Avatar of Force and Fury

Status

Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Don't mind me. Just shilling a thread: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
8 likes
3 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
7 likes
3 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
4 likes

Bio

Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?

Stay awesome, people.

Most Recent Posts

Was feeling inspired, so have a PaintBoi. Not sure which of the two characters I like better. Any opinions (especially the GM's) would be appreciated!

@Force and Fury


Many thanks! Looks like AI hand disease struck again for lots of them. It's the posing with the cigarette, I think. 7 would be perfect were it not for the smoke being randomly behind her lol.
<Snipped quote by Deja>
Yeah, knowing the review is soon, currently resisting the urge to keep re-reading mine for better word choices and typos that don't exist.

Anyone else doing basically the same thing?


Guilty as charged.

First thing we need to do when all the characters are finalized is separate the characters based on House and see which team would win in a fight

It'll be Seraphine btw, this is just to formalize their superiority ;)


It's Hammertime, baby!

So, I couldn't resist subscribing to Midjourney again. And, I put Tessa into it along with some fashion prompts. Words can't describe how ICONIC this lady is already.



Anyway, my point is that I'm open to running anyone's character through Midjourney if you want to!


I will certainly not say 'no'.

<Snipped quote by Force and Fury>
God, I love that phrasing. Coffee-addicted witches with vaguely defined emotional states are also totally my vibe.


Many thanks. It may or may not describe multiple people I've known over the years.

Another gupoo friend for the list.


We are LEGION.
Attempt numero dos. Meet Melle.



You know that moment when you think you read all the other Character Sheets, miss one, and realize that it has almost the same power as your character when you're 95% finished making him? That's me right now. FML. Posting him anyways because This was six hours of my life lol and, even if it's wasted, it was still spent. Enjoy. :P






A L I G H T I N T H E D A R K N E S S ||


Present: Ayla Arslan @Ti, Evander Fino Synesti @RezonanceV, Tku Pictor @dragonpiece, Fiske Flachstrauch @jasbraq, and Zarina Al-Nader @YummyYummy, Desmond Catulus @Th3King0fChaos



They had taken his day’s wages because of Poto-Mits. Of course, they had taken hers too. Sazan-Betai sat coiled beside the table. “The girl was clumsy and that one incident set us back -”

“You know it was a setup, dear,” sighed Stela-Zomé.

“It was a setup,” echoed Juja.

Sazan regarded his wife evenly. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “It might’ve been,” he admitted, picking at his stew as she plucked two of the bowls off of the table and refilled them from the large pot by the hearth. “Matzic, Loci! Food! Come get it or I give it to Glubu!” The little tusker’s ears perked up at the word ‘food’ and its name in association, and that was enough to make the kids hurry over. Matzic dropped the toy Sand-Sailor his father had carved for his sixth birthday and Loci, who’d been swinging, upside-down, from one of the joists, dropped with surprising grace and dashed after her brother.

“Still, when someone like Talo-Tecazan hires you…” he was tired. He slouched into his coils.

“When he hires you,” mumbled Matzic in support, already digging into his bowl.

“I know, sweetheart. You can’t refuse.” Stela came up and wrapped her arms around him from behind. He took her hands and squeezed them gently and she planted a small kiss near his temple.

Sweetheart echoed Loci, scrunching up her face as she glanced Matzic’s way. Her brother mirrored her expression for a moment before making kissy faces.

“Was work weawwy bad, daddy?” asked Juja, coming up beside him and offering a hug of her own. Appropriately shamed and not to be shown up, the pair of brats dropped their spoons and offered him two more hugs. Within moments, it became a full-family embrace. Sazan breathed in and out, letting the tension evaporate. Rent was high on their cottage - that was the price of being a sirui hé and not an escé - but he would take an extra shift before the month’s end and make up for it. All seven of his children clustered about him and their mother and he couldn’t help but wonder, sometimes, at how big they’d gotten. In two years, they’d start getting work of their own: simple tasks, of course, but work nonetheless. Involuntarily, his stomach clenched at the thought. It would be better for them. He would make sure of it. Those bright little personalities, crushed beneath the endless churn of mindless work. He couldn’t bear to conceive of it. Absently, he patted Zanca’s head. Anything for you, little one.

“Yes, work was… a lot. We had that big sandstorm, remember?” A chorus of affirmatives followed, and half-told stories of peril and wonder, as the children’s words climbed over each other. And… he began ominously, and they fell silent, some mumbling after him. “I was stuck with…Poto-Mits!”

“Oh no!,” shouted Matzic, mouth wide open, half in horror and half in mirth. There was a collective groan. Poto-Mits!? giggled Loci, “She’s literally the worst!

“What’d she do this time?” wondered Walan aloud.

“Oh, you know, just dropped a whole section of scaffolding and spilled blue paint all over Mr. Talo’s red wall, the big doofus.”

“He has a purple wall now!” exclaimed Lelix proudly, and Stela smiled. “Very good, Lelix. Red and blue together make purple.”

“Did it really make his wall purple!?” gasped Juja. Zanca leaned in beside her sister, biting her lower lip in anticipation, and nodded.

Sazan snorted. “Well, it did for a little while, until we had to clean it all off.” It had been a less-than-pleasant task, especially when the guildmaster’s wife, Zast-Wesca, had gone into histrionics. “Don’t you mean she had to clean it?” prodded Cili matter-of-factly. “Yeah,” agreed Matzic, brow furrowed, “it was her mistake.” There followed a chorus of affirmations toward this idea and Sazan shook his head. “Now, I know it feels like that’s the right thing to do, but anyone can make a mistake” In truth, he didn’t really believe his own words, but these were the sorts of things you were supposed to say to kids so they didn’t grow up without empathy. “and,” he continued.

“But it’s Poto-Mits, dad.” Loci rolled her eyes. “It’s Poto-Mits,” echoed Zanca. “She’s always dropping things, just like Aunt Caz but like-” “Even worse!” Lelix cut in eagerly, giggling “That’s what I was gonna say before you interrupted me!”

Stela switched out bowls again, with Walan and Zanca starting to eat. “Well, the truth is that it’s pretty frustrating working with her.”

“Pretty frustrating,” came the affirmations, most stridently Cili’s.

“but it isn’t her fault they keep putting her on these jobs when she’s not very good at them.”

“Then why’s she on any jobs?” griped Matzic.

“Because you have to work, obviously,” retorted Lelix.

“But what if I don’t wanna?” suggested Loci, who was upside-down by now, coiled into a circle. “What if I’m not good at it?” questioned Zanca, trying - and failing - to imitate her sister.

“Then you’re useless,” confirmed Cili.

“Work can be very important,” their mother assured the kids, “But is it the only thing that’s important in life?”

A couple of them looked her way, blinking. Loci shook her head adamantly, but it was Walan who spoke, looking up from his stew. “Stuff like this is,” he said quietly and with tentative conviction, and Stela smiled at him. “You are exactly right, Walan.”

“Very much,” Sazan confirmed, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. Walan beamed as he went back to eating.

The evening carried on and, soon enough the group of seven-year-olds’ energy waned. They fell asleep in a big pile, as always, except for Loci, who dangled off the edge. Stela-Zomé was not long in throwing a shawl over her shoulders. Sazan-Betai tried not to shoot her a disapproving look, but it leaked through nonetheless. She smiled softly but not apologetically. “I won’t be very long, my love.”

“You shouldn’t be going there.” Sazan shook his head tightly and glanced down at the ground, tightening his fists. “It’s a risk,” he grated, “and you know it too.”

Stela paused at the doorway. It was dark outside now. She made her way back to him and enfolded her husband in a wordless embrace. “I do, which is why I, alone, go.” She pulled back to arms’ length, hands gently gripping his biceps. “Should I get caught, disavow me.”

“I could never -”

“But you must. She pressed a finger to his lips and he could feel the warmth of it - of her. “and you will - understand?”

He heaved a long, anxious sigh, head hung, and nodded, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “They will only bring ruin,” he wanted, hoping that his words were not true, but fearing that they were.

“Or freedom, Sazan!” Her voice rose a touch and both of them - parents - glanced over their shoulders anxiously to see if any of the children had woken. “You saw what happened today,” she continued, once it was clear they had not. “How they use you and keep you in debt, what they do to poor Mits.” She squeezed a bit tighter. “The mindless jobs they give Cazelui, brilliant, creative mind that she is!”

And you, he thought absently. Stela-Zomé: beautiful mind. “I don’t like it,” Sazan admitted, “but we have a king now who wants to change things. Maybe the best play is just to be good citizens. To work, to be respectful, to live normal lives and they will not see us as so very different from them soon!”

“Well, he says the right kinds of things,” Stela admitted, “but words are easy. Actions aren’t and, even then, if he’s genuine, there are a lot of his own people who’ll be working against him.” She shook her head. “Husband, I love you, but I don’t agree with you - not completely. We can’t just keep bowing our heads meekly and hoping that, one day, they’ll wake up, change centuries worth of their thinking, and see us as equals. Maybe it’ll happen, but I wouldn't bank on it and I think, deep down, you wouldn’t either.” She stroked his cheek gently and he leaned into it. “Don’t worry. I won’t be long. I won’t get caught.” With that, they broke apart. She flipped her cloak up over her pretty head and disappeared through the doorway into the cold night air.






It was also well after dark when a different group arrived outside of An Zenui. The city slept in its valley, cliffs and walls pulled about it like a child’s blankets. Tku was first to alight from Ayla, who’d taken care to stay out of sight behind a hill and some hoodoos. He helped the doddering old Mr. Jascuan down and then they stood there for a moment as a cool nighttime breeze stirred the dunes. Naxos whined about getting off for a moment, suggesting that they just ride their giant human right into the city, but his conscience was pricked by the old man and he let out a sigh. “Okay, okay. I give. We’ll walk.”

She was left with a set of clothes for when she shrank and advised to stay out of sight. Then, with a grim sort of determination, Jascuan led them… around the main gate and up to a small shed. “I can’t remember shit anymore,” he joked through Naxos’ translation, “but I remember this place.” The door was locked, or appeared so until he grabbed the handle roughly and, with surprising strength, lifted. The weathered old wood creaked, thumped, and came open. “Through here,” he croaked in a self-satisfied voice. “Hidden entrance for us independent merchants. Avoid the gate taxes.” There was a long tunnel through the cliff and Naxos summoned a bit of feeble light to help them find their way through. “Oh goodie,” he griped. “I Just love small dark spaces.”

An Zenui by night was a different place. While the rich and their exhausted servants and slaves slumbered up in the Bantarsca district and the day’s bustling markets were empty and quiet, the streets took on a different kind of life. Stray cats, dogs, and lizards scampered about, sometimes fighting loudly in alleyways or leaping up onto sheds, water catchments, and rooftops. Their eyes flashed eerie shades of gold, orange, and acid green, reflective under the moonlight.

They weren’t the only eyes about, however. A handful of cazenax could be seen, moving from one place to another, for whatever reasons they had. They were few, though. Far greater was the number of stuzé - who the humans knew as ‘sirrahi’. Nocturnal either by choice or employment, dozens were encountered by the interlopers as they made their way through An Zenui.

“What are they up to?” Naxos wondered aloud, in both cazenax and, belatedly, avincian. “You haven’t been to the city for a while,” Jascuan observed. He shook his wizened head. “They work in shifts, you know. Some barely ever see daylight.” They carried on, towards where, only he could say. He seemed to at least have an idea, unlike the others. After a moment, he voiced it.

“They're headed for the tunnels," the old man rumbled. “Who'd have ever thought that keeping people as slaves and treating them like dirt would make them angry." Jascuan let out a derisive snort. “You know, it isn't often that I curse my age - I've lived a good long life - but if I was thirty years younger..." He shook his head and then, for a moment, self-doubt seemed to overcome him and he paused. “Naxos," he asked quietly, “You're happy?"

The imp seemed to consider. “...yeah, I guess so. You forgot to fluff my pillows last night and bring me my glass o' lemon water with three mint leaves and a -"

“You little ingrate," Jascuan snickered, and Naxos snickered with him. “You know you're my main man, pops. Ain't nobody gonna take our farm or hurt Maxi on my watch." He yawned and there was a faint hum of chemical magic. “If I can stay awake, that is."

“You'll have your fluffed pillows and lemon water soon, Naxos. Maxi knows the tunnels, though. I helped dig them, after all," he grumbled. “It's the least those stuzé owe me."

Then, they found themselves approaching an indent in the cliffs under a particularly reddish section. Great mansions and sprawling gardens perched atop it, some two hundred feet up, vines dangling down, an entire fold-out patio winched up for the night. Around the base were a series of sheds, storehouses, hovels, and a slaughterhouse. Voices seemed to be coming from the shed beside the slaughterhouse. Up above, on the cliffs, there was a flash of sonic magic and bright flashing lights that suddenly went dark.




Zarina, voluntarily left behind, had only Naxos and Classa to rely on, and the child soon became irritable and erratic, involuntarily signaling that it was time for her to sleep. Zox, all glowering ten feet of him, was placed in charge of the prisoners while Zarina ‘tucked’ the girl into bed.

It was an extended process. For all of her protestations that she wasn’t some ‘scaredly lil’ kid’ and was fine, Classa clearly was not. When she’d finally conked out, Zarina found her mind turning to the present problem. Tennaxi and two others - Ozuxsalan and Zamujazé - were cooperative, or at least seemed to be. The other prisoners were… a volatile mix. That brought her to the present problem: they would need to be kept somewhere while she questioned them, one at a time. They would, perhaps, even need to be restrained, physically or magically.

She walked back around the rambling farmstead, the cold glow of the moons lighting her way. In the distance, dewsails fluttered gently, ethereal in the desert night. Out of absent habit, the Virangishwoman reached out with her senses to sweep the surrounding areas. Zox wasn’t there. She swept again, her pace quickening from a brisk walk into a jog. Again, there was no sign of the massive golem. Instead, there was motion and magic use from the shed where the prisoners were being temporarily kept. There was noise! She ran, enhancing it with kinetic magic. From the opposite direction, near the innermost dewsails, she saw Zox rushing over as well.

They arrived and busted open the door. Inside was carnage. Ozuxsalan and Zamujazé - two of her three most cooperative leads - lay dead: bloody and battered. A third prisoner - Cuimits, who’d tried to stab her earlier - was cowering, wounded, from… Tennaxi. Covered in others’ blood, she released him immediately and held her hands up before her. “Co an benam zel an!” (It’s not how it looks!) Her eyes darted about and Zarina could see that there were scratches and bruises on her that had not been there before. “Cé yamui!” (I swear!)

“Toala!” (Monster!) shrieked Cuimits, glaring Tennaxi’s way. His eyes flicked in the direction of Cozesteo as the big man hesitated. “An oiscané ya!” (She attacked him!) he accused after a moment, leveling a trembling finger her way and glancing back at Cuimits. “Anx zoané ya! zicui zoan ya!” (She tried to kill me!) He clutched at his ribs and looked up at Zarina beseechingly.

Tennaxi’s eyes were wide and haunted. She closed them and hammered both open palms into the sides of her head, trembling. “Ya’ax Cé!” (I didn’t do it!) she whimpered, hands covered in other people’s blood, tears streaming down her face. “Ya’ax Cé…” (I didn’t do it…)






In temporary exile outside of the city, Ayla had time to do… more or less whatever she liked. The problem was that there wasn’t very much to do and she needed to stay hidden. It was size shaming, to be perfectly frank, and she strained under that particular yoke. Then, as she was watching a sand scorpion skitter about on the dunes, grateful that she was a few hundred times bigger than the oversized bug, she felt a familiar pinch.

She braced herself for the pain but, when it came, it was far less than it had been the first time. That’s not to say that it still didn’t hurt like hell. Sitting there in the sands within a tent of her own giant clothes, she quickly retrieved the smaller set Tku had made for her slipped into them. She’d been able to keep her wits a bit and the transformation… it stank of Dark Magic and… in addition to Binding or Blood, perhaps some other kind she couldn’t place.

Emerging into the cool night air, she wrapped her arms around herself and gathered both the faint arcane energy that she could for warming and the deep and powerful but subtle kinetic motion of the shifting sands for movement. Effortlessly, she leapt up onto the great reddish cliffs, over a wall, and found herself in a land of vast silent gardens and sleeping mansions.

Only the buzz of their wings to mark their presence, a handful of small, fairylike people fluttered about, eyes or wings glowing faint and ethereal in the shimmering darkness. Nightflowers pulsed and gleamed under the starlight, curling and drooping from trellises and here, in the desert, that rarest and most valuable of commodities - water - flowed freely in ponds, fountains, and artificial streams. A couple of the little people looked her way - she had never seen anything like them and perhaps they had never seen anything like her - but then they carried on with their business, paying her little heed after those initial curious glances.

There were others about too, she noticed, and was startled to find that they were sirrahi, or whatever they were referred to as over here. Even at this hour, closing in on midnight, they continued to sweep sand from the previous morning’s storm from rooftops, balconies, gardens, and paths. In a few places, there was scaffolding still: evidence of construction or repair work. Then, there came voices. “Why use this language is we?” the first one was female, cultured, and thickly accented. “Speaks it, nobody does. Whatever I like, I can say.” The response was similar, but distinctly masculine and lacking the tentativeness of the first.

“The stuzé know.”

“To them, nobody listen. On our side, some even. Now, tracks cover are your?”

“Cover: cad jici ya?” (cover: what does it mean?)

There was a quick response in what Ayla could only assume was their native tongue. “Now, have we protect our…alizoshti?” (benefactor)

“And now you don’t know a word!” There was a long pause. “I don’t see that could know anyone. Drink it that stupid cooking girl. Unsick was she.” There was a second pause and the female voice came back, pleading. “Talo, this shouldn’t we do.”

“You see how we live, Wesca?” the male voice snapped condescendingly.

“...yes, but -”

“No ‘yes but!’ All end will this if get his way he. No power will have the guild. Ruined will be we.” There was another pause. “Beside, powerful support have we.”

“Yes! Too powerful! If go wrong things, in trouble we, not she - her!

“My love,” began the male voice, but then, one of the fairylike people pulsed a bright red along his wings and the pair stopped abruptly. There was rapidfire conversation in cazenax and then more, awkwardly, a continuation in avincian. “Well, then lose we. Take risks I like.”

“...lose I not like.”

“Just a game is it, honey.” There was nervous laughter. “Find out winner next… Victendis will we.”

Ayla reached out with her senses. There were at least four of the small flying people closing in on her, glow blacked out, and a couple of sirrahi too.




Cazelui had spent the past hour and a half playing with dyes she’d found and she was far too much of a nervous wreck to go back to the bunkhouse and sleep. She’d lost Pan and the human girl. She’d followed the other three humans here. They’d gotten into the paténasca (safehouse) and taken the key with them. The Sahuitix (chain breakers) would be furious. They were meeting tonight. She could run away and play innocent, but she’d been seen in the area, they already didn’t like her, and word would travel. The twenty-two-year-old groaned.

Tentatively, sweeping first with her unpracticed energy sense, she opened the shed door just a crack and peered out into the quiet, nighttime streets. The usual creatures skittered about, and the usual people too. She still knew most of the patterns, even though she hadn’t been on nights for almost two years. It was right about then that the lock on the hidden door behind her jiggled. Cazelui nearly jumped out of her skin, but she put her dyes away as it opened and one of the humans - the tall blonde one - popped his head out.

“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I’m rescued!” She blinked, looking him up and down for a moment as he emerged more fully. “I… oh. Um, is everyone okay? Did you catch Potés-Palix? Did you learn anything?” The questions came tumbling out and she blushed. Evander This one’s name was ‘Evander’, she remembered.

Then, however, just as she was checking if there were more squeezing through behind him, just as she noticed a second, Desmond, there came quiet sounds of movement outside - stuzé movement. “They are coming,” she warned, “The Sahuitix - um… chain breakers. This is their space we are in and they are about to have a meeting.” The stuzé knitted and unknitted her fingers anxiously as she glanced at the small door. “I am not sure how welcoming they will be. You are not cazenax, but you are not stuzé either, and Potés-Palix…” She trailed off, worried.

It was too late. The door opened and a pair of stuzéts appeared. Both were women: one of perhaps around thirty and the other perhaps a shade older. They paused in the doorway at the sight of Cazelui, and a moment of recognition flashed between the daydreamer and one of them. The door was allowed to close and it was crowded inside the shed, suddenly. The new arrivals regarded the pair of humans. “Azaba?” (Sister?) remarked one incredulously, eyes searching the two unfamiliar faces as she spoke, “Who are these and what are they - and you - doing here?”



Yet, this was not the only entrance to the extensive network of tunnels and paténascats beneath and around An Zenui. From at least three others, they worked their way in: dozens of stuzéts, many if not all members of the sahuitix. Potés-Palix straightened, eyes darting around. She scooted back in bed to find the human who had been suspicious of her - Fiske? - gone, perhaps invisible again as he often was. There was movement in the tunnel and then in the large room. The back of her neck prickled in warning. Then came a voice from the next room, low and growling in Avincian. “I smell cazenax. Find it and remove. Make sure it can’t say anything.





Part of me just wants to make a 'burninator' if I go the elementalist route: someone who does one thing very well, to an almost cartoonish degree in dedication and perhaps ability, to the detriment of most other things. I'd like to have a niche case who gets his/her one crowning moment of awesome at some point or is situationally very useful and struggles to find purpose when pushed outside of that niche. Not sure, but also want to have them play authentically 'young'. Would I be stepping on anyone's toes with either of my concepts?
Not sure if I'll be able to dedicate the sort of time to this that it deserves, but I'd like to play a Somatic if I could, either invisibility/intangibility or duplication. I'd just like to play a slinky, slippery lil' shit who seems almost cartoonish but maybe has some hidden heart and depth.






Present: Yalen Castel @pantothenic, Valerian Remi Leclere @yoshua171, Maura Mercador @Ti, Trypano Somia @A Lowly Wretch, Ingrid Penderson @dragonpiece, Niallus Saberhagen @McKennaJ71, and Abdel Varga @YummyYummy


They trickled back towards the capital, exhausted and heavy with new worries, new information, and new angles to consider. For those who had gone to Chuanwei, the divide between the guardians and the students was clear even if it wasn't a hostile one. Both spoke amongst themselves in low tones. Both tried to unpack what had taken place, from the ambush and the still-missing Mr. Xiang, to the fight against Lady Matsuhara, the appearance of the Progenitor, the tense standoff between the two groups, and the arrival of the Black Guard.

Those who had scaled Bailong Shan were a good hour and a half ahead of them and, as they approached the city’s walls, they noticed that there were more guards by the gate than there had been earlier in the day, and all of the watchtowers and fires were lit.

Ingrid, anxious over the absence of Niallus, scanned the defensive measures, leaning in to Rikard to comment on them. “It’s like they know. Like they’re prepared…” He trailed off and wrapped his arms around himself. It was the end of Rezain or the start of Somnes and it was cold. The breath of those around them came out in small whitish puffs that quickly dissipated in the breeze. Nervously, the boy’s eyes snapped to a nearby hillside overlooking the road and he thought that he saw a lone figure standing there, with eyes of glowing white, but he sensed no energy and shook his head slightly to clear it. Sure enough, it was nothing: just an overtired mind and an overactive imagination. He had nearly died today, after all, and made enough of a fool of himself.

It was at that very moment that Niallus appeared, elsewhere. There was a flash of what they by now recognized as temporal magic and he stumbled out of a copse of brambles, rubbing at his neck, eyes darting about wildly, looking like an utter mess. He seemed to call out to someone, but Rikard couldn’t quite make out who.

Captain Zhu’s credentials were enough to get them into the city, but it was a changed place. Guardsmen Peng, Wang, Chen, Hunag, Xie, Zhou, Zheng, and Zheng joined Dai and Captain Zhu, forming up around them. Indeed, as the Easterners were escorted through the city to the very foot of their accommodations, it was hard not to be overwhelmed by the increased security within Wanggang. Twelve-man squads patrolled the major roads in formation and occupied public squares. There were quartets at all intersections, and the barracks outside of the Forbidden Quarter were fully staffed. Lamps were lit, posts were manned, and sleek midsized junks quietly circled the harbour. This was a capital preparing for a revolution and the sense that they had stepped into a situation far too great for them pervaded.

Then, they stood outside of the inn’s doors and the strange earlier cold was all-but gone. Captain Zhu began barking out orders in Retanese and the members of his squad snapped to attention. More than one of the students was left with the impression of inward groaning and Ingrid, able to pick up some of what was being said, leaned in and told them why. “He’s telling them they each need to file a report of the day’s activities.” She shook her head, “I can’t say why for sure, but…” She trailed off. The captain was last of all, exchanging a meaningful glance with Yin and then the others. “I go back.” he said. “You no gaud. Be good.” With that, he spun on his heel and departed. Mr. Wei had come up and Yin was there. They exchanged rapid words and he took her aside. Before she was pulled away, she managed to mime eating to the group. She pointed up at where their rooms were and mimed bathing. It appeared that there was warm water in their tubs and that there would be food soon. Until then, they appeared to have free run of the place.

Some time later, but perhaps not that much, the second cohort of students made their way through Wanggang, escorted much more heavily than the first. The city’s security measures were all-encompassing and, with the last bit of daylight having long since faded from the sky, there was nobody about except for guards and those authorized to be. “Why doo they heve e coorfeew?” asked Kaureerah quietly and there was plenty of uneasy whispered conversation and eyes darting about. “Whaut een te deepest daurkest oocean heve wee gautten eento?”

Then they were at the inn and exchanging goodbyes: formal and strained, but not entirely without warmth from Yawen, Ming, and Zihan. Captain Zhao inclined his head out of respect. With that, the guardians turned and marched away. They were gone and the great double doors opened. Yin and her father peered out. "Come!" the former whispered loudly, beckoning them inside. "Come in." Apparently, she had learned a few words of Avincian, just for them.

The inn was warm and safe and, despite the late hour, there was a large dinner sitting prepared in the courtyard. The group who had gone to the mountain was present, freshly bathed and clothed. They broke off what had seemed an absorbing conversation to rush over and greet the new arrivals. Yong was out and about as well, wearing one of his many Black Guard masks, and it was a bit unnerving to see that it almost matched the appearance of the large silent man who had stood before them mere hours earlier. Captain Zhu and his men, however, were not present. Ingrid explained that they had been called to the station to fill reports and that the full extent of it would have to be discussed over their very late dinner.

Abdel, Kaureerah, Maura, Yalen, and Xiulan were ushered to the table for some desperately-needed food, warmth, and rest, but Maura claimed - against the rumbling of her stomach - that she’d rather just rest. She headed off down the hall where the privies were before making for her room. After sitting and eating some duck, Abdel made the same claim a few minutes later. Xiulan shared that they had been invited to a dinner tomorrow, in the Forbidden Quarter, with the Twin Emperors. It was a great honour that many powerful lords waited an entire lifetime for and never received. There was even a specific set of ceremonial clothing that they were to wear. It would be tailored to fit each of them and delivered tomorrow morning to the inn. With that, she departed for bed as well, yawning grandly.

Only Kaureerah and Yalen remained of the group that had gone to Chuanwei. The eeaiko ate heartily, big silver eyes flicking about, grip tight on her chopsticks, fumbling about. “Eye em nervoos,” she admitted. “Eye traust nauteng.” She shook her head and took a moment to chew. Swallowing, she continued. “Wee met te Blauck Gaurd et te veellege: too auf them. Eet seemed maur laike e treat then en eenvetaitoon.” Her eyes darted Yalen’s way. “Eye doon’t tenk wee cen refoose, taugh, end eet es naut laike wee cen hide. Yoo aull look deeferent fraum tese peepaul. Eye…” she snorted. “Naut even te seme speecies. Too soomaune skeeled, even my energee stents aut.” She looked significantly at the Somnian before she, too, now finished with her plate, stifled a yawn. She rose and excused herself.

Maura had been waiting outside with an increasing dearth of patience, joined first by Abdel, and then by Xiulan and finally Kaureerah. “Eye doo naut laike tet wee aur keepeng tees e seecret.” She was already walking out ahead, clearly bothered. “Wee shoold bee woorkeng toogeteer.” That said, she did not raise the issue further, and the quartet began making their way over. Gradually, she fell towards the back with Xiulan. “I agree wiss you,” said the interpreter, leaning in, “But you know Maura doesn’t.” She shook her head. “She is ze good person. So is Ingrid, but zey can not to get along.” Her gaze drifted in the direction of the group’s self-appointed leader, up ahead. “And if we tell ze Yalen and Rikar and Trypano, zen Ingrid will start become suspicious.”

Kaureerah rolled her eyes. “Shee aulreedy weell. Enyaune weet a brain woold. Aul foor auf aus joost get oop end leeve e foow meenootes epeaurt.” She snorted. “Eye knoow shee ees e good persoon. Shee ees my frend, baut wee cennaut stend egainst te tweens end whautever else tey heve een stoor foor aus eef we aur sepaureted end cennaut woork toogeter.” She shook her head tightly, eyes scanning the night for more patrols and then finding Xiulan. “Tey weell eet aus elaive.”

“I… do not feel good about zis,” Xiulan admitted, “I should be ze translator for the whole group, whezer zey are need me or not. She was risk her life to save me, zough. I can’t to let her go wiss just you. Maybe she would get hurt.”

Then, Abdel held up a hand and the other three skidded to a stop. An energy sweep revealed a patrol of Blues mere moments before they appeared around a corner, a dozen of them in rigidly-drilled formation, weapons at the ready, marching down a midsized road.

Under Kaureerah’s veil of shadows, they slunk into a pair of alcoves and waited it out. In fact, it became a regular occurrence as they neared their destination: the city was a veritable fortress, swarming with armed men loyal to the Twins, and it was… cold. Maura pulled her shawl tight. Kaureerah risked generating some more heat and Xiulan sheltered beside her. Then, finally, they were there. It was an older area of the port district, mostly low-value warehousing and a bit dilapidated: right out of some tale of criminals and clandestine meetings. The guardians that had seemed ever-present elsewhere were nowhere to be found here.

Instead, there was a single man, half sitting, half leaning against a bollard, rubbing his hands together for warmth and hugging himself. The surface of the water was beginning to crystallize but, at their approach, he uncrossed both his arms and his legs and strode forward. He wore a mask, but he was not Mr. Bao. Long white hair spilled from the opening of his hood, framing a familiar porcelain visage. He was tall and, for some reason, gave them the impression of being an Easterner. He came to a stop and there were four of him. Each held out a hand to one of the students. “A fine evening to you,” he said with a cultured Kerreman accent. “My name is Ash, and we need to speak.”






To say that suspicion abounded back at the inn was an understatement. Kaureerah’s departing words had seemed a cue of sorts and Yalen and Niallus had both sensed energies outside. If four were their companions, engaged in something covert, then there were two others as well. They had been sensed, in brief, as if they were trying to remain hidden: monstrous energies. “So…” said Rikard, popping a sugary little doughball into his mouth, “I guess we just uhh… go to bed, start thinking about how we’ll introduce ourselves tomorrow?” He all-but rolled his eyes.

Then, Yong sneezed, lifting his mask up part way to wipe at his mouth. Yin tossed a shawl over her shoulders and Mr. Wei stoked the fire. The youngest of the remaining students swirled his cup about and then leaned over to peer into Yalen’s. The surface of the water was starting to crystallize. Their breath was coming out in frosty little clouds. The priest perked up and cast about. “Yong,” Yin was saying, “过来。过来。去你的房间。” (Come here, come here. Go to your room.) The boy, who’d eagerly been showing Ingrid what one of his action figures did, started to protest, but there was no mistaking the very real note of worry in her voice. The innkeeper nodded at the students and scampered back towards the kitchen with Yong. Yin started behind with the others close to her own age and they could feel a subtle draw of magic from her direction.

For a moment, Rikard was certain he’d sensed something more: a third presence, distinct from the fleeting ones Yalen and Niallus had warned about. Ingrid was on her feet too, radiating warmth for those around her. Trypano had synthesized something like antifreeze within her bloodstream. “This cold…” decided the youngest of their group, trailing off for a moment, “It’s not natural.”

Two more tense minutes passed. Further sweeps were done. Their four other members had clearly left the building. Then, the unholy cold followed them and was gone. Glances were exchanged. Ingrid was the first to speak. “Did it just…” She left the rest unsaid: obvious. Yalen was tracking the dip on thermal energy and he nodded. “It did. It’s following them.” Then, it was Rikard’s turn. “So should we um…”

“Follow them,” Trypano cut in, heaving a much put upon sigh.

“I uh… I think there might’ve been someone following the follower,” Rikard warned, scratching at the back of his head. “Guys, we are well out of our depth. Anyone else sense it?”

“Sense what? That we’re out of our depth?” It was Niallus, and the younger boy rolled his eyes. The older one cracked a grim smirk. “No, you’re not wrong. I sensed it too.” The question was now a simple one: to follow, or not to follow?




Some miles away, Valerian Remi Leclere faced no such dilemma. He had trekked back the remaining mile or so to the ogauraq camp once his unwelcome shadows were gone, fists clenched in helpless… he wasn’t sure what, but it was a negative emotion, to say the least. Following that, he drank with the ogauraq, spoke - after a fashion - with them, laughed, and supped. There was a grim sort of camaraderie about the group. They had all volunteered for this with no guarantee of safe return, leaving loved ones far north, for such were their convictions. They joked openly of death and how they would meet it. Perhaps it was their encounter with members of the Black Guard that had affected them so. It had made matters real and serious in a way that they had perhaps not been before, but the giants were brave people. It seemed that they were open as well, and ready to listen to anyone who might give them the best deal, but the majority - at least tentatively - backed Wu Long, who Vel had met at the onset of this crazy day.

The fire burned low, down to coals and embers and, one by one, they trudged off to sleep. Last up was Dragon Smirk, who yawned, rose, and paused beside Vel, raking some of the coals. He managed a tired smile and lay a massive hand on the younger boy’s shoulder for a long moment. Then, with images of ‘bed’ and ‘sleep’ and ‘luck’ dancing in the thought-space between them, he made his way to his tent for the night.

Left alone beneath the vast, vibrant canopy of stars, Vel kept company with his thoughts. Smoke curled into the air: a wispy grey ribbon, gradually ebbing as he tinkered carefully with his twin mana colonies, balancing them after a day of strenuous activity. Finally, he, too, picked himself up and made his way to a tent. Curling up in a comically oversized bedroll, he soon found sleep.




He was awake. The Perrenchman did not know why, but he was awake. Twisting back and forth, he blinked tiredly and reached out with his senses. Something rippled and it reminded him of… Jocasta? He shook his head and sat bolt upright, amid a series of massive mounds made up of sleeping ogauraq. It was not Jocasta, though. The energy signature that appeared was something very different, and then there were more!

It was barely a second before the first shouts began to ring out. Those around him bolted from their covers. Outside there was fire and noise and… a truly gargantuan surge of power. Vel could feel his manas recoil at the sheer strength of it. He stumbled outside and something streaked by, blinding and golden. Smoke rose everywhere and, from the middle of it, a woman with eyes that glowed like embers - like that other monster’s who had ambushed them earlier. She hummed a little tune and floated above the nascent carnage as White Knights poured through her portal. The golden streak absolutely hammered into Early Bird and he died on impact, his thoughts and stories evaporating with him, ripped from Vel’s head with the final image of a scream and darkness and the feeling of existential fear. A tall, rangy Retanese yasoi stood there, decked out in gold, with a great golden beard, moustache, and mane of wild, violent hair. An aura surrounded him and flames burned in the background, where more ogauraq were now emerging to fight. Dragon Smirk was sent sprawling by a kinetic shove. Lumbering Ox ripped a man in two and let out an earthshaking roar. The yasoi’s grin was toothy, though: twitchy and deranged. “Me, eyes on!” he commanded. “Oohoohoo, aha! Fight me, you’ll do.” One of the ogauraq who Vel did not know tried to attack from the side with an arcane lance. It was effortlessly deflected with but a fist and punched through the would-be attacker’s shoulder. The monkey-man tilted his head to one side and his canines: they were wicked and sharp! “You’ll do,” He insisted, kicking a tent pole in the air, end over end, “or die, you will.” He leapt, caught it in midair, and bolted at Vel.






The Fall of the Jiang
As Told by the Ogauraq of Salty Wind Village





It was just after sunset when Finehair and Early Bird, storytellers of Salty WInd Village, took center stage. The sky immediately around them went dark. Then, upon that canvas played... a memory. Dragon Smirk, their younger peer, flashed images of 'old' at the human visitors. 'Two', added his younger sister, 'hundred'.

It showed an emperor, and they had the sense that he was the second last Jiang Emperor, known as the 'Wailing King'. The images shifted to show a young man, traveling north, across the tundra that dominated northern Retan. He was with a woman and a number of others, and they seemed to be hunting mammoth. The humans chased them, slinging magics as they went, and the animals ran.

The humans fell off the pace, but the animals continued to rampage until they came upon an ogauraq village. The residents brought them under control, eventually, but two houses had been destroyed. Three people had been killed. Those around the clearing bowed their heads in silence.

The story carried on after a moment. It was.. immersive, as if they were there, inside of it.

The Ogauraq were angry at the humans and they argued, but the humans seemed to understand little of what they said. They offered some money, but that was an insult. One did not offer money for lives. There was no true apology. The young man was important. He was told not to apologize by an older woman who whispered in his ear.

He left, continuing north in search of the mammoths, hunting to prove something to himself or others. His clothes were grand and elaborate, as were those of the young woman who traveled with him. Finally, they came upon the herd again. They prepared their fine weapons and their powerful magics, but the mammoths fled into a valley and then a closed-off area, walled with great stones.

The Ogauraq refused to let the men pass, however, for these mammoths were theirs to keep and raise, to milk and to slaughter when they grew elderly or infirm.

The man was a prince, and he was desperate. He offered to pay, but payment for a life is an insult, as all ogauraq know. Lives are thoughts, feelings, memories, and knowledge. Payment is for goods. They argued. Then, the humans left.

In the night, there was a disturbance. The mammoths ran loose. They trampled the home where the farmer lived with his family. The human came to the rescue and slaughtered five of the beasts with his entourage.

Yet, he had been the one to release them.

He denied it, but the ogauraq could see it in his thoughts. He claimed that they were lying. He claimed that they had no right to look into his mind. They claimed that he had no right to hunt these beasts that did not belong to him. He had not, he insisted, but he had offered to pay before. He offered again. The ogauraq were enraged. Payment for lives is an insult, and the actions of the humans had taken lives, now: multiple lives.

They demanded a life in return.

The humans balked, and then they ran. They ran with their ill-begotten meat and furs and tusks. They ran with blood on their hands. The ogauraq chased them down and bade them surrender. They would ask for only one life. The human prince called them savages and cannibals. He struck at them with fearsome magics and killed two more.

The ogauraq retreated, for they were not a warlike people. Now, however, their fury was aroused, and it spread quickly. The prince and his entourage were ambushed, chased, and harried until they were brought to a corner. There, they were captured. There, he told them that they could not possibly kill him or his father's armies would come and wipe them out.

That night, unwilling to face a justice that was not his father's, he tried to escape. In desperation, the ogauraq used their magic - their chemical magic - to cut him off from his sight. They warned him to stop but he scoffed that they would not harm him for fear of his father and that now he would have his revenge.

He slipped on a patch of ice, while walking through a mountain pass. He fell and broke his head open. A life had been given. The other humans were released. The ogauraq explained to them what had happened. They explained that they debt was paid - though not in the way they had intended.

The next summer, as the snow melted and muskox and mammoth began to graze on the green grass, vast human armies marched north. They butchered ogauraq where they stood: man, woman, and child. They razed villages. Many humans died as well: levies from peasant families. The ogauraq were not a warlike people, but they were strong.

The Wailing King, in his grief, threw more lives into the fire. The great dragons, who had been his allies, tried to calm him, and he turned on them too. One of his generals, the elder of a pair of twins from a prominent old family, helped him to hunt down and butcher the dragons, for he was a greatly powerful mage. He had strong allies as well, and he offered these in service of his king, who grew ever madder.

Yet, the general's brother was a wise man, as wise as his elder twin was strong. Magic tore the land asunder, people using it carelessly. Some rebelled against the king, supported by the dragons. Others wished the dragons dead. Still more - insidious forces from Nikan - sought to step in and take over. Religious authorities from the East tried to exploit the weakness. He preached moderation: in temperament, as the great Angic philosophers had taught, and in magic. He wished to save the last few dragons. He wished to spare the emperor's family. He spoke with his brother, and the general repented.

Together, they traveled north to the tundra and met with the ogauraq in secret. Both peoples were wary, but the twins promised that they could avenge their losses to the Wailing King and reclaim their stolen lands. Thereafter, they would be left in peace. The twins shared that they would act as custodians of the land instead. They they would rule harshly, perhaps, but fairly. They would return matters to balance.
Not all of the ogauraq were convinced. The humans who they had once held some trust in, they now wished to avoid. Nonetheless, enough of them listened. The people of the north marched south.

There they found the humans at war with each other. The armies of the Twin Generals had surrounded the capital and some other large cities but now, at the precipice, the Wailing King had repented before his people and his ministers. This had been the generals' plan all along, he claimed. They had orchestrated it all!

The resolve of the people to depose him wavered. Many declared themselves neutral. Yet, that of the ogauraq did not. The Twins had treated with them in good faith. They had made an attempt to understand both their culture and their anger. They stormed the capital and there fought a terrible battle. How the humans fell before them: wave after wave, each one a life: thoughts, dreams, and knowledge. Each lost. But they remembered how they had been treated by this man and his armies. Much as it pained them, they hardened their hearts and fought on.

The conflagration grew, and the Twins dithered. They were engaged further south, in Kuobao, they claimed. Fires raged, destroying most of the old capital. Then, finally, the armies of the Twin Generals appeared. They swept down upon the burning city and extinguished its flames.
They saved human lives. They made peace with their human enemies. Then, they turned on the ogauraq.

Monsters.
Subhumans.
Traitors.

Because of their vendetta against the former emperor, the giants had come to the capital of their own volition and destroyed it. They had fought against both the Wailing King and the Twins. They had butchered humans by the tens of thousands. It was all a lie. The ogauraq protested, but nobody would listen to them, and the Twin Generals ensured it.

They made peace with the last few dragons and the great beings who the ogauraq had once respected said nothing to absolve them. They were... afraid. The ten great warriors who had fought alongside the Twins became the Black Guard. The Twin General became the Twin Emperors.
They hunted down and killed more ogauraq and the people of the tundra retreated further north to lick their wounds, recover, and hide.

The pair of storytellers paused. They shared the idea of 'two', and of 'hundred'.

A great spider's web was shown, with many spiders in it. In the middle were trapped the Twins. They had angered people unknown but powerful. An envoy of one of the five remaining dragons had come to the ogauraq. As an avatar for this great being, he had prostrated himself before them. He had asked that they once again come south. That they lend their strength.

That was why they were here now, in a small camp so far south as the capital bubbled with intrigue. It was only this group and a few others who had answered the call. They were a strong force, but few in number. They had little faith in dragons or humans, but the two among them - Niallus and Vel - had acted in an ogauraq's defense. Hence, they had been brought here. Hence, they had watched this story unfold.

The darkening faded though, now. The sky itself was dark and dotted with many thousands of stars. A faint greenish light wavered across its canvas, vast and phantasmal. The fire crackled. The ogauraq looked to the human pair. Who, they impressed upon the youths with thought-pictures, should they support? Which of the various spiders, or none?
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet