poured. She brings the set back to the table, giving it time to steep.

Fabri: “So… The sphere of Correspondence- distance, separation, things like that- Oh, no, it’s still there! Okay. Good.”

Tluthal: “Yeah?” Blink blink.

Fabri: “Sorry. Used to calling it Correspondence instead of just Space.”

Tluthal: “Ooooh.”

Tluthal: “Yeah Space stuff can be fun.”

Fabri: “Ohhh, man. There’s actually ten full spheres now, no wonder history changed.”

Tluthal: She blinks at him. Not sure if she’s impressed or just baffled.

Tluthal: “You mean the Arcana?”

Fabri: “Yeah… Huh. Yeah. I. I guess that fits.” The tenth sphere… Death.

Tluthal: One of the ones she’s especially proficient at! “Yeah?”

Fabri: “The tenth sphere.” He taps inverted Death. “All the other nine are acccounted for, so this one didn’t replace any of the others. So much time looking for that spphere, to ascend beyond humanity…”

Tluthal: “… What? Death? That’s new?” Blink blink. “So you didn’t have necromancers back in ‘02?”

Fabri: “Well, yeah, but mostly they used Life and Time, or Mind if they wanted to get into a dead guy’s head.” He shuddered at the last time some idiot in his vicinity thought it’d be funny to take over a local vampire. The Camilla came down on him HARD.

Fabri: “And obviously, it’s not YOUR ‘02.”

Tluthal: “Huh. Yeah, I guess not.” She pours the tea, puts far too much sugar in hers, and sips it contemplatively.

Fabri: “Some lamer hasn’t tried to take over a bloodsucker lately, have they? It’d just make my day complete to have to deal with a Camilla pogrom.”

Tluthal: “Not that I’ve heard of, an’ I sure as hell ain’t that stupid.”

Fabri: “Sorry, remembering what hoops you had to jump through for necromancy made me remember that BS.”

Tluthal: “S’fine.” Shrug. “Just statin’ for the record.”

The Curse Strikes

Sat, 07 Jul 2012 17:33:20 -0400

Jeeze guys, it’s like you don’t like each other!

Wind’s Tradition: The wagon bumps along the road. Where precisely is not present, as the action is focused on the upper floor - specifically, the hall between the workshop and the navigation room, where Wind has just emerged from the shop. There may or may not be Loq-laughter coming from the door behind him.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition looks around. Would Tempest happen to be in navigation, making use of the closest thing to a planetarium this wagon has?

Silent Tempest: Why yes, he would, after finishing his training for the day with a brand new shining Terminal Sanction!

Loquacious Dibare: There is indeed crazed Loq-laughter coming from in there.

Wind’s Tradition: “Hey Tempest. Got a question for you.”

Silent Tempest: “Yes?” Tempest doesn’t look up from the notes he scribbling down.

Wind’s Tradition: “This…Loom. It tracks all things, yes? How does a crafted soul get added to it? Not a birthed soul - not like yours, or even ours - but a sentient artifact’s.”

Loquacious Dibare: The cackle quiets a little.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken wanders in from the hall, then pauses to listen.

Silent Tempest: “Uh, hmmm…” Tempest taps his chin for a moment “Well depending on how much essence it channels, it wouldn’t be tracked on the Loom until it interacted with an existing strand or the Pattern Spiders catch it, though the former is more likley, given the volume of strands.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Right. What if, err…” Wind glances back into the shop. “…weeell…someone kiiinda crafted a new, self-replicating race of artifact creatures?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Hmmm…?” Loq looks in, grinning like a madwoman. A madwoman who hasn’t slept for a week.

Wind’s Tradition: “How many strands would they need to make up before interaction with one another…or does it work that way?”

Silent Tempest: “It’s been done before, in the First Age.” Tempest said, returning to his writing “Once they’ve been integrated with the Tapestry (that’s the Loom’s representation of the present moment), I doubt they’ll be any serious problems, barring excessive essence use. The Loom is more robust than you’re giving it credit for.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…that’s the thing. A race that’s all about, well, excessive essence use.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Oooooh.” And there goes the cackling again! Uh oh.

Wind’s Tradition: “They fight? Essence. They cook? Essence. They farm? Essence. They bathe? Essence. They sleep? Essence. They reproduce? Lots of essence.”

Marast the Unbroken: “… you appear to be giving her ideas.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Lots and ehehehehehe lots of essence~”

Loquacious Dibare: “Nope!”

Wind’s Tradition: “No, no, juuust cataloging logical conclusions of ideas she already has.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Not yet!”

Loquacious Dibare: “Nyehehehhehe.”

Silent Tempest: “Wait,” Tempest said looking up, annoyed (I AM TRYING TO DO ASTROLOGICAL READINGS HERE) “so this race actively channels Essence… to do mundane tasks?”

Marast the Unbroken: “Then they wouldn’t be mundane tasks anymore.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Well considering what they’ll be MADE of! They’d sort of have to. Hehehe.”

Silent Tempest: “Okay, I’ll bite: what are they made of?”

Loquacious Dibare: Loq unwinds something from around her neck and offers it to Tempest.

Loquacious Dibare: It is black and green and gold and shiny.

Loquacious Dibare: “She isn’t awake yet.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Magical materials, mostly. Their bodies would be forges, akin to what some of my brothers and sisters use, so they can make their own orichalcum, moonsilver, and jade readily.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Adamant, too.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Hmmm?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Oh! An adamant and soulsteel alloy! Yespefect!”

Wind’s Tradition: “They would largely be essence respirators, recharging at much faster than normal exalted rates.”

Wind’s Tradition: “No, they wouldn’t be able to do soulsteel - not with just those forges, not without a source of souls.”

Silent Tempest: “Wait.” Tempest said, starting to get the picture “You’re going to make an artifical race, so they will produce magical materials as a waste product?”

Loquacious Dibare: Bwehehehe.

Marast the Unbroken: The look on Marast’s face is priceless, in a “oh Luna they’re mad” sort of way

Loquacious Dibare: “Not as a waste product! As part of their life cycle!”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition nods.

Wind’s Tradition: “They’ll be the primary users of it.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Blood-equivalent.”

Silent Tempest: “And what will you be doing with the these obscene amounts of magical materials?”

Loquacious Dibare: “They’ll be able to birth more of their own kind so of course they’d have to be able to produce it, yes?” She’s giggling like a moron.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition nods. “We won’t ever see most of it. There maaay be a few scraps here and there…but even those would mostly be used by the race to make stuff with.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Or as repair materials.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Eat gold, transmute into orichalcum, excrete the impurities…that’s most of the cycle of a living organism, is it not?”

Wind’s Tradition: “And that’s just one of the four materials.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Uh huh!”

Loquacious Dibare: It’s wrapped back around her neck since Tempest doesn’t want to touch it apparently.

Marast the Unbroken: “This is a terrible idea.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Is not!”

Silent Tempest: “Soooo. You’re making a race out of the magical materials, some of the most valuable things in existence, not to extract the materials, but to create more of these things?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes?”

Silent Tempest: It’s wrapped back around her neck since Tempest doesn’t want to touch it apparently. Tempest examines the… thing gingerly with his gloved hands.

Loquacious Dibare: It’s the dagger from earlier?

Loquacious Dibare: Sort of? Except its skin is now orichalcum, it’s four armed, and it hugs onto his pokin’ finger as soon as he touches it.

Marast the Unbroken: “How will you even assemble the materials for this?”

Silent Tempest: Tempest makes a gasping sound. “Is… this one of the race in question?”

Wind’s Tradition: “We only need materials for the first few.”

Loquacious Dibare: “She’s a prototype.”

Wind’s Tradition: “They can make more internally.”

Loquacious Dibare: “The actual ones will be warstrider-sized.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Maybe a bit smaller.”

Wind’s Tradition: “At first.”

Loquacious Dibare: “At first. Maybe.”

Wind’s Tradition: “We’re envisioning post-birth upgrades.”

Marast the Unbroken: “This isn’t a race you’re building… it’s an army.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loq smiles sweetly.

Wind’s Tradition: “Race, army…” Wind shrugs.

Loquacious Dibare: And then cackles again.

Wind’s Tradition: “How many people strong is the human ‘army’?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes. And they may grow to be larger.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Or any specific flavor of beastman?”

Silent Tempest: “Millions, last I checked.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition nods.

Wind’s Tradition: “And did their ultimate makers have to hand-craft each and every single one? Nope.”

Silent Tempest: “Wind, you approve of this… experiment?”

Loquacious Dibare: “He’s helping!” Loq hugs him and cackles again.

Marast the Unbroken: “I’d object more, but that would make me a terrible hypocrite.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition nods. “I have been, yes. This is why I ask for…guidance.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Mmhmm.” Loq nods, still clinging to him like a leech. “We don’t mean for them to be nothing but weapons.”

Silent Tempest: “but they will be weapons?” Tempest said, already coming to the conclusion of this plan. Talk about a woman scorned…

Loquacious Dibare: “And and, Marast, think of what a weapon they’d be against the fae!”

Wind’s Tradition: “Only as much as any person is.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes. They might have better natural weapons but they’ll be able to think just like any person.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition pets Loq, hugging her gently.

Loquacious Dibare: Loq holds her hand out for the little prototype-daiklave-woman.

Wind’s Tradition: “With the right martial arts, any unarmed person can be quite a weapon.”

Wind’s Tradition: “And, again, warstrider size or close to it - so they can use warstrider-sized equipment left over from the First Age.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Or made these days.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Uh huh!”

Silent Tempest: “Only as much as any person is.”“NO, Wind, they wouldn’t be. ‘Any Person’ isn’t born with Essence Respiration. ‘Any Person’, isn’t born with a skeletal structure that lets them channel divine essence. ‘Any person’ isn’t born warstrider size.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest hands back the prototype.

Marast the Unbroken: “Actually some beastmen…”

Wind’s Tradition: “Yes, but these traits are not exclusively that of weapons.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loq wraps it back around her neck.

Loquacious Dibare: “Indeed, some beastmen and certain races.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition nods. “Are beastmen naught but weapons?”

Marast the Unbroken: “Depends on who you’re asking.”

Loquacious Dibare: “They aren’t supposed to be a new kind of humanity, Tempest.”

Silent Tempest: “Loquacious, can you look me in the eyes and say you’re not planning on turning your new race on the Scarlet Empire?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Us? Do something the Scarlet Empire’s likely to do all by themselves the first few times they encounter this race?”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition shrugs. “Why waste the effort?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Nope!” She smiles. “I am indeed planning to as soon as it becomes necessary.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Of course, there is that.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest stands up “They say the forger puts a little of themselves into what they’re making on the anvil. I suggest thinking very carefully about what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. And that they don’t become ‘just weapons’.”

Marast the Unbroken: “And now we reach the point where everyone turns on each other.”

Loquacious Dibare: She headtilts at him. Went flying right over her head.

Silent Tempest: “Because you’re not doing this for science. You’re not doing this for an utilitarian reason. You’re doing this because you killed the man who hurt you and the pain still hasn’t stopped.”

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken steps between the two

Loquacious Dibare: Loq goes from giddy to snarling in an instant. “You bastard child, y-you mewling cock how fucking dare you-“

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition shifts from comforting hug to mildly restraining.

Silent Tempest: “I think the better question is, ‘how dare you’, Ms. Dibare? Visions of the Isle burning in your head, with naught a thought of the slaves, servants, and employees who are only related tangentially to the Imperial Army.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Tempest, shut up this instant or I break your skull.”

Marast the Unbroken: Knuckles are cracked loudly.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken turns to Loq,

Loquacious Dibare: Loq snarls incoherently. “Which is why you fucking LURE THEM OFF THE IS-“

Marast the Unbroken: “And you are acting like a child.”

Marast the Unbroken: “This pain you feel, the hate towards the ones who caused it? IT NEVER STOPS.”

Loquacious Dibare: “As if you’re behaving any fucking differently!”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare strains against Wind’s hold.

Marast the Unbroken: “I could kill every Fae in or out of the wild, and you know what? I’d still hate them. The loss would still be there.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition can think of a dozen things to say. Nothing, at this moment, seems to be the wisest of them.

Loquacious Dibare: “And yet you would still do it, but I’m being childish!”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition hears a moment’s silence. “If I might offer a compromise?”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare snarls at him.

Wind’s Tradition: “As I said, why bother pushing this new race? If the Realm is everything I have heard it is, it will earn their enmity soon enough without much pushing. Which would make the revenge even sweeter, more thorough, and more targeted upon those parts of the Realm that truly deserve it.”

Loquacious Dibare: “What, in the name of JUPITER’S FROSTY CUNT, else would I be doing?!”

Marast the Unbroken: “Shouting abuse and attacking those who wish to help you. Or were you talking about your creations?”

Loquacious Dibare: Another snarl! Seriously they just keep making her angrier.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest wonders if he should point out the fact that the Chosen of Mars are taking bets when the Civil War would begin.

Silent Tempest: “If I may? This entire conversation may be moot.”

Silent Tempest: “With the disappearance of the Empress, the Realm has become increasingly unstable.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition ‘s grip slips. “Wait, what?”

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken ‘s fist smashes into the wall next to Tempest’s head

Loquacious Dibare: “What.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare jerks her way free, fists still balled at her sides.

Marast the Unbroken: “What did I say about you speaking?”

Wind’s Tradition: “The Empress is GONE-gone? Not just hiding?”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest calmly steps to the left a half a foot.

Silent Tempest: Tempest ignores Marast. “Indeed, that’s why the plurality of Wyld Hunts have been recalled to the isle.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition SMILES.

Silent Tempest: “I honestly thought you knew.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare’s eyes narrow.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition almost sings to Loq. “Loquacious, dear? If I may kindly make a request?”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare grunts.

Wind’s Tradition: “Once we are done with Rathess, could we please make a side trip to Urvar - the city of my kind under the Blessed Isle - and inform them that the one to whom they pledged the Mountain Tribute is no longer where even Yu-Shan can perceive, and therefore that they may cease payment of it, pulling away a pillar of the Realm’s entire economy?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Pretty please?”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare goes very still and very slowly turns to him. The grin that slowly begins to spread across her face is utterly insane, and not entirely gleeful. It’s the grin of someone planning how to vivisect a particularly interesting beast.

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes. Of course, darling.”

Marast the Unbroken: “I have to report to the pact first.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Oh, sure, sure. We can make side trips on the way.”

Loquacious Dibare: “No real rush.”

Wind’s Tradition: “The next one is not due for some months yet, I think, though I forget when.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition hugs Loq. “Thank you.” And pecks her on the lips.

Loquacious Dibare: “… That… even opens up other possibilities.” Headtilt.

Loquacious Dibare: That rictus-grin hasn’t faded.

Silent Tempest: “Very well, Marast if you’re done threatening me, put your arm down. Wind, please calm Ms. Dibare. I will, of course, return to charting.” Tempest said, replacing his paper and continuing to write as though nothing had happened.

Loquacious Dibare: “Tempest? Get out of my sight, or I will rip out your eyes, shred every last bit of your shriveled manhood, and shit in the steaming cavity of your chest.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loq’s tone is practically sugary.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest calmly picks up his stuff and leaves the room.

Loquacious Dibare: “I need a fucking drink.”

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken removes his arm from the wall and starts picking out splinters

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare stomps off towards the kitchen.

Wind’s Tradition: “Stay here. I’ll get one. He may have gone to get one too.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition heads kitchen-ward.

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes dear.” The vacated table is quickly stolen. Loq fumes!

Baby

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 11:49:52 -0400

Somehow, I think Uncle Auto would be proud.

Wind’s Tradition: “So Loq, about these micro-bladders.” Wind points to daggerlady’s chest.

Wind’s Tradition: “Is she supposed to lactate, or are they just storage?”

Loquacious Dibare: “… They’re actually to provide a better grip. That and boobs need no justification.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind looks at Loq’s hands, then the shapes of the breasts. “…true, but you could do that with solid boobs. I’m seeing tiny little siphons in the nipple.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loq shrugs. “Alright. It’s some kind of energy reservoir. It’s not… finished enough to really use them yet, but it was easier to do it now and build off of it than to have to take it apart later.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Ah. Yes, definitely.” He frowns. “‘Some kind’ - you have the design but you don’t know what it’s for, then?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Well, I think it’ll be able to store motes. I’m not positive though.”

Wind’s Tradition: “It does seem suited to that.”

Loquacious Dibare: “That’s what I thought. I mean I have heard the theories about boobs being mote storage.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…full-up breasts aren’t mot storage. That’s the heart and lungs, behind th breasts. Now, what about the womb?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Errrrr…”

Loquacious Dibare: She scratches the back of her head.

Wind’s Tradition: “And the functioning ovaries.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Ehehehe…”

Wind’s Tradition: “This is potentially a full daughter, you know. Not that that’s a bad thing.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Yeah I know. You put the idea in my head.” She pulls him down for a kiss.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind is kissed! And kisses back, getting in a quick massage of the back of her neck.

Loquacious Dibare: “Mmmn!” She cuddles against him. “They might not ever get used, but if I make more, I might make male ones and, well, putting the basics in there just makes sense.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Better to have and not need, than the opposite.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Exactly. It’s also good anatomy practice.”

Wind’s Tradition: “You’re thinking of building larger ones? Or different purposes?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes. A living sword the size of a woman would be as devastating as a warstrider, if not larger.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…it could be wielded by a warstrider.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Perhaps as one of those legendary combiners.”

Wind’s Tradition: “‘And I’ll form the sword.’”

Loquacious Dibare: She grins. “I’m talking about a woman with hair of obsidian-steel, twelve feet tall and striding into battle under her own power.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Hmm…”

Wind’s Tradition: “One and a half times as tall, and she would BE a warstrider. Just a common one, but still.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Except one that doesn’t need a pilot.”

Wind’s Tradition: He nods.

Loquacious Dibare: “… Now imagine hundreds of them.”

Loquacious Dibare: She sighs happily.

Wind’s Tradition: “But could pick up weapons made for other warstriders. Standardization.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…yyyeah.” He sighs, just as happily.

Wind’s Tradition: “Imagine a race of them.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Uh huh!”

Wind’s Tradition: “Able to manufacture more of themselves.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Able to breed more of themselves.”

Wind’s Tradition: He nods.

Wind’s Tradition: “But why limit it to just breeding?”

Loquacious Dibare: She kisses him again.

Loquacious Dibare: “True…”

Wind’s Tradition: “Post-birth augmentation!”

Loquacious Dibare: Her eyes widen!

Loquacious Dibare: “Ooooh, yesss…”

Wind’s Tradition: “…they start out as approximately common, and the best ones grow bigger and better.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Hmm. Would they be able to generate their own magical materials for components and repairs?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Well they’d almost have to.”

Loquacious Dibare: Blink!

Loquacious Dibare: “Oooh, at that size, they’d be able to cart villages of repair teams with them!”

Wind’s Tradition: “Why force villages to repair them? Make them repair their own, if they live.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Well yes, but think how safe those people would be!”

Wind’s Tradition: “Or enslaved, and might put themselves in danger to get free.”

Loquacious Dibare: “They’d be in the most protected area, right under their hai-“

Loquacious Dibare: “Oh.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Hmmm. You have a point.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Then again, if they don’t need mortals - what would their reaction be?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Hmm. I suppose it would depend on how their personalities were engineered… They’d be living weapons of war, but they aren’t meant to exterminate humanity…”

Wind’s Tradition: “What is a weapon, but a tool for violent purposes? And tools can be repurposed.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Exactly. But what would they be repurposed for?’

Wind’s Tradition: “Whatever they want.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Mm, there is that, but if they’ve only known killing, what are they going to want?”

Wind’s Tradition: “And that is what we must design. To what purpose will they kill, for one?”

Loquacious Dibare: She raises an eyebrow at him. “For… Us. My intention is to eventually use them against the Empire, but for now she hasn’t even taken her first breath.”

Wind’s Tradition: He nods. “And if they kill for us, they take their purpose from us - and we can, when it is time, introduce them to more than killing.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Very true.” She nods.

Wind’s Tradition: “Now, was all this thought through when the plans were inserted into your dreams?” Wind inspects daggerlady. “Given the details, I’d suspect yes.”

Loquacious Dibare: She blinks. “Hmmm. I suppose it might have been. I just wonder what did the inserting, really. Just a few months ago I wouldn’t have believed I could do this much.”

Loquacious Dibare: Daggerlady has had white jade incorporated into her, most notably into the ovaries and womb that will function with the proper essence applied. Her skin has a marbled cast now, most notably at her belly and breasts. If Loq had had orichalcum, she would have replaced it, but for the moment they have no such cache.

Wind’s Tradition: “…shouldn’t this be using orichalcum?”

Loquacious Dibare: “It should be, yes.” She sighs. “This was the best I could do with what we had on hand, though.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Just a moment.” Wind steps over to the storage area, then returns with a few shavings of orichalcum cupped in one hand. “Here, this should be plenty for detail work.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loq gapes at him and squeals, then kisses him again. “Where?!”

Wind’s Tradition: “Left in the wagon when it was built. Must have been leftovers from the engine core.”

Loquacious Dibare: She squeals again.

Wind’s Tradition: “Not enough to make something by itself, so I stored it for…well, something just like this.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Thank youuuuuu~”

Wind’s Tradition: He pecks her on the lips. “And there’s some moonsilver too. Didn’t see any soulsteel or starmetal, though.”

Loquacious Dibare: She sighs. “We should save the moonsilver for her first sister, I think.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Or her broth-well, first male. Lunar-Solar symbology, after all.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Thaaaat’s why I was thinking sister.” She and Marast are the best of bros, after all. “

Wind’s Tradition: “…ah, right.” Pause. “You know, being constructs, sisters - even brothers - could find a way to reproduce anyway.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Mmhmm. I’m not really all that worried about it right now.” She warms the shavings with her essence, spreading them into a thin leaf to be applied over the alloy.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind chips away the about-to-be superfluous white jade to make room.

Loquacious Dibare: She smiles at that, murmuring to herself and the sword about what she’s doing, explaining it the same way she does to a patient.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind listens carefully.

Loquacious Dibare: Eventually she means to entirely replace the gold with orichalcum, but for now a new skin of it will just have to do. The metal flows into place easily, and she smooths it in so very, very gently.

Bondmates

Sat, 30 Jun 2012 07:06:47 -0400

In a Factory-Cathedral abandoned for thousands of years, two women Exalted as they always did.

As Dokukinoko Momo played the Control Organ, shining in gold, the Lady of the Pale gaze sang the song their Exaltations composed…

… And Momo remembered.

The Lady sang of the one who had conducted the great battle-machines, whose mate had fought and kept countless hoards of deva from reaching the golden one.

Momo remembered the raise of a conductor’s baton, and a hundred machines, each one suited to dwarf him, sang out their tuning cries… And the song took on a martial timbre, and the light relayed itself back to her, and she knew of the forges.

The Lady sang of the two who had performed in concert, a duet to split the Wyld.

Momo remembered two voices, together, as they walked, hand in hand, step by step, the flowers beneath them growing and splitting the false earth with their roots. And then the march became, slowly, smoothly, effortlessly, a pastoral, with hints of far off drums. The drums started again, and that martial timbre returned for a horrendous few seconds. More stops went in, and the swell pushed low at last. She remembered and knew now the batteries.

The Lady sang of the one who had finally come to the waiting guard, to re-awaken the lost workshops.

Momo remembered youth and vigor, learning of old age and treachery, and the Wonders and Dreams of a Lost Age. And then, for a while, a heart beat, slow, steady, like a resting menuet, adagio, sleeping, waiting, and the heat pumps were at her call.

The Lady sang of the two who had fought like a dance to save those who could not be saved.

Momo remembered the rain of fire and fury. And now the drumbeats returned, and the revolution made itself plain, burning, and lost, and hopeless, yet the beat went on, the music of that strength, that loss that was still deep and raw, and through her will the Wyld itself made to buckle before the wonder of the Cathedral, vibrant and strident.

The Lady sang of the two who sang to save all that was left.

Their audience saw the notes of Momo’s Rising upon the wall a mere second before that faint, last pulse of hope started to run through the pipes and the systems. For the same reason, she knew of the Organ, and she knew of the Chapel and all within it.

Momo did not need to remember who she was.

Good morning, Sunshine

Tue, 15 May 2012 03:47:53 -0400

Aaand the next morning. These two are fun!

Loquacious: It’s the crack of dawn when Loq wakes with a sleepy grumble. Even so, it takes her a good half hour to muster the strength or will to move from her soft, furry ball. With a grumble she almost falls off, and strips her nightgown off, completely forgetting her… guest. Even when she steps over him, naked as the day she was born, to grab her under-robe and a towel so she can bathe. She only remembers once the cold spring water has startled her awake.

Loquacious: Ten minutes later she’s fully dressed and he has a wet towel dropped on his head while she hauls her dried paint compounds down - they’re pre-mixed so that she can just mix them into water and start painting.

Loquacious: “Gooood moooorning sunshine“~“”

Steel: He’s not terribly awake at this point, so it doesn’t wind up mattering too much, and slowly hauls himself up to sit, grumbling softly. “Urgh.”

Loquacious: “Yeah yeah I know. I don’t like mornings either. C’mon out, you can mix paint. We’re gonna be… lesseeeeee… Yellow ‘n’ green, that should be aupicious“~“”

Steel: “I don’t… what?” He climbed up, blinking. “Why are you painting.”

Loquacious: “The wagon. I told you last night. Makes us less obvious.”

Loquacious: “Painting it differently makes it less obvious, and it makes sense to go with yellow and green - a safe, unnoticed journey.”

Steel: “Oh. I, uh. That’s one plan.”

Loquacious: “It’s practical. And yes, I do realize the irony of using bright colors to be unnoticable. It’s a tradition, and frankly people would take more note if it wasn’t eye-burning.”

Steel: “… Yeah see, I was thinking camouflage, looking normal.” He was, of course, quite used to disguising himself as members of other nations. “But, uh. Bright colors?” He stepped around the corner, stretching. Bastard didn’t look dirty at all; he didn’t sweat or secrete oils or anything in his sleep.

Loquacious: Loq’s hair is still damp - and cropped to a short mop around her head, instead of trailing wetly down her shoulders. “Dibare tradition. Brightly-colored wagons. It’s pretty obvious I am one, so having it painted in less-noticable colors would draw more questions.” She’s mixing up a bucket of the yellow.

Steel: “… But aren’t they looking for a… Dibare, then, so having a wagon painted in Dibare tradition would… be what they were looking for?”

Loquacious: “They are looking for a horribly traumatized little girl with a red, blue, and gold wagon.”

Steel: “Ah.”

Loquacious: “Mmhmm.”

Loquacious: She sighs and gets a paintbrush out, working with quick strokes.

Steel: “So what happened to your hair?” He chose not to mention it at first, but… hair is important to him. “Out of curiosity.”

Loquacious: “I cut it. It’ll grow back.’

Steel: “… Gotcha. Here,” he added, reaching down to grab a brush, and began to paint in long, elegant strokes, focusing on coverage rather than artistry.

Loquacious: “Thank you.” She shrugs. “You’d be surprised how many people take me for a guy when I wear my hair short.” Well okay to be fair except for the girly hips, she does look like a guy.

Loquacious: She’s also painting rather fast. Detail work can be done later, right now she just wants to get it done.

Loquacious: He might notice he’s painting over rather beautiful script in four languages.

Steel: He really doesn’t recognize any of the languages. He can speak it, not read it. It’s unfortunate, but he recognizes the necessity of speed.

Loquacious: She finishes one end and starts on the next side, working rapidly. It doesn’t take too long to get it all painted!

Steel: And he loads up while she hitches up the horse. “How far off do you think they are, now?”

Loquacious: She hrms to herself. “Several hours at least, if they haven’t already caught up. This is going to be fun.” Sarcasm!

Loquacious: And an apple is withdrawn for breakfast, and she gets them going. They’re not the fastest vehicle ever, but it’s faster than she could walk at least.

Steel: “… Well, do you know how to defend yourself?”

Loquacious: “Somewhat. There’s bandits on the road, but I’ve never fought worse than that or a town guard trying to turn me in for whatever local plague they’re blaming on gypsys now.”

Steel: “… Creation is fucking illogical. Do you have any weapons, at least?” He frowned, and began laying his own out in front of himself on the rocking floor. Some odd devices that looked like fishing reels attached to handles, a… small, moonsilver tube with a hand guard, a crossbow that had been attached to his back the entire time and which was, when allowed to unfold, surprisingly large and dangerous-looking…

Loquacious: “Look in the bins.” She’s driving, but he can almost hear the smug grin.

Loquacious: She’s a weaponsmith and armorer, from the looks of it. That is fucking gorgeous articulated plate. The weapons are also clearly a master craftwoman’s work.

Steel: He cocked his head… and shrugged. “Neat, but seems unwieldy. Your swords are way too huge.”

Loquacious: “Are not.” There aren’t any diaklaves in there! The one she carries - and is wearing - is a shortsword.

Steel: “Yeah they are, they got that big bit in front of ‘em. Totally unnecessary.” He pokes one of the blades and scoffs quietly.

Loquacious: “That’s the blade.”

Steel: He shrugged and picked up the little tube with the finger guard. “Now see, this is a well-made sword here.”

Loquacious: “I am driving.”

Loquacious: She does look, but only after making sure the road ahead is clear.

Steel: It’s… there’s no blade on it!

Loquacious: “… Okay, where’s the blade?”

Steel: And then he fed a small amount of essence into the weapon. In an instant, with a quiet hum, the shimmering silver-blue blade materialized in the air, there and also not, more visible when he moved it as a trail of light and essence weaving through the air before dissipating.

Loquacious: She stared for a good minute. “… Yeah, we don’t have those here.”

Steel: “Yeah, I got that feeling.” It vanished instantly, and he holstered it before picking up one of the handle-and-reel things.

Loquacious: “So what’s that?” She glances back at the road again, talking to him through a sliding panel she’s shoved half down.

Steel: “I don’t… think I have room to test it in here,” he murmured, but nonetheless flicked his wrist, and a long, bladed whip extended, about nine feet long, and pooled on the floor.

Loquacious: “… Iiiinteresting.” It makes her headtilt curiously.

Steel: “I use this for a modified form of the Live Wire style.” He snapped the handle up while pressing a button, and the scourge drew itself rapidly back into the device with a whirr.

Loquacious: “Never heard of that style.”

Loquacious: “Mmm.” Nom nom nom. “There again, never did learn any styles.”

Steel: “Maybe you’ll get to see it later.” He grinned and tested the other, then put it away as well. The crossbow didn’t use essence, so he wasn’t concerned that it might not work in Creation.

Loquacious: She blinks. “Huh, don’t see those around much.”

Steel: “Eh?”

Loquacious: “Crossbows. Sometimes mercinaries have ‘em.”

Steel: “This is standard issue back home.”

Steel: “I actually have a better one, but I keep it in my other body.”

Loquacious: “Other. Body.”

Steel: “Later. Focus on driving.”

Loquacious: She pays attention again just in time to take the right fork! They’re in foothills.

Loquacious: It’s an hour or two later that pounding hooves can be heard behind them. Loq swears in a language Steel doesn’t recognize.

Loquacious: “Halt and identify yourself!”

Loquacious: “Climb up here quick, and keep that stuff hidden.” She manages a whisper.

Loquacious: “I SAID-” “I heard ya I heard ya!” The wagon comes to a slow stop.

Steel: It was eerie how fast he moved- but he was already up there, making sure his stuff was stashed, and… oh goodness, one hand around behind her neck as he leaned close. “Follow my lead, and start… straightening yourself out…” And then his lips caught hers as one hand slithered down to… dishevel her shirt, one of her small breasts nearly falling out of her top as he loosened the neck on it significantly, and made sure both their hair was ruffled before sitting back, panting a little and… adjusting himself while the men trotted around.

Steel: His accent was suddenly perfect, a mimicry of hers. “How can I, eh-hem,” he coughed, shifting to allow his ‘new wife’ to properly cover himself after their front-seat liaison, “help you out, officers?”

Loquacious: She squeaks in shock, hands covering her chest and pulls the compressing sash back up, her entire face bright red as she turned away. The one in charge scowls. “And just who the fuck’re you?”

Steel: He hopped down, smiling a bit as he attempted to fix his hair, and extended a hand. “Well, most folks just call me Flex. This li’l lady’s m’wife, we were just headed into town on business. C’mon down, hon,” he says, looking up, then shrugs. “You’ll hafta ‘scuse her, she’s a li’l shy, specially considering you caught us, y’know, bit of a… bad time.” Another winning smile.

Loquacious: “Arse!” She grumbles at him.

Loquacious: The officer snorts. “What’s ‘er name? Anybody else in the wagon?”

Steel: “She’s Calynne. Li’l lady can stitch a man up like anythin’, an’ I mostly just tinker ‘bout, fixin’ things up. Nobody else with us, though, ‘cept Keter here,” he added, patting the horse’s flank.

Loquacious: “Right, then you won’t mind us takin’ a look inside. There was some trouble back in town.”

Loquacious: She keeps her face hidden. Bad liar is bad!

Steel: “Oh, dear. What kind of trouble?” Shit shit, keep ‘em distracted while you come up with a reason not to let them in…

Loquacious: One of the soldiers goes around to the door. “Some shit blew up the Empress’ Outpost. One’a her cousins most like.”

Loquacious: “I’ve got some crazy ones. Try an’ keep my nose clean.” Well she sort of does at least.

Loquacious: Shit shit think come on think…

Loquacious: “tell them I’m pregnant and have it sanitized.”

Steel: “Oh! Oh, you mean- one a her family?” He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. “I try an’ just stay away from all that.”

Steel: fuck fuck fuck getting steadily farther from bullshittable territory.

Loquacious: Hand on the latch-

Loquacious: “Yeah, Mama Dibare’s an alright lady but summa them…”

Steel: Too late now, please have come up with something smart, Lo…

Loquacious: “Watch out fer the snake.”

Loquacious: “THE WHAT?!” The soldier jumps back in surprise.

Loquacious: “… The fuck’ve you got a snake fer?”

Steel: “Oh, they, uh…” Fuck fuck fuck, what the fuck is a snake!?

Loquacious: “Bandits. We just let ‘em open it up and suddenly they got fangs in them an’ then they ain’t a problem.”

Loquacious: “Learned it from Mama.”

Loquacious: “… And it bites anyone who isn’t you.”

Loquacious: “They’re not hard to train.”

Steel: Facepalm. This is a really bad lie. If they open it up, we’re caught in a lie. He sighed softly, really wishing she’d made herself look pregnant. Really good way to keep people from thinking you’re the not-pregnant girl from earlier. Depending on a guard to be fearful… He feels his hand inching toward his belt.

Loquacious: She facepalms. He unsheathes his sword so he can open it.

Steel: No snake. They’re lying, and he has a sword hilt in his hand. “Where’s the rest of you? Gonna pursue an Exalt with just two men?”

Loquacious: “They’re followin’ up, any group what don’t come back they investigate from there. Pretty clever.”

Steel: Steel frowned. “Fuck. That is smart.” He growled softly to himself. “So now what?”

Loquacious: She looks at him and shrugs. She doesn’t have any better ideas.

Steel: The door is opened, and the guard holds his sword out to find- nothing. Nothing but a woman with brilliant red hair and uncharacteristically dark skin, even for her family.

Steel: Lying their way out was no longer an option; they’d been caught. “Fuckin’ hell, I really thought we had you guys,” Steel said to the guards, smiling ruefully. “Go, Lo. I’ll hold ‘em here and catch up.”

Loquacious: “I-” No time to argue. If he was lying it was a chance to get away, if he was telling the truth she had to trust him. She let out a sharp cry and got Sol galloping, wagon moving with a jerk.

Steel: And they were left there, facing down a smiling man with most of two fishing rods in his hands. “So what are you guys? Afraid I’m still learning a bit.”

Loquacious: “That fuckin’ shit-” The officer snarls, turning his horse after the fleeing wagon. The younger soldier looks confused, then launches himself at Steel.

Steel: Steel doesn’t even bother with the younger soldier; the monofilament scourge whips out and wraps around the horse’s legs, tightening, digging into its flesh and causing it to topple to the ground. Well, that’s one gone. No live wire style, then, he’ll need to extract it from the horse’s legs to get it back. As he drops the scourge, he easily sidesteps the attacker. “Now, you still haven’t answered my question,” he says, smoothly drawing his beamklaive.

Loquacious: The young one rushes past him, the horse goes down with a scream, and the older one leaps up, sending a ball of fire at him.

Steel: A graceful leap backwards, and he landed on the trunk of a tree, smiling, then hopped down. “Really, gentlemen, there’s absolutely no reason for such hostility if you’ll just answer a few questions and stop trying to chase my friend.”

Loquacious: “Anathema!” Both of them charge him. Yep, apparently talking isn’t gonna help.

Steel: “Not quite!” He dropped into a combative stance, activating his blade…

Steel: And then, with the younger Terrestrial still a good five yards off, extended his arm and impaled the man without ever moving his feet, then ripped the cauterizing laser blade out sideways before retracting his arm again. Circuitry and metal were visible under the skin while his arm was extended, and he grinned at the look on the commander’s face.

Loquacious: The elder stared in shock for a moment. “WHAT.”

Steel: “See, this is why you don’t kill things when you don’t know what they are,” he said, standing upright as a banner of silvery pistons spread out around him, pulsing light running between them. “I am Alchemical.”

Steel: “And now you’ve gone and attacked the ambassador.”

Loquacious: More staring! “I don’t care what sort of Anathema you are!” Jeeze there’s some dumb Terrestrials in this area.

Steel: Sigh. “I should probably just kill you and start fresh with your friends. How’d you do that fire thing, incidentally?” And then he turned invisible.

Loquacious: “What-” Very confused terrestrial is very confused. And then there’s more fireballs.

Steel: “You’re really terrible at this, you know?” The voice is right in his ear as the monofilament scourge slips around his neck like a garotte and tightens, dragging the man back against Steel’s chest as he pulls the bladed wire tight.

Loquacious: “Ghk-!”

Steel: Steel let the body drop to the road, sighing, and shook his head slowly. “Time to get out of here… before the rest show up.” His cloak goes back up, and he’s gone.

Steel: Well up the road, Loqua’s approaching the safe house. No sign of pursuit.

Loquacious: Loq is worried, but glad to approach the safehouse. She stops out of sight of it and hides the wagon, going to check that it hasn’t been infiltrated or trapped!

Steel: And as she steps around it, a thirty-foot black monstrosity of metal appears before her eyes, shimmering into existence. It’s sleek, streamlined, clawed, smooth. It possessed four arms, two ending in blades, the others in functional hands, and stood on two strange, talon-footed legs. Behind it, a long, deadly tail poised.

Steel: And it opened up, and Steel stepped out, grabbing a bunch of horse legs on a string. “I brought dinner.” It had been easier to cut off the legs than untie the scourge.

Loquacious: She shrieked in shock, stumbling back, and clutched at her heart. “Maidens, Madonna, and Ignis Divine you SCARED me!” She’d kick him in the shins but she’d just hurt her foot.

Steel: The really weird part is that both the large thing and the smaller one seemed to be speaking when he spoke. “Well, it’s not like I didn’t mention my other body.” Thinking of the bodies as separate helped him maintain his humanity; it was important to him.

Loquacious: She stares up at it. After a moment, she nods. “Right. Okay. Hopefully they’ve passed the house over. We need to get Sol stabled and then the wagon hidden. They shouldn’t notice anyone here.”

Steel: “I can cloak my other body and hide myself well, they’ll never find me unless they walk right into me. At which point I’ll, you know, step on them.” He grinned and glanced back at it as it vanished and lumbered off into the trees. He himself was no longer maintaining his human-skin disguise. Or clothing, that came off earlier.

Loquacious: She can’t help giving him a rather obvious once-over, then grabs the reigns to lead the horse there. “Gonna have to make you robes.”

Steel: “Robes? Ugh, what am I, an Orichalcum?” He rolled his eyes and followed her, and… well, he had the parts installed, of course. Not bad, either.

Loquacious: “It’s the normal clothing for this area. You’ll blend in better.”

Loquacious: “And you’re rather distracting naked.”

Goodnight

Tue, 15 May 2012 03:44:37 -0400

More of Steel and Loq!

Steel: “Surgery?” He blinks, and then fights the urge to laugh a little!

Loquacious: “What?”

Loquacious: She frowns at him. “Yes, I realize the idea of a smith being a physician is funny but when you’re on the road alone for a long time you either learn or end up maimed or worse.”

Steel: “You… do surgery in… I don’t even know what to call this thing. What is this, wood?” He had a vague notion of wood, from the descriptions of forests in the Tome of the Great Maker. “With what, manual tools? I expected this world to be more sophisticated, more… advanced than ours. What exactly happened since the Great Maker left you?” He seems… bemused. For now.

Loquacious: She frowns at him. “Yes, it’s wood, yes, manual tools, and I just told you. The Solars were overthrown. And we’re in the threshold. I don’t think they even have that in the Realm though.”

Steel: “… That’s really stupid. I’ll handle fixing people up from now on, kay?” He stretched! “We should head out once you’re done eating. Where were you going?”

Loquacious: She sort of glares at him. Wow that is an unamused face. “Like I said, Sol needs to rest. We’re heading for a set of manses that weren’t well known even in the First Age.”

Steel: He raised a brow. “What for?” Bluh. He wanted to flop down on a comfy bed or something. And he was still in that skintight shirt and that weird skirt thing- presumably for freedom of movement. “And how will that protect us from… whoever you said before?”

Loquacious: “Because the last thing I need is a dead horse, and because if we can lose them, they aren’t likely to find it or have a good idea where I might be.”

Steel: He frowned, then shrugged. “Alright. Just one, uh. One thing.”

Loquacious: “Hmm?”

Steel: “What’s a horse?”

Loquacious: She facepalms and finishes up her dinner, then heads out and motions for him to follow. The horse is half-asleep and tiredly munching his dinner. That… that is a big horse.

Steel: Steel cocked his head thoughtfully. “… That is so weird.”

Loquacious: “… Don’t you have animals in Autochthonia?” … she’s only heard that like twice, how did she pronounce it that easily.

Steel: He blinked. “… Humans, yes.”

Loquacious: Facepalm. “Oh, hunting around you is going to be ‘fun’.”

Loquacious: She sighed. “In any case, I should get some sleep so we can get an early start.”

Steel: “Fun? Why?” He blinked! “They look kinda like, uh, we have these… biomechanoids.”

Loquacious: She giggles. “You’ll find out. And no, he’s not mechanical.” Loq heads back inside, unbuttoning her sash and untying the ribbon holding the waist at the proper place. Hel-lo sleeveless scarlet silk under-robe.

Steel: He raised both brows for a moment! Delightfully shameless; he wondered just how much more freedom there was out here, where you could drive your own belongings around on your own, doing business from city to city, wearing whatever you wanted. Or not wearing it. “This is dangerous. We’re being followed.”

Loquacious: “I’m aware.” Down goes the table again, she crouches down to pull a basket from under the desk, standing up with a baby-blue nightgown, which is pulled over the robe, which drops moments later. A large pillow and two furs are pulled out next.

Steel: He’s used to a synthetic mattress designed for maximum comfort when he chooses to rest- he doesn’t take ladies back to his own home- and frowns at the sight of simple furs and pillows. “How could it have become so primitive…”

Loquacious: She shrugs. “Don’t look at me.” One of the candles is blown out. “There’s more in there if you need ‘em.” She lays down and gets comfortable, giving him time to grab them, then blows the other one out.

Steel: He finds it difficult to sleep in the eerie silence of Creation; without the grinding of machinery, the soft hum of Kadar speaking to her favorite child of the new generation, comforting him as he rested. The silence was terrible; it was lonely, and he found himself curling up tightly on the fur. It was quite a long time before he fell asleep, and he was restless all night.

Shenanigans

Mon, 14 May 2012 19:17:04 -0400

E6 Alchemical + Freshly Exalted Solar = Shenanigans Of Epic Proportions

Steel: It was actually pretty easy to miss him, even for a new Solar still reeling in the sudden boost to her senses, the newfound strength and untold potential welling in her body. He lay in the tall grass, unmoving, eyes closed, face serene, long black hair falling around pale, angled features. His clothes were bizarre; unlike any style she’d seen or heard of before, an odd combination of sweeping half-skirt and skin-tight fabric across his chest, his legs free and feet unshod. He was covered under the skirt, which was largely open at the right side, but… not by much. His legs, slender and smooth, were mostly free. His muscle definition was clear… and, well, damn. Damn and a half, was he hot. And completely unconscious. She could trip over him in the tall grass if she wasn’t paying attention.

Loquacious: Luckily, her horse was paying more attention than she was, and whinnied at her before she could run into him. A sweeping glance takes it all in and - daaaamn. She’s not attracted to men often, but daaamn. That was a fine piece of ass there.

Loquacious: “Don’t have time for this-“

Loquacious: But that little nagging, much-neglected voice of her compassion pops up. She pinches the bridge of her nose and with a grumble hops down from the wagon’s bench to haul this idiot up and to… relative safety. She could prop him up and it it’d be harder to spot her, even.

Steel: He was settled into the saddle behind her, leaning on her heavily- not uncomfortably, but there was something incredibly strange about this man. She couldn’t place it. But he was warm, and his bare chest settled against her back as his arms draped around her, his head hanging half-limp, lips not far from her ear as the horse, nickering and grumbling at the extra load, charged on.

Loquacious: “Sorry Sol. Can’t help it.” She gives him a pat and tries not to squirm at the unusual sensation. Why does EVERYONE have to be so TALL?! Still, on they go, wagon trundling along behind them.

Loquacious: By nightfall, they’re reasonably far away that they can stop.

Steel: He still hasn’t stirred in this time, although he seems to be fine- not injured at all, just asleep. Not even feverish; nonetheless, it would probably be best to take stock.

Loquacious: Loquacious sighs and pulls the exam tabletop over her desk inside, lights the candles, and hauls him inside, laying him down and checking. Hmmmmm. Nothing broken, the head seems perfectly fine - she unlocks a drawer and withdraws a bundle of herbs, which are lit from one of the candles, then blows the smoke across his face. The smell is incredibly bitter and cough-inducing.

Steel: Nothing appears to happen. At all. The smoke isn’t even swirling into his nose and mouth.

Steel: And suddenly the thing that was so strange- so incredibly strange, that she couldn’t put her finger on before- is obvious. He hasn’t drawn a single breath since she found him.

Loquacious: But-but he’s clearly alive and warm! What is this? It’s ground out and she rests her head on his chest. Surely she’d have noticed a lack of a heartbeat-

Steel: It’s definitely… well, there’s something. His chest is warm- warm and muscular and comfortable- and she can very clearly hear the sound of a beating organ pumping blood through him. But he’s not breathing.

Loquacious: She frowns and brings a candle closer to double-check his face. No blue? This is… very bizarre. Hmmmm… She turns him onto his back.

Loquacious: THWACK.

Steel: Holy BALLS that was hard! It gave like regular flesh, felt like it, but this dude must have like steel for bones or something, fuck!

Loquacious: Aaaand then the swearing starts. Riverspeak, Firetongue, Forestspeak, and Old Realm all in a rush of foul-mouthed blasphemy.

Loquacious: Ow ow ow ow ow. She shakes her hand out. Fuckit. He’s fine. If that didn’t do anything he’s fine and OW. Probably somebody’s project that got dumped.

Steel: “Nuh.” He groans quietly, bracing his hands on the table, and pushes himself, up, reaching up to rub his face. “Ugh.” He scrunches up his face, rolling over, taking no notice of the woman in the room, and automatically turns off his active charms so he can run a diagnostic on himself.

Steel: The beautiful dark-haired man gracefully alters his shape into something completely unknown: Beautiful silvery skin, like liquid, seams and joints where metal meets to create an expressive face, long, midnight-blue hair, beautiful features, his entire body done in shiny black, silver, and dark blues. “Fhnnn.”

Loquacious: “WHAT IN JUPITER’S FROSTY CUNT?!” She’s out the door and staring wide-eyed within a second.

Loquacious: Seriously, the woman has no idea what she’s looking at. She’s tiny, with dark skin, too-wide leaf-green eyes, hair that is dark and of indistinguishable color in the moonlight. Her clothing is mostly brown, a short robe that ends midway down her thighs with long, tight sleeves, and what looks like an obi at first glance, but with a more thorough look is clearly a combination between a sash and a robe - he can’t see it from where he is, but it buttons up the back, with light boning to offer support to a woman of far greater chest size than she - because she’s flat. Clothed, she looks completely flat-chested, though her hips are well… outright amazing. She’s muscular too, though the only place that’s really visible right now are her legs, bare to her boots, which come up to the middle of her shins. Her clothing is also mostly dark, excepting the edges of the robe, sealed with a light, silky-looking fabric.

Steel: A lesser man would have toppled, but he rolled gracefully to his feet in front of table, hands splayed across it, shouting back at her in a completely foreign language for several moments- unlike anything she’d ever heard before- and then caught himself, rubbed his nose, and pressed one finger to his forehead. “Uh. No. Wait, I.” It sounded like he was struggling a little to speak… and then shook his head, looking up at her… and an anima banner flared. Just a bit. He was clearly activating some sort of charm… hoping she would speak, rather than attack. He needed to assimilate her accent to understand her properly.

Loquacious: Blink. Blink. There goes more swearing before - “Just what are you?!” She points at him, not going for the dagger down her sash just yet. … He can see a sword leaning near the door - she must have forgotten it in her shock. “And turn that down! Somebody’s going to see it and they’re already looking for me!” Oh right he’s not speaking any language she knows- She mimes snuffing out a candle, hoping the excited tone will convey the point.

Steel: He stared at her for what seemed like a minute, and then the anima flowing around her flared, compressed, and vanished back into himself. “Apologies. I needed to analyze your language further to use it properly. I only learned rudimentary Old Realm before departing Autochthonia.” He stood, raising his hands. “I am not going to hurt you.”

Loquacious: “… Where?” It seems he’s triggered her curiosity. She squints at him, but that’s a place she’s never heard of. Not the first time, but what sort of place makes men-who-aren’t-men and then doesn’t teach them one of the more common languages before sending them out?

Steel: He furrowed his brow. He had been briefed on quite a lot of what was going on… and nodded. “Autochthonia. It is Elsewhere.”

Loquacious: She frowns at him, before picking up the capital E - ooooh. But. That. Didn’t make sense. She apparently can’t keep her thoughts off her face very well, or isn’t trying to.

Steel: “Relax. I know. You wouldn’t know anything about us. You are… Exalted?”

Loquacious: Well, if the Wyld Hunt finds them he’s going to be in shit at least as deep as what she’s in… “Yes. Very recently. Did you hear the shockwave? I have no idea how long you were lying there.”

Steel: He frowned. “I don’t… know. I confess I don’t know much about the Exalted of Creation. I’m here to learn and send back a… a communication.” He could send one message back to the Reaper Project. One. And suddenly he felt small, and a bit terrified, slinking back onto the table. “Hhhh…”

Loquacious: Another world. Another. World. Before she gets caught up in the implications, though- “Sit down.” Imperious little thing. “The last thing I need is you bashing your head on something.” Grumble grumble. She finally approaches, and as she comes into the candlelight-

Loquacious: Her shoulder-length hair looks like garnets, spun out into spidersilk-thin spirals, the curls bouncing with each movement. To someone not familiar with the gem, it probably looked more like blood. Someone familiar with terrestrials would instantly be able to see the dragon’s blood in her; fire-aspect, from the look of it. Her robe is brown, with teal trim and a golden sash, and a scarlet under-robe just barely visible around the collar; her boots are almost exactly the same shade of brown. With skin the color of chocolate, though, all the brown does is make her look utterly unremarkable - to those born in creation, at least. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back and out of her eyes, and frowns. She needs something to eat, but would this metal man?

Steel: He frowned, rubbing his face. “I just need to rest and let myself charge,” he rumbled, but nonetheless sat back down on the table. “I’m the Enchanting Reflection of Muted Light on Silvered Steel,” he added, looking up and flashing a winning smile. A smile created, calculated for maximum winning.

Loquacious: She blinked at him. Was he flirting? Nobody flirts with her. “Loquacious Veritbane Arabella Jenina Dibare. Usually just Loqua.” She… doesn’t translate any of the names from Riverspeak. ‘Chatty Lungmoss’ tends to get weird looks. Is that a blush?

Steel: He cocked his head. “Pretty. You can call me Steel,” he added, standing up. No time for resting, really. “I’m going to… need some help, I think, assimilating. Gathering information. Learning about the Exalted here. Why did you get so nervous when I used my Interpolative Syntax Emulator?”

Loquacious: “Because unless I’m very lucky - and I’m not that lucky - there’s a Wyld Hunt on my ass or there will be very very shortly.” She rubs her face, shutting the door and leaning against it. “And I would really recommend you go back to looking like not-a-construct and keep the fireworks off, because if they see you you’ll be in shit just as deep.”

Loquacious: Where to even start? “What do you already know, or expect?” Easiest to just start by disabusing notions.

Steel: He frowned. “They hunt Exalts here? Absolutely ridiculous, we are the heroes that the people adore!” He crossed his arms. “And what is with this thing, where is all the… the flying machines, the incredible technology of Creation?”

Loquacious: She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to make something to eat while I explain. Do you want anything?” She starts getting things out of drawers and bins without waiting for an answer. “That was before the Shogunate. That was by most counts about… 1500 years ago. When the Shogunate fell, there was a lot of chaos. The Great Contagion, the fae attacking… There’s evidence Creation may have shrank. In any case, a bit over 750 years ago, the Scarlet Empress managed to seize control of the Realm Defense Grid and drove them off.” She shakes her head. “Things have been steadily degrading since - but you don’t know what the Shogunate was.”

Loquacious: Nom nom pepper. “The Solars were Usurped, declared Anathema along with the Lunars. By the Dragonblooded. The Shogunate was their government, but there was a lot of infighting and, well. In any case, the Immaculate Order hunts down any Celestials it hears about, and in the past… five or so years? Since about the time Her Redness up and vanished, at least, there’s been more and more of them. We’re damn lucky we’re not on the Isle, or we’d already be dead.”

Steel: He stared, but dismissed the thought of food. “I don’t eat. It would be wasteful to feed an Alchemical. So… so the Exalted turned upon one another after Autochthon left?”

Loquacious: Blink blink. “I suppose? I have no idea who that is.” A shrug. She re-arranges the forge, modifying it into a makeshift stove, and tips some oil into a skillet, tossing another pepper, bits of carrot and is that a potato? into it, then frowns. Hmmm. She’s got some venison left, or that beef is about to go bad…

Steel: He furrowed his brow. “Autochthon is… god. Home. We live on his body, and maintain him. He once presided over Creation, and… left. We have only found records up to the time he departed.”

Loquacious: She stares at him, selecting one of the meats at random, cuts a decent-sized steak off, and flips it into the skillet, dodging the little drops of hot oil that splash out in response. “Uh… huh.” She considers. “Okay then. That… explains a lot. Things have, from your perspective, pretty much gone right down the shithole.”

Steel: He sighed softly. “So you are… what kind?” He blinked.

Loquacious: “Solar, Twilight caste. Exalted… seven… no, eight hours ago, as of now.”

Steel: He nodded. “Alchemical, Moonsilver caste. Born eighty years ago, at the end of the Elemental War.” M-moonsilver caste!? Did that mean… all that metal…

Loquacious: He gets wide-eyes’d again. She can’t even manage a response to that!

Loquacious: Except, “If they find us, they’re probably going to kill you for parts.”

Steel: He blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “I would really, really like to see them try that. Who are they?”

Loquacious: “They’re highly trained monks with powerful Dragonbloods, trained to take out ‘Anathema’. They’ve been withdrawing over the past few years but I was… shall we say noisy.”

Steel: “… Hm. How far off, do you think?” He stood, taking a long, deep breath. “I can protect you, if you’ll allow me to travel with.”

Loquacious: “Well, any that were already there should be dead, so… a day, if they had any fast riders and good horses left.”

Steel: He stared. “… What did you DO?”

Loquacious: “But that’s not a guarantee. I’m only stopping because overstressing Soly - my horse - is an even surer way to get killed from a lack of transportation.”

Loquacious: She looks sheepish. “Er… blew up one of their outposts.”

Loquacious: “They killed my cousin!”

Loquacious: She flips the meat over, stirring the vegetables as well.

Steel: “That’s… impressive. Do we need to be moving?”

Loquacious: “… Yeeeaaah. Because if that blast didn’t kill all of them, then they’re probably already on their way.”

Steel: “… Fast or stealthy?”

Loquacious: “… Stealthy would be better. They’re good trackers.”

Steel: “Then there’s… not much I can do about that. I do stealth, but I can’t… move a caravan if they know what you look like.” He frowned. “But I think I can handle them.”

Loquacious: She shrugs. “First thing in the morning I’m re-painting it, which will make us a lot less noticeable, and I was alone, so having you along will help with that too.”

Loquacious: “Hell, a fourth of the clan is here, and they’ll have scattered too, which also makes it harder…”

Steel: He nodded, and his metal flesh reformed smoothly into the appearance of human skin, his hair retaining its radiant color and shine. “Better?”

Loquacious: Loq notices the food’s about done, gets a wooden plate from one of the racks. “You’re sure you don’t want any? It’s gonna go bad if it doesn’t get eaten soon.”

Loquacious: She nods. “Much better.”

Steel: “I don’t eat. I told you, it would be wasteful to feed Alchemicals. A few of us have stomachs installed, but… neh. I can purify water, though, by drinking it.”

Loquacious: “I see. Fair enough.” She flips it onto the plate and moves the skillet over to let it cool. She pulls the chair out and flips the lightly-padded board over to reveal a normal desk under it. It latches under the high cabinets overhead. She scoots the papers around so she can eat without spilling anything on anything important.

Loquacious: … Good grief that is a purely ridiculous income.

Steel: He wouldn’t actually know! Since his own society was pretty much communist. “Very… nice desk,” he says, suddenly longing for his own floating desk.

Loquacious: “Thanks. The desk itself was built in, I modified it so I could have somewhere to sleep and a surgery without getting my desk all messy.”

Patchy

Fri, 11 May 2012 13:43:05 -0400

In which a library is visited, and a squeefest is had. Also crying.

ST: AND WE’RE WALKING.

ST: IN DEEP, HUMID

ST: CITY STREETS

Loquacious: BLEH HUMIDITY. Loq’s hair is frizzing out. This is bad when one’s hair is down past their shoulders and curly.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken doesn’t mind the humidity, the rest of the city on the other hand…

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition is the opposite!

Loquacious: Loquacious sighs. “And now I’m starting to wish I’d grabbed a short-sleeved robe.” Grumble.

Marast the Unbroken: “If you had, you’d have found something else to complain about.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Like these cramped streets.”

Loquacious: “Meh, I’ve seen far worse.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Cities get worse than this?”

Loquacious: “It could be dirty too.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Let’s just get on with this so we can get out of here.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Sure it could be worse. The Darkbrood could be here.”

ST: YOU DON’T SAY.

ST: … NAH, CARRY ON.

Loquacious: Loquacious sighs. “So. Remember much about the library, or this librarian?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Not that much? I barely remember she’s a she.”

Wind’s Tradition: “I don’t think I’d ever actually been to the library before.”

Loquacious: “Oh. Lovely.”

Marast the Unbroken: “This will interesting, to say the least.”

Loquacious: “Quite so.” Anything interesting about the streets or are we just wasting time?

ST: The Library itself is some fifteen floors that you can see; it’s a large tower in the near-center of the city, with five sides and a central spire, arranged in a sort of hacienda-shape. The entrance to the center spire, you can sort of see from above at the lip of the chasm where it rests, is connected from the very top.

ST: If those are the entirety of the central archives, they’re rather small compared to the rest of the library.

ST: There are actually multiple entrances across the chasm to reach the library; at least three to each side.

Wind’s Tradition: “Want to bet there’s more buried in the walls?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Because there’s always more buried in the walls.”

Loquacious: “Probably more buried in the walls.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest emerges, apparently sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “I smell… books.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Yes. Down there.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Other forms of storage too.”

Loquacious: “So do I. So. How do we get there.”

Wind’s Tradition: “This way.” Wind heads thataway.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken follows along

Loquacious: “Ah.” Loq follows!

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest is not far behind.

ST: The interior of the Library does have more dug into the walls, but even taking that into account, the interior is gigantic. Almost TOO gigantic, really. Books, combined with crystal copies of the same, seem to stare at you as you walk in. A small reference desk stands here, empty of a librarian. A small bell with a push-button rests there, along with a small rotating file, and ther eare several pneumatics leading elsewhere.

Loquacious: Loquacious’ eyes widen and sparkle. BOOKS!

Silent Tempest: Jaw meet floor.

Wind’s Tradition: “So. Enough books?”

Loquacious: Loquacious lets out that sort of high-pitched noise she’s clearly not meant to make.

Silent Tempest: “Hehehehehe. Holy crap, it is a good day to be me!”

Loquacious: “Ehehehehehehe!”

Marast the Unbroken: “Meh books.”

ST: All of you can feel the electric sensation of flowing essence when you enter. You are in a manse’s Area of Influence.

Wind’s Tradition: “Now, can you READ them?”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest begins running back and forth. “I don’t know where to start!”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition is quite used to that tingle.

Loquacious: Loquacious joins him, noting the tingle at the back of her mind. “Let’s find out!”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest picks a book out at random. What does he get?

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken follows along wondering why everyone is so excited

Loquacious: Loquacious picks another one, from a different section, eyes wide with glee.

Marast the Unbroken: I mean everyone knows that the best answers come from the mouths of the wise, not from a page right?

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition takes it in, sussing out the pattern of the library to see what sort of books are where.

ST: Tempest:

ST: “I don’t understand why you’re so bent on hating me, anyway.”

ST: “It’s how I’m programmed. And even if I were to delete it, I’d hate you anyway…”

ST: “Are you sure about that? We’ve been sitting and having coffee like this every year for, what…”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition notices Marast seeming a bit confused. “Marast…you lost your village to sickness made of the Fair Folk, right?”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest looks at the cover of the first book

Loquacious: Loquacious has a different book. From a different section.

Wind’s Tradition: “Let’s see…medicine, medicine…”

ST: … It’s a ways off, looks like.

Wind’s Tradition: “Medicine, here we go. Fae…no, Wy - Wyld…”

Marast the Unbroken: “Right.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition pulls out a book and tosses it to Marast. The book is titled, “15 Typical Wyld Plagues and How To Cure Them” .

Wind’s Tradition: “Any of these look familiar?”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest gets an idea and begins looking for the history books, seeing if he can look any references to Sidereals andor Chaos Seers. After replacing the first book, of course./

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition had been trying to go from the end of the alphabet. Stumbled onto the beginning, and numbers. Keeps that silent for now.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken flips through the book, searching for similarities

Loquacious: Loquacious raises an eyebrow at the book and tucks it under her arm, then starts looking for occult books, since that’s her excuse for being here.

ST: Well. You don’t find either of Sidereals or Chaos Seers searching the public area.

ST: The occult stuff, most of the level 0 thaumaturgy stuff is here. It’s pretty dry reading. There’s also general theotechnical theory here, as well as what might be a first age secondary school’s education on basic physical principles.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest harrumphs

Loquacious: Loquacious makes a face. Sighs. Starts picking out things that look useful anyways.

Silent Tempest: “Wind, is there a… ‘restricted’ section to this library?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Probably.”

[OOC] ST: Why yes. The Archives of Voile. :|

Wind’s Tradition: “I’d try that bell on that desk.”

Loquacious: “Hmmm?” Loq’s picked out the three most likely-looking books, and re-joins the group.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest rings the bell

ST: “HYEEEEEEEE~S?” HO SHIT WHERE DID THAT DAPPER ARTISAN COME FROM!?

Loquacious: Loquacious jumps! Barely manages to catch the books.

Loquacious: “Gah!”

Marast the Unbroken: “Do you make it a habit of surprising everyone who enters your library?”

ST: “Hyeeeeeees.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest looks for the source of the voice.

ST: This is not Patchy. You are… Not sure who this is, except that he’s male and looks sort of snooty. He’s stepping behind the desk right now, actually.

Loquacious: Loquacious grumbles. Clutches books. It’s a good thing her hair was already trying to stand on end.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition just stands back, amused.

Snooty Librarian: “Now, How can I help youu?” He’s got a giant shit-eating grin on his face.

Silent Tempest: “I have looked for historical volumes in this library and my search has come up empty.”

Snooty Librarian: “Ahhhhh!” He leans closer. “And what were you looking for?”

Loquacious: Loquacious wanders over to Wind and leans against him.

Silent Tempest: “Well, as has been noted by my Artisan friend multiple times, my education in the Mountain Folk has been lacking. So, I want to investigate the history of the mountain folk, this city in particular.”

Snooty Librarian: “Ahhhh. Hyeees, this way…” He leads you to… The public history section, which you already know where it is.

Silent Tempest: -.-‘

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition hugs Loq as he watches.

Loquacious: Loquacious tries not to snicker, and shows him what she’s found so far. “Think we should ask about Han-Tha specifically?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Yes.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition speaks up. “So, ah, he’s actually looking for info on Chaos Seers. And we in general are looking for books on Rathess and Han-Tha.”

Snooty Librarian: That causes the Artisan to drop his monocle. “I beg your pardon…?”

Wind’s Tradition: “I figure the Chaos Seer information may be restricted. So, Rathess and Han-Tha to start?”

Loquacious: Loquacious snerks.

Snooty Librarian: “Hmph. Silly rumor, Chaos Seers.” He waves it away. “But as for Rathess and Han-Tha…”

Loquacious: Loquacious sighs and digs around in her sash.

Loquacious: “Here.” LOQ WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET THAT.

Snooty Librarian: “Hmmmmm~?” He looks at the papers, with his monocle in. “HMMMMMM.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest wheels on Wind. “Oh now you want to be chatty. Thanks Wind.”

Wind’s Tradition: “What?”

Silent Tempest: “Just… nevermind.”

Snooty Librarian: “Ohhhhh! Why didn’t you just ASK for access to Voile? This way…” He leads you through the library in silence.

Loquacious: Loquacious laughs.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition chuckles, and follows.

Marast the Unbroken: “Tempest, ask a direct question, that’ll be the day.”

Loquacious: Loquacious follows, still grinning.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken follows along

Loquacious: “Oh, and is there anything specific I need to do to check these out?” She knows some libraries are picky.

Silent Tempest: “Well forgive me for trying to be subtle. Based on the reactions we’ve got from two separate occasions, I’d say I’m right to be cautious.”

Snooty Librarian: “Hmmmmm~” A long corridor, and you’re in open air again, guardrails crackling with faint Air essence. “I would suggest not falling, it’s a long time to say goodbye, hyeeeeees~”

Snooty Librarian: Soon enough, the golden spire covered your whole view, and he presses a hidden panel, which glows, and a previously hidden door slides open. “The elevator will take you down into Voile.”

Loquacious: “You’re forgiven.” Smirk.

Wind’s Tradition: “Thanks.” Wind nods to the librarian and steps on in.

Loquacious: “Thank you!” Loq smiles, stepping on after Wind.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest follows

ST: I’ll just assume Marast and Arrnaxt are here, as you make your descent into the depths. It’s surprisingly bare, save for murals that make a wonderful view; each depiction is strange, alien, and yet powerful and mechanical.

ST: Eventually, it reaches the bottom of the chasm and beneath, and it opens to a large manse, crackling with electricity, clearly bigger inside than out, no matter how you slice it. Crystal lines the walls, in immense shelves that never seem to stop. And near the top, playing an organ, several books of crystal floating around her, is a female Artisan of white jade with black jade hair, who is wearing a lavender uniform. On her hat (also lavender) are three symbols, of a sun, a moon, and a star.

Patched Quilt: She turns to regard the elevator as you descend. She waves a hand, and a crystal book comes into her hand. She walks toward the elevator, with purpose.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition waves and steps out.

Wind’s Tradition: “Greetings. My friend here…” He indicates Tempest. “…seeks information on the Chaos Seers.”

Loquacious: Loquacious waves back, stepping off carefully. “Hello.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest emits a low whistle and steps out of the lift.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest “I am speechless. I have no words for this.”

Loquacious: Loquacious gawks AFTER saying hello. Gonna take a bit to get her attention again.

Silent Tempest: “This is… yeah.”

Loquacious: “… yeah.”

Marast the Unbroken: “More books. Hmmm.”

Patched Quilt: “… Hm. This is the Archive of Voile. Who are you, and whose authority lets you approach?”

Loquacious: Loquacious shakes head to snap out of it, digging the papers out of her sash again.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest grabs Marast by the shoulder and forces him to look at the crystal lined walls. “These aren’t just more books. These are all of the books! ALL OF THEM!”

Patched Quilt: “Let’s see…” She takes it. “How to check for forgery of authorization…” The book in her hand floats away from her hand and another comes into it. She reads it while she checks the papers.

Patched Quilt: “… These are in order.”

Patched Quilt: She blinks.

Patched Quilt: She looks at all of you again.

Loquacious: Loquacious thought SHE was bad. “Well, yes. Why wouldn’t they be?”

Wind’s Tradition: “…a literal memory palace?”

Marast the Unbroken: “Meh”

Patched Quilt: “… YOU!” She is looking RIGHT at Loquacious. “You you you! What are you doing here!?”

Loquacious: Loquacious jumps. “What?!”

Loquacious: “What did I do?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Be a Solar?”

Marast the Unbroken: “Calm down, Loq hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Patched Quilt: “You told me not to let you back in! Even- Wait, Loq? D-d-don’t lie, that’s Ana!”

Loquacious: “I’m Loquacious Dibare, Heir to Anaxandra but not that perverted old pain-in-the-ass.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition peers.

Wind’s Tradition: “…Loq, did Ana have a relationship with this one?”

Loquacious: “Evidently.”

Patched Quilt: She’s clearly peering at Loquacious carefully, as if trying to assess the truth of your statements. Eventually she nods. “… perhaps I was mistaken. You’re much less than Anaxandra was the last time I saw her.” She hands back the papers, and lets the crystal book float away from her hand. “How to welcome guests.” It floats into the archive and another comes back. “This way, please. I will take you to the proper section.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition follows

Loquacious: Loquacious isn’t sure whether to be insulted or relieved, but follows anyways.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest does likewise

Patched Quilt: “Section 25-Fire: General histories, comprising the entirety of Dijak’s sealed records.”

Patched Quilt: Pretty much, yes. Needle, haystack. You’re probably going to be here a while.

Loquacious: Loquacious staaaaaaaaaaaares.

Silent Tempest: “Hmmm… Think the EST construct could help here?” Tempest asks, looking at the massive set of crystals. “Given the apparent lack of contact in this area, I kind of doubt it.”

Loquacious: Loquacious headtilts.

Loquacious: Loquacious jawdrops.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest waves hand in front of Loquacious’ face.

Loquacious: Loquacious doesn’t seem to notice.

Marast the Unbroken: “At this rate, we might get better answers by asking the librarian.”

Silent Tempest: “Wind, could you help Loquacious out here? She’s in shock, though,” he said looking at the stack “… I can’t exactly blame her.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Is anyone actually listening to me?”

Silent Tempest: “I heard you.”

Anaxandra: “Ahem. Well. This is an interesting problem.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest looks at the librarian. “What is?”

Anaxandra: That was Loquacious who walks over to the archivist and hands over a book from her sash. “For you. I’m sorry for what I said. It was entirely to keep this place safe.”

Silent Tempest: “Oh for… Ana? I kind of need my Solar back please?”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition tugs Loq. “Hey.”

Patched Quilt: “Wh- Wh-” Blink blink, she opens the book.

Anaxandra: “She’s in the middle of having a mental orgasm, but we honestly don’t have time for such shenanigans.”

Patched Quilt: “… I thought- But but but-“

Anaxandra: “No, really, Patchy. I’m sorry- Oh, hello, Wind.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Would someone tell me what is going on?”

Silent Tempest: “Ana has taken control of Loquacious. The sight of the librarian must have triggered a flashback something fierce and she took advantage of it.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Shit.”

Anaxandra: “… No, seriously, she’s still squealing in there over all the books.”

Silent Tempest: “Or that.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Ana, we need to talk.”

Silent Tempest: “So, are you going to offer your assistance, or are you just going to sit there until you regress?”

Wind’s Tradition: “So…you’re Ana?”

Anaxandra: “I would if you’d stop questioning for a minute.” She takes a breath. “Let’s see if I can remember… Access, please, information on the following: Contacts with the municipality known as Rathess, past thousand years; contacts with the spirit of the darkbrood spirit known as Han-Tha, the corpse-eater, past century.”

Anaxandra: … Nothing happens. “… Fuck, that’s right, I don’t have attunement- Patchy could you…?”

Anaxandra: “And you’re a tall glass of water if ever I’ve seen one,” Ana smarms back.

Patched Quilt: ‘Patchy’ repeats what was just said.

Anaxandra: Ana looks disappointed. “… Only this much? Rathess must be ruined…”

Silent Tempest: “You’ve been out of it for a while. Yes, Rathess has seen better days.”

ST: It’s still a giant swarm.

Marast the Unbroken: “Has everyone just decided to ignore the Lunar?”

Anaxandra: “… I hope I’m not this annoying to her.”

Anaxandra: “No, it’s just that everyone’s asking me questions at once.”

Anaxandra: “For fuck’s sake.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest backs off, hands up in mock surrender.

Wind’s Tradition: “Hmm…given her comments, I’d say you are a bit annoying, yes.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Mainly on matters of sexuality - when she doesn’t go along with you.”

Anaxandra: “Heh heh. Yeah, that’s pretty fun.”

Marast the Unbroken: “…”

Wind’s Tradition: “So, Marast, what did you want to ask the previous incarnation of your Solar Mate about?”

Wind’s Tradition: “While she’s here.”

Anaxandra: “Thank you.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition nods. “What I wish to speak with you about, should maybe wait until Loq can speak too. So, not like this.”

Marast the Unbroken: “I was just wondering what the incarnation of me you knew was like?”

Anaxandra: “Hm? Erin? Never could stay in gender. Thought it was funny.” Hm, what else…? “We didn’t talk much, overall; mostly it was to try and drag me out of the lab and do something for once.

Anaxandra: “At the same time, I listened. Even if wasting even a moment was too much, sometimes. But then, I never did like how things went around others of the Sun’s Chosen.

Anaxandra: “Maybe I should explain… Before I ever Exalted, I was a servant-“

ST: Tempest will find the story all too horrifyingly familiar and all too common.

Anaxandra: “Normally, it wasn’t so bad. I took care of the plants. A gardener. But… New plants came in, sometimes. Creations, I later learned, of Solars with more power than I would ever wield and far more boredom.

Anaxandra: “I was not asked to care for them; I was told it wasn’t necessary.

Anaxandra: “Around then, other members of the garden staff started to vanish, without trace.”

Anaxandra: “Deciding that such could not go on forever, I decided to investigate when the master of the house, a Zenith, decided such was not worth his time.”

Anaxandra: “Of course the plants were carnivores.”

Anaxandra: “But even worse than that, they were mobile. I barely escaped with my life from the garden; some herbicide also aided in this endeavor.”

Anaxandra: “Seeking to expose the horrors, I confronted the local Gens.

Anaxandra: “To them, inevitably, the Zenith was beyond question.

Anaxandra: “So I decided to skip the chain of command.

Anaxandra: “Some days, I wonder if I didn’t sow then what I reaped later, when I laid plans to put his crimes before the people in a way he could not ignore.

Anaxandra: “He decided to shut me up before then.

Anaxandra: “Apparently, the Unconquered Sun had other ideas.”

Anaxandra: “… That was a hundred, and a thousand and more years ago to me. But I never stopped fighting. When the Usurpation came, I knew why. And I fled here, first. There were some things I needed to give Patchy. And I told her to seal the Archives to me, and to tell others she had done so, so as to remove the threat of the Hunt to Dijak. And not long after that, well… Loquacious is right here, isn’t she?”

Marast the Unbroken: “And Erin?”

Anaxandra: “Erin was my contact with the Lunars; since a Solar was no longer trusted amongst their number, he- she- whichever she was- acted to try and get the Lunars to expose their mates’ treachery to Creation.”

Anaxandra: “It didn’t get much shift, in the end, but I wanted to hope we made others’ lives easier.”

Silent Tempest: “Ana…”

Anaxandra: “Yes?”

Silent Tempest: “For what it’s worth… when I… when she heard you died… she cried.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…”

Marast the Unbroken: “Who?”

Silent Tempest: “Just in case there was any doubt.”

Wind’s Tradition: “His past self.”

Marast the Unbroken: ‘Oh… “

Anaxandra: “… Ivory’s successor?” She asks.

Silent Tempest: “…yes. Though ironically enough there is someone else who uses a similar name. In the present day.”

Wind’s Tradition: “For the record, everyone, I have no memories of past selves. Then again, I’ve heard that, shortly after the Usurpation, a number of us deliberately sought reincarnation.”

Anaxandra: “… I can’t say I’m surprised. I am disappointed, but not surprised.” She nods. “We have records to search through- Oh.”

Patched Quilt: Patched Quilt is sobbing.

Marast the Unbroken: “Are you alright?”

Wind’s Tradition: “…”

Wind’s Tradition: “C’mon, Patched. You knew she had to be…”

Anaxandra: “Old wounds.” Hugs are given.

Patched Quilt: “BAWWWWWWW”

Marast the Unbroken: “Wind… shut up.”

Silent Tempest: “…even in death, you’re still a jerk.”

Anaxandra: “I never claimed to be anything else, Tempest.” Nevertheless, she’s crying right with Patched Quilt, trying and mostly not succeeding in being comforting.

Patched Quilt: “YOU NEVER SAID YOU WERE TRYING TO KEEP ME ALIVE YOU JERK”

Anaxandra: “Uh-“

Patched Quilt: “JERK JERK JERK.”

Patched Quilt: “SUPER JERK!”

Marast the Unbroken: “Let’s give them some space.”

ST: After all it’s not like you don’t have lots of reading material!

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition gets to reading.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest slowly tugged himself away. It was an absurd thing to think, but as the reincarnation of the person who, in all likelihood, had a hand in Ana’s death, didn’t he have a role in all this?

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken sighs, questions about Erin would have to wait, as hishers memories had not transferred to Marast. But millennia old wounds had just been dug up, and it wasn’t his place to intrude./

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest slowly works his way over to the memory crystals and begins sorting through them.

ST: Yeah the crying doesn’t get quite as loud as when Patched Quilt called Ana a super jerk, but it goes on for about a half hour before they both come back.

ST: In the meantime you learn that yes, Rathess is pretty much a wreck covered in cannibal humans and carnivorous Dragon Kings and Fae; that it is ruled by a small council of old Dragon Kings who encourage these bloody rites of consumption.

ST: Of Han-Tha, you learn that he is an ancient darkbrood god of consumption, dating back to the Primordial War, when the Holy Tyrant declared him traitor and darkbrood for consuming the bodies of both Exalt and deva without regard for order, and that since, except for his spawn of carrion insects, he has not been seen.

ST: His brood, however, is seen, and seen ever more often since the spread of the Contagion.

Wind’s Tradition: “…right. So, do we know any way to defeat a god?”

Anaxandra: “The Ghost-eating Technique. The Terminal Sanction. Pretty much every Exalt had a way to at least hit an incorporeal being.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…uh huh.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Hmm.”

Marast the Unbroken: “I was going to go with stabbing, and maybe a little smashing.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Got any equipment for me that can do the same?”

Anaxandra: “Possibly. Dunno if that cache is still around.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Which one?”

Anaxandra: “Hm? Not quite sure. At least a hundred miles from Dijak. If they were real bastards, they probably trapped the hell out of it and buried me there.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Worth a shot. Can you draw us a map?”

Silent Tempest: “Burying a Twilight with her toys. How appropriate.”

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken GLARES at Tempest

Anaxandra: “… Oh, they would, wouldn’t they. Just to thumb their nose.” She rubs her eyes. “Always with the fucking carnivorous plants, it’s like a running joke.”

Silent Tempest: “What? You don’t think the constructs of the Twilight exalted make appropriate grave goods?”

Marast the Unbroken: “No but you would know about this sort of thing, wouldn’t you?”

Silent Tempest: “Never from firsthand experience, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Anaxandra: She looks around, there had to be a notepad somewhere. “Not to mention the kittens. Trust me, you don’t want to deal with my little kittens.”

Anaxandra: She draws a map of the landmarks, and marks Dijak as southwest of it. “This is how it was a little over a thousand years ago.”

Anaxandra: She gets a funny little smile.

Marast the Unbroken: “Why do I get the feeling that they are neither little nor kittens.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Not anymore.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Then again, I could always use another shape.”

Anaxandra: “Hmmm. Rathess would be…” She marks a general direction, south-by-southeast.

Anaxandra: “And Denandsor…” north northeast. “

Wind’s Tradition: “I’ve got a map to Rathess here.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition compares.

Wind’s Tradition: “…ah. Can Loq ask you again, later?”

Wind’s Tradition: “If we need you again?”

Anaxandra: “All right, but I’m not sure how much help I am back there. It’s… Hard to remember, like everything is distant, lost, reduced.”

Wind’s Tradition: “That’s why I ask.”

Wind’s Tradition: “If need be, can she call you back like this?”

Anaxandra: “She can, but you’d have to ask her to let me take over.”

Patched Quilt: “That’s c-onsistent at least. You mentioned chaos seers?” Patchy asks, then queries the Archives.

Patched Quilt: There are about five books on crystal that float over with the query. “There are quarters here. Please, stay as long as you like.”

Anaxandra: “… I would not have expected you to be that kind.”

Patched Quilt: “Jerk. I remember the good things, too.”

Anaxandra: “Well, nothing for it… I’m not sure how much we’ll remember, but it’s certainly time to cram.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest nabs the proffered crystals.

Wind’s Tradition: “I’m going to need her with me, Ana. May I?” Wind steps close.

Anaxandra: “… I don’t want to go just yet…”

Patched Quilt: “Ana…”

Anaxandra: “I know, I’m not around anymore. Thank you, everyone.” Loquacious’ expression changes.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition steps in and KISSES.

Wind’s Tradition: The wind flows a bit, stirring hair and crystals…

Loquacious: Loquacious is a little shocked by her abrupt return, but it’s Wind and he’s kissing her - all is right in the world. She CLINGS.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition …seems to glow just a bit?

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken expression can be summed up like this: D’awwww

Patched Quilt: She recoils from the sight like something got a little too bright.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition eventually lets Loq go. “Good to have you back. I was worried.”

Loquacious: Loquacious smiles, nuzzling against his chest. “Heh. There wasn’t anything to worry about, but thank you.” Loq strokes Wind’s cheek and just smiiiiles.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest is a little moved by all of this and averts his gaze.

Wind’s Tradition: “So how much of what just happened do you remember?”

Loquacious: “Since she shared her backstory.” Patched gets her attention! “And… if you want to talk to her, feel free to ask. I don’t mind as long as I’m not in the middle of something.”

ST: Well, the drawn map is still there, it’s not that difficult to copy.

ST: Looks like it’d be… Hm. Well…

ST: Just based on the direction of the three cities, it’s in a small three mile area quite a bit to the Northeast, about two hundred or so miles out of your way.

ST: The landmarks match, too.

Patched Quilt: Patched nods. “Thank you.”

Loquacious: Loquacious shrugs. “Least I can do.” Hmmm. If they visit her mother’s grave, it’ll be a bit closer to on the way…

Loquacious: Loquacious blink. Blink blink. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Hmm?”

Loquacious: “That’s maybe fifty miles from where my mother’s buried.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…we’re going by there anyway.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition peers at the map.

Marast the Unbroken: “Coincidence?”

Loquacious: “He says around the Sidereal.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…are you sure it’s 50?”

Loquacious: “It could be less.”

Wind’s Tradition: “I mean, if that is…that…”

Silent Tempest: “Even I think you’re giving the Spiders too much credit here.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…they could be within line of sight.”

Loquacious: “Unlikely, with all the trees.”

Wind’s Tradition: “True. I mean, unless they were right on top of…”

Wind’s Tradition: “…wait.” Wind peers closer.

Loquacious: “…” Loq double facepalms.

Wind’s Tradition: “…these trees are unusually marked.”

Loquacious: “Hmm?”

Wind’s Tradition: “…”

Loquacious: Loquacious looks

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition facepalms.

Loquacious: “What?”

Wind’s Tradition: “That is the glyph for ‘carnivorous’.”

Wind’s Tradition: “And a thousand years would be enough time for them to grow into trees.”

Loquacious: “… And they had a damn hard time digging the grave…”

Marast the Unbroken: “Well, there are times a fire is needed to revitalize a forest.”

Loquacious: “… I’m pretty sure they’re right on top of each other.”

Silent Tempest: “…Okay, now I’m beginning to think it isn’t a coincidence.”

Wind’s Tradition: “No kidding.”

Loquacious: “No, really?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Now, why did they choose that site for the grave?”

Loquacious: “Because she was killed there.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…logical.”

Marast the Unbroken: “By whom?”

Silent Tempest: “…okay~, going to go into a corner and freak out now. See you guys in an hour or so.”

Loquacious: “Have fun.” Frown.

Loquacious: “I… wasn’t there. And they wouldn’t let me see the body.”

Loquacious: “And Da refused to talk about it.”

Marast the Unbroken: “Great, just great.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…hopefully the trees aren’t her final resting place.”

Loquacious: “Left me with Mama Iphigenia for a few years.”

Marast the Unbroken: “This screams ‘trap for the newly exalted’.”

Loquacious: “Yes, I’m sure Saturn’s temple nearby isn’t a base for Wyld Hunts.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest walks back. “Oh I wouldn’t be so sure. The Maidens are big on irony and all that.”

Loquacious: “Sarcasm.”

Silent Tempest: “Take our current situation, for example.”

Loquacious: “Oh?”

Silent Tempest: “Two people you’re close to you being buried relatively right next to each other, even though they are chronologically separated by hundreds of years?”

Loquacious: “Mmhmm.” A nod. “I got that much.”

Silent Tempest: “This is driving me NUTS! This is screaming ‘this is a sign’ at me and I don’t know what it means!”

Loquacious: “… So ask?”

Silent Tempest: “The… the Sidereals were the advisors of the First Age! If I don’t have the answers, who does?!”

Loquacious: “Do you know everything your predecessor did?”

Wind’s Tradition: “The Loom?”

Silent Tempest: “…No,” Tempest looks dejected “Just bits and pieces that I stumble on.”

[OOC] ST: At this point, Marast goes to check out the chambers mentioned before

Loquacious: “So maybe it’s a clue she left you? And if you ask it’ll come up?”

Loquacious: Loq you’ve been reading too many adventure novels.

Silent Tempest: “Well that’s just it! What possible connection could exist between Anaxandra and your mother?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Ancestors, in a different sense, of her?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Direct, even, each in their own way.”

Silent Tempest: “Well yeah, that much is obvious.”

Loquacious: “It might not be the people so much as the place?”

Silent Tempest: “Regardless, that’s where we’re going.”

Silent Tempest: “This is a… closed circle, all around you” Tempest said indicating Loquacious.

Loquacious: Loquacious headtilts at.

Silent Tempest: “Your mother is there, your previous incarnation is there, her cache is there, whatever is next for you.” Tempest taps the map “It’s there.”

Wind’s Tradition: “So. Do we prepare, or do we just go there and come back?”

Wind’s Tradition: “I think we can get most of the way in tunnel car.”

Loquacious: “It seems like it. And I somehow suspect taking a curved route to hit it on the way would be faster than a straight shot.”

Loquacious: “Well. It may be best to go there and come back. I’m going to need to build another wagon so that Arrnaxt and Marast can have someplace to sit without straining the horses.”

Patched Quilt: “If it matters, your papers will only allow you to access the archives once. Please finish your research as you like before leaving.”

Loquacious: “Duly noted, thank you.”

Silent Tempest: “In the mean time,” Tempest said, grabbing the Chaos Seer crystals “I have reading to get to.”

Loquacious: “As do I.” Sigh.

Loq is Embarrassed

Thu, 03 May 2012 01:26:48 -0400

Poor Loq is never going to recover from this.

Silent Tempest: Tempest exhales. “Alright, lets do this. Construct, give me the name and basic status of Loquiacious Diabre’s immediate family.”

ST: “WORKING.” there is a long pause. “Relations- to- Loquacious- Dibare-: Loquacious- Dibare- zero- removes. Status- she- is- right- fucking- there- sir- ask- her. Adamec- Dibare- one- remove- elder- generation- patriarch- blood. Status- eating. Domnia- Dibare- one- remove- elder- no-blood- matriarch. Status- being- eaten. Hiram- Dibare- one-point-five- remove- brother- Status- walking. Evodia- Dibare- one-point-five- remove- brother- status- staring. Vivanya- brother- one-point-five- remove- status- undestined.”

ST: “WAITING.”

Loquacious: Loq’s eye twitches slightly.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest facepalms “Goddamit Spiders.” he says through his gloved hand. “Request additional information on Domina Dibare, specifically location and a full status report.”

Loquacious: “Oh gods.” Loq covers her ears.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition steps in and HUGS.

Wind’s Tradition: “…hopefully that’s the good kind.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Not the fatal one.”

Loquacious: “I do not want to hear about my step-mother being eaten out! Ew! Ew! Ew!”

Wind’s Tradition: “Beats the other kind.”

Loquacious: “Ew!”

Silent Tempest: “I apologize, it looks my theory is going to have to wait.”

ST: “WORKING. Current- location- Domina- Dibare-” it rattles off a set of co-ordinates that Silent at least knows is consistent with traveling with a caravan. “Detailed- status- subject- is- currently- on- Serenity- Track- Severity- Three- Ascending- Object- used- to- stimulate- reaction- tongue- of-“

Silent Tempest: “STOP”

Loquacious: “EW”

Silent Tempest: “New protocol: Reclassify above status as ‘sexual activity’.”

ST: “Understood.”

Loquacious: “OKAY SO I’M GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER BABY BROTHER THAT’S GREAT CAN WE PLEASE CHANGE THE SUBJECT NOW.”

Silent Tempest: “Ah, right.” Tempest seems to be equally distracted as Loq.

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken heads into the wagon, “Why is Loq shouting?”

Silent Tempest: “Don’t ask. Seriously.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Family matters.”

Loquacious: “Don’t ask. Please.”

Wind’s Tradition: “She received some embarassing information.”

Marast the Unbroken: Marast nods sagely, “No need to inform me then.”

Zenith

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 05:18:08 -0400

Holy fuckballs this is an important moment for Loq and the NU crew. I’m not gonna spoil it for you, but it is very very excellent.

Brief mention of rape, but no details.

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare has just finished with her bath, even though she didn’t really need one. Notably she’d ducked under and glubbed for a bit, but that seemed to have been when she was rinsing her hair. “Wind. Do you remember what I was saying just before I fell over on the bed?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Which time?”

Loquacious Dibare: “… When Tempest finally told us?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Something about how much we needed it?”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare frowns a little. “Mmhmm. I have a theory about who said something to me, but I need to make sure I’m remembering correctly.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Eh?”

Loquacious Dibare: “… I said ‘Sol knows we needed it’, or something roughly like that, right?” Test and confirmation all in one?

Wind’s Tradition: “Yes.”

Loquacious Dibare: “I thought so.” She nods, still frowning. “Well. Might’ve just been proven wrong anyways, but… Hmm.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Oh, right. Now I remember.”

Wind’s Tradition: “‘The Unconquerable knows that we needed today’”

Wind’s Tradition: “Why?”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition …didn’t do that bad a version of Loq’s voice? Maaaybe.

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes, that. Because right after that I had an echo-y voice in my head go ‘Indeed.’”

Wind’s Tradition: “Yeah, you said that.”

Loquacious Dibare: “And, well, you can see why I might think… But there was no response that time so I could be completely off and there’s another perverted old self in my head.”

Wind’s Tradition: “And then we started discussing the dagger.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes.”

Loquacious Dibare: “And it just hit me while I was taking my bath that I’d said that and somebody said ‘yes’ and well.” She shrugs. “And I’m considering, y’know, testing it but at the same time that feels kinda… silly?”

Loquacious Dibare: “I’ve never been very good at remembering to pray.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Oh! That. As I said, prayer isn’t just the kind most people think it is.”

Wind’s Tradition: “You would be praying to Ignis Divine, right?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Yes.”

Wind’s Tradition: “The priests around here can instruct you better than I.”

Loquacious Dibare: Face. Palm.

Wind’s Tradition: “But I would not be surprised if there was a ceremony at Zenith you could participate in.”

Loquacious Dibare: “ThisisnotthesortofthingIwantmadepublicthankyou.” She’s blushing.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition headtilts questioningly.

Wind’s Tradition: “It is something you have not done much. Even if you are among his Chosen, of course you would not be a master of it.”

Loquacious Dibare: “‘Oh yeah thanks for the power spirit-daddy, sorry we don’t chat much but could you maybe confirm my theory that I have both a previous life and you talking in my head? Thanks so much. Love, Loq.’” Given her tone it’s… clear she thinks that sounds idiotic.

Wind’s Tradition: “…ah.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition considers.

Wind’s Tradition: “…that…right there might alllmost count?”

Wind’s Tradition: “You meant it sincerely enough.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare just hides her face in her hands.

Loquacious Dibare: “That was not sincere. That was a demonstration of how stupid I would sound.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition hugs instinctively.

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare hugs back. She’s not particularly prideful, but some things to prick her ego.

Wind’s Tradition: “I can not say I have ever heard back from the Great Maker, and there is reason to believe I might never. You, at least, have the subject of your prayers present.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare hugs tighter. “That’s the thing. That’s never happened before and what if I was just imagining it?” It would… hurt, is what she’s trying so hard not to think about.

Wind’s Tradition: “What difference would there be, between if he said nothing now but did say it earlier, and if you did just imagine it?”

Wind’s Tradition: “…hmm.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Maybe we can ask the priest privately?”

Wind’s Tradition: “He does have the knowledge.”

Wind’s Tradition: “And he would respect confidentiality, I suspect.”

Loquacious Dibare: “… maybe.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Hmm? If he swears not to tell others of your problem, then…is there another aspect t the issue?”

Loquacious Dibare: Loq frowns. “I just…” She shakes her head. Part of it’s ‘what if he doesn’t answer’ and part of it’s ‘what if he does what the fuck do I do’.

Wind’s Tradition: “…okay…then…”

Wind’s Tradition: “We wish to get the information without admitting the true reason we wish to get the information, right?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Then I shall ask him - on my behalf. With you there to oversee - afte all, a Solar knows all this of course, but she wants to see how well this priest instructs.”

Wind’s Tradition: “That…might not get ALL you want, but it should be a good start. What do you think?”

Wind’s Tradition: “It should be no surprise that I do not know much about prayer, especially to the Unconquered Sun.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare frowns. “It… it’s not so much that, okay? I know how to do it. Mama made sure of that.” A sigh. “It’s just. I usually don’t. And what if He does answer?” Ah, that’s the heart of it - What if he’s angry or disappointed or annoyed?

Wind’s Tradition: “…then I shall be here by your side, to bear his answer if it is unpleasant.”

Wind’s Tradition: “But what reason would you have to suspect that? He should know that his word, if that was his word, was confusing. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. And confused people want answers. That’s how things work, even for Solars.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Never told you why I’m on my own, did I?”

Wind’s Tradition: “You kind of did?”

Wind’s Tradition: “You went to the fortress to rescue your cousin.”

Wind’s Tradition: “No one came with you.”

Loquacious Dibare: “Earlier than that, Wind.”

Wind’s Tradition: “You left with no one from your family.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…you were with your family, at least enough to know that your aunt was raped and your cousin kidnapped, weren’t you?”

Loquacious Dibare: “Which was what was running through the camp when I got there. The first time I’d seen them in years.” No wonder she had such an over the top reaction.

Loquacious Dibare: She shudders and frowns. “To cut a long story very short, I spent my sixteenth year in an argument with my father. He gave me an ultimatum, and I refused to back down. Which meant I had to leave the family.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…this part I had not heard.”

Loquacious Dibare: “I’d rather not think about it.” She refuses to meet his eyes. “But I think it’s understandable why I… would think that.”

Wind’s Tradition: “…perhaps. But listen to your own words.” He squeezes gently.

Wind’s Tradition: “The Unconquered Sun is not the father you left.”

Wind’s Tradition: “What you feel guilty about, is not something for him to take offense at, unless you let it get in the way between you and him.”

Loquacious Dibare: Loquacious Dibare tenses again at ‘father’, but relaxes enough to laugh. “I wouldn’t be here with you if I hadn’t told him where he could shove it. I… can’t really say that I regret it.”

Loquacious Dibare: She shakes her head a little. “I think I need some time alone. Alright?”

Wind’s Tradition: “Alright. But. Come Zenith - you know how to ask him. Promise me you’ll do so?”

Wind’s Tradition: “If you don’t, it’ll continue to eat at you. And that would be worse than any answer he may give…even no answer.”

Loquacious Dibare: She sighs again. “You’re right. I will. Thank you, Wind.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition pecks her as he lets her go. “You’re welcome. Now, you wanted to be alone, so…”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition turns and walks out.

Later

Loquacious Dibare: Eventually, zenith comes. Loq had been mentally composing, and composing herself, for a while now. It took a while, but she eventually settled on ‘fuck formality right in the ass.’ She would be herself. “I… know I don’t pray as much as I probably should. But if You’re listening, Ignis Divine… Then so am I.” It probably wasn’t enough, but it was more honest than flowery words and showing off. That can come later, if He answers.

ST: And then to her the world seems suffused with gold for a very long moment.

Be not afraid.
YOU, Wanderer and Child of Wanderers and Exile from Wanderers, know that my house is yours.
YOU, who sit in the ruins of a Time of Glory, know that Glory is once again at hand.
YOU, who seek both Vengeance and Wisdom, know that these paths will diverge.
YOU HAVE SEEN THE WORST OF HUMANITY, AND I GRANT YOU THE POWER TO EXPOSE IT.
KNOW THAT IN AN AGE LONG PAST, FOR LIES PETTY AND TROTH FORGOTTEN
I TURNED MY FACE FROM THE WORLD,
YET I SHALL DO SO NO LONGER.
I AM THE UNCONQUERED SUN
KNOW, CHOSEN, MY EYES ARE UPON THEE.

ST: And then, as quickly as the world was filled with golden light, it fades.

Loquacious Dibare: For several long moments, all she can do is sit, and stare, and clutch at her chest. The first moment she can think again, she commits His words, this golden moment, to her memory forever. She can feel the power still pulsing through her, but doesn’t recognize the increase in her personal power just yet.

Loquacious Dibare: That really happened. He really was listening.

Loquacious Dibare: And he was watching.

Loquacious Dibare: She was going to have to do better.

Loq's Backstory

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 04:49:52 -0400

Potentially triggery for rape. Click with caution!

Wind’s Tradition: “Ah - no offense, Marast. From what you’ve told us, I would count your tribe as ‘civilized’ too. Your children may focus more on practical skills growing up - but they are educated well in that.”

Wind’s Tradition: “As opposed to, say, those pockets of the Realm where children learn to run rape farms, to produce more ‘Chosen’ of Dragons for the Realm, as a ‘practical’ skill.” Such eyeroll.

Wind’s Tradition: “Or so I hear.”

Loquacious: Loquacious doesn’t manage to bite back a snarl at that. Edilia…

Loquacious: “Oh. Believe me. That’s real enough.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Ah. Well then.”

Silent Tempest: “I… the what?!” Tempest is genuienly surprised at this, standing up.

Loquacious: Loquacious is shaking a little from anger.

Wind’s Tradition: “…Loq, do you have experience with this? Might it help to relate your knowledge?”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition goes to her, an arm around her to try to comfort.

Loquacious: “My cousin and my aunt.”

Loquacious: “My cousin was taken a month and a half ago. She had just exalted, but it was in the middle of a town and… the local garrison was alerted and managed to capture her.” Loq clings onto him.

Loquacious: “They also found my aunt, but she managed to keep her power hidden. The captain or whatever they call the man in charge? He, he.” She can’t even get it out.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition HUGS.

Loquacious: Loquacious is clearly on the verge of tears.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition strokes the back of her head, encouraging the tears to come out.

Silent Tempest: “I…can see this is a sore subject… perhaps we should discuss something else.” Tempest said, discomfort plain.

Wind’s Tradition: “No. Let her.”

Wind’s Tradition: “She needs this.”

Marast the Unbroken: Marast the Unbroken stands in silence with a shocked expresion on his face.

Loquacious: Loquacious struggles to get her emotions back under control. Eventually she manages it, though her voice is rough. “He and his men…” She shakes her head. “And took my cousin, to take her back to the Isle. I got there a few days after, before they could transfer her. I tried to save her.” And this is too much now. Loq latches onto Wind and sobs broken-heartedly.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition shoulder-rubs her silently while continuing to hug, trying to get the tension out but not interrupting her story.

Silent Tempest: “…I had no idea.” And it was true. Tempest never investigated those threads because they never came up in his other searches. Well, he knew what he was going to do first thing he got back to the office…

Loquacious: Loquacious finally manages to stop crying again. “We, tripped each other up. The same time I was trying to rescue her she was trying to escape, and we ran into eachother at just the wrong moment and they caught us both.” She scrubs at her face. “They were planning on executing me for my diversion and, and she got in the way.” She takes a deep breath and manages not to start crying again. “It killed her. She was like my own sister.” Wind can still feel her shaking from the grief and rage. “That place isn’t there anymore. It’s scattered for miles around.”

Wind’s Tradition: “Your doing?”

Loquacious: She nods.

Loquacious: “That’s when it happened.”

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition had heard the ending of this, but believes it a good idea to share with the others.

Wind’s Tradition: Wind’s Tradition nods back. “Tell them?”

Loquacious: “… Edilia dabbled in alchemy. Made fireworks and that sort of thing. We still had her notes, and after I got out, I used them. I just meant to blow up that section, where that bastard was. Had called him to his balcony so I could watch his face. But… it was so much bigger than that.” She smiles a grim mockery of a smile. “The entire garrison was scattered for miles around. By the end of it I was glowing gold and had to make a run for it before someone besides my family realized what had really happened.”

Wind’s Tradition: “And as it happens, you ran to me.”

Wind’s Tradition: “By coincidence, though a very fortunate one.”

Yu-Shan Meeting

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 03:08:48 -0400

In which dinner is served and questionable plans are made. Part 2 of 2.

Jen Michael: She laughs. “No, actually, not really. He has an excellent memory. We lived together for a year after I exalted, before I was found. He forgets a few moments here and there, but we work around them.”

Star Seeker: “It’s a solution! Sometimes. I mean, he does something sweet for her, she sees if he remembers the next day, if not, weeell…” Star winks.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest pulls a quill from his vest and begins scratching something out on his napkin.

Silent Tempest: “Forgive my rudeness, but this situation with the Sun’s Seal is vexing me.”

Jen Michael: “It’s fine.” Jen waves it off.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest draws circles representing the different bureaus, lines connecting them together in an elaborate flowchart… “Argh! What am I not seeing?!”

Star Seeker: “Hmm?”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker peers.

Jen Michael: “Hmm?”

Silent Tempest: “Alright.” Tempest says, leaning back from his project. “The way I see it, there is only a small pool of people skilled enough and motivated enough to both steal the Sun’s Seal and use it in such a way to not arouse suspicion.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker pulls some yarn from a pocket, patterns it after Tempest’s drawing, and begins playing cat’s cradle.

Jen Michael: “That’s where we were when you came in.”

Silent Tempest: “It’s just frustrating. After dealing with Deathknights, Infernal Exalted, Yozis, and Fair Folk. Here we have something cleanly in our own back yard and we’re equally as clueless.”

Silent Tempest: “Some Vizier I am.” Tempest says, emptying his glass.

Star Seeker: Star Seeker weaves the threads in-out-in-out.

Jen Michael: “That’s why we’re putting our heads together, yes?”

Rithlen: “Well Yu-shan is not what it once was, the sidereals are divided, the gods are corrupt, and the Incarne are off playing the games of divinity, right now it’s the perfect time for an infiltrator to strike.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest slowly looks at Jen. It’s clear the possibility never occurred to him.

Jen Michael: Jen beams at him. “I’ve been partnered with Star since the day she arrived. Working together isn’t a foreign concept to me.”

Jen Michael: “And Rithlen’s right. Divided, we’re weak.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest winces.

Silent Tempest: “Alright, you win. We work together.” Tempest says, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Rithlen: “If it makes you feel any better, my fellow gods and I barely do anything without a bribe these days.”

Jen Michael: “Glad to hear it.” Jen smiles. “And it’s not that surprising.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest frowns “What isn’t surprising? The Sun’s Seal going missing?”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker frowns, continuing to weave…

Jen Michael: “Actually, the Sun’s been issuing actual orders as well.”

Rithlen: “So it’s more likely there is one or more forgeries floating around.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest stands up so fast he rattles the table. “Are… are you serious?”

Jen Michael: “Quite. Which is part of why we had you over.” Jen nods to Rithlen.

Silent Tempest: “So… The Sun’s eyes are on us once more.” he says, more to himself than anything.

Jen Michael: “I’m afraid we’re quite serious.” Jen nods. “He was personally answering prayers. When I said we have his authority, I mean he personally charged us with finding those responsible and granted us that authority.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker flexes her fingers, then patterns form in the yarn: an empty circle similar to a Night caste mark but swirling, a filled in circle like a Zenith’s but totally solid, a flame rising from an oval, an hourglass, and finally a pair of crossed blades.

Jen Michael: Jen pulls out a quill and grabs a napkin to scribble down the symbols before they’re gone.

Silent Tempest: “Did… did you just do that on purpose?”

Star Seeker: “What?”

Rithlen: “Shit, not one but two infernals.”

Star Seeker: “…I counted five symbols there.”

Jen Michael: “Here.” Jen passes it over.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest pours himself another drink.

Star Seeker: “Though I get the feeling the numerical count isn’t quite right.”

Jen Michael: Jen Michael holds her glass out to him.

Star Seeker: “I mean, indirectly?”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest fills Jen’s glass.

Star Seeker: Star Seeker folds, weaves, then stretches the yarn again. This time it is the Old Realm glyph for “ALL” . Weave, spin, stretch, “INDIRECTLY” .

Rithlen: Rithlen grabs the bottle and drinks directly from it.

Jen Michael: “Thank you.” Jen scribbles down again.

Jen Michael: Jen drinks while she scribbles.

Star Seeker: “It’s less perfect than the Loom, but…” Star sighs.

Star Seeker: “…they won’t let me do this with Loom threads anymore.”

Rithlen: “The shenanigans that caused.”

Silent Tempest: “Gods, it is creepy that we do that sometimes and we don’t even know.”

Jen Michael: “I spent weeks smoothing that over.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker blushes. “But it worked!”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest frowns. Open Mouth Insert Foot.

Rithlen: “Yes but an entire village spent those weeks wondering why they were on fire but not burning.”

Silent Tempest: “I’m… not demeaning you or your divination. Just a comment on the Sidereal condition.”

Jen Michael: “All, indirectly. I think it means she’s right.”

Jen Michael: “Hm?” Jen blinks.

Star Seeker: “Problem is, if they’re all indirect, who’s the direct?”

Jen Michael: “You’re the one with the freaky cat’s cradle dear.”

Rithlen: “It could be someone far enough down the totem pole, so to speak that they wouldn’t be noticed. One of my fellow gods perhaps?”

Star Seeker: “That would be a good way to do it.”

Star Seeker: “And divination only shows what it shows. You can’t tell it to focus on something; you can only suggest. You know that.”

Jen Michael: “It would, yes. Yes, I know.” Jen sighs.

Silent Tempest: “Right. And I’ve screwed up more than on assignment by misjudging a divination. This indicates the involvement of the Infernal Exalted, but in what capacity is not stated.”

Jen Michael: “Yes.”

Silent Tempest: “It just bugs me that something like that CAN be duplicated, period. You’d think it would be made out of… sacred sunbeams or something, I don’t know.”

Jen Michael: “Rithlen mentioned that he could duplicate it.” She glances at him.

Silent Tempest: “what? How?”

Rithlen: “It would take me months and it would require access to the seal itself.”

Rithlen: “Not to mention specialized tools I haven’t had since the first age.”

Star Seeker: “…y’know…if they are stolen Solar sparks…”

Star Seeker: “Might they know where to get, or how to duplicate, those tools?”

Star Seeker: “And they’ve had months.”

Rithlen: “And they have access to Helltech…oh shit.”

Jen Michael: “… Shiiiiiit.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest dosen’t swear, merely drinks more.

Star Seeker: “…oh! I know! Under the Dome! Isn’t there supposedly a spare seal there?”

Jen Michael: Jen grabs another bottle and pours herself another drink.

Star Seeker: “C’mon, Jen, that might be what Venus meant!”

Rithlen: Rithlen pulls out a private flask of very strong ambrosia based liquer and downs it.

Silent Tempest: “Maybe, dare I hope, this is a loose thread? The Ebon Dragon clearly thought his escape would end differently.”

Jen Michael: “I think you may be right, Star. We need a distraction to get everyone OUT of it, first.”

Star Seeker: “…oh. I should tell you, Venus taught me Neighborhood Relocation Scheme when I told her about the investigation. I was practicing it when I dragged that metropolis in.”

Star Seeker: “Sooo…I just relocate the Dome, right?”

Silent Tempest: “…how would that work, logistically speaking?”

Star Seeker: “Then you find seal not there, and there’s, well, some proof.”

Jen Michael: “And me Harmonic Completion, so…”

Silent Tempest: “Huh.” Tempest remarked, hand to chin. “That… could work yes. Risky as hell, but you could do it… theoretically.”

Rithlen: ‘Now THIS is gonna be fun. “

Rithlen: Rithlen grins

Star Seeker: “Yeah. And I just relocate it to Elsewhere.”

Star Seeker: “…I hope the Incarnae won’t be too mad.”

Jen Michael: “Indeed. I think Loquacious will be cackling.”

Silent Tempest: “Might I suggest an alternate option? Isn’t there like an underground network of tunnels in Yu-Shan? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to give the Bureau of Heaven another reason to audit us.”

Star Seeker: “I want to say it’s too big, it won’t fit - but the Scheme seems to widen things to make room.”

Jen Michael: “Oh but we have the Sun’s authority in all matters pertaining to the investigation.” Jen griiiiins.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest is torn between this once in an Exaltation opportunity and his adherence to bureau protocol.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest takes his drink, finishes it and slams it down.

Rithlen: “Come on Tempest, no one will ever forget this. You know it’s gonna be fun.”

Jen Michael: Jen Michael sips from her own drink.

Star Seeker: Star Seeker is apparently the only one not drinking.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest looks down at the table… and at his diagram. “It’s… perfect.”

Rithlen: Rithlen starts to laugh maniacally

Silent Tempest: “This is the perfect distraction.”

Jen Michael: Jen Michael giggles. “Oh?”

Silent Tempest: “A couple of reasons: One, simply put, no one, NO ONE. Is going to expect this. Not the Pattern Spiders no one.”

Silent Tempest: “Two: it also gives us the opportunity to see how the gods present react.”

Jen Michael: “Ooooh…”

Silent Tempest: “most are going to be panicky and angry, but those that aren’t… will bear further… investigation”

Jen Michael: “That they will.” She nods.

Jen Michael: Jen Michael pokes Star in the shoulder.

Rithlen: “Three: if it all goes wrong you can just blame it on me, its the kind of thing I’d do just to see if it would work.”

Star Seeker: “How? This isn’t magitech at all.”

Silent Tempest: “Four: the games themselves. From what I’ve studied of demonology, the Yozis have an obsession with the games of divinity. This is the perfect bait.”

Rithlen: “DO they Know that?”

Jen Michael: “Rithlen!” Jen shakes her head.

Jen Michael: She blinks. “Hmmm.”

Star Seeker: “…why wouldn’t they? This is a simple Charm.”

Star Seeker: “Wait.”

Star Seeker: “The Yozi are obsessed with the Games?”

Silent Tempest: “So the initial concept is good, but it needs refining. Where are the games going to go? What happens along the way? How do we stop the gods from killing us?”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker blinks.

Star Seeker: “Sooo…hide the Games in Malfeas?”

Jen Michael: “Star just said. Elsewhere.”

Star Seeker: “Or Malfeas via Elsewhere.”

Jen Michael: “… Thaaat would work.”

Silent Tempest: “Oh yes. In the text retrieved from the libraries of Orabilis, there are multiple references to it. Very… passionate references.”

Rithlen: “As I said, they’ll be confused, I’ll take the initial blame, while you lot can investigate while every god tries to kill me.”

Star Seeker: “Hope you have a lot of perfect defenses.”

Silent Tempest: “You can find copies of it in Department 182.”

Jen Michael: Jen nods. “Or he could go visit that lovely metropolis.”

Jen Michael: “I’m sure she’d be happy to help.”

Silent Tempest: “now here’s something I don’t get. What is… a metropolis?”

Jen Michael: “Ehehehe.”

Star Seeker: “It’s a girl who’s a city.”

Rithlen: “They’re living cities that used to be some sort of Authocthon based exalted, isn’t it cool!”

Jen Michael: “This is your fault.”

Jen Michael: “You got them started.”

Star Seeker: “A guy who’s a city is a patropolis.”

Silent Tempest: “Autochton is involved now? Great, now all we need is the sibling of the Aftershock primordial and we’ll have the complete set.”

Star Seeker: “Umm, yeah, about that…”

Jen Michael: “Mmhmm…”

Silent Tempest: “It’s my fault. I should learn by now not to open my mouth.”

Rithlen: Rithlen facepalms “You have got to be kidding me”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest Faceplams

Jen Michael: Jen Michael covers a grin.

Star Seeker: “Oh, no no, I mean, I figured this set might come up so I already checked.”

Silent Tempest: “When do you sleep? Honestly, when do you sleep? Relying entirely on resplendencies isn’t remotely healthy.”

Star Seeker: “Didn’t find that one outside of the Void. Didn’t closely check to make sure it wasn’t one of the Neverborn.”

Jen Michael: “Who, me or her?”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest thows up his arms. “All of the above!”

Jen Michael: “Well, I didn’t for most of the week.”

Star Seeker: “I sleep whenever.”

Star Seeker: “Wherever’s convenient. Which includes secure, and usually private.”

Rithlen: “I don’t sleep. I could never understand your obsession with it.”

Jen Michael: “Which means usually in my bed.”

Star Seeker: “Ooonly when I sleep in this manse!”

Silent Tempest: “Primoridals, primordials, primordials. This all ties back to primordials. Well, technically everything does, but everything in our situation is either created directly by a primoridal or is one step removed.”

Jen Michael: “In any case, I just don’t sleep much.” She shrugs. “And yes, but the point is we can distract them and take care of certain… problems.”

Silent Tempest: “So where is the Dome’s new location going to be?”

Momo: “Um… Guys?

Silent Tempest: “Yes?”

Rithlen: “Yeeeeeees?”

Jen Michael: “Hmmmmm?”

Momo: “Much as I hate to ruin a perfectly good plan, why not just go under the dome through the canals and get it?”

Star Seeker: “If everyone’s going after Rithlen, how about I don’t say it so he doesn’t know? But I’ll tell Jen before the operation so Nara-O doesn’t know?”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Dook?” Sis trills.

Star Seeker: “…”

Star Seeker: “…err.”

Jen Michael: “… Because we’re killing two birds with one stone.”

Star Seeker: “You can. Ah. GET under the Dome via the canals?”

Momo: “Can get almost anywhere else…”

Rithlen: “If we’re right, thats exactly what they expect us to do.”

Silent Tempest: “I suggested that initally but…” Tempest blinks. “I kinda… lost it. Huh.”

Star Seeker: “…ahhhahah…aaah…y’mean…”

Jen Michael: “Eeeer….”

Star Seeker: “…all this time…the Sun’s seal…”

Jen Michael: “Shit.”

Momo: “Dunno.”

Star Seeker: “Well! Easy way to check!”

Star Seeker: “And if it’s that easy for us, it’d be that easy for anyone else in Yu-Shan.”

Rithlen: Rithlen headdesks

Momo: “Of course, it’s liable to have heavy security that way.”

Jen Michael: “Unfortunately. Which again narrows it down to who’d have the balls to fake orders for the sun.”

Star Seeker: “…they might not have even had to steal it.”

Star Seeker: “What security? It’s ‘hidden under the Dome’.”

Star Seeker: “Impossible to get to - unless you use the canals.”

Rithlen: “Everyone has completely missed the point!”

Silent Tempest: “Well…. hmmm…”

Jen Michael: “Hmmm?”

Rithlen: “What if they’ve modified the original?”

Jen Michael: “Huh?”

Rithlen: “Think about it. They’ve had enough time to forge it, then they could also booby trap it.”

Jen Michael: “… well shit.”

Rithlen: “So taking the canals is way too risky, and it’s also the way they most likely took to get in.”

Silent Tempest: “Of course, this is going under the theory that we’re dealing with forgeries and not the original. Star Seeker’s theory of the forgeries hold water, but the truth is we simply can’t know for sure.”

Jen Michael: “In which case, plan A is the better plan.”

Silent Tempest: “How so?”

Rithlen: “Because If it’s still there you can examine it without the culprits knowing.”

Rithlen: “Because they’ll be distracted”

Jen Michael: “And! They’ll think that wasn’t why we took it.”

Jen Michael: “Considering your known… tendencies.”

Rithlen: ;)

Silent Tempest: “Ah, multiple layers of misdirection. I like it.”

Jen Michael: “Of course.”

Silent Tempest: “What’s stopping Star Seeker from being nailed by the Wards?”

Jen Michael: “Tempest, you’re drunk.”

Momo: “The other half is that we should investigate the canals anyway. Determine if that is how they got in or not. Or, indeed, even if they got the Seal that way. I don’t know the city well enough, it may not be possible.”

Star Seeker: “Who says I’d be in direct contact?”

Silent Tempest: “Forgive me, I’m not intimately familiar with Mercury’s Charms. Doesn’t Relocation Scheme require you to be in contact with the location in question?”

Star Seeker: “That’s why I’ve been practicing: the Scheme relocates stuff for a certain radius - side to side, front to back, and up and down.”

Star Seeker: “…did I mention I’ve worked out how to fly?”

Jen Michael: “You forgot to mention that my dear.”

Star Seeker: “Oh. My apologies.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker brings out a rod of starmetal. One flick, and it’s a javelin.

Silent Tempest: “You mean unassisted?”

Silent Tempest: “Oh, nice!”

Star Seeker: “Throw it, but don’t let go. It’s one of these little Essence-powered impossibilities.”

Rithlen: “Nonpowered flight? Amazing!”

Star Seeker: “It’s supposed to be a weapon.”

Jen Michael: “Indeed.”

Star Seeker: “And, well, it is if I let go when throwing.”

Star Seeker: “It’s not the fastest, but it does give me vertical mobility.”

Momo: “One of these days I’m going to make a flying broom or something just to get around.” She pauses. “Though of course I’d need the proper permits.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker flicks, retracting it back into a rod, then tosses it into a pocket, where it vanishes.

Silent Tempest: “I really must requisition some magitech. You know, when I’m not the guy everyone in the department refers to as ‘that smartass over there’. “

Jen Michael: “That you would.” Jen snorts. “Maybe you should start being nicer.”

Rithlen: “Funny, I’m know as the nutball whose desk is on fire… no don’t look at him he might notice us.”

Jen Michael: Snickering! “Mmm. That’s why you gave me that desk.”

Silent Tempest: “Really? I thought the strictures in your department were more… lenient.”

Momo: “I don’t know if I have a reputation. You’d have to tell me. I try not to keep up on the gossip.”

Rithlen: “I’m only on a temporary loan to the department of serenity, I’ve only been there a few hundred years.”

Jen Michael: “Indeed. He’s lucky like that.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest frowns. “Now don’t be like that. I apologized and I meant it. I was merely remarking on the fact that there exist apparent significant difference in office structure and political interactions.”

Jen Michael: “I was teasing you.”

Silent Tempest: “…oh.”

Jen Michael: “I suspect there is. We have a… very difficult job at times, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She shrugs. “So, we are encouraged to interact and depend on each other.”

Silent Tempest: “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not the best with people.”

Jen Michael: “No, never.” Straight-faced sarcasm.

Silent Tempest: “or gods for that matter.”

Rithlen: “Its ok, most Gods only care about people for prayer.”

Rithlen: “We’re kinda pathetic that way.”

Jen Michael: “You. Are not.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest smiles. It is a kinda of scary smile. “They’ll be calling you many things when this happens. Pathetic will not be one of them, I can assure you.”

Rithlen: “Crazy, nuts, that mother loving bastard?”

Jen Michael: “Probably be a few ‘traitor’s in there too. ‘Completely psychotic,’ ‘batshit,’ etc etc.”

Silent Tempest: “We could go all night and not cover HALF of them.”

Jen Michael: “Quite.”

Jen Michael: “And I do have some little newbies to see to tonight.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest ?

Silent Tempest: “Honestly. You. Need. Sleep. There, that’s a Secret, on the house.”

Jen Michael: “Tell that to the boss lady, she told me to make time.”

Rithlen: “And I have to plan my escape route.”

Rithlen: “Of course there is the faint possibility I will just get godspeared before I can get two steps.”

Jen Michael: “Maybe you should clear out of town first.”

Silent Tempest: “That’s the main thing that has me worried. So many things could go wrong. The canal plan has less risk, less variables.”

Rithlen: “The whole point of this, is that, unlike all of you, I’m expendable.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest thought he was the one with all the issues.

Rithlen: “Creation can spare a washed up god, It can’t spare celestial exalts.”

Silent Tempest: “You’re not looking to go out in a blaze of glory are you? Because the last thing we need is a death seeker.”

Jen Michael: “What? You are not expendable.”

Momo: “If nothing else someone has to return you to the Department of Secrets.”

Rithlen: “I’m not looking to die, but I know the risks. And I need to be there so I can draw the mob away.”

Rithlen: “Besides I have quite a few leftovers from the first age I just can’t wait to try out.”

Silent Tempest: “That and there’s a maxim I’ve learned. ‘When your plan involves a risk of being godspeared, you have to step back and ask yourself ‘is it a good plan?’ ”

Jen Michael: “This entire thing is an excuse to get away with some explosions you normally couldn’t, isn’t it?”

Jen Michael: “Also I’m pretty sure that rule’s about losing one’s hat.”

Rithlen: “You know me way too well.”

Jen Michael: “No, really? It’s not like I have an office right next to yours.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest sits down. “I don’t know. I have to sleep on it before I make final decisions. Especially not when I’m almost certain I’m drunk.”

Jen Michael: “I’m fairly certain you are.”

Rithlen: “I have something lying around that could confirm it for you.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest toasts to Jen. “One more mystery stands revealed.”

Jen Michael: “Oh?” Jen raises an eyebrow at Rithlen, then toasts Tempest. “I think we put everyone to sleep.”

Star Seeker: “Nope“~“.”

Star Seeker: “Ehehe, juuust sittin’ ‘ere waitin’ fer you to…” Star trails off and slumps, despite having had nothing to drink.

Rithlen: “Lightweights.”

Jen Michael: Jen Michael giggles. “I’m almost as bad.” Well she does seem to be blushing.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: Sis snorts. “Momo, dear, I’m going to bed. Three drunk sidereals and a crazy god - No offense, Rithlen - sounds like a bad place to be to me.”

Momo: “Hm.” Momo nods. “I think it is perhaps time I rested, myself.”

Rithlen: “None Taken, I’d hate for anyone to think I was sane. But I should go, you know hijinks to plan.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Besides, I had a mind to desecrate Jen’s couch the wa-“

Jen Michael: Jen tosses a piece of cheese at Sis’s head.

Silent Tempest: “Good night. You know, this should be Bureau policy when the old man finally kicks it: Paperwork parties. You get everyone together and find out what the hell is going on.” Tempest said, gesturing to the paperwork stacks around them.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Gooooodnight!” Sis scampers off with a laugh.

Jen Michael: “Well, you should probably come back when you get another break, Rithlen. We’ll need our plans to work together after all.” Pause. “That is a good idea.”

Yu-Shan Meeting

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 02:59:05 -0400

In which an apology is made and dinner is served. Part 1 of 2.

ST: Jen’s Manse is part of a cluster of five pentagonal townhouses in a loose horseshoe shape, with Jen’s forming the bridge of the shoe. Three stories tall, it’s nothing terribly impressive for Yu-Shan, but he’s greeted at the door by a pretty maid who leads him to the study on the second floor.

Momo: “But that’s everyone.”

Momo: “Well, technically.”

Jen Michael: “I meant specifically.”

Star Seeker: “That’s still a lot of people.”

Jen Michael: “Mmm, it is. And narrowing it down by who has the balls…”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest is wearing the loose fitting clothes of a Department librarian: a tan tunic trimmed in the color of his patron maiden. Clasped around his neck is what he would consider his ‘trademark’ artifact, a Cloak of the Inconspicuous Maiden, a green hood and cloak that provides some stealth powers (though in his vainer moments, Tempest admits that it looks great as well, especially since he got it trimmed with wolf fur ever since he was assigned to the Northern Convention). Green starlight eyes stare very intensely from behind a pair of glasses and under brown hair.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest nods the maid, he proceeded into the manse, looking for Jen, the Joybringer that has made his week so very interesting.

ST: The maid leads him upstairs and knocks at the door.

Jen Michael: “-has the balls…” Jen cuts off at his entrance and smiles warmly. She’s a tiny woman with blue starlight eyes and short-cropped brown hair and nearly-white skin, dressed in comfortable blue robes. A gold-and-adamant pendant rests around her throat. “Be welcome.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: A red-haired woman with large gray eyes yawns and stretches luxuriously. “Oh, hello, nice to see you again.”

Momo: It’s like a conflux of redheads in here, as a peach-haired woman sitting at another desk looks up at the new arrival. “Hello.”

Star Seeker: A silver-haired, tan-skinned lady - her Skullstone heritage evident, though she at least no longer wears leathers everywhere - nods from behind a pile of papers on Jen’s desk. “Hello.”

Silent Tempest: “Nice to see you’ve recovered after your… encounter.” Tempest said, nodding to The Rat.

Silent Tempest: Tempest sits down, motioning to the piles of paperwork around the Manse “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.”

Jen Michael: “You are, but it’s going to take days anyways. We can spare a few hours.” Jen shrugs and leans forward. “Besides, I have another interruption right after we’re done here.”

Silent Tempest: “Very well, then I shall not waste time.” he said, steepling his fingers together. “I’ve come to confirm, among other things, the appearance of the Empress at this… demonic incursion, for lack of a better term.”

Rithlen: A tall and lanky God with charred hair and burnt off eyebrows looks over at Silent tempest “It’s nice to see that at least some of our colleagues at the Forbidden Manse of Ivy aren’t such sticklers on timing.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest coughs “Yes, I would’ve been hear sooner, but I was cornered by the goddess of conspiracies, seeking my opinion on some matter or another.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “You’ll have to ask the Mouse here about that. She’s the one who’s been stuck with Red.” The Rat pipes up.

Momo: Momo raises a hand. “As I said, I only have suspicions. The only thing supporting it are hunches, and, according to the others, the Loom itself. I’m not certain if there are magics which can fool the Loom; if there are, they’re probably quite powerful.”

Jen Michael: “Star?” Jen looks at her.

Star Seeker: “Ehe…”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker blinks. “…oh! Wait, you don’t mean ME fooling it.”

Star Seeker: “Yeah, yeah, it’s possible.”

Star Seeker: “Easiest way is to go honestly off-Loom.”

Star Seeker: “I did it all the time growing up, apparently.”

Rithlen: “Why do I get the feeling that there is some very, very bad news coming.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker blinks again. “What? The Loom describes everything that is, that it sees.”

Jen Michael: “Well, considering Venus recently confirmed it was in fact the Ebon Dragon…” Jen shrugs again.

Star Seeker: “It can try to make future predictions, but they’re not infallible. Essence can change fates.”

Star Seeker: “And then there’s shenanigans about being in Fate but hiding part of yourself.”

Momo: “Once again, as a personal matter, that makes it the most satisfying uppercut I’ve ever delivered.” She smirks.

Star Seeker: “I mean, hello, what are Resplendent Destinies?”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “And that is why I love you.” Sis kisses Momo’s cheek.

Silent Tempest: “True, but this is the first time we, the bureau, has seen hide or hair of her in almost a decade.” Tempest says, leaning back in the chair “I mean, why impersonate the Empress of all people?”

Momo: “Take the throne, by force if necessary.”

Momo: “Visually abdicate.”

Momo: “Really, depends on what you want out of the Realm.”

Jen Michael: “Or, we could be dealing with the real deal.”

Rithlen: “Which is so much worse by the way.”

Jen Michael: “Take more than the Realm. Imagine the kind of power he could offer, and what that’d be like to a woman like her.”

Silent Tempest: “All valid points… if this weren’t occurring under the Shadow of All Things.” Tempest said, addressing Momo. “That kind of undermines her credibility with the Dynasts.”

Rithlen: “The Ebon dragon is, by nature, very good at hiding his tracks.”

Jen Michael: “No one would have known if that Fiend hadn’t provoked me.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest listens to Jen’s comment, gathers his thoughts for a moment and then speak. “Alright, let’s go with the worst case scenario and assume this is the genuine article. What’s our next move?”

Star Seeker: “She’s currently making out with his rebellious fetich soul, yes?”

Star Seeker: “How much of a liar is that soul?”

Star Seeker: “Is it possible to use that against him?”

Jen Michael: “She’s currently making out with Five Days Darkness.”

Momo: “That’s one of the odder theories regarding Five Days Darkness I’ve heard…”

Jen Michael: “As I recall, her words were ‘My world is snark’.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest double takes “She’s What??”

Rithlen: “As a side note, Five Days Darkness is less of a jerk than the Ebon dragon, but I would like to remind everyone that he is still a jerk.

Jen Michael: “I also believe there are going to be children. Three, to be precise.” There’s a soft fluttering sound - those who were there earlier might recognize the blue fabric.

Star Seeker: Star Seeker nods.

Jen Michael: It’s right over Tempest’s head.

Momo: “Ah, but this time he’s a useful-” Urk. Oh gods. That again.

Rithlen: “I still cant believe you pulled that off”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Wait? Seriously? Jeeeeen.” Sis facepalms.

Star Seeker: “Right time, right place, sometime you just gotta slide a thread right in.”

Jen Michael: “Yep, pretty much.”

Momo: “… Poor choice of words, Star. Or best choice. I’m not sure which.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker grins.

Jen Michael: Jen Michael grins too.

Silent Tempest: “Hmmm.” Tempest says, to cover the fact this latest exchange is going right over his head.

Rithlen: Rithlen grins like a madman, which he is.

Jen Michael: Tempest has something on his head now.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: Sis grins as well.

Silent Tempest: “So… the woman… who all evidence suggests is… The Scarlet Empress… is going to have children… by way of Five Days Darkness?” Tempest says, trying to follow the conversation. “Jen, if this is a joke, you need to tell me. I’m not skilled in the ways of levity.”

Momo: “No, she’s dead serious.” Momo puts her head in one hand.

Jen Michael: “Oh no, I’m quite serious. I had Wildly over my shoulder bugging me to do it for hours.”

Momo: “… Of course the god of Fictional Romances is involved.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “She’s serious. She’s just that sort of woman.” Sis shakes her head.

Rithlen: “She’s a few pages short of a novel if you want my opinion.”

Jen Michael: “That’s the fun part.” Jen beams.

Silent Tempest: “bugging… you… did you use a destiny protocol to bring this about?”

Jen Michael: “Maaaaaybe.”

Jen Michael: “But! That isn’t what you’re here about.”

Rithlen: Rithlen can’t keep a straight face anymore. “Tempest, you…cackle do realize snicker you have underwear on your head.”

Jen Michael: “Rithlen, stop playing pranks.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest claps his hands together. “Right. Thank you for keeping me on track. So we have the maybe Empress in custody… in whatever condition” e says, giving Jen an annoyed look. “Has Verimpura verified the status of the seals of Malfeas?”

Star Seeker: Star’s eyes are fixed on Tempest’s face.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest right eye twitches.

Jen Michael: “I haven’t had a chance to check. I’ve been a little distracted with all the paperwork from two jobs.”

Rithlen: Rithlen Just falls over laughing

Star Seeker: “Yeah, Malfeas is still sealed. However Ebby’s doing this, it isn’t through breaking them.”

Momo: “Probably a loophole somewhere.”

Momo: “He loves his loopholes.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Loves ‘em longtime.” Sis throws and arm around Momo’s shoulders.

Silent Tempest: “I’m so glad I’m the recipient of the finest training of the department of serenity.” Tempest says, throwing the garment behind him. “Are there any more proclivities you need to get out of your system or can we continue?”

Rithlen: “That was me you uptight fool.”

Jen Michael: “I had nothing to do with those.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest Tempest bridges his nose.

Rithlen: “Think of it as payback for your rather insulting comments about my colleagues earlier”

Silent Tempest: “I’m… … sorry. This has been… a… a … week.”

Jen Michael: Jen smiles. “Understandable. A little levity tends to make it a little easier. Believe me, I understand - I haven’t had much sleep this week.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest sighs

Silent Tempest: “That ties into another reason I decided to come today.”

Jen Michael: “Oh?”

Silent Tempest: “And I’m not just saying this to remove the destiny protocol from me (thought that would be a great help). I’m… sorry for insulting the department of serenity. I find the nature of your work is sometimes… unsettling and I let it color my perception of its operatives. I need to remember that we’re all in this together.” Tempest can’t make eye contact as he’s saying this.

Rithlen: “Did you just…apologize?” Rithlen’s jaw hangs open

Jen Michael: Jen slowly stands and comes around the desk, offering a hand to him and waiting for him to look up at her. Not that there’s far to look up.

Silent Tempest: With a visible effort, Tempest looks up at Jen and shakes her hand.

Jen Michael: “Apology accepted.” Jen clasps his hand between hers and smiles at him softly. “And much appreciated.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest, whose not one for emotions (really?!), clears his throat.

Jen Michael: She gives it a moment before she releases his hand and goes to sit back down.

Silent Tempest: “There. Now that’s resolved, on to the business at hand. Jen, do you know where the Empress and Five Day Darkness are at this moment?”

Jen Michael: “The Mouse would know more.” Jen nods to Momo.

Rithlen: “Do we really want to know?”

Star Seeker: “Oh! I’ve got this!” Star digs a piece of parchment out of her pocket.

Star Seeker: “Let’s see, the time is…so right now, they’ve probably just spilled back into the living room.”

Momo: “Currently undisclosed location… A carefully selected-” Beat. “… Well, so much for my couch…”

Star Seeker: “Give or take a minute. Essence use messes with predictions, you understand.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest facepalms

Rithlen: “Ew”

Jen Michael: Snerk. “Could be worse. At least it’s only three. It was going to be six.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: Sis giggles. “Like your couch isn’t used to that abuse.”

Star Seeker: “No, they’re not doing that yet. They still have clothes on for anoootheeer…ten minutes. Ten to twenty five, depending on what exactly counts as ‘clothes’.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Huh. I would have expected them to realize how the couch was shaped by now.” Sis is grinning evilly.

Star Seeker: “She knows. He hasn’t noticed it IS shaped yet.”

Star Seeker: “And he won’t, at least not tonight, unless someone tells him.”

Jen Michael: Snort.

Rithlen: “I feel like I’m missing a joke here.”

Silent Tempest: “Alright, so I guess THAT question is answered” he said, rolling his eyes.

Silent Tempest: “Who else, besides the people in this room, know where they are?”

Rithlen: “Venus, and I assume the other maidens.”

Jen Michael: “Indeed. We’ve kept it quiet otherwise.”

Momo: “Hence, ‘undisclosed’.”

Star Seeker: “Even Venus doesn’t know their exact location.”

Rithlen: “Try not to tell you-know-who.”

Silent Tempest: “Good. Let’s keep it that way. Ever since the Ebon Dragon rose (and fell) Yu-Shan has been in a panic. Not just the bureau of Destiny, EVERYONE. With the Old Man knocking on Saturn’s door, the bureau has never been more vulnerable.”

Jen Michael: “I know.” Jen has a pokerface going.

Rithlen: “Or more ready for change.”

Star Seeker: “We’ll survive.”

Star Seeker: “We always have.”

Jen Michael: “Even what kills us makes us stronger.”

Silent Tempest: “There is talk of a Convention on The Reclamation forming, to monitor Malfeas and these… Infernal Exalted. Unfortunately, I’ve made sport of pissing off my entire department, so I’m clearly not a candidate.”

Rithlen: “The Infernals scare the crap out of me. Some of the stuff the Defilers have made reminds me of the First age, and not in a good way.”

Jen Michael: Jen raises an eyebrow. “And Venus appears to favor me currently. As does the Sun.” She folds her hands and rests her chin on them.

Momo: Momo just listens carefully. One of these days she has GOT to talk with Rithlen on the First age.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: Sis has gone serious now.

Silent Tempest: Tempest nods. “Exactly. You will probably be approached by Ura sometime soon to join. You’re experience makes you ideal for the position.”

Star Seeker: “I suppose I’ll be Mercury’s rep,” Star sighs.

Jen Michael: “Indeed. And you’re hoping to have my ear, aren’t you?” She smiles sweetly.

Star Seeker: Star sticks her tongue out briefly.

Silent Tempest: Tempest does his best shocked face “Seek to have an inside line in the convention? I would never.”

Jen Michael: “Mmm, of course not. Certainly not when the only option who might consider it is of a different faction.”

Rithlen: “Be very careful, in many ways Ura is just as dangerous as the old man.”

Momo: Momo isn’t going to end up on any Convention, if only because there are so many people who would never, ever allow it. NEVER. So she lets the ‘grown-ups’ talk.

Silent Tempest: Tempest groans, bridging his nose again “Oh, why must I deal with this? Why can’t I just kill or not kill Solars on a case by case basis?”

Jen Michael: Jen chuckles. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Star Seeker: “Talk once you’ve taken a Deathlord down a peg.”

Momo: “Start talking to Nazri. Frankly it’s time everyone started doing their jobs…”

Momo: “Now more than ever.”

Rithlen: “Listen to me, I was there at the usurpation. if the sidereals want to take any effective action against the reclamation, they need to be as united as they were then.”

Silent Tempest: “Of course, once Kejack’s kicked off, Ura’s going to purge everyone she sees as a loyalist. So I’m without a home convention… again.”

Jen Michael: Jen nods. “It seems to me that it might be time to set aside petty politics.”

Star Seeker: “Yeah, ‘cept for that Green Faction.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest stars at Star Seeker, wheels turning.

Silent Tempest: “You cannot be serious.”

Jen Michael: “Oh believe me. She wouldn’t joke about this.”

Star Seeker: “Well…they don’t call themselves that, and they’re divided by which Yozi.”

Star Seeker: “You’d know ‘em better as ‘akuma’.”

Star Seeker: “Buuut, it’s easy and not that inaccurate to just think of ‘em as Green Faction.”

Jen Michael: “Quite.”

Silent Tempest: “Wait, so there’s been confirmed cases of Infernalism?!”

Star Seeker: “Every one that’s been confirmed lead to execution, s’ far as I know.”

Star Seeker: “But, that many? Yeah, there’re others who can’t quite be confirmed.”

Star Seeker: “And of course that leads to witch hunts.”

Star Seeker: “Hush-hush, to avoid panicking the gods.”

Star Seeker: “Because of course not panicking the gods is the highest priority, more important than the safety of Creation and Yu-Shan.”

Star Seeker: “…Jen, is that going to get me audited again?”

Jen Michael: “Quite. And yes, probably.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker siiighs.

Jen Michael: “I think they’ll wait on the investigation to finish, though.”

Star Seeker: “It had to be said, though.”

Rithlen: “This is the first I’ve heard of this. Although I’ve always been a little suspicious of Anys Syn.”

Star Seeker: “Don’t be. Witch hunt. Anys has actually bagged two low-level gods.”

Star Seeker: “Both of ‘em were for that boar…Isasomething?”

Jen Michael: “Witch hunting will just result in wasted time and those actually guilty being missed.”

Silent Tempest: “So, to recap: The Empress, who may or may not be the Empress, is or is going to be pregnant with the children of 5DD, while maybe/not colluding with the Ebon Dragon, who has infiltrated the Bureau of Destiny. Is there any other world shattering information that any one would like to share?”

Jen Michael: “Depends, how close are you to panicking?”

Silent Tempest: “… define ‘panic’ “

Jen Michael: “Then nope, not a thing.” Pokerface!

Rithlen: “Well when we take action the Deathlords may try to take advantage of it and kill us.”

Star Seeker: “Umm! Umm! I kiiinda shattered the world a bit?”

Star Seeker: “Dropped a metropolis into Creation.”

Rithlen: “” Got me blamed “

Star Seeker: “Now, now. You should take the CREDIT. Even if you had nothing to do with it.”

Rithlen: “That’s how I got in trouble.”

Jen Michael: “Oh, fine. There’s false orders with Ole Sunny’s seal. And we’re investigating. With his full authority.”

Star Seeker: “That won’t shatter Creation by itself.”

Jen Michael: “Just Yu-Shan.”

Star Seeker: “But yeah!” Star frowns. “MEAN orders! Made me kill a couple million pelagos.”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest says nothing for a full ten seconds.

Star Seeker: “Well…via the Lintha.”

Jen Michael: “And an attempt to direct worship to Malfeas.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker is trying not to cry.

Jen Michael: Jen gets up and hugs Star, petting her hair.

Star Seeker: Star Seeker leans into Jen.

Silent Tempest: “Jen… I do not wish to presuppose, but you would have liqueur here, yes?”

Star Seeker: “We restocked.”

Star Seeker: “After I ran her dry.”

Jen Michael: “Yes, Mercury and Venus paid me back.”

Silent Tempest: “Good. I require a drink or three.”

Star Seeker: “Should I tell ‘im about the Silver Prince’s toy?”

Jen Michael: “I thought you’d never ask. Go ahead.” Jen goes to the door. A maid comes quickly. “Dinner?”

Silent Tempest: “yes. Please.”

Jen Michael: “Sorry Star, would you mind waiting until tomorrow evening?”

Silent Tempest: Tempest gets up then stops. Something Star said “is it possible the two are related?”

Star Seeker: “K. Nothin’ much t’ tell, really. Ol’ S.P.’s got a…aww, alright.”

Star Seeker: “What, th’ Neverborn and th’ Yozi?”

Star Seeker: “You mean aside from their both being ex-Primordials who used to work together?”

Jen Michael: “Alright. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” Jen sits down again.

Rithlen: “The Neverborn hate the Yozi almost as much as we do.”

Star Seeker: “An’ the sightings of quite a few ghosts in Malfeas some years ago?”

Silent Tempest: “What? No. I mean the missing seal and the activities of the Ebon Dragon. You said that one of the things you were ordered to do ended up directing prayers to Malfeas, yes?”

Star Seeker: “Yeah. Still got that, right…” Star sorts through papers on Jen’s desk. “…here!”

Jen Michael: “They could very well be.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker presents it. It is an order, apparently signed by the Unconquered Sun, to direct all proceeds - ambrosia and quintessence - from prayers to the Sun instead to Malfeas.

Rithlen: “These Green Sun Princes are outside fate right?”

Star Seeker: “Ain’t binding until it’s reviewed an’ signed. We were set up to do that.”

Star Seeker: “…kiiinda?”

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest looks at the document.

Star Seeker: “They’re in Fate when they’re in Creation.”

Silent Tempest: “And no one thought this was suspicious?”

Star Seeker: “As much as demons are.”

Jen Michael: “Nobody until us.”

Star Seeker: “…well of COURSE I thought it was suspicious.”

Star Seeker: “I’m the one who took it outta th’ pile!”

Star Seeker: “Once I saw it.”

Rithlen: “Could one, theoretically, have been snuck into Yu-shan by a member of the Green Faction?

Jen Michael: Jen nods. “Paperwork party. Always fun.”

Star Seeker: “Theoretically.”

Jen Michael: “… That’s possible.”

Silent Tempest: “STOP… stop calling them the ‘Green Faction’. I will not have akuma associated with legitimate political movements.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: Sis snorts. “Could be worse. Could be a White Faction.”

Rithlen: “And then of course there’s the Green Lady” .

Momo: “Wouldn’t that be Black?”

Momo: “One or the other.”

Rithlen: “Don’t forget the silver faction.”

Star Seeker: “Yeah, I never got that. Why are water and earth, the colors of death?”

Jen Michael: Jen gives Rithlen a mild look.

Rithlen: “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Rithlen: “Its making me nervous.”

Jen Michael: “It. Should.”

Jen Michael: “That is a legitimate political movement.”

Silent Tempest: “Alright. Semantics aside, this is something we’re more familiar with.” Tempest says walking around, slowly gaining energy. He has a mystery to chew on now!

Jen Michael: “Indeed. I believe it’s time to adjourn to the dining room as well.” Jen stands.

Momo: Momo flips through the stack like a flipbook, staring intently. “There is a consistency of pressure. It is likely it’s all the same person.”

Momo: … That took her six seconds to figure out. What kind of god is she?

Star Seeker: “FOOOOD“~“!” Star dos not so much stand as adjourns to the dining room and is sitting at that table now.

Momo: “Wait, dinner time? Hm.”

Momo: She stands up.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest sits at the dinner table. But there is a nervous energy around him; his hand is drawing shapes on the table and his eyes are focused elsewhere.

Jen Michael: “Dinner time. Thank you Momo. We’ll consider this further this evening.” Jen nods and leads the way. … She only comes up to an average person’s chest.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: Sis stands and cracks her back, sauntering after her. She’s a very tall woman.

Rithlen: “And that is why as much as the bronze faction won’t admit it, creation still needs the lawgivers.”

Jen Michael: “One of many reasons.”

Silent Tempest: “Don’t they ever… frighten you though? Imagine something the scale of the Silinian working being made today.”

Star Seeker: “What? I can imagine it.”

Star Seeker: “Imagine the things that’ll be made without them.”

Star Seeker: “Imagine if Ebby gets loose.”

Star Seeker: “That’s on a bigger scale.”

Jen Michael: Jen shakes her head. “Not scared, no. They’re no crazier than the old man, and many of them less so.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Scared?” Sis blinks. “Why would I be scared of my mate?” Momo is hugged before Sis sits next to her.

Rithlen: “I lived in the first age, don’t presume to lecture me on solar misdeeds.”

Momo: “I can venture no opinion.”

Silent Tempest: Tempest shakes his head. “I’m not discounting their importance, I’m just pointing out the fact that they possess the ability to remove a chunk of reality on a whim. For someone who was literally chosen from birth to take care of it, that’s a scary thought.”

Jen Michael: “It’s scarier to think of how much of Creation would be unmade without them. If they had been talked down, think of what WOULDN’T have been destroyed.”

Jen Michael: Dinner is brought in!

Rithlen: “Om nom nom” For a God Rithlen seems to be surprisingly interested in food.

Momo: Oh hey, it’s eats. Momo seems to go into it with the same gusto she has for everything except Sis. Which is to say, mechanical. “It’s quite good.”

Silent Tempest: “I’m not going to argue decisions made by my predecessors. Now, with that said, food.”

Star Seeker: Star Seeker matches Rithlen’s appetite.

Jen Michael: “Food.” Jen agrees, matching Star and Rithlen’s appetites. OM NOM NOM.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: Sis isn’t quite as greedy, but nearly is.

Silent Tempest: Silent Tempest Tempest takes a slice of ham. Upon tasting it, he delves into the rest of his plate with greater gusto.

Silent Tempest: “Is this…” gesticulating for the right word “Naturally caught? Most food around here is made from Ambrosia, but I don’t know if this is real or not.”

Jen Michael: “Sorry for leftovers, I wasn’t entirely prepared for guests and didn’t have time to cook.” Jen blinks. “Oh yes, my husband caught it on one of his more recent trips to creation.”

Silent Tempest: “Ah. My mother was a… outdoors type and liked to catch her own.” Tempest said by way of explanation.

Jen Michael: Jen nods. “Skies and I prefer it as well. We were raised in the same little village, I used to take long walks out in the woods, and he used to hunt there. That’s how we met.” She smiles, a warm, genuine one.

Silent Tempest: “Hm? Oh, thats right, you mentioned you were married in the middle of our argument. Does… Arcane Fate ever present a problem?”

Pre-Meeting

Tue, 20 Mar 2012 13:53:00 -0400

In which The Mouse and Rithlen arrive and the group does paperwork while catching up.

The Mouse: “They’re still at an undisclosed location, or still BETTER BE WHEN I GET BACK >:|”

Jen Michael: Jen snickers. “Considering they’re set up for three children, I suspect they will be.”

The Mouse: “… YOU DID WHAT”

The Mouse: “VENUS SAID TEMPORARY”

Jen Michael: “Uh huh, and I had Wildy in my office.”

Jen Michael: “Besides with her, three WOULD be temporary.”

The Mouse: “… Granted.”

Jen Michael: “Heh. Get something to eat, your girl’s sleeping.”

Star Seeker: Star groggily walks by, hair disheveled* “Heeey, can’t an overworked girl get some sleep around here?”

Jen Michael: “You have paperwork to help me with, and Tempest should be here in half an hour.”

Star Seeker: “Awwwh~”

The Mouse: “Ah, would having me do paperwork count as falsifying records?”

Jen Michael: “Actually, you have a stack!”

Star Seeker: “…maybe. Hey, you’re one of Sun’s, aintcha?”

Jen Michael: A stack is set in front of Momo.

Jen Michael: “She’s also a bureau resource since she was workin’ for me. You get paperwork.”

Star Seeker: “Right. Funny, first time I brought you here, didn’t think you’d stay here long.”

The Mouse: “… I have never been so glad to have charms that cover brush discipline and navigating red tape.”

Jen Michael: “Gods, yes.”

Jen Michael: “Speaking of, does anyone mind my taking the liberty of inviting Rithlen?”

Star Seeker: “I don’t mind, but seriously, I was hoping to nap. Oh well.” Star flumps down at a desk.

Jen Michael: “Oh wah wah wah.”

ST: One of Jen’s maids smiles at Rithlen as he arrives. “Follow me sir, they’re gathering.” Jen’s manse is a rather nice pentagonal townhouse with an atrium.

[OOC] ST: http:dl.dropbox.comu24676611/plans2.png though I’m revising it. It’s in a cluster of 5, in a horseshoe shape. Star’s is one of the others, adjacent to Jen’s. Jen’s forms the bridge of the horseshoe

Rithlen: “Nice place you’ve got here”

Rithlen: “If a little lacking in explosives in my opinion”

ST: He’s lead up to the second floor and let into the office.

Jen Michael: “Ah, Rithlen, thank you for joining us!”

Star Seeker: “I keep those in - yaaaawn - mine. ‘Long wit’ the maps.”

The Mouse: “They didn’t let me keep the incendiaries I’m afraid.”

The Rat: “Uuuugh what’s all the chatter.” A tall woman with disheveled red hair peeks in.

Jen Michael: Jen grins. “Ah, sleeping beauty awakens.”

Star Seeker: “Oh, is that Five Days’ mate?”

Rithlen: “who is this exactly”

The Mouse: “SIS!” The paperwork can wait a minute! HUGS!

Star Seeker: “Wrong redhead.”

The Rat: “Momo!” HUGS! Clinging, even.

Star Seeker: “Maaan, I must be tired.”

Jen Michael: “You know her better than I do.” Jen snarks.

Rithlen: “I do?” Rithlen scratches his perpetually charred hair

Jen Michael: “No, Star. Alright. Rithlen, meet The Rat and The Mouse, more commonly known as Lady of the Pale Gaze and… Oh for fuck’s sake Momo I can’t pronounce your family name.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Hello.” Wave while hugging the floofy-haired one.

Dukokinoko Momo: “Dukokinoko Momo.”

Rithlen: “Geusentite”

Star Seeker: “No, no, her name really is Dukokinoko.”

Rithlen: “Oh…”

Star Seeker: “Y’see, it’s one of those rhymy names, got a bit of a beat to it.”

Jen Michael: Jen and Sis both snicker.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “That it is. You can call me Sister or Sis if you like, or Pale if that bothers you.”

Star Seeker: Star snaps to a metronome only she can hear. “DU-ko, ki-NO-ko.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “From the Low Realm. ‘Of the Mushrooms’, or rather ‘Toadstools’.” She’s apparently had to explain its etymology before.

Rithlen: “Apologies I’m afraid I haven’t gotten out much since the shogunate”

Star Seeker: “Awwwh, you take the art out of it.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “I’m a Copper Spider. Replacing Art with Craft is apparently what we do. Raksha find it hilarious.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “I’m not sure why.”

Star Seeker: “…’cause they’re all about art?”

Jen Michael: “Thank you again for the desk by the way. Please, everyone, have a seat.” Jen is a tiny little thing, but quite firm. “Still should be bringing up the cookies any moment now-

ST: Knock on the door!

Rithlen: Who could that be?

Still Horizon: Still is a gangly twelve year old with dirty blonde hair and a huge grin. And an even huger plate of cookies. The maid is back as well, with various drinks.

Dukokinoko Momo: “Oh! Helllo, Still. How are you?” She certainly seems happier.

Rithlen: Rithlen eyes the cookies, attempting to present himself as a wise god unconcerned by earthly matters such as mortal food, and failing miserably

Still Horizon: “Hiii I just wanted to see my aunties before Skeld and I head to the Dojo until you’re done discussing the fate of the world or whatever~!” The plate and pitchers are set down on hastily cleared side tables. Everyone gets a hug, though Still hesitates on Rithlen. The cookies are a mix of snickerdoodles, chocolate-and-peanutbutter chip, and plain sugar cookies.

Jen Michael: Jen waits patiently.

Star Seeker: Star is not too tired to hug back!

Dukokinoko Momo: “Heh. Seem a bit chipper for that.” Hug. No investigation charm needed!

Rithlen: Rithlen is rather surprised by the hug and just sits there with a wide eyed look on his face.

Star Seeker: “So hey Rithlen, apparently one of my prior incarnations had some half-done plans for adapting Jadeborn cars to provide ferry service to Luna’s domain. You interested?”

Still Horizon: Still giggles. “There’s a new guy in just today. I might get to kick his ass!” She waves and heads out. Sis finds a chair near Momo and flops down in it.

Rithlen: “Sounds fun, but the jadeborn disappove of me for some reason”

Star Seeker: “Did I say this would be cars in their possession?”

Jen Michael: “Wonder why that is? I’m afraid I can’t afford to pull Loq in from her post. She’s currently containing the demons with that lightning storm.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Well, there are a few reasons for that.” Back to the paperwork. Better to not have a backlog, really. And fill them out meticulously.

Star Seeker: “Though you could use Mount Meru as a launching platform.”

Star Seeker: Sigh. Scribble, scribble.

Rithlen: “That is a truely demented idea. I like it.”

Jen Michael: Scribble scribble scribble there’s more paperwork appearing even now.

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Sounds fun. Tell me none of that is for me.”

Jen Michael: “No such luck.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “So… Rithlen, god of…” Thinkthink.

Dukokinoko Momo: Amazingly, Momo is managing to catch it up. “Inadvisably applied magitech, I believe.”

Rithlen: “I prefer Magitech of Dubious Virtue, its classier”

Jen Michael: “It also makes you sound like we didn’t borrow you.” Jen grins. “Sorry about this. As I’m sure you saw I got all this thrown back in my face.”

Star Seeker: Whirl brush, attack attack attack! “It happens.”

Rithlen: Rithlen eyes the mounting paperwork before him “Maybe I could make something to do the paperwork for us, of course I’d need it to fill out the stack of authorization forms three miles high”

Dukokinoko Momo: “I dunno, doesn’t that risk interaction with the God of Infinite Recursion? You know how HE gets.”

Star Seeker: “Self-referential?”

Jen Michael: “Eugh. I appreciate the thought but… no more paperwork. Please.”

Star Seeker: “But hey, SOMEone has to fill all this out and examine it.”

Rithlen: Rithlen grins evilly “I suppose I could set it all aflame, but the last time I did that Ryzala demoted me…twice”

Dukokinoko Momo: “So that’s why they took my incendiaries?”

Jen Michael: “Ryzala’s already mad at me because Venus let me drop my paperwork off on her, the last thing I need is to get chewed out on top of that.”

Star Seeker: “I mean, how else are you gonna weed out these requests for prayer directed to Malfeas signed by the Unconquered Sun?” Star sets another sheet into the “Reject” pile. “I mean, who does he think he is, the Unconq-“

Star Seeker: Blink. “…uuum. Jen, am I just getting too tired, or…?”

Dukokinoko Momo: “what.”

Rithlen: “You walked right into that one”

Star Seeker: Star hands that sheet to Jen.

Jen Michael: “… shit.” Jen takes it. “Anybody got a copy of one of his orders that we know wasn’t forged?”

Star Seeker: Star begins sorting through her Reject pile. It’s quite large.

Star Seeker: “No, I already checked, that’s his stamp.” Sort, sort, pull out more forgeries.

Rithlen: “The real question is who is capable of forging the Unconquered Sun’s seal.”

Jen Michael: “So… someone has his stamp. Lovely.” The sarcasm is probably dripping.

Lady of the Pale gaze: “Wait, what’s going on now?”

Dukokinoko Momo: Momo is suddenly glad none of this stuff is actual approvals or things, just reports and after-actions and retroactive (slightly) permissions.

Rithlen: “I might be able to manage it, but it would take months, and I’d require the original”

Star Seeker: Star’s been hit with a lot of actual approvals.

Jen Michael: Jen has a lot of approvals as well, and quite a few reports, after-actions, and permission requests.

Jen Michael: “Okay. New rule. If it’s signed by him, it goes in this pile. We’ll sort out what’s genuine later.”

Star Seeker: “Right.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Which means my direct report to him, which is… apparently pre-signed, although I haven’t presented it yet?”

Jen Michael: “Give it here.”

Star Seeker: “Any such thing.”

Jen Michael: “Ladies, Rithlen, as you may have noticed, we have a little problem. Star and I are the investigative team. Shit is… well. Deep. And getting deeper.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Do we need to pose as a team? I’d start with the functionaries in his office, if he hasn’t fired them already.”

Star Seeker: “I…really doubt it’s them.”

Star Seeker: “He’d see through the ones closest to him.”

Jen Michael: “Considering he’s directly answering his prayers now…”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “Well, considering that was a request for prayer to Malfeas, and we just-“

Lady of the Pale gaze: “Busted up His Inkiness’ wedding…”

Rithlen: “I forgot to ask, just who exactly was creations biggest creep attempting to marry anyway?”

Jen Michael: Jen motions to Momo and Sis to explain.

Dukokinoko Momo: “Well, I have no… Direct proof…”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “We have suspicions…”

Dukokinoko Momo: “But I suspect it is- or was- the ruler of the Scarlet Empire. Or intended to be.”

Rithlen: “WHAT!”

Rithlen: “Oh no, oh no”

Jen Michael: “That’s what the Loom’s saying too, ask Star. And you can imagine why we’re meeting here.”

Jen Michael: “We’re going to have you-know-who mad at us for this.”

Rithlen: “Don’t worry, he’s hated me since the first age.”

Rithlen: “If you’re talking about who I think you are”

Star Seeker: “Probably.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Well. fighting those audits are going to be fun. Either way, we need to work out a plan for when that happens.”

Jen Michael: “Oh, I’ve been audited before. As I recall it didn’t work out too well for them…”

Rithlen: “some people just can’t take a cream pie to the face with dignity.”

Jen Michael: Jen bows from her seat and Sis cackles.

Star Seeker: “Things tend to…happen…to my audits.”

Star Seeker: “Eheheh.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “I’m genuinely tempted to get censed by the Golden Lord.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “He won’t be sympathetic, but at least he won’t actively screw me.”

Jen Michael: “Augh. AUGH! Mental image I did NOT need!”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “… Eeeeeeeeeeewwwwwww. Creepy old guy.”

Rithlen: 0_o

Star Seeker: Even Star winces.

Dukokinoko Momo: “Wha- I didn’t-“

Star Seeker: “Don’t. Finish. That. Thought.”

Jen Michael: “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Lady of the Pale Gaze: “Or you’re not getting any tonight and you can listen to Five Days and the Bride gettin’ it on.”

Star Seeker: “Seriously. Let Wildy handle it. She’s a pro.”

Rithlen: Rithlen spits out his tea

Jen Michael: “Oh no. No. No. You are NOT shipping me with- Whyyyyyy…”

Star Seeker: “Who said you with?”

Star Seeker: “Someone like him? She might just, ah, what’s her term, ‘self-insert’?”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “Momo implied.” Sis points out helpfully. And pours wine before Jen starts whining.

Rithlen: “There are no word to describe where this conversation is going. Hmm… maybe I should invent some! How about disterbacreepyous?”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Right. I’m still not sure what I said, though,” Momo said with a shrug. Anyway, she gets back to paperwork. Surprisingly, a blank, green-tinted Request For Careful Revelation Of Secrets is on her desk already. “Oh, hey. I’ll just use this then.”

Star Seeker: “You forgot an ‘as’ in there.”

Jen Michael: “You’ll regret it…”

Star Seeker: “Sooo…” Brush, scribble, glance-read-over.

Star Seeker: “I should probably get you a copy of my notes on Neverborn pregnancy. I mean, kinda your purview too, isn’t it?”

Jen Michael: Work work work. “La la la I’m not listening…”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “Notes on what?!”

Rithlen: “Neverborn…pregnancy?”

Star Seeker: “How to make the Neverborn pregnant.”

Star Seeker: “Why, what’d it sound like?”

Rithlen: “That, exactly that.”

Jen Michael: “It gets worse. Ask her about Loom Babies.”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “I… what.”

Star Seeker: Star’s eyes light up!

Rithlen: “Hey that isn’t my fault.”

Star Seeker: “Heh heh…but Venus said I was worried for nothing on that.”

Star Seeker: “But there IS that one artifact.”

Rithlen: “Heres a tip, Venus Lies, a lot.”

Star Seeker: “Anyway. Neverborn babies.”

Star Seeker: “Not much to it.”

Jen Michael: “Frankly I’m more worried that it really isn’t Star and I’m going to regret things.”

Star Seeker: “Jam souls that’re already compatible with them, into them.”

Star Seeker: “Pull out when ready to be reborn, with a touch of their power.”

Star Seeker: “Kinda fish for their fetters that way?”

Star Seeker: “Once they’re all out, what’s left…well, what they wanted, right?”

Rithlen: “Perhaps with soulsteel bungee cables”

Star Seeker: “But of course.”

Rithlen: “Star you’re brilliant.”

Dukokinoko Momo: Hehehehe, the best part is, this will never cross that man’s desk. In fact… Oh. Look. It just got carefully expedited via Sorcery. Looks like it’ll land at the Golden Lord’s court in short order!

Dukokinoko Momo: In fact it probably won’t be long before she gets a response. He is technically still a Celestial censor, so he can take the audit, just as he submits to one like clockwork every five years.

Star Seeker: Star BEAMS.

Jen Michael: Jen sighs. “She really is.”

Rithlen: Que mad laughter from Rithlen “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”

Star Seeker: “Aww, you two, you’re just saying that~.”

Jen Michael: “That’s quite enough cookies for you.” Jen shakes a finger at him.

Dukokinoko Momo: “Hm… It’s a good idea, if you can actually do that, but are we sure you can do that?”

Star Seeker: “W-weeell…you WOULD need Abyssals and Deathlords as the main ingredient.”

Star Seeker: “Wouldn’t be easy.”

Rithlen: “I’m a god we don’t get hyper…I JUST HAVE VIOLENT MOOD SWINGS”

Star Seeker: “But things like this never are. Not if they’re worth doing.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “What would it do to the beings in question, though?”

Star Seeker: Star GRINS.

Rithlen: Cough cough “Sorry part of the job”

Jen Michael: “Yeah yeah. Pass me a cookie.”

Star Seeker: “I…maaaaaaay have just a little bit possibly maybe been thinking as a teensy bit of revenge fantasy against the Silver Prince?”

Jen Michael: “Me too.”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “What, you WANT him pregnant with fetters?”

Dukokinoko Momo: “…”

Dukokinoko Momo: “… Okay, pregnant Silver Prince? Kinda hot.”

Star Seeker: “Force the Silver Prince to give birth, over and over again?”

Rithlen: “Thats not enough punishment for him.”

Jen Michael: “… Damn you Momo.”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “Momo!”

Star Seeker: “‘Course not. But it’s a start.”

Star Seeker: “Momo. Hotter? Pregnant LUNA. And he knows it.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “… True.”

Jen Michael: “… Star I’m trying to get work done here.”

Lady of the Pale gaze: Sis just laughs.

Star Seeker: “I mean, how many guys has he made wish they could get pregnant?”

Rithlen: “Not me…totally not me”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “I could if I wanted to!” Braggart.

Star Seeker: “‘Course you could.”

Rithlen: “The artificial womb went horribly wrong”

Jen Michael: “Yeah, that you can blame on Loquacious. Apparently she’s trying to get it working again - and make it support half-castes.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Well, the problem with that is that the womb is actually a very complex thing… Making an artificial one is tetchy at best…”

Rithlen: “I suppose designing it as a mechanical seahorse was part of the problem”

Jen Michael: “Lecture her, not me. Also why would you do tha- Nevermind. Don’t tell me.”

Lady of the Pale gaze: “Tell her, tell her!”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Yep. Seahorse pouches have an entirely different balance of hormones and design than are required for normal human gestation…”

Rithlen: “Dubious virtue remember?”

Jen Michael: “I said I didn’t want to know.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “I guess this was just the right time for that revelation.” Momo you have been hanging around Jupiter too much.

Rithlen: “I got sort of carried away on the theme”

Jen Michael: “Just like whoever thought it’d be hilarious to have a Siddie terrified of spiders went sort of overboard on me.”

Rithlen: “I’d blame it on one of star’s previous incarnations, they all LOVED pranks.”

Jen Michael: “Honestly I’m starting to think it was one of mine.”

Star Seeker: “All of them?”

Jen Michael: “Speaking of pranks, there is absolutely no underwear on the ceiling and you shouldn’t look for it. Or tell Tempest.”

Star Seeker: “…”

Dukokinoko Momo: “… Huh?”

Star Seeker: “Okay.”

Star Seeker: Star gets back to work, dutifully not looking at the ceiling.

Lady of the Pale gaze: Sis snickers. The Lunar’s still half asleep.

Rithlen: “Great, now I’ll be distracted for the rest of the meeting.”

Star Seeker: “Ah, I think we’re almost done.”

Jen Michael: “Thank everything!” Finishfinishfinishalmostdone-

Dukokinoko Momo: “Pretty much. The last bit I had was that audit request.”

Jen Michael: “Alright… that’s everything but the Sunny pile.”

Rithlen: “Which is where all the interesting stuff is.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Yep.”

Star Seeker: “‘Course.”

Jen Michael: “Yes, but we should be having a fellow of the green variety coming by soon…”

Rithlen: “Oh?”

Rithlen: 3:47:55 AM] Jen Michael: “Oh yes. Tempest is coming by to get the story from the horse’s mouth as it were.”

Rithlen: “Was he the pompous one you got into a shouting match with?”

Dukokinoko Momo: “I think so?”

Rithlen: “I couldn’t tell, hiding under the desk and all.”

Jen Michael: “Yes.”

Jen Michael: “That’s the first time that’s happened, I swear.”

Jen Michael: “I didn’t know I could get that mad.”

Lady of the Pale gaze: Sis has fallen asleep.

Rithlen: “You should have seen some of you previous incarnations”

Jen Michael: “… Do I want to know.”

Rithlen: “To be fair I was rather foolish in the first age.”

Jen Michael: “To be fair, weren’t we all?”

Rithlen: “Not you-know-who”

Jen Michael: “Point.”

Jen Michael: “… What? What’s with the staring?”

Rithlen: “I’m still looking for the underwear on the ceiling, don’t ask me”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Not staring.”

Jen Michael: “It’s just over my desk, for when he comes in to grab the paper.”

Rithlen: “You are an evil evil lady.”

Jen Michael: “Why thank you kind sir.”

Star Seeker: “She’s my sifu. She’s worthy.”

Rithlen: “You know, for someone so insistently punctual, Tempest is late.”

Dukokinoko Momo: “I am fine with that.”

Jen Michael: “Yeah, means more cookies for us.” Grin.

Rithlen: “His last incarnation would skin him alive if he knew.”

Dukokinoko Momo: Momo has yet to eat a cookie!

Jen Michael: “Momo. Cookies. Eat.” A wadded up ball of paper is thrown at the floofy head.

Rithlen: “You know we really should get back on topic.”

Rithlen: “Whatever it was”

Star Seeker: Star takes one cookie and twirls it gently between her fingers.

Dukokinoko Momo: “Investigating fraud.” This is both mentioned as a protest and as a reminder of the subject at hand.

Rithlen: “Who benefits from copying the UCS’s signature?”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Anyone who wants access.”

Jen Michael: “Pretty much.”

Rithlen: “Next who benefits from forging star’s orders?”

Dukokinoko Momo: “Anyone who needs dirty work done on the Bureau’s dime.”

Star Seeker: Pout.

Jen Michael: “Anyone who needs dirty work to look legit.”

Star Seeker: Pouter.

Rithlen: “The most important question is who has the authority and more importantly the guts to swipe the USC’s seal?”

Star Seeker: …and thus is Star saved from poutestness.

Star Seeker: She was starting to put on the abused puppy look again.

Jen Michael: Which gets a cookie stuffed in her mouth. No puppies!

Star Seeker: “I think it’s safe to say that whoever did it, did it without proper authorimmph om nom nom nom.”

Rithlen: “But they needed someone to get them in.”

Jen Michael: “Which means it’s someone trusted either by Sunny himself, or someone working for him.”

Crack Pairings

Sat, 17 Mar 2012 15:55:00 -0400

No, we don’t know how we managed this either.

As a note, the ‘ST’ lines are just random descriptions not attached to an actual character.

Momo: “Hey, Red. We got any of that jadeite left?”

Red: “Uuuh. We might. I think it’s just the black stuff though.”

Momo: “That’ll do.” Momo stepped across the wagon- it was bigger than it looked- and picked up a few other reagents. “What about the stove polish?”

Red: “… Stove polish?” Momo gets a puzzled look.

Momo: “Yeah, you know, that stuff you use to polish a stove. It’s usually near the weeping stone.” Now if that didn’t sound like one of the old army pranks…

Red: “Really? I could have sworn it was under a bridge.”

Momo: “No no, that’s trolls.”

Red: “And trolls have daiklave polish.”

Momo: “… Ah. Heard that one before, then.” Momo’s still smiling, though, as she has already started compounding that thing she was compounding.

Red: Red frowns, but she’s been thoroughly pulled out of her train of thought. “Nobody’s tried it for almost eight hundred years.”

Red: “But yes.”

Momo: “Oooh, Shogunate vintage. Valkhaven didn’t steer me wrong.”

Red: “Almost as bad as the wine, to boot.” She leans over Momo’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Momo: “Compounding some conveniences to hawk while we’re in the next podunk village.”

Red: “I thought your plan was to get off the Isle as soon as possible, not attract attention.”

Momo: “And my documents say I’m a thaumaturge. Kind of strange for a thaumaturge to not do something when they arrive in a place.”

Red: “Clever. Your little friend is lucky to have someone like you watching out for her.”

Momo: “Possibly. Depends on the little friend.” Hm, let’s see, that goes… filter… Decant… “Of course, attracting major attention, not so great, but putting discreet signs, taking customers, moving on the next day? That seems normal.”

Red: “You’re counting on a lazy garrison. What makes you think you’ll find one?”

Momo: “Partially? The entire place has been gearing up for a major balkanization war for some time. This is a small village where their main purpose is to collect rice from the farmers, in the middle of a province. No value in keeping anything but punishment details here.”

Red: “Mm.” Crap, that’s got her thinking again, though if she’s thinking about the garrison or using it as an excuse is debatable.

Momo: “Oi. Still with me?” This would be so much easier if she could just walk in to Yu-Shan, but calling the Calibration gate… That was a bad idea. Wait. Waaaait. What was that. “Hold on…” She looks out the window. … “Oh, you gotta be shitting me-“

Momo: Rassafrassin, she’s gettin’ her mallet! By which she means her jade bracers. “Like hell you’re foolin’ anyone havin’ four arms when all you are is black as midnight…”

Red: “Buh?” Rassafrassin, really?

Momo: She rolls down her sleeves. “Stay there I need to direct this guy to the nearest Immaculate Temple.” When in doubt, use the enemy’s resources against them!

ST: This had to be a second circle of Ebby, unlikely to be a third. All jet black, four arms, tryin’ to look like the Big S…

Red: “Two miles south.” Deadpan. “Or two and a half east.”

Momo: “That’ll do.” She steps out. “All right who are you and who do you think you are, traipsing around like this?

Red: Red moves where she can watch the fireworks!

Five Days Darkness: “Shut up for a second, okay?” Oddly, whatever demon this is, it sounds eerily like Bruce Campbell. “I know you’re tryin’ to do that ‘mortal alchemist thing’ but that may not fly around here. You need to learn something more than that.”

Momo: “… Okay, seriously who the hell are you, and why the hell should I trust you?”

Red: Eyebrows raised!

Five Days Darkness: “Relax, relax, I’m on your side here, but you’re blundering about on a wing and a prayer. Where are you trying to go?”

Momo: “I’m trying to get to the Last Peninsula. I’ve heard there’s someone there who can get us off the Isle.”

Five Days Darkness: “… Okay, that’s a good choice. Maybe. If you have any ins with the water court. Which you don’t, by the way, I’m pretty sure they’re with Tepet. Are youuuuuu~ a Tepet?”

Momo: “Ah, not exactly-“

Five Days Darkness: “Then no. No that’s not a good plan. Now mine might be a little strange, but I guarantee you this will get you to whatever little hidey hole your sidereal buddy-buddy has made for you. Okay? We good?”

Momo: “Um-“

Five Days Darkness: “Good, because I’m only giving this advice once.”

Jen Michael: Somewhere, Jen is facepalming and muttering about needing a drink seriously how did she even get into this-

Red: And Red is frowning. Goldielocks here is involved with the Sidereals?

Five Days Darkness: Meantime, it’s obvious Mister Shadow is having the time of his life. Showing up Immaculates AND a chance to get himself recognized as God of Calibration? Yes please. “There’s actually a series of dragon-lines you could walk, about thirty yards south of here- please, please, PLEASE tell me you know how to walk dragon lines?”

Momo: “… Faster than normal I take is your meaning.”

Five Days Darkness: “Yeah. Geomancy, Adept. You know, basic stuff for nerd exalts.”

Momo: “… Nerd Exalts?”

Five Days Darkness: “Yeah, like you. Nerd.” He nods. “Anyway, you take that dragon lne you’ll be moving quad speed until you hit a small fishing port that’s having some ghost problems. Solve ghost problem, commandeer boat, go to hidey-hole. Simple.”

Red: Oh come on it cannot be that simple, Red’s posture seems to say.

Momo: “… What’s the catch.”

Five Days Darkness: “Ah, well… It shouldn’t be too much trouble, but there’s the issue you’d be running by some war manses…”

Momo: “what.”

Red: Stare.

Five Days Darkness: “Okay okay new plan. you can still use that dragon-line. All you have to do is avoid the manses.”

Momo: “And why should I trust any of this?”

Five Days Darkness: “No, seriously, I’m on your side here. Ask anyone about Five Days Darkness.”

Momo: “… That jerk who keeps trying to twit the calendar courts?”

Five Days Darkness: “Never mind that now, I’m helping you. Normally, yes, the war manses would be a problem. They’re manned. Heavily. That’s unchanged. The amazing thing is, most of them are running on visual range right now because of the -light show- you put on at the Mount.”

Momo: “So how do I use that to my advantage?”

Five Days Darkness: “… Did you graduate from Valkhaven or not, kid? At this point I could -easily- believe you dropped out.”

Momo: “It would help if I knew the height of the war manses.”

Five Days Darkness: “Aw, so she does have a brain!”

Red: “Unfortunately.” Oh hey, she speaks!

Five Days Darkness: “Nice to see you join the conversation Princess.”

Red: “In your ear.”

Five Days Darkness: “I dunno, having a princess in my ear would be pretty uncomfortable. Unless you use tongue.”

Momo: “… All right enough about that. It’s a high-risk thing, but it would get us out of here even faster… And if we stay out of sight…”

Red: “Yes, because chasing a Fiend across the Blessed Isle and crashing that particular wedding wasn’t already high-risk.”

Five Days Darkness: “Oooh! I like this one! What’s next, gonna comb your hair at me?”

Momo: “And I’d have an opportunity to combine it with…” Well, that would get them up to two hundred… It’d be difficult, at best, to hit them.

Red: Hairflip. “Happy now?”

Five Days Darkness: “Maybe, add a little cleavage, too. Probably wouldn’t be the first time.”

Momo: “I think I can manage it in a day…”

Red: “In your dreams. Not just anyone gets to see this cleavage.”

Five Days Darkness: “Yeah, I suppose you look like that kind of girl.”

Momo: Momo, meantime, touches the two horses, and leads them, and the wagon, off the road.

Red: Red crosses her arms. “So you do have taste. How delightful.” Okay, what’s Momo doing with the horses?

Five Days Darkness: “You say that like it’s not all that common- hey, wait, what are you-“

Momo: “I’m gonna do this. Red, there should be a set of tuning forks, get me the ones marked R, E, and R2. Grab the ground asmodel, too. And we’re breaking the Realm’s currency law. I mean why not, we’re dead anyway.”

Five Days Darkness: “That’s the spirit!”

Red: Don’t face palm, he’ll win- “Well yes, I suppose you are.” Sigh. She gets them.

Momo: Well, if this works, under the cover of darkness, they could probably get out before they could target them! “Anyone who wants out of this crazy plan- except you, Red- better get off the wagon now.”

Five Days Darkness: “I want in. I just wanna see the looks on their faces.”

Momo: “Sure, whatever, just don’t rock the boat.”

Five Days Darkness: “What boat?”

Momo: R, R2, E, she sets them in sconces on the sides of the wagon, and the entire thing vibrates pleasantly with the octave chord. Then she lights a small fire, and starts burning the asphodel as incense.

ST: The currents catch the wagon, and speed the horses, who start going insanely fast-

ST: THE WORLD IS A BLUR.

Momo: Luckily, Momo has goggles.

Red: “Yes, yes, I don’t count, I know.” Eyeroll. “The one that bludgeon you call a sense of humor knocked a hole in.”

Red: OHSHITBLUR

Five Days Darkness: “Oh, man, my sense of humor is a weapon now? I thought only old sunnyboy could manage that.”

Momo: Momo is really busy right now concentrating on driving, but she spares a moment to say “DON’T MAKE ME COME BACK THERE”

Momo: She has a huuuuuuuge grin on her face.

Red: “No, I’m saying that not only has that ship sailed right past you, it sank.” Oooh. “Do it.”

Momo: “NO, SERIOUSLY, THIS THING WILL SMASH INTO A TREE OR SOMETHING AND WE’LL ALL DIE PRETTY HORRIBLE DEATHS.”

Five Days Darkness: “Aw, man, only a horrible death? I was hoping for long and torturous!”

Red: “You would.”

Five Days Darkness: “You know the old saying, sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me.”

Red: “I think I’d prefer you gagged and bound anyways.”

Five Days Darkness: “But then you’d miss the sound of my melodious voice!”

Red: “It’s about as melodious as an old fart passing wind on a set of chimes.”

Five Days Darkness: “You’re no room full of roses either.”

Red: “Aren’t you just lucky that means you don’t have to deal with the thorns?”

Five Days Darkness: “That’s what iron boots are for, honey.”

Red: “Oh but that gets rid of the fun parts~”

Jen Michael: Somewhere else, somebody is muttering about ‘resist the temptation, that cannot POSSIBLY end well…’

Wildy: ‘dooooo iiiiiiit’ Damn it Wildy how did you get into Jen’s office.

Five Days Darkness: “Didn’t know you were into feet. Or is it that you like the hurt?”

Red: “I was talking about your inkwells and quill.”

Jen Michael: ‘Okay that deserved it.’

Five Days Darkness: “Lady, you’re insane, you know that?”

Red: “I’m not insane, I’ve just heard far better.”

Five Days Darkness: “I’m sure you have. I’ve never been one to shape my voice to be a pleasure to the ear.”

Red: “Now who said anything about pleasure? I mean really, a hot iron poker would suffice. Though I suppose what you’re implying would be far more humiliating.”

Five Days Darkness: “Oh, now I’m implying something? I had thought we were talking about normal, everyday life for someone of your stature.”

Red: “You’d have to get far more creative than that to touch on my normal, everyday life.”

Five Days Darkness: “I’ll bet,” He replies. When did they get so close again?

Red: “No witty comeback?” Surely he’s just gearing up for something better? He certainly wouldn’t be getting closer for any… other… purpose, would he?

Five Days Darkness: “Eh, I figure you did a good enough job of insulting yourself there.”

Red: “I did not insult myself. What would a hot poker in the ear even do for someone? I mean really.”

Five Days Darkness: “Hurt? I dunno, Princess, it’s your overextended metaphor.”

Red: “You kept coming back for more.” She should really lean back and break this tension but like hell is she letting him win.

Wildy: ‘dooooo iiiiiit.’

Jen Michael: ‘Is six babies too much? Hmmmm…’ scribble scribble.

Five Days Darkness: “Oh like I’m the only culpable party here,” he replies, throwing up all his arms.

Red: “That’s because you. Are.” Jabs in the chest!

Jen Michael: ‘Hmm we’ll go with three. Done!’

Five Days Darkness: “Am I now? That’s kind of insane for someone who made the snark heard ‘round the world.”

Red: “You’re just determined to drive me insane, aren’t you?”

Five Days Darkness: “Ha, no. If I were trying to drive you insane, you’d know!”

Red: “You know what?” Kiss. “Shut up.”

Five Days Darkness: “… You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Kiss.

Red: “You’re doing a horrible job already.” Kiss.

Five Days Darkness: “Still talking?” Kiss.

Red: “Quit while you’re ahead.” Kiss. Assgrab.

Five Days Darkness: Kiss. “Hmph. You have no idea how tenacious I get.” Two arms go around the neck, one goes for the ass, fourth runs through her hair.

Red: Other hand in the hair. “I don’t know, you not only put,” kiss, “that idea in her head,” kiss! “you got in the wagon.”

Five Days Darkness: “Yep.” Kiss. “You can hear the wind whistling,” Kiss, “we’re evading pursuit,” One hand against a wall now- “And we’re sitting here sniping.”

Red: Kiss. “Was that a suggestion or a proposal?” Hand down the pants!

Five Days Darkness: “Depends on what other use,” kiss, hand through her robes, “You’d put that mouth to-“

Red: “Funny.” Kiss, shudder, “I was about to say the same.”

Momo: If Momo didn’t have to drive the cart, she’d be banging her head against a tree right now…

Wedding Crashers

Wed, 14 Mar 2012 03:26:00 -0400

Turns out that when Venus tells you no weddings,you should probably listen to her.

The Mouse: “Maaan, I can’t believe we’re infiltrating Meru.”

The Rat: “Infiltrating my ass, you’re louder than a herd of yeddim.”

The Mouse: “Which is appropriate, because I don’t think anyone can hear us over the constant solar lightning.”

The Rat: “Who the hell gave Loq that idea? I’m going to kick them in the nuts.”

The Mouse: “Actually, that’s a well-documented geomantic effect over much of the ruins of the Old City.”

The Rat: “Wrong pattern.”

The Rat: “Also, duck.”

The Mouse: “Oh. That. Yeah, I was gonna say, it’s even in the texts at Valkhaven of ‘How Not To Do It’. Sounds like she’s-” EVADE! “Yeah, I thiink she’s trying to control it with that fucking staff of hers and it’s not working out so hot.”

The Rat: Up! “Nngh. Yeah. I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen once she gets it.”

The Mouse: “Probably start farting thunderbolts…” Where was that entrance?

The Rat: “Come up here. Hasn’t been struck yet, and I think I see something.”

The Mouse: Climb time! She stands on the platform. “Not a guarantee…” She looks over the ‘seen something’.

The Rat: Point. “Did I find it, Mousie?”

The Mouse: Her caste mark lights as she turns up the burning chakra, looking it over. “Yeah, that’s an entrance, all right. Now let’s just hope it’s not covered with an essence vent or something.” Press. Nope.

The Mouse: Well, fine, be that way. LOCK OPENING TOUCH, BITCH.

The Rat: Snort. “Awesome. Let’s crash ourselves a wedding.”

The Mouse: “All the fuckin’ ways to ascend the Omphalos, and I think we’re the only people who would think of using the damn elevator.” A few acupressure-significant smacks against a wall and it is prevented from exploding. “Still, better do it fast…”

The Rat: “Yep!” The Rat grins and steps in once it’s clear. “Let’s go.”

The Mouse: And this is the Old Deliberative Chamber; displays spark in and out of life. Shards of crystal litter the ground. The smell of rotting biotechnical components and the acrid stench of ozone fill the air.

The Mouse: The Mouse uses her caste mark like a flashlight, looking for the High Seat…

The Rat: “Eugh.” The Rat makes a face, but uses her own as well, looking as well.

The Mouse: “… How are we supposed to even get up there. Who designed this place, a fucking moron!?”

The Rat: “Probably some asshole who could fly.” Sigh. “Which, I can fly up there.”

The Mouse: “I’ll have to take the hopping route then.”

The Mouse: “Unless we want to try that trick with me standing on the wren again.”

The Rat: “Hopping route. I’ll meet you up there.” Suddenly there is a very smug-looking parrot, who dooks cheerfully and flies up.

The Mouse: “Aw. I thought you’d said I was light while Graceful Crane was up?” But she’s already hopping and hopping and hopping. Panels light up and fade as she passes them.

The Rat: “-dook-You also weighed twenty pounds less when you were doing that.”

The Mouse: “Well I can lose twenty pounds if that’s the problem…” The Mouse is still a petite girl!

The Rat: “Pfft. No. Fuck-dook-that. I like you with-dook-curves.”

The Rat: She swoops in to land on the back of the throne.

The Mouse: A few seconds later, The Mouse sticks the landing. “Fucking Hierophant.”

The Rat: “Uh huh. I take it I-dook-should stay flighty?”

The Mouse: “… Yeah, what with the chances of the elevator being functional and us being able to repair it in time being… Hm, slim. To nil.”

The Rat: “Thought so. What do you need me to do, Mouse of the Sun?”

The Mouse: “Well, I was thinking of just Mountain-Crossing my way up, actually…”

The Rat: “Uh huh.”

The Mouse: Aaaand then she looks down the elevator shaft. “Fuck hell ass balls, how deep does this thing GO!?”

The Rat: “Aren’t you glad you made that leap?”

The Mouse: “Yeah, now the main problem is a handhold near where I’m going to apex…”

The Rat: “Uh huh. Not my tail feathers.”

The Mouse: “Won’t be. They had to have an access ladder or something so the mortals could polish the metal of the inside.” beat. “Because they were vain pricks, that’s why.”

The Rat: Snicker. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

The Mouse: LADDER! She manages to grab on to it, and curls up again and BOIIIIIIIIIIIING.

The Rat: The Rat lazily glides up after her.

The Mouse: “Have I mentioned lately this is INSANE?”

The Rat: “This was your idea Mousiepoo.”

The Mouse: “I know! I am starting to have second thoughts! Third ones even.”

The Rat: “Do you really think that a) we could get out and that b) even if we did she wouldn’t drive us right back in because like hell did she break out the staff for nothing?”

The Mouse: “There’s that.”

The Mouse: “I just hope we can get this stupid Fiend before he blows up the Omphalos or something else similarly idiotic out of a misguided attempt at freeing the Yozis.”

The Rat: “Yeah, no kidding. I’m wondering how exactly drawing us up Mount Meru is train to zoning Ole Ebby-butt though.”

The Mouse: “Guess we’ll find out when we get the- … Oh no he DI-IN’T.”

The Rat: “What?”

The Mouse: “I’m seeing a lot of black up there. Coily black.”

The Rat: “Motherfucker. I think we need backup.”

The Mouse: “Well, I did pick up the Enemy-Castigating Solar Judgment…” Still, she nodded. “Yeah, backup might be nice, though.”

The Rat: “Yyyyyeah. Can you see who the bride is, though? It might be worth it to snatch her out from His Eternal Grubbyness’ nose.”

The Mouse: “Not sure, but I’ll just land and grab her. Get whatever ring it is off her finger. Throw it in Mount Doom or something while we’re at it…”

The Rat: “You save the bride, I’ll fly off with the ring?”

The Mouse: “Plan A it is.”

The Rat: “Don’t die. I will hunt your soul down and shove it into a body so I can kill you myself if you do.”

The Mouse: “Heh. Understood.”

The Rat: “On three?”

The Mouse: “Right.” Beat. “THREE!”