Moon: The Sprawling Halls of Remad

When Caerden became elevated to divine status his estate rose with him. It grew and expanded, its rooms and corridors multiplying and spreading. Soon all of Caerden's new divine realm was a maze of marble corridors, hanging tapestries and secret corridors. This new world was a perpetual mansion, its inhabitants lived in already existing bed chambers, they harvested crops from the many courtyard gardens scattered about the grounds, markets would spring up in ballrooms and the criminal underworld existed as more of an 'overworld' dwelling amongst the roofs and gables and running up and down chimneys.

The Sprawling Halls of Remad are a world in a bottle, the inhabitants villages being known by the wing they inhabit. The traditional roles of villages still exist, tanners, blacksmith, hunters (Who hunt the big game that prowl through the uninhabited wings) all exist, but so do jobs only found in this strange interior world. Pipe-men, who fix the plumbing running through the walls, Lighters who have learned to mend the rudimentary electrics hat power lights, and Patchers who ensure that walls and floors are mended and kept in good use.

There are also many rumors of spirits haunting the corridors and being spotted in abandoned places.

People: Revelers

The inhabitants of Remad are a well spoken and polite. The most notable traits of the Revelers are not their characteristics but rather their culture. All parties and festivals within Remad are masquerades, everyone from the highest lord to the lowest commoner all have a mask to wear to such festivities. Conflicts between villages are not typically resolved by open warfare, though it happens, but usually by duels conducted by a champion from each village.

Pale and slender, like the god that spawned them, Revelers have an affinity for the otherworldly and are sensitive to spirits and magics. There is often a Wise One in each village, a man or woman who is particularly keen to these strangeness and they offer council on how to deal with the supernatural. Sometimes they're even correct.

The party was going haywire.

Upstairs, Lord Markus was about draw Lady Anki into a tryst that would inveitably draw the House of Abelwirth into a spiral of mistrust and and suspicion that would paralyze their trade with the Mardukes, resulting in a death of quality iron at a time that clockwork devices were approaching the ability to act as engines, probably resulting in a terrible, avoidable disaster down the road that would result in a enduring negative opinion of the technology;

On the ballroom, an inelegant spin by Lady Karianne had resulted in her accidentally accosting Lady Pim - sharp words were being stage-whispered, ceremonial court-blades of men on both sides began to rattle in their ornate sheathes, and nobody was paying attention to one of servants unobtrusively slipping a powder into the host's drink during the carefully 'ignored' commotion.

And all of this was occurring, unbeknownst to Caerden, who was presently being surreptitiously seduced in a private alcove by an androgyne of unknown allegiance, dressed completely in white, who refused to communicate in anything other than sign language - likely to disguise a recognizable voice. The way they moved their hands was goddamn sultry, though, and they seemed to know things even Caerden hadn't been able to fully investigate without potentially ruffling the feathers of dangerous birds.

" . .  and that's the proof that Enki was the killer of the Margrave five winters ago. I still have the hard evidence secured in a little vault, in case that bastard ever decides he wants back the invaluable heirloom I took as payment for my services. Shame that he has no other means to prove that he's the heir, hmm?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:29, Mon 17 Dec 2018.

Through the haze of scented smoke and soft conversation Caerden read the flitting words that the enigmatic agent in white conveyed through their silent language. Running a finger along his chin in thoughtful contemplation the host of the party pursed his lips as he measured the words. Spilled blood and secured secrets. Fascinating. "Wise." He complimented. "But clinging to such dark mementos is also a heavy burden. If the wrong word gets out then that proof is no longer protection, it's a target. What you need for your peace of mind and own safety is distance, a third party who is not entangled in these bonds of murder and payment. Then you are not the one who is threatened if others come seeking your proof, you do not have to fear any time there is a bump in the night or a servant with sticky fingers, wondering if your insurance has been purloined."

Leaning forward, "Let me ease that burden," Caerden offered.

"With only a motion from you I'll shoulder some of that strain so you may rest easier. I can hold your evidence safe if you'll but let me." Caerden watched the soft features of his guest carefully to see how the words would be received. Whether an offer was taken now or not, the seed had been planted. If negotiations continued then perhaps the evening would end with a valuable new point of leverage to wield over Enki and a chip with which to bargain with the new Margrave. If this offer was not accepted then Caerden would need to move on. A gala was a dance, whether one was on the dancefloor or not, and one had to be in constant motion to ensure no potential partner was left neglected.

Of course one did not do all the work alone. A waiter appointed to pay particular attention to a lady here, a harpist positioned near the bar who knew to strike a sour note should a drink be spiked (A drink that was not intended to be spiked that is) or a fellow noble who was delighted to dabble in intrigues to distract from their dull existence. Managing a gala was a coordinated affair.

A sour note, and a fresh drink - proffered samples of rare Margravian brandy to mollify bickering Ladies, paired with a sly compliment to their exquistive curves - the young and frisky Espen propositioning Markus and Anki, prompting them both to see each other as rivals for his affections -

A smile came to their lips. "Your reputation is well-earned. You will find the trinket already hidden in that little box in the crevice behind the wardrobe in the east guestroom - the slightly damp one - where you were keeping this."

In their palm, a small white bone - the finger-bone of the old Duke of Remad, etched with arcane markings that showed signs of having healed over - proving it had been etched while he still lived. The very bone that was the anchor restricting the ghosts of this place to the Realm Lower, where they were invisible and powerless to harm the living.

"You have to retrace the glyphs every few years, Caerden, or you'll be inviting specters to your next spectacle. His anger grows stronger, and even the sturdiest shackles can be worn with the passing of time. I've done the honors - I know this magic."

They smiled, and offered the bone anchor to you.

"Consider that payment for your generous assistance . . .  from an admirer."

A moments hesitation, an extra blink of surprise, then Caerden composed himself and offered a warm smile and nod as he accepted the box that was his own by right. How it had been liberated from its secret resting place was a question that demanded answers. But demands were much more readily accepted when presented as gentle curiosity. "You are too thoughtful. Magic is a fickle thing, meddling with the arcane when one lacks a full understanding can have disastrous repercussions. You have saved me hours of work by seeing to the maintenance of the glyphs." More serious questions were left unspoken for now.

Tucking away the bone into a pocket of his lapel, Careden rose to his feet. "Now I'll take my leave and allow you to enjoy the other pleasures the evening has to offer, though I'm sure they will pale compared to my own company, rest assured your insurance will be safe in my care," he added with a small smile. With a half bow Caerden withdrew all too conscious of the weight in his pocket. Shifting nimbly through the crowd he slipped through the gala, offering a smile here and a word of acknowledgement there. For the time being his other machinations would have to wait. Retreating to the much quieter far hall he motioned to an attendant.

"See that I get a list of everyone who has visited the east wing this evening," he commanded, already he was on his way to the guest room himself. Hoping to find the place quiet and unoccupied for the time being, his current intent was to move the wardrobe and see what exactly had been left in the recessed alcove there. Caerden was not entirely sure what was afoot and he did not enjoy uncertainty, not in the least.

"We have had no visitors to this wing, Sire. The West Wing is the current destination for guests, given the recent remodel."

The room - which was, sure enough, in need of some maintenance, as small rivulets of water were seeping from the walls and would surely lead to mold and a sunken foundation if nothing were done, and soon - seemed entirely undisturbed, even the dust was unmoved.

Surely enough, within the small lockbox was the signet ring of the Margrave. There was also a note.

"If you would steal my heart, you will need to steal the show. Why stop at one lineage? With this bauble, you can claim two.

Yours in the shadows,

Xixi Arashimaru."

on the reverse side, there was a post-script:

The attendant you asked never saw me. He's sweet, but never thought to look up. People rarely do.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:57, Tue 18 Dec 2018.

The servants claim that no one had visited the east wing were disappointing. Caerden did not let it show. Opening the lockbox he withdrew the copper and silver ring resting inside. He recognized the insignia readily enough. It was the Margrave emblem. So it was as the silent stranger had said. The missing ring of Margrave had long been a topic of discussion in the endlessly circling gossip of the aristocratic echelons. Rumor and hearsay had swirled for months before the murder, rumor that Enki, the cousin twice removed, had ordered his relative murdered, it did not help that rumor had it that the Margrave had visited Enki just days before the fateful night and was said to have reclaimed the insignia ring. The small bauble of copper and silver was not a piece of jewelry, it was a writ of power hammered into metal.

But after the murder the Enki still wore the ring on his finger, or what was clearly a very well crafted forgery, and so the rumors had slowly grown old and died one by one. But their ghosts still lingered and were sometimes murmured when enough wine had been poured. How very appropriate that one final ghost should rear its head in Remad. With the actual Insignia of Margrave in hand Caerden could level a true accusation against Enki and suddenly the entire legitimacy of a dukedom would be drawn into question.

But such accusations were not made hastily. There were letters to be written, important individuals to be invited to a new ball, jewelers to be consulted to confirm that Caerden himself was not the one being duped, then there were luncheons to be held with a number of officials to weigh where they would fall when an individual of Enki's stature was deposed. Those amenable to change could be used, those who were not would need their minds changed, or their rank, or their status amongst the living.

All of these thoughts ran through Caerden's mind as he turned the ring over slowly between his fingers. He did not bother to replace the wardrobe. Clearly more secure hideaways would need to be found. All of this begged the question, who exactly was this mysterious benefactor Arashimaru.

The attendant you asked never saw me. He's sweet, but never thought to look up. People rarely do.

Words inked before a question was ever posed. Caerden respected foresight, but this went beyond that. Yes, this truly begged questions.

[Private to The Empress: Unless some complications arises Caerden will be implementing exactly the plan he's outlined above, putting pieces into place before leveling a very public accusation against Lord Enki during a very crowded ball.]

There were eight greater families in the Sprawling Halls;

The House of Remad, first of the families to rise and the first to fall, and the only known practitioners of Thanaturgy. The current head was Caerden Remad, although he remained the only blood member of his house, having not yet taken a mate or produced an heir;

The House of Grave, talented warriors, now defunct since its heraldry was quartered with Marduke and become Margrave, resulting in Marduke gaining the advantage and becoming the Second Family and Margrave being third, the current head being Enki Margrave;

The House of Marduke, fifth to rise by second in power owing to their nigh monopoly on the iron and steam trades, the current head being Kerstan Marduke;

The House of Esquire, fourth to rise and fourth in power, which dabbled in clothing, geology, narcotics, and was known to a great number of skilled spies and informants that allowed to maintain it 'fourth place' position generation after generation. They had a female head, Fransica Esquire;

The House of Viceroy, seventh to rise and fifth in power but rarely involving itself in lower politics since their estate was on the 'surface'. They traded in foreign goods and naval services for the little-understood Remadian Sea. Their head was Bram Viceroy.

The House of Peon, sixth to rise and eighth power. Their line alone was completely pure, but they struggled with a congenital dwarfism among their menfolk that lead to their wives from other houses having to be paid high bride prices. This generational drain on their reserves kept them lowly, and lead other houses having undue influences in their internal affairs. Their current head was Elmo Peon.

The House of Ecclesial, third to rise and sixth in power, owing to rare knowledge and skill with Animancy - the ability to accurately diagose ills of the body by observing the spirit. They could also detect lies by observing auras, and invaluable trait that had ensured they were never allowed to be judges or attain their rightful power - a rare collaborative effort across all other houses. Their head is Dael Ecclesial.

Last of the enduring houses, eighth to rise and seventh in power, was the oft-forgotten house Arashimaru. Their holdings were unknown, the head of their house was unknown, the origin of their name was unknown, but their terrifying ability to influence politics at key moments via always-truthful messages delivered by courier while remaining absolutely unassailable kept their name alive. Owing to this, the number 7 is considered incredibly unlucky in Remad.

Ordering by rise:
1. Remad
3. Grave > Margrave
3. Ecclesial
4. Esquire
5. Marduke
6. Peon
7. Viceroy
8. Arashimaru

Ordering by power:
1. Remad (by assent to tradition and magical power)
2. Marduke
3. Margrave
4. Esquire
5. Viceroy
6. Ecclesial
7. Arashimaru (by assent to tradition and political power)
8. Peon

Given this information, please decide who you speak with and in which order, and we'll go from there to the scene of accusation.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:01, Wed 19 Dec 2018.

While the party slowly unraveled in the early hours of the morn Caerden plotted.

First and foremost, Caerden would visit the master jeweler who had fashioned fine gold filigree, silver rings and platinum tiara's for noble families for decades and who created the Margrave ring itself. Only after the jeweler confirmed the legitimacy of the ring now in Caerden's possession would the next series of events come into motion.

For what was to come, a visit with the lovely Fransica Esquire was required. A mere letter would not suffice here. If the unmasking of a highly profile murderer was done and the family Esquire was not allowed at least a token role in the proceedings it would be a black mark on their honor to which they would feel obligated to answer at some point. So Caerden would visit the Lady Esquire, he would smile, kiss her hand and offer her a tantalizing prize. "A tantalizing truth has fallen into my hands. Should anyone ask, I would be happy to let them know that it was the expertise that brought the matter to light. The murder of the old Margrave. Solving such a long standing mystery would be quite the feather in the cap of a family known for dealing in secrets." And if anyone else were to turn up the information it would be quite the black eye. It would also add legitimacy to the accusations if they were tied to the widely known family of spies. Really there was no other option for the good lady but to agree to serve as the source of information.

But legitimacy was required from another source.

This trip too would be done in person. It would be a stop at the House Ecclesial. While nearing the bottom of respected aristocracy, they held a power which no one doubted, the ability to discern truth. Dael Ecclesial would be amenable to the proposition. Caerden knew that his current status rankled him, as did Dael's inability to truly leverage the families ability for discerning truth. The fact that Dael wouldn't have to lie about the truth in this case was just an added perk. "I have a luncheon planned and if you are able to attend I promise that you'll find the afternoon's activities entertaining, not to mention there will be a chance for renewed appreciation of your families gifts." would be he offer that Caerden would make.

Next to come were letters, visits in person would not be required, each of the other noble families would be visited by one of Caerden's personal stewards and each would receive a personal handwritten letter inviting them to the event. (The letter to  Elmo Peon would also request he bring a few of his most strapping sons. When the time came to accuse Enki it was not likely he would go quietly, but with Caerden's own retinue and the chance for Elmo to show off the virility of his sons by personally apprehending the Margrave no blood should actually be spilled even despite the reputation of the House Grave's warriors. Plus the humiliation of being apprehended by dwarf's would be an extra twist of the knife for Enki's reputation. That was important, reputation was just as powerful as coin.)

And to ensure the guest of honor themselves arrived? The luncheon would be held in honor of the Margrave name. (Though a careful eye would glean that this did not mention Enki himself. In the days following the luncheon this small detail would likely be a point of discussion.)

Let it never be said that careful thought was not put into Caerden's events.

Esquire? Entranced.

Ecclesial? Engaged.

Party? Planned.

Intrigue?  I n i t i a t e d .

For anyone more superstitous than Caerden, the party planning going off without a hitch would have caused concern; for the Virtu of Intrigue, this was almost straightforward.

There was the slight issue of being unable to invite Arashimaru to the ball directly. On a strange hunch - perhaps your own inherent luck at play - you did a little digging as to how the house Arashimaru had traditionally been addressed in your archive of the court annals.

It appeared that when custom demanded a summons of all the great houses - which, per custom, included Arashimaru - the invitation was simply written and left by the bedside of the host.

Following custom, you wrote a perfectly cordial invitation to Arashimaru by your bedside. When you woke, they were at your bedside, bemasked as before.

"A fine plot you've woven, Caerden. I did not think you would invite me to your bed so quickly, but I suppose I can take it as a compliment to my allure."

"I will be in attendance and make my move when the time comes. However, I require your assistance."

She? (their voice was feminine) showed you a folded piece of paper. The paper was folded over such that the contents were unreadable save for two lines at the bottom - one of which had her? signature. There was also a spot for you to sign.

"I will need your signature on this contract, sight unseen. Ridiculous, hmm? Trust me. You will be entertained."

She? placed it on your desk. "Sign it - do not read it - and keep it with you. If you read it, you will only ruin a quite fabulous surprise, and leave yourself the poorer."

She? sat at your desk. "And now, go back to sleep, clever man. Oh - and DO wear sable."

Your eyelids felt so heavy . .
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:46, Thu 20 Dec 2018.

Half rousing from slumber, Caerden's dream addled mind heard the Arashimaru's request. Very well, he thought while he scribbled his name onto the line, a signature made in good faith. If the agreement proved to be abuse that show of trust there were ways to work around every contract.

With the ink still fresh Caerden drifted back to sleep.

When you awoke, the contract - and Xixi - were gone.

Your door was as sturdily locked as you had left it, with no sign of forced entry.

--

The ball in honor of the Margrave was in full swing.

Dael was in disguise playing poker. Naturally, he was winning handily. At the end, he threw a hand, lost everything, and laughed as he revealed himself. Those playing with him grinned in return - Dael loved poker, but he was doomed to never be able to win in good faith.

Fransisca was holding court with the wives of other house-heads - a quaint and easy way to trade secrets.

Bram won instant favor by supplying rare and unusual seafood and wine for the enjoyment of those present - a quiet way for him to intimate that House Viceroy had every intention of establishing friendly relations with House Remad.

Xixi made a splash that temporarily silenced the party. They signed quietly to the majordomo, who proceeded to announce - loudly - the arrival of Laughter-of-the-Storm-Village, Head of House Arashimaru. They wore an antiquated formal black robe, one with a belted sash that emphasized a beautiful hourglass figure. Her - you were almost certain she was female now - mask was a black fox with ornate silver filigree.

She bowed to the onlookers. "We are honored to have received a wonderful invitation from Lord Caerden. He saw fit to invite us personally, when so many other lords have snubbed our house for centuries." She bowed again.

Kerstan Marduke was the first to approach her. "My apologies, Lady Arashimaru. Had I only known where to send the letter, I would never have been fool enough to deprive my guests of you."

"You needed only to look up, Lord Marduke." She said coyly. She offered him her hand. "May I have a dance?"

Subtly, she turned her chin up towards you - a clear sign for you invoke your right as host to take the first dance with an honored guest.

"I'm afraid that privilege will be mine," Caerden spoke up. Gliding in, he took Xixi's gloved hand and they whisked off onto the dance floor as the music began to play.

"For a House of ghosts and shadows you've been quite visible lately, what draws the elusive Arashimaru out of the shadows?" Caerden asked as they danced to the steps of the waltz that was all the rage that season. "For that matter, might I ask what it was I signed? You never said when the appointed hour would come for the unveiling."

When the first dance was concluded it would be time for another announcement. When all eyes were on the dance floor Caerden would make his announcement. It was speech he'd practiced over the last few days, honing it to the point where he even had the appropriate stumbles perfected to make it mask those very long hours of practice. The speech would come off as though the words were welling up from Caerden, a veritable fount of justice. "My noble guests, I am afraid I have most dire of news to share. It has come to my attention this evening that a terrible crime has gone unanswered and a killer is in our midst."

That would bring about the rapt silence of complete attention.

"Years ago the former Margrave lost his life in a terrible chain of affairs. Rumors and hearsay swirled, but none of it was proven, that is till tonight. Now that most noble house of Esquire, always wise to secrets, have uncovered the truth. But it was a truth they could not come forward with alone, no, for the culprit of this most foul crime was too influential a man to simply be accused by the House of Esquire. So our lovely Lady Fransica had the wisdom to approach the oldest of estates, the House Remad, and I have taken the liberty to put the pieces into motion."

"So tonight we honor the Margrave... by granting justice to this most noble name."

A spotlight tilted into the crowd and found Enki to leave him standing in a pool of light. It made him look so very alone. "I present to you the Insignia of Margrave," Caerden said, holding aloft the copper and silver ring, the writ of power etched in metal, "It should rest on Lord Enki's finger, and a ring does sit there, but an imposter, a fraud. I have had the master jeweler himself examine this ring and he declares it his work. But still, I do not accuse Enki. I allow our current Margrave to speak. So speak your innocence Margrave."

"And let Lord Ecclesial weigh those words."

Now the Margrave could make his plea. But even the most cunningly crafted of lies was but glass before the House of Ecclesial. Unless Enki was a far more cunning man than Caerden had measured, his words would be wanting, so Caerden would give a sad shake of his head (It was quite mournful, he'd practiced it long enough) and call out to one final lord. "Lord Peon, have your sons take this murderer out of our presence. I have cells that I will make available till proper justice can be dispensed." Once Enki was removed, protesting, silent, it mattered not. Caerden would conclude his long practiced overture.

"The crest of Margrave lies stained in blood, its last true heir proven to be a killer. To salvage the honor of this bloodline, I, Caerden of Remad the oldest of the Endless Halls, shall shoulder the duty to bear the Margrave House and holdings under the mantle of Remad."

It was a bold ploy. There might have been outcries at other times, the merging of two of the most powerful houses was unprecedented, but on this night Caerden had two other lords as willing conspirators. There was also the truth of his words, there was no other heir to Margrave, at least none with a strong claim, and the shock and disgrace of Enki's fall would quell those who would normally act as a fly in the ointment. Caerden was confident of how the evening would proceed, but still he waited. One never knew if complications might arise. Xixi and their contract was proof enough of that.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:32, Fri 21 Dec 2018.

A bold ploy indeed.

"There is none other, Lord Caerden, whom would be more deserving," Kerstan began. "However, House Margrave is quartered to House Marduke. By law and precedent, though we have no direct blood, we retain familial status."

There was a general murmur of assent, but also discomfort - while House Marduke was second in power, they were economically far stronger than any other House, and with both the Grave warriors and their own wealth at their beck and call, such a development would be all but a coup.

"But Lord Marduke - dearest - I have heard tell you have been having certain . . difficulties as of late. A man of your . . .  respectable age . . . on his third wife, and with no heir yet produced? There are many who might cast certain . . . aspersions . . . should the fate of two bloodlines rest on your shoulders . . ."

There was quickly muffled laughter, and more murmuring.

"Of course, you could simply adopt. What matters is that your tie to Margrave is by marriage alone, and in the writ of matrimony, the duty of producing an heir was naturally included. With no proof of . . consummation . . evident, and given that your present wife is of House Ecclesial, your familial status should have been retroactively annulled. How fortunate that House Arashimaru succeeded in preventing that very writ from being accidentally destroyed in that 'accidental' house fire fifteen years ago."

She produced from her robe a sealed document, bearing the seals of three houses - Margrave, Marduke, and Viceroy (who were in charge of maintaining documentation, owing to their traditional disinterest in political action and natural talent for recordkeeping.)

Kerstan sputtered. "Retroactively annul-? How? Aleta loved me! Our marriage was certainly consummated, heir or no heir! What nonsense is this?"

"A lie," Dael announced. Kerstan glared. "Animancy is not legally valid, sweet father-in-law. There is no proof!"

From her robes, Xixi produced a small leather journal. "Lady Aleta complained almost daily in her journal of your frigid nature, Lord Marduke. Only days before her death in that same 'accidental' house fire, she proclaims her intention to annul the marriage, and of your great anger at her informing you of that request."

"Ridiculous! This is - and so what if there is no heir? Lord Caerden is a bachelor! By precedent, without at the least the potential for an heir, the law cannot in good conscience grant custody of a bloodline - or house - to one unmarried!"

"Oh, very true. However, my Lord Husband would be very amused to hear you describe him in such terms, Lord Marduke," she said, grinning like a cat that finally decided to catch the mouse it has been toying with.

And so she produced a third document, clearly bearing the seals of both House Arashimaru and House Remad.

A writ of matrimony in absentia.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:30, Fri 21 Dec 2018.

Watching the proceeding arguments, Caerden was ready to argue the point of Lord Marduke when Xixi made her play. Content to observe, the Lord Remad managed to only raise a brow when his new betrothal was made public. Clever. The House Arashimaru would be elevated by such a union, even if their own status remained an intangible mystery, and the legitimacy of a union would dispel left Kerestan's argument in shambles.

"Unfortunately, Lord Kerstan, whichever way we examine the issue, House Margrave must be turned over to new stewardship. I did not intend for my new marital status to be made common knowledge in such a fashion, but I suppose that necessity is the foe of romance. Rest assured, I will take good care to ensure that the position of Margrave is done justice, the same justice it has been denied these five long years. After all, none of us would like to see the talented blades of Margrave serving a corrupt lord."

There would be no further argument. Nobles made games of their perpetual intrigues and overtures, but when noble blood was spilled they came to attention. There would be no forgiveness for Enki, and Kerstan's ties to the family line, albeit distant they might be, would be a hinderance during the coming weeks when the stain to the family name was still fresh.

And so the maneuvers were complete. There were still hours left for the luncheon. Caerden made the rounds offering sympathetic noises to those who clucked their tongues at the scandal of the murders while giving warm smiles to those who came to congratulate the Lord Remad on his new marital standing. All of them were of course curious about the details of the enigmatic house Arashimaru, but Caerden waved away their questions with polite deflections and pleasantries.

Eventually Caerden rejoined his masked wife. "You play a long game, my dear wife, I must applaud your foresight. It seems both House Remad and House Arashimaru rise this day. But you have me at a disadvantage. You clearly are intimately familiar with both my estate and my plans, but the enigmatic Eighth House remains a mystery to me. It hardly seems fitting for ones husband to be so ignorant of his partner's affairs, wouldn't you agree?"

"I feel the mystery is more enticing than the truth . . . but very well. If you wish it, I will show you my House tomorrow . . . perhaps I can receive your opinion on the new sea-silk sheets I procured from house Viceroy a fortnite ago, hmm? And if you're very lucky, I may even remove my mask,"

The party wound down, the drunk were situated comfortably in guest quarters or returned to the arms of relatives, and the servants began cleaning up. A formal declaration of Caerden as the Archduke of the Houses Regrave was set for six months hence - the law was a slow thing.

"This way, my Lord," she signed, and guided you into a closet - and then into a hidden passageway - and then into an alcove behind a ratty banner in that passageway - which had an old trunk, under which was a rug, under which was a loose tile, under which was plain earth - until she whispered her name, after which the illusion faded, revealing a ladder carved from niches in the rock leading into darkness.

At the bottom of that, she spoke strange words, and a stone in her hand came to light. More magic, never seen in Remad.

At the end of the narrow hall was a blank wall. No - there was a shimmering in the air.

She levitated, bobbing up to the ceiling to allow you pass below her in the narrow space.

 "After you. House Arashimaru is just through the shimmering,"

Following after Xixi, Caerden was surprised to discover the secret passage that had escaped his notice. That surprise deepened into respect when the masked figure spoke the words to dispel the illusion and the respect again transformed, this time into curiosity, as Xixi wove whatever magic it was she did to illicit the light at the end of the hall.

"It seems this will certainly be an evening to remember," Caerden said, then stepped forward to see the fabled House Arashimaru.

Please continue posting in the Hidden Temple of Arashimaru.

Returning to his chambers, it felt like Caerden had been gone for a long while. Exchanging his clothes for something clean and neatly pressed, Caerden summoned a courtier. "I've decided to make an excursion to the Far Halls. See that supplies are gathered," he instructed the man.

The plan was simple enough, spirits were thick in the Far Halls, those abandoned places would provide plenty of opportunity to reach out and make contact with the ghosts that haunted the Sprawling Halls. Now that Xixi had opened his eyes to the potential offered by these spectral entities Caerden was eager to put his new studies into action.

Assembling supplies, securing the services of a guide, Caerden would take his expeditions beyond the well groomed and maintained grounds of the main halls. They would travel to where the drywall curled, burst pipes in the ceilings created flowing waterfalls and where the floor had fallen away to create canyons and cliffs. It had been a long while since Caerden's boyhood travels to the Far Halls, he actually found himself getting pleasantly excited at the prospect of the trip.

Hendricus of new House Regrave was originally of one of the dozens of lesser houses - in this case, Haverkort - and, while young, had served as a guide to the Far Halls before.

"The Far Halls aren't just bad because of superstition stuff, my lord," said Hen. "they are also in terrible disrepair. That's why I brought this pickaxe!"

Rather proudly, he showed a old pickaxe that showed evidence of being well cared for. It looks uncomfortably heavy, but Hen was no weakling.

Two of the sturdy short-legged mules common to the Halls had been loaded up with supplies - oatcakes, hard cheese, dried fruit, salted meat, crackers, grounds for coffee to go with a generously donated steel percolator stamped with the House Marduke insignia (one of many such devices and other sundry items that House Marduke had quietly gifted in apology for whatever slight might have been felt after the little argument over stewardship).

The expedition would take a full two days of constant travel before reaching the edges of the settled Halls, given that starting from the Remad Estate meant heading out from the epicenter of civilization.

And so the expedition set off!

Leaving behind the luxuries of urban living was bittersweet. Walking along beside the laden mules, watching people become fewer and fewer as they trekked further away, there was elation to leaving the comfortable and the familiar behind. But then there were also sore feet and monotony. Caerden pondered how it was one might be a god and still get blisters. It was no wonder his condition had been a mystery to him for so long. In many ways being a god was not so different than being a man.

Walking the corridors Caerden marveled at the way the wallpapers changed, the tile patterns of the floor evolved and the flora growing in the window planters and cracked walls was different than the flowers and shrubberies he knew back in the heartland.

"Have you ventured out this far often, Hendricus?" Caerden asked his guide during one of the hours they trekked. The stories of the guide were a pleasure to listen to, and informative if they were not all tall tales. "How often have you encountered the restless spirits of the hall? For this trip we will not be skirting them but seeking them out, do you imagine that will be difficult?"

So the travels went till the floors started to grow treacherous and the faint drip-drip-drip grew constant enough to indicate that the walls were full of leaking pipes. They were nearing the Far Lands and the way would only grow more difficulty.

Here be monsters, Caerden thought.

"Oh, I've been farther. I've heard stories - before the fall of House Remad, the old lord of the house used to have my grandfather come with him farther out than even I've been. There's something out here - my grandfather said the Lord would see spirits dancing in circles, having parties."

Hen dug into the saddle, and pulled a long, lacquered box. He opened it, and inside it was a strange mask in two parts - a raven face, and a beak, both of wood.

"The spirits will attack, unless you're wearing a mask like this. This belong to the old Lord of Remad, but any mask will do. It makes them think you're a spirit too, maybe, or something like that?"

He closed the box and put it away. "But yeah, once the water gets going, you're close to the spirits. We'll hit the first Lost Garden, I think. There's a stream that cuts through, used to be one of those reflecting pools with fancy fountains, but now it's just flooded and flows out through a staircase to a lower floor. Spirits have a fear of running water, so it's said, and they don't cross the stream."

Sure enough, you came to the remains of a garden - the plants were all white, like ghosts themselves. Even the flowers showed only hints of what colors they might have been, really being different subtle shades of off-white.

The place was quiet, but the stream whispered more than babbled, almost like you could make out words if you listened closely enough.

The great fountain was shattered, only the legs of some statue remaining, and the body laying eroded in the overflowing reflecting pool.

Putting the mask on and shifting it till it became comfortable Caerden examined the garden they came across through the eyes of the raven. "Lets make camp here for the night," he called to the others. While the mules were unpacked and tents were raised he wandered the garden and took in the history that was written into the crumbling stone and foliage grown wild. Since learning that the Sprawling Halls were his, perhaps even an extension of himself? -Caerden was still fuzzy on the how of things- he was discovering a greater interest in the world that extended beyond the courts of intrigue and diplomacy.

What was this garden? Who had built it? Who had abandoned it? Looking down at the time worn features below the waters of the reflecting pool the thoughts crossed Caerden's mind. Hearing the soft flow of the brook nearby and the watery pseudo story it told would have once been a pleasant ambiance to the noble, but now that he knew he was a god, suddenly that strange idea of words from water bore more weight. Sitting down beside the river, Caerden resolved to listen to the flowing waters. He would wait till night fall, then he had other tasks to be done.

Once night came, regardless of whether his strange notion of river listening paid off, he would wait to see if the ghosts came out. If they did not, then baiting them would be the next step by removing his mask and inviting conflict. One way or another Caerden was going to come face to face with spirits tonight. The living land of Remad and the dead land had been separate for far too long.

A whispered joke, muffled laughter. The face of a beautiful woman, wreathed in mist, with glowing cyan tattoos. The sea beneath Realm of Skies.

Then silence. The stream was just a babbling stream.

Across it, the corridor continued, or there was a half-blocked corridor behind the remains of the statute to the left. Or, perhaps, you could follow the stream down through the stairway to the lower level.

"The spirits will be on the other side. They can't cross, I don't think."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:21, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

So it seemed spirits weren't everywhere in the Sprawling Halls. Nodding to the guide, Caerden motioned for him to lead the way down the water logged stairs and to the lower level.

Your breath the fogged the air. It got colder - frost gathered the walls, and before long the stream slowed as it became thick with ice and frost, broadening out into a large chamber that must once have been a dancing hall.

The whole of the underhall was frozen, and fog clung to everything; shapes of people whirled through the mist, the clinking of phantom glasses, and the faint tune of music - piano, violin, a duo. Very fine; very old, and nothing like the styles he knew.

It was difficult to discern, but curiously enough, the spirits seemed to all be women, and some of them clearly had pointed ears and wore something like tails, or had tails.

There was laughter, and joy here. Long forgotten, but Remad was not a dour place - even for the dead.

Hen hung back at the top of the stairs with the cargo.

Then, as draft of wind carried away the fog, revealing -

- the entirety of the floor, the side walls, the back walls, were gone. A great abyss, with the spirits floating above the missing floor as if nothing was awry.

The Abyss - as Caerden's eyes refocused for distance and became accustomed to the blueish light emanating from the depths - was not a cavern, but the central 'pillar' of space, tens of miles in diameter, of a softly glowing under-city built throughout, like a nest of architecturally gifted spiders, or bees. Long graceful bridges linked the walls to the cyclopean tower of 'flying islands' in the middle, which were in turn supported by buttresses spanning from the islands.

What illuminated the city was the sheer number of spirits - tens of thousands, going about their lives. Faintly, faintly there was the tell-tale ringing of a forge -

- and then a burst of red sparks, followed by another, green this time. Coming from one of the larger, castle-like mansions, towards the central and largest island. Fireworks?

One of the spirits took notice of you. "Oh! The young Divine Raven of Remad! Your father just passed through a century ago! Or was it your grandfather? I hope your family is well - Remad has been so quiet, and appears to have fallen into quite some disrepair. Have you run into a spot of trouble? There has been much disquiet, with the Lord never attending to the galas of Revelry, no matter how illuminated the invitation . . "
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:33, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

Blinking behind the raven mask, Caerden was taken aback, as was not so unusual nowadays. Looking out across the inverted city of the dead and down into the unseen depths of this new abyss, and were those fireworks. Everything Caerden was seeing raised distinct questions about what exactly it meant to be alive or to be dead. It seemed the differences was finer than one might think.

Not quite sure how to address the notion that his father had preceded him here. Caerden's life before nobility was one he had worked hard to cast down into shadows, though it seemed these might very well be those shadows. "It seems many find there way here in time. Where exactly is here?" he asked the obliging spirit. Was he the lord that never attended galas? "A shame for anyone to miss such a wonderful festival as this. What is the occasion that has the day celebrating?"

[Private to GM: Caerden will also be examining the desires and motivations of various ghosts trying to glean a general understanding of what drove ghosts.]

A walker between worlds . . .

You understanding shifted. Your ability to walk through walls, your resilience to death. Knowing the motivations that stirred the heart.

You saw as the spirits did, and looking down at yourself, you knew were as much a spirit as they, and belonged down there as much as up here. You glowed with a soft blue light, same as they.

"This is Revelry, the Grand Capitol of the Xian Empire. You are Lord Remad, of the High Province of the Sprawling Halls - the bit of brickwork between civilization and the wilderness. Frontier land, really. Although caring for predecessors is vital, important work - everyone would die again of boredom if there were no living whelps to croak and join us adults as fresh young caspers, yes?"

The spirit walked with you, and you found - rather curiously - that you were able to walk on open air, and see the 'ghost' of where the floor had been. "I am Enneken, of the Twelfth Dynasty. I know, I know. That makes me so old, now that we're on the 22nd, may the bones of the king never draw dust,"

There were outlines of stairs, and then the outline of an elevator. When you turned on your ability to sense motivations, everything became fully fleshed out and in color - the elegant iron lift, powered by the shamanistic sub discipline of Thanaturgy. The land had a spirit, too.

Ennekin wanted to recover the bones of his ancestors, which were being held in a vault of the catacombs, although he was fuzzy on which one and why they'd been sealed away. Another of the postmortal Revelers was named Elisabeth, and she'd been trying to find a husband for going eight hundred years - but her horridly nasal speaking tone had kept the dead menfolk at bay.

Lastly, and most interesting, there was a woman with fox-like ears with a name that reminded you of Xixi - Akasuki, who wanted to find the missing shard of the Sword of Xi, which was said to rule over sea, sky, and steel - and would instantly elevate her to nobility. She pined for the return of the old Lord of Xi - who had once lived in the sky above, before the Fall of Heaven . . .

Ennekin caught your gaze at Akasuki. "One of the Ancients, her. All of them have those weird ears, and they're just sad all the time. Perfectly good waste of a postlife, I say."

When the world phased into solid matter and substance, Caerden officially cast aside his previous presumptions regarding mortality and death. Following after the informative spirit Ennekin. So life, from birth to death, was little more than a cradle that ushered one onto the next matter of existence, a far longer stretch of existence at that. Still, this teeming city of ghosts was still a side of the coin of the Sprawling Halls and the fragility of Caerden's world was still a point that loomed in his mind. A sprig of growth on a tree brimming with the strange and impossible.

Examining the wants and desires of the ghosts was surprisingly similar to the mortal variety. The only difference was a difference in urgency when ghosts had deceased for several centuries already, there was hardly need to rush. Caerden did not overlook the ancient Akasuki and her hunt for a Sword of Xi (Perhaps a connection to the enigmatic Lady Remad?) Caerden planned to introduce himself to her in short order.

First though, there was an age old problem with a simple solution before him and one must never overlook the benefits of easy kindness. Approaching the perpetually alone Eliszabeth, Caerden smiled and bowed and said, "Perhaps I can help with your plight? Has anyone taught you the way of the motioned word? I have only recently learned it myself, perhaps it might be of assistance," Caerden offered with a smile, then set himself to teaching the spinster the language if she was so inclined.

She blushed, being addressed by the Lord of Remad. She was a phenomenally quick learner, though. In a few hours, she had the gist of the grammar and was expanding her vocabulary. "I was a peasant in the life, and haven't much improved my station in afterlife, I'm afraid. Maybe . . maybe now someone would see fit to endure my presence! Thank you so much, my Lord. You are far kinder than your predecessor."

Liz went to the elevator. "Are you going down to the capitol, my Lord? I would be happy to show you around!" She signed.

With her voice removed from the equation, she was pretty in a plain way. How cruel were the wheels of fate, that the way a mortal was born could keep one from love, even in death?
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:34, Sat 19 Jan 2019.

Another day, Caerden signed to his very apt pupil. She certainly picked up the language quicker than he did. Taking his leave, Caerden approached the fox-earned ancient. The want of an ancient blade the lent its wielder dominion over sea, sky and steel, Caerden could certainly use such a thing himself. The worlds were vast and many and full of threats, it was dangerous to go alone. "Well met ancient Akasuki," he greeted her. "Nothing is truly forgotten down here it would seem. I have met another of your kind in the lands of the living above, though they too were a ghost, they spoke of forgotten lords and mystic blades, perhaps you too know these tales?" Only a small lie.

She sniffled. "You've met another? Was . . . was she okay? I've been looking for my sisters. I thought maybe they'd have gone up here? I remember clouds . . and the kind young lord . .  surely he has perished . .  but if the Sword could be found, the Autumn Blade, the lineage could continue."

She fell against the wall, weak. "The Lineage of Xi. Would you know the story? It is ancient and strange . . and I'm not sure it's true . . but the kind young lord believed it . . . "

"Rest your feet, I would enjoy knowing the old stories, tell me of the Lineage Xi and the Autumn Blade." Caerden said, motioning for the older than old Akasuki to find a comfortable place where she could recount her tale.

As the story washes over Caerden, he gently enters stasis, and the heart of the realm dims.