For those of you who end up waiting and fidgeting for new posts, here are some prompts to keep you busy -- and potentially earn you bonus xp. You don't have to do all of these prompts at once, and you can post them at any time (or PM if you really prefer). However, First Age incarnations may will? be significant early on in the game, so I'll have to make something up for you if you don't write anything yourself!

- What was your character's First Age incarnation like? Give me a name, paragraph description and (optionally) a story about them. You can also describe any other previous lives, but the First Age one is particularly important.

- If you play a Solar or Lunar, would your character have had a mate from a previous life? If so, I am willing to let you help determine details about this individual: name, appearance, personality, previous events he/she was involved in... anything you can think of pertaining to a Solar/Lunar mate.

- You can also help flesh out Five Coils and its denizens by providing concepts, descriptions, or anecdotes that involve some aspect of Five Coils society (whether mortal, Dragon-blooded or Celestial) and your character's place in it. It can be in bullet points, description, narrative, whatever works best for you!

- Lastly, I enjoy it when players provide pictures, theme songs, stories and other such media to help give life to their characters. Share them with us by posting them here!
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:56, Mon 08 Dec 2008.

Dena's first age incarnation was Iris In a Field of Briars, a Waxing Moon Caste Lunar with a hummingbird totem renowned for her intense physical beauty.  During the primordial war she was primarily a general over the armies of terrestrials, providing motivation and leadership in concerted action against the Primordials.  Legends and myths from that age hold that her warform was so beautiful that she developed a martial arts style that could cause enemies to go blind from seeing her.
After the end of the war Iris found a new career in fashion, designing artifact clothing that could keep the wearer warm under all conditions, protect from poisons, or let one dance for weeks without fatigue all while also providing the height of elegance and style.
Her Solar mate was a Dawn Caste named Gerad.  As the centuries passed the effects of the Great Curse came on them in a unique way, causing them to fight horribly over minor matters and inverting the normal effects of the Solar Link to cause Iris to detest Gerad.  Their fights became legendary, in one case leveling both their palace and several hundred acres of forestland in a debate over what color to decorate the bedroom.
When the Terrestrials turned on them Iris was able to cause five generals to cut their own throats rather than touch her, and threw their ranks into confusion.  She and Gerad might have escaped if they hadn't immediately started fighting over which direction to flee, resulting in them both being overtaken and inflicting embarrassingly small casualties on the Dragonblooded in the battle.
Dena's second incarnation fell to Chimerism and at that point her totem was broken, turning from the hummingbird to the wasp.  She also seems to randomly change castes without a fixed one, although all her reincarnations are attractive and shorter than the average.

Third, in it's first incarnation, was a very strange being in many ways. Its name in those days was simple, Shining Eye. It was just as uncertain as to what it's gender was in those days, as well, a carefully guarded secret. Some say even that Shining Eye once was a proud, virile man, or a gorgeous woman, but had, for the rite of Solar Sorcery, given up it's gender to a third circle demon. It was said that each recipient of Shining Eye's shard would show a similar lack of a gender identity, one way or another, and by anyone's recounting, this has been true. Despite Shining Eye's androgyny, it was known far and wide, as a Twilight of unusual passion and intensity, even for a Solar. It was sometimes said that Shining Eye had been destined for a Zenith shard, but had somehow had the matter confused. The stories of those days are stirring tales, and if Shining Eye could see what would become of its shard, it would undoubtedly be ashamed of, or enraged by, what has been done to its shard's vessel.

There was a story of Shining Eye, in its later days. Few people know of it, fewer still are sure if it is true or not. During the time of Cascading Years, when reality itself broke, and every Celestial Exalted found themselves appointed a task to put things right, Shining Eye found itself in a strange place indeed. It looked about, and everywhere, there was a thick, cloying steam, so hot as to scald a mortal, but easily weathered by Shining Eye. Underfoot, there was nothing but endless metal plates, occasionally dotted with pipes and conduits. It wandered long in the steam, until it met an odd machine. It was a construct, much like ones that Shining Eye had experimented with at home. 'Where am I, friend machine?' Shining Eye asked the construct. The construct responded rather rudely, by attempting to extract the water from the rather unpleasant biologial matter before it. Shining Eye, a short while after, asked again, and the next machine, much less hostile, told it that it was within the steaming chest of the Machine God, Autochthon. Shining Eye remembered Autochthon- It had been one of the greatest voices against the Great Geas, not wishing to show mistrust one of the two Primordials that had been willing to help the God's Rebellion. It thanked the machine politely, and left to search for the heart of this place.

There are many stories about what happened within, but Shining Eye itself glazed over these details, and in one way or another, it met with the eight Divine Ministers of Autochthon. It struck a bargain with Autochthon, aiding in the construction of a special creature, composed of adamant. Shining Eye did not ask Autochthon what it needed it for.

It did not say what happened afterwards. It merely appeared where it had been before the Cascading Years, very pale, and holding something that it had not had before. It was a small, delicate construct locust, no larger than Shining Eye's hand with eyes of starmetal, legs of orichalcum, wings of moonsilver, a body of jade, a carapace plated with soulsteel, and engraven with Shining Eye's mark, though it swore that it had never made them, a pair of jaws made from gleaming, deadly-sharp adamant. It kept the locust forever locked within a box hung from it's neck, until the Great Feast, when it, along with it's fellowkind, were killed. The box opened. The locust fell. And a Sidereal, wishing to prevent the danger of such an artifact, destroyed it.

By and large, if the consequences of this were widely known, it would generally be considered a poor idea.

(Well, there we are, my first attempt at something like this. I recently read some of Weapons of the Gods, and was rather inspired by the lore sections, so I tried my hand at something similar, a mix of heroic adventure and a little comedy, and with all those fun little implications. Of course, I don't know if we'll meet Alchemicals... but something had to bork up the surface world, presumably.)

Like most Celestials, Dashu has had many incarnations.  However, in the first age one of his more famous ones was the The Treacherous Downfall of the Unrighteous Path (or Downfall), a spy in the underworld used by the Deliberative to track and kill the crime lords.  However, like many of the other Night Caste who felt they received little recognition by living in the shadows during the Age of Glories, he who was named to be the downfall of those who followed the path unrighteousness eventually turned to the that same path to gain his own glory.  The Downfall became a masterful crime lord in his own right and it was many centuries before anyone stopped him.  Downfall was a master of the Ebon Shadow Martial Arts style and these memories frequently find their way into the memories of his future incarnations.

During the Age of Sorrows, Dashu's incarnation was somewhat more mundane... for a Solar Exalted.  He exalted on the Blessed Isle in the house of Sesus.  His name was Silius.  It took ever bit of cunning, guile, and power he had to find his way out of the hands of the Wyld Hunt.  He took to learning how to live off the land and avoided large cities, becoming a natural woodsman.  It wasn't until a second circle demon who had escaped its bindings attacked a small town that Silius met his demise.  Unable to simply walk away, Silius intervened and was ultimately able to win.  The villagers decided to repay his kindness by sending for the Hunt which arrived incredibly quickly due to the fact a troupe of Immaculates were traveling in the area nearby.  Still injured from his battle, Silius was easy for them to track and kill.

The Bramble:

This section of 5 Coils is a vast tangle of tree roots from some vast plant on the surface.  It extends farther than 5 coils itself both upward and downward.  In order to facilitate security most levels do not connect to The Bramble at all.  The few that do connect through lengthy tunnels.

For some time The Bramble has been a source of quality large-scale lumber.  The Wood-Aspect Dragonblooded who care for it are careful not to remove enough wood to kill it, but a few tons of lumber can safely be taken every year without problem.  It also connects to some vast underground aquifer and can supply many thousands of gallons of fresh water every day through taps to the fibrous roots.  When there is excess waste and compost beyond what's needed for 5-Coils farming industry, it goes to nourish The Bramble.

The Bramble is notably dangerous for it's other inhabitants, some roots are hollow and contain very large aggressive ants that are fed by The Bramble itself, and will fiercely protect it from any harm, or disturbance, or anything that simply happens to annoy them.  These creatures, each about an inch long, are not particularly dangerous individually but come in vast swarms.  This makes travel through The Bramble quite hazardous, however it does connect at several levels of 5-coils through relatively unused tunnels and could bypass certain checkpoints and defenses.

Even in his prior incarnations, Alus Tycho has always been something both more and less than a mortal. The first and foremost of all his Exalted lives was that of Ael Eren Illune (No Word Spoken), an Amiliki-Queen who governed the mortals in the provenance of Tear’s March under the ultimate and, then divine, authority of the Dragon-Kings.

Silent since birth, when a curious young Dragon-King ripped her vocal cords from her throat to examine them, she was among the first of her people to master the art of written word and to unlock the inherent power in these symbols. She carved them not only into every facet of her kingdom, but into her very flesh. Ael Eren Illune, as described by those few remaining records, had never been one of the great beauties of the Primordial World, but her ascension into near-god-hood, not as an Exalt but as an Amiliki, destroyed what traces of comeliness she might have possessed. Her body was mass of painted scars, each one a powerful sign of warding against every demon, spirit, Dragon-King, or mortal worthy of name and many who were not. A warrior-queen through and through, she lead her warriors on countless raids into neighboring lands to capture warm-bodies for the Dragon-Kings to offer upon their altars to the sun. She even constructed a ziggurat of her own, upon which she spilled the blood of only great warriors or leaders.

Exaltation came swift to her. Ael Eren Illune Exalted in the golden light of dawn as she stood upon that very alter, her body painted red in the blood of a rival Amiliki-King who, just moments before, her own hand had cut the heart from. This offering, intended to beseech the sun to drive off the strange and evil sights and sounds that had begun to roll across the land, brought her something else instead: A shocking awareness that her lords and masters, the Dragon-Kings, were in the midst of a struggle for their very lives. That there was, in fact, a war raging across the entire face of Creation and that she, would be one of the instruments to end it. No longer, the sun told her, should she make war upon her neighbors, but offer them her protection. His symbol would become Her’s, a new mark worn upon her brow and no mark of warding would ever best it.

Legends speak of how eager Ael Eren Illune became to fulfill her new master’s request that she ordered every village and town raised to the ground. Every scrap of stone and wood that could be found was dragged, often for hundreds of miles, to what was then the sparsely populated seat of her power. Here, she built a new city. One whose every facet was meticulously planned and charted. None could fathom her design, for none could even behold it lest they could see through the eyes of the sun as she could. Thousands died in this monumental task, yet in the end, the Amiliki-Queen had designed a fortress-city whose very shape was that of a massive symbol of warding. The touch of the Primordials could only scratch at it’s door, never breaching the boundaries of it’s walls. This was Kabalien, which would become mortal-made cities of note to survive the Primordial War and in time which later generations would know as Deheleshen.

Ael Eren Illune herself, however, would not survive the War. Her duties to her people fulfilled, she outfitted herself with talismans of magical gold fused into her flesh and set out to do battle upon the front lines of the war. Ever a protector, even here, she often sacrificed her flesh and sanity to protect other Exalts from the ravages of the Primordials. Ever more, her body was torn apart and replaced by orichalcum, until at last there was simply not enough of her still flesh and blood to hold her soul and it slipped away into the night.

Her shard, however, would be reborn and at the tail end of the War, a new Solar would arise to take her place...

There are many stories about him. He was said to be a Lunar, a wolf totem, with a very unusual personality. He entered the Five Coils when it was created- They say, to see if he could escape given only a spoon. He was rather disappointed when he discovered that all the food given used only chopsticks.

He is Free. He says that he had a name before that, but it's the only name that matters to him anymore. Free is what he wishes to be, and some say, what he wishes others to be. He's very powerful, quite possibly impossible to kill, and a great sorceror. At the same time, his personality would be best described as... mad. This should be obvious, if only for the reason that he is trapped in the Five Coils. This superficial strangeness hides a deep, noble personality, however- Some say that the real reason he stays is for the sake of a young girl, a Lunar sorceress, with a frog- such an inoffensive creature- as her totem, who's bound by some magic or another, to stay in Five Coils. Others say that he waits for the day when he will be able to destroy Five Coils from the inside. The Dragon-Blooded who run Five Coils says that he does not exist.

Myth or reality, Free is a powerful name in Five Coils. He's said to be a giant of a man, broad-shouldered, strong-muscled, feral-grinning. His left eye has, tattooed in place of an eyebrow, the only tattoo that adorns his body: NOFUTURE, said to have been given to him after he took the eye of a powerful Solar witch, which sits in his left eyesocket now. Some even say the one he took the eye from was his spouse, but as with all things about Free, the stories conflict.

He wears a black and white striped bodysuit, and has an iron ball attached to one leg. He wears this by choice, and has incorporated it into his style of fighting, using it to give his kicks a lethal level of strength, and he has a fantastic control over ice, his spells all taking a more arctic theme- The Death of Obsidian Butterflies, rather than shards of rock, are replaced with razor-sharp flakes of snow. It is unknown how he changes the nature of these spells, woven into the very fabric of the universe- Some put it to the influence of the eye he holds, some to his own mad nature, some say that it's the proof that he's merely a myth of hope among the underclass of Five Coils.

But if he is real, then this is his chance.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:35, Tue 16 Dec 2008.

Video of a pangolin.  It isn't Turtle's totem animal (which is a turtle...) but it does give a good impression of certain physical characteristics I was thinking for his Beastman form.  Both are sort of awkward, heavily armored, hunched figures with powerful oversized claws.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btkVS7uYNwM

And inspiration for a "Deranged Attack Tortoise" martial arts style.  Apparently they're pretty territorial.  I haven't incorporated that into Grinning Turtle's personality but probably will into his First Age incarnation.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ul0gfCyeiyM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWKfENaNH4g&NR=1
This message was last edited by the player at 09:04, Sun 21 Dec 2008.

   Saffron’s First Age incarnation was known as Anaximander the Gentle. He was a quiet and introspective man who originally led with compassion, mercy, and by example.
   A skilled martial artist and healer, he preferred to use his abilities to save lives instead of taking them. He could sense sicknesses from unbalanced Essence as easily as a master musician can hear the one instrument out of tune with the others. He could correct them with little effort.
   As a negotiator he was known to pick apart the opponent’s argument from the inside. He started by accepting the other’s opinion and then twisting it until his opponent realized the futility of her belief.
   In the Primordial War, he acted as herald trying to reason with the other side as much as possible. He took many more prisoners than he killed. And everyone he had to kill, he would honor in some way and forgive them for forcing his hand.
   After the war, he set about making treaties and solving internecine conflict.
    He was father like, parenting everyone around him in a way that was originally not offensive and intrusive.
   As the curse took hold, he became less tolerant of others beliefs. His fatherly demeanor became oppressive and punitive. His attacks on others beliefs would overt, harsh, and critical. All of the finesse, he possessed in his height was lost. And then the Dragonbloods turned on him and eliminated him.
   His partner in his life was Aurora, a Lunar, with a musical talent and badass fighting spirit. Rory, as he called her, soothed with words and song when her lover was stressed. She was fun loving and full of life. She reminded Anaximander to stop and smell the roses when he would drift into too much thought. She stood by him through the end – even as he became less the gentle lover and more the oppressive tyrant. When the Terrestrials came knocking she died as his side.

Turtle's greatest preincarnation of note was a scarred veteran of the Primordial War, Chelara the Snappish.  An honored warrior, Chelara's main contribution was keeping powerful primary souls of Primordials occupied while her allies enacted the often bizarre and time consuming requirements for their permanent deaths.  When her Solar mate died in the final cataclysmic battle of the war, she decided that she preferred a solitary life where she could control her own fate.  Rather than face the humiliation of bowing before a much younger and weaker Solar partner, she instead established her own territory toward the outskirts of Creation, disdaining contact with the early Solar empires, and later the Deliberative.  As the First Age wore on and Creation's borders were expanded by clever Solar Twilight and No Moon savants, she moved her own territories outward, always just skirting the Wyld.

Eventually, however, she refused to move any further.  About a thousand years after the end of the Primordial War, Chelara stood her ground, facing off against a young but skilled Solar Twilight seeking to expand his own territory by stabilizing land from the Wyld borders.  Though Chelara correctly assessed that the Solar would be no match for her physical might, she had failed to recognize the advancements the sorcerous arts had made since the beginning of her self-imposed exile.  Rather than engage in direct combat, the Twilight threw a powerful Solar Circle curse of his own devising upon her.

Withdrawing from the conflict, Chelara managed to survive the withering curse only by entering a hibernation state.  Unfortunately, her antisocial tendencies sealed her fate.  No Solar capable of Adamant Circle Sorcery was willing to offend their colleague by releasing the curse he had placed upon the Lunar, and the few ancient Lunars who still recalled and honored her contributions to the Primordial War could perform such a countermagic.  Chelara remained where she lay for hundreds of years, eventually dieing in her hibernating state, though whether she was slain by the curse or another former enemy's blade was never determined as her corpse was never located.  Even her death was only determined by the sudden and unexpected termination of her thread on the Loom of Fate and the Exaltation of a new turtle totem Lunar.

Perhaps as a lingering effect of the curse levied by her Solar opponent, most of Chelara's reincarnations would be both unlucky and short-lived, even for Lunars.  Goveld the Plodder, who survived Usurpation, was one of the eldest when he died.  Goveld was killed by Raksha five years after the Usurpation, at an age of just over a century.  As a result of these relatively short life spans, none of the reincarnations ever attained quite the impression upon the Exalted shard.  Why it lost its ability to fix Castes at about the same time as the majority of Lunars was a matter of significant speculation, as aside from this major change neither Goveld nor his subsequent reincarnations ever survived the Wyld long enough to suffer more than superficial Wyld mutations.

Chelara the Snappish was a large, unattractive woman, scarred horribly in the Primordial War by wounds that refused to heal cleanly even with the passage of a thousand years.  Living in virtual isolation, she normally lived in her Beastman form, and it was rare to encounter her out of her suit of moonsilver plate or without the powered grand grimcleaver, both created for her personally during the Primordial War by the race which would later become the Mountain Folk.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:45, Wed 24 Dec 2008.

In recognition of how close we are to reaching our final goal and ending this campaign, I present a quick rendered image I've done of our ultimate goal, the last hurdle before the surface.

Okay a bit better of an image now that I'm not just playing with primitives.

The Pool of Silent Contemplation:
This is the center of a mid-level water-aspected manse in the district of water area.  A single drop of the purest water falls from the great stone spike into the pool exactly on time, once each hour.  Around the central pool are arrayed twelve stones, engraved with the words Time, Love, Life, Harmony, Truth, Madness, Justice, Space, Hate, Balance, Death, and Freedom.  It is said that if a person sits upon a stone and meditates while twelve drops fall without interruption, movement, or distraction, they will acheive perfect understanding of that concept.  Sadly few  can manage such a feat of concentration and only a few dozen of the Dragonblooded have even tried.

The series of incarnations held by the Shard of Exaltation--known only by the title of it's first and greatest holder--the Clockwork General--has always had a slight propensity towards getting into trouble...  As other Solars gravitated either to the new arts of Sorcery developed throughout the First Age--and others began dabbling in  the arts of Creating Life--and others still crafted their own realms out of the depths of the endless Wyld surrounding Creation--the Clockwork General always took pride in utterly mastering the art of machinery...  Some say the General learned the ways of craftsmanship from Autochthon himself--and the first incarnation was slain by a number of his rivals after withdrawing from the deliberative in protest...

But still, even to this day--the Dawn Caste Solar Exaltation had always had an aptitude for the arts of craftsmanship--the secrets Autochthon imparted impressing themselves upon each successive existance, as the Clockwork General reincarnated--produced great wonders, both in the creation of mighty battlefield inventions--and with the dissemination of utiliarian wonders for their people--and always was the Clockwork General seeking a new and cleaner way of waging war...

But still, even in spite of the Second General's brilliance--he was killed in the middle of his Greatest Creation--one that has been lost to memory and Fate alike, as the Dragon Blooded who took him by surprise were afeared of it's might and nobility--and destroyed it in short order.

Now, the Third Clockwork General has arisen--or perhaps the Fourth--though Danae has no memory of any incarnations beyond the Second--and when a crafter-warrior of such briliance has the freedom to act upon the system of Five Coils--perhaps a great future may yet lie in store for the world.

The Shard currently entwined with Xurizu's soul has always been a snake, although the species has varied from incarnation to incarnation, as has the caste -- as befits one of Luna's blessed.  His longest lived incarnation was not his first, that Exalt had died (or at least, ceased to be) in the latter stages of the war, when She Who Lives In Her Name broke her Spheres over Creation.

Surrounded by those supposedly his peers but with massively more experience, the young Twice-Coiled Arexus had done the only thing he knew how to do.  He excelled, particularly in the newly emerging field of Sorcery.  Whilst he would never reach the heights of power displayed by the Golden Ones, for that power was ever denied to him by virtue of his Exaltation, there were few who could match his skill in shaping the two lower circles, his spells always woven to perfection, every strand of essence placed just so.

It was this precision and perfection which had drawn his mate, the great crafter of beauteous wonders, Thalia, close to him and he to her.  As a result, he was often clad in the fruits of her labours, which granted him a striking appearance, even in those days of wonders.  His armour and his robes--for they were one and the same--were woven of strands of the night itself, a few bare strands of Moonsilver running through them looking like stars as they emerged from the depths of the weave in a few places.  On his head, he wore another of Thalia's creations, a circlet made of purest water from the utmost West, solidified and worked as gold or silver might have been to form the body, dyes made of sapphires and diamonds used to colour the liquid.  Combined with his long black hair, and slightly blue tinted Northern skin, he looked striking on her arm, or alone.

Towards the end of the First Age, it his skill at weaving sorcery which enabled him to aid in the forging of the Salinan Working, a task which would repay his reincarnations, or those which studied the sorcerous arts at least, down the ages.

Truth be told--throughout the Clockwork General's many incarnations--they had attained a considerable series of rivals--seemingly tied by Fate to continually incarnate at the same time--begin their battle of wits once again--only to come to an end at the same time once again--while the Clockwork General espoused the prowess of powerfully ordered machinery, capable of outputting great prowess--his two rivals always had different approaches--and their greatest wonders always arrived when that series of incarnations finally collaberated on one project or another...

One of these, the No Moon who's most famous incarnation, Maia Wise-Eye, was a brilliant sorcerer-engineer.  Wherin the Clockwork General favored the purity of mechanic mastery, Maia was always one to blend magic along with it.  Her devices always seemed to bear a mystical standpoint--making little sense when reverse-engineered, but seemingly functioning based on prayer and hope alone.  The Mate of the Clockwork General--to this date, Danae isn't quite sure if she's incarnated somewhere around in Five Coils--but wouldn't mind meeting her at some point or another to compare notes...

The other, the Cursed Sapphire--was a Chosen of Serenity--a careful collaborator with incredible talent when it came to sheer delicate operation--where Maia would design an elegant device, sacrificing the size and bulk popular throughout artifice in favor of sleek and organic appearances, Sapphire would produce wonders which--on the outset, appeared much like the original...  But they worked better--more efficiently.  While there was something to be said about his inclination towards unoriginal thought--there was no contesting that Sapphire's designs just 'Worked Better' then anyone else's...  Sadly, the 'Cursed' part of the Shard's title comes from it's turnover rate--between the Usurpation and the release of the Solars--it was said that Sapphire would never last out a year--always remaining despondent over something or other--and dying of the most unusual causes.  To the point where the Sidereals simply considered any such Exaltations to be a write-off...

Nonetheless, if all three are present within Five Coils--a possiblity for a new golden age of artifice is no longer simply a pipe-dream--and their talents may yet extend across the Surface once more.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:02, Sat 10 Jan 2009.

The Akashic Records. The terror that awaits those Twilights who are focused in knowledge. It is, in many ways, the 'detritus' of the Solar Exalted. Those whose skill lies, not in the creation of things, in the finding of secrets, in the treating of wounds, or the arcane arts, are slated for processing as Akaschic Records. The methods used are best described as torturous, some saying they had been rewards from the Yozis for some service of a demon summoner, and the secrets had fallen into the Dragon-Blooded's hands. They are not often used, because the minds of most mortals would be utterly destroyed, rendering them utterly useless, but Exalts, new Exalts, still uncertain in their power, are in the narrow gap where they can survive, but not intact. The process wipes their personalities clean, leaving them little more than living dolls, with at most a faint ghost of their old personality, like a shadow left on a wall.

The amount of information that is required for Five Coils' continued operation is phenomenal. The intelligences, like the Gatekeepers, are useful for this purpose, but they have their limits, and the Dragon-Blooded don't entirely trust them, for good reason. The Akashic Records, then, are the solution. Their minds, as powerful, perhaps more so, than any intelligence, their ability to process information, when unhindered by one of those messy personalities, unmatched. The process is rare, as even among the Dragon-Blooded, it is considered disturbing, but it still happens frequently enough.

Until approximately 30 minutes ago, there has never been an escape attempt by an Akashic Record.

The Breaking of Oak Hurst

During the war against the Fair Folk, Dena's previous incarnation Flying Nettle established a fortress on the edge of creation known as Oak Hurst.  Built into a desmene in a natural grove of giant oak trees near the pole of wood, Oak Hurst had a stable population of humans who had Flying Nettle as their guardian, attracted to her superhuman beauty and message of empowerment.

Counter to the normal strategy of using their own awe-inspiring fighting prowess to destroy fair folk invaders, Flying Nettle remained inside the desmene inventing new and wonderful devices.  Instead, using a special knack, she used her own blood to give her most powerful forms to human followers and armed them with magitek weaponry.  Mundame-material warstriders fought alongside humans transformed into tyrant lizards while strix and giant wasps scouted and guarded the skies and magitek infantry protected the earth, fueled by the endless power of the desmene itself and golems supplied brute power to human generals.  As the Fair Folk advanced on creation and it's borders collapsed inward, Oak Hurst remained an outpost, a hell world where the Fair Folk died by the thousands and the borders were secured from alteration by powerful devices.  While rumors of Tyrannosaurs in F-14s began in this area, in reality they were usually separate although fighting together.

Inevitably things began to slowly sicken and worsen.  Obsessed with studies and finding ways of inflicting ever-more damage to the fair folk, Flying Nettle failed to observe the effects her blood was having on the townsfolk.  Repeated and continuous use of wasp-lunar blood began to turn them servile and obedient, gradually turning the people into dronelike workers for the hive.  Where Flying Nettle had sought to empower the people and give them free choice in their defense of their home, she instead removed that free will and enslaved them without thought.

Eventually doom came from an unexpected source.  As creation continued to wither under the onslaught, Dena, deep in her tree-hive, closed in on creating a weapon so powerful it would crush the fair folk entirely and protect the entirety of creation, a similar device to that the Scarlet Empress was seeking at that very moment.  But to make it required vast quantities of all five magical materials, and Flying Nettle had no soulsteel left.  While she began work on a way to construct her needed materials from the wyld nearby, her loyal drones heard her complaints and unhesitatingly, the entire population committed suicide for their queen, their ghosts closing in on her and begging to be turned to soulsteel.  With the people manning the weaponry gone, the fair folk flooded in and killed her as well, though the automated defenses inflicted horrific damages and Flying Nettle herself, in a last desperate charge, attacked in a custom warstrider and trampled them like chaff until she was buried beneath their numbers.

Today Oak Hurst has become a shadowland, filled with hungry ghosts who wish only for the return of their queen, who will make them a part of one of her wonderful weapons but who reject all other comers, and a place bristling with a thousand and one lethal deathtraps from automated weaponry and lethal automatons.  As for Flying Nettle, the event seems to be deeply burned into the Exaltation's psyche, and ever after her reincarnations have been overly cautious, worried about unintended consequences and prone to overthinking and overplanning any action lest it cause something unexpected and horrible to happen.

The Abyssals of Five Coils are, at best, a touchy subject. Most of the Dragon-Blooded who run Five Coils would most prefer simply locking their essence away for good, but for one reason or another, this has never ended well. To this end, within the most secure vault in the entirety of the massive complex, there are six carefully hoarded Monstrances of Celestial Portion. Each of these required a truly heroic effort to retrieve, and they are kept a secret from all but the very highest echelons of the Dragon-Blooded. Each one contains a single Day or Dusk-Caste Abyssal Essence, which is given to a chosen member of a Dragon-Blooded family, raised from birth for fanatical service, who has not exalted. They are brought before the monstrance, their throats slit, and when the Abyssal Essence enters them, they are put to work immediately. There is one for each section of Five Coils. They are the assassins. When nothing else would be sufficient to stop a  threat, then they are the ones who are sent into the fray. They are ritually executed at the age of thirty-five, and replaced with the next, so as to ensure that they never become strong enough to threaten the Five Coils. They know, quite well, that they are playing with fire.

This is why, each day, they look at the still-empty monstrance for the Dark Guardian of Water, and feel greater worry if the Day-Caste has escaped, or worse, stays within the Five Coils, and even now is waiting for his chance.

Jade Coin of Benevolence
Artifact *

These jade discs are only usable by Terrestrial Exalted, and were originally created to allow Dragonblooded Surgeons to operate on patients without risking harm to the patient from the surgeon's anima banner.  Other Terrestrials found further uses for them, particularly mounted warriors and those with familiars.  Each disc is made of jade of an appropriate color, and usually inscribed with an appropriate elemental design.  Many are pierced to be hung on a chain or thong.

When a Dragonblooded commits 1 mote to the coin and gives it to another, that person is immune to that particular Dragonblooded's anima banner.  The effect lasts until the Dragonblooded ceases to commit essence to maintain the effect.

And here's my interpretation of the mining encampment buildings.  I'm not entirely satisfied with this image but overall I think it came out well.  The only light in it really is from the fires.
I thought about adding some people, but given what that will do to the render time inhabitants will have to wait until I have a couple of days free where I won't need to use my computer so it has some thinking time to crunch that many polys.

Finally got the processing time free to model Dena's current assortment of forms.

If anybody wants a portrait send me a message and I'll see what I can come up with.

The Narsik are considered to be Five Coils' worst Secret Police--and simultaniously one of the most often utilized.  Either this is a cunning gambit to let rebels think that this is the best that Five Coils can offer, before sending in 'Real' professionals, or if it's simply that their sheer tenacity almost always 'Eventually' brings them victory.

A well balanced Brotherhood, consisting of a representative of each Aspect, the Narsik are noted for considerable combat ability, a less-then-appropriate regard for their superiors and the general belief system of Five Coils, and an almost glaring lack of subtlety.  It's these reasons that often get them sent into situations that are both highly dangerous, and generally away from the public eye.

((OOC: My attempt at a 'Quirky Miniboss Squad', I'll provide details for the members in future posts :D))
This message was last edited by the player at 21:37, Sat 21 Feb 2009.

The Eternal Rebel.

If Free is the patient face of Exalted Rebellion in Five Coils, then the Eternal Rebel is the impatient face. His exaltations never last long, rebelling in all that they do, but they make up for their lack of age with an almost terrifying level of will and Essence. The Exaltation of the Eternal Rebel is generally looked upon as something of a natural disaster by the authorities of Five Coils, something brief, but with damaging consequences.

There is a common thread to the Exaltations that the Rebel takes, almost always being those who are inclined already to rebellion- And in particular, those with an unusual, but not terribly rare, genetic tendency which leaves their family lines with blue hair.

Nobody is entirely sure if it actually is a single Exalted Essence, or just a tendency towards rebellion, a sort of mental disease that affects certain people in that lineage that only emerges when they Exalt. The tales are most often told among members of the Peace Officers, and unnecessary force being used against those with the Rebel's Mark, as the hair color is called, is considered a fact of life. Nobody wants to end their lives on the Rebel's fists.

((OOC:It was not until I finished typing this up that I realized that in fact Third also has blue hair. Is Third the Rebel? Or is it merely a coincidence? Read the book.))
((OOC: PS. There is no book.))

The Seven Swords

The Seven Swords are a group whom--as with many in Five Coils, is shrouded in myth and legend.  Spoken of in hushed words by the populace--these seven warriors of impeccable skill, each said to have mastered a single technique which far surpasses even the greatest arts of the Dragon Blooded.  Rare is it that more then a single representative of their number comes to the forefront--but it is said that the Seven Swords approve of rebellion against the Dragon Blooded overlords--and one will often crop up to assist the more successful ones.

It is said that the Seven Swords have existed since the inception of Five Coils--as it's guardians and enforcers.  Of course, the going implication is that each member takes an apprentice when they feel themselves slowing down or whatnot, but it's just much more mystical and legendary to believe they've 'Always Been Around', right?

The one currently freshest in memory is known only as Kazuki--a user of the Two Handed Long Sword, renknowned for his incredible striking speed, and his legendary technique--so long as his balance is maintained, it is said he can turn any strike into a successful blow.

If an Exaltation has ever needed something in common with each of its successive incarnations, then that of Dreams-of-Light has always Chosen a woman who understands the connections between physicality and the sacred.

The first was Noon Joy, a temple prostitute who serviced the religious gladiators of Rathess (including, it is claimed, Queen Merela) until the Unconquered Sun made her one of the first Zeniths. She seduced the fetich soul of a major Yozi (possibly Ligier's previous incarnation) and destroyed it but died in the doing so.

The second, and the one to survive the Primordial War and the Ochre Fountain Era was a healer named Touch of Grace. She died in the Dissolution Invasion but virtually invented the arts of acupuncture and acupressure, both of which her incarnations have remembered some portion.

The third, who lived until the end of the Time of Cascading Years, was Tantra of the Four Virtues. Balanced between the extremes of the sensuous Noon Joy and the celibate Touch of Grace, she advocated moderation in all things, decried magitech which enhanced the physical form, and tried to promulgate a set of manners for the Exalted. She perished in the Long Silence but some of her writings inspired the famous doyenne Renewing Ardour in the Second Deliberative Era.

The fourth through to seventh were short-lived and seemed to be more interested in sex than faith. Their names are forgotten.

Of the First Age, the last was a young girl, little more than a child, named Ta Yao Li, who practiced religious athletics. She died five years after Exaltation during the beginning stages of the Usurpation when her Chosen of Journeys sifu gently poisoned her.

OOC: The first prayer is totally ripped off from the Hymn to the Sun in the Egyptian Book of the Dead.

Hymn to the Sun, Sol Invictus style:

Composed in the Primordial War as the first prayer of the Zenith Ur-Dai-Ken, the Hymn to the Sun was broken up into verses and repeated at the appropriate time of day. Some heretics suggested that the Hymn was composed collaboratively by Ur-Dai-Ken, the first Supreme Hierophant of the Deliberative, and his sometime lover Noon Joy. As the Great Curse progressed, repeating this heresy was punishable by death.

Homage to thee, O Sol, at thy tremendous rising!
Thou risest! Thou shinest! the heavens are rolled aside!
Thou art the King of Gods, thou art the All-comprising,
From thee we come, in thee are deified.

Thy priests go forth at dawn; they wash their hearts with laughter;
Divine winds move in music across thy golden strings.
At Sunset they embrace thee, as every cloudy rafter
Flames with reflected color from thy wings.

Thou sailest over the zenith, and thy heart rejoices;
Thy Morning Boat and Evening Boat with fair winds meet together;
Before thy face the bright garda exalts with her fateful Feather,
And at thy name the halls of Heaven ring with voices.

O Thou Perfect! Thou Eternal! Thou Only One!
Great Hawk that fliest with the flying Sun!
Between the Turquoise Sycamores that risest, young for ever,
Thine image flashing on the bright celestial river.

Thy rays are on all faces; Thou art inscrutable.
Age after age thy life renews its eager prime.
Time whirls its dust beneath thee; thou art immutable,
Maker of Time, thyself beyond all Time.

Thou passest through the portals that close behind the night,
Gladdening the souls of them that lay in sorrow.
The True of Word, the Quiet Heart, arise to drink thy light;
Thou art To-day and Yesterday; Thou art To-morrow!

Homage to thee, O Sol, who wakest life from slumber!
Thou risest! Thou shinest! Thou radiant face appears!
Millions of years have passed, --we cannot count their number,--
Millions of years shall come. Thou art above the years!

---

The Great Litany of the Unconquered Sun:

In the First Age, it was theorised that the Unconquered Sun had three hundred names and that each Solar reflected an aspect of the Lord of Heaven and Earth. Commissioned by Queen Merela of the Zenith Touch of Grace in the year following the victory of the Exalted Host over the Primordials, this prayer was quickly copied into Lunar and Sidereal specific versions. It is even said that the Dragon-Blooded had their own Great Litanies for the enigmatic and distant Elemental Dragons.

It is a grueling prayer which must begin at dawn and finish by the next sunrise as the priest cannot eat, drink or sleep during this time, and must sit in a lotus position. But if one can finish it, the reward is a moment of direct attention from the Unconquered Sun himself.

System:
Taking roughly twenty-five hours to complete (one for each Caste of Solar), the praying person must make a Stamina + Resistance roll beginning at +1 difficulty and increasing to +5 over the course of the prayer. Every five minutes the priest must also meditate on an aspect of the Unconquered Sun (twelve per hour) and roll Charisma + Performance at +7 Difficulty. Every two successes over the difficulty of the Sta + Res roll adds one automatic success to the prayer roll.

Most significantly, Charms cannot be used for the Great Litany.

First Age Past Life
In the First Age, the Exaltation which would be Talia's belonged to a woman known as Crown of Evening Stars.  Crown of Evening Stars was a talented crafter and a truly gentle soul.  In the first days of the war, she was commisioned to create an item of great power.  The exact nature of his item is lost to history, locked away even from the memories of the Exaltation.  All that is known is that the item was used against the enemies of the Exalted, and when Crown of Evening Stars saw the destruction she had wrought she wept, and swore that she would never again create any item which would be used to take life.
From then on, Crown of Evening Stars create only objects of beauty, protection and healing.  She crafted heathstone amulets, rings of power, and wonderful devices the like of which had never been seen.
The life of this lover of peace and beauty ended when enemies invaded her home.  Crown of Evening Stars would not lift a hand against another even to save her own life, praying even as she died that her killers would find peace.

Throwback
During the darkest days of the War of Usurpation, the Exaltation belonged to Mei Xing, a powerful sorceress.  Mei Xing lusted for arcane power.  She was willing to pay any price, to take any risk, to make any sacrifice to gain what she craved.  She delved dark magic: necromancy and infernalism.  She justified her actions to herself by claiming that she sought power only to defeat the Dragon-Blooded, but in truth she desired power as its own end.  She sought to become truly immortal and as powerful as the Gods.  As one might expect, her hubris led to her demise.  She summoned a demon which proved to be to powerful for her to contain.  For many years, the gruesome details of her death were used as warning to apprentice sorcerers of the dangers of dark magic.
Under Mei Xing's control, Talia desperately seeks out occult lore and magic secrets.  If the opportunity presents itself she will lie, steal, kill or betray in order to acheive her goals.
Due to the influence of Mei Xing's memories, Talia refuses to learn sorcery.  She fears that such power can lead too easily to corruption.

It started before I was born, of that much I am sure.  There are things I do not remember, things that such an infant mind will not remember, but my first memories are of training.  I remember feeling the burn in my arms as I raised myself from the ground, doing so many push-ups that I had lost count.  At that point, I don't think I could count.  I only did them till my muscles seized up, or they told me to stop.

I had a name then, but I don't remember what it was.  They hardly used it, I do remember that.  My name wasn't so important, they told me, when compared to my purpose.  I was a spoiled egg, one of many who were destined to never hatch, and this was my one chance to regain honor.  To bring something lasting to my house.  To not die an insignificant drain on my family.

If they ever saw me outside of my quarters, I was punished.  If they saw me while I was eating, I was punished.  If I was seen relieving myself of the filth of the body, I was punished.  So I became as a shadow, and no longer did they see me.  That is what they wanted, of course--the best training is experience, and they wanted me to become silent.  And after I could evaporate with the wind, they took their little shadow and made him into a killer.

Oh, there was so much more than simple swordplay.  Their ceaseless semantics about the Anathema, their obsessions with the wretched, their love for rules and rank, for culture and purpose--how I hated them.  I nodded my head, I smiled on command, and I did what they bade, but I hated them all.  And I felt shame.  Shame that these were my people, my blood.  Shame that my family would have such little faith in my hatching that they would give me to these monsters, who would treat me as nothing more than a vessel, a token to be carved unto and disposed of.  Oh, they told me this and more, thinking I understood the bigger picture, the divine purpose...that I embraced the will of the dragons, and that I would live as they sought me to live--to deal the deaths that they were too weak to stomach, or too scared to face.

So I followed them.  I made them believe my faith was true, that my will was no longer mine own, but theirs for the taking.  And my body was so much like clay, they molded me into a killing machine of unknown beauty, of skill unquestionable, and terror unblinking...and for that, perhaps, I should be thankful.  Those who trained me, who made me lick their boots as I tormented my body at their bidding, who lashed me at the post to toughen my body, those who denied me nourishment to strengthen my virtue--they shall be granted my gift quickly, and sent into the sweet oblivion with but a whisper of agony on their lips.  But the others...those who tormented my mind, who tried to strip me of the only thing I ever truly had to myself, my mind...to those Dragon-Blooded, to those kinsmen, I will not be so kind.

Not so kind at all.

When the blessed day finally arrived, that my torment might end and my salvation begin, I was ready.  By some twisted sense of pity, or perhaps remorse, they offered the last week of my mortality as a gift.  I was given the finest clothes, the most delicious of dishes, and their most beautiful women to have as I pleased.  The weapon had been forged and found sharp indeed, they must have thought, so what harm was there in letting the blade shine a few moments before plunged into the hearts of their enemies?

I refused them all, every last token of their offering.  They saw it as humility, and a sign of inner strength.  Fools!  I did not want their pity, or their apologies.  The food they left in my chambers was unto like ash in my mouth, tossed aside like the foil filth that it was.  Their clothing was ripped and torn, used as so much kindling for the rats nests so carefully hidden away.  But their women...I let them stay.  They did not touch me, nor I them, but I allowed them to see me.  To see the vessel their 'brave' men had brought fourth, to see the shattered soul that they had forged, and the haunted death that I so craved.  They left in tears, every last one, and they are the only ones who remember me...even before the Dark Exaltation took me into its sweet embrace, and the Neverborn crooned my souless husk to sleep, their dreams I will haunt forever.

The week was supposed to be of joy and celebration, of wanton abandon, but instead I meditated, and I fasted.  They saw it as an attempt to center myself for the upcoming task, to reaffirm my soul for the horrible trials ahead, so that I would serve the Five Dragons as only -I- could.  And I thought of the Five Dragons, of that make no mistake.  I brooded over their grip over my destiny, and I planned the day that I would face them, and show them the dark gifts their 'blessed' people were so just in giving me.

Pasiap would be the first to die, for without his stability or guidance, the rest would fall into chaos.  Next would be Hesiesh, who would no doubt burn with passionate revenge, and would want revenge--he would be angry, and anger would make him stupid.  He would fall quickly.  The rest would fall quickly after that, what with their greatest Champion and Strategist fallen.  And if they were lucky, these dragons, perhaps the last to fall, Daana'd, perhaps she would beg for their souls, perhaps she would convince me not to defile their very essence, to drink them up as I saw fit, or perhaps have them become my own Necrotech battle fleet--perhaps she would, and even so, I would delight in hearing her tortured cries escape through my clenched fingers as I strangled her scaly throat.

These are the things I thought about...prayed about, to whatever dark gods awaited me.  Then finally the day came.  The day that they brought me to their Monstrance of Celestial Portions.  The demented casket was warped and wicked, and looked to have been built by crazed blind men with visions of what horrors lied beneath their lids.  From behind they slit my throat, their shame too great to allow me to see it coming, and quickly shoved me into the dark Sarcophagi.  As my lifes blood seeped down my throat, I gave no dying breath or pained gurgles...I simply waited.  I envisioned my captors watching silently, waiting for my cries of fear, or my shouts of injustice, hampered by my severed vocal chords, but they heard nothing.

I waited, and when that sweet glimpse of oblivion finally crossed my blood-streaked vision, I heard the whispered of the Neverborn.  I was told they would be horrible, these voices, demented and alien, like vials of corruptions steeped into my very soul.  Their whispers were sweet and delicious, and their promises palatable and fine.

And all they could hear, outside that box of persecuted promises, was my slow, and triumphant laughter.

Things were different in the First Age.  After the birth of the Neverborn, things were good.  The Solar Exalted brought into fruition a time of great peace and prosperity--it was only after the Great Curse finally took hold, and the horrors that that absolute power produced did the Celestial Exalted considered betraying the Law Bringers.

Among their numbers was an Exalt called Twin Blades of the Perfect Edge.  Twin Blades was an Exalt of incredible cunning and skill, and very few Exalts, even those of the Dawn Aspect could stand up to him in combat.  So fast were his blades, so cunning his acrobatics, so sure his strikes that disputes with the Exalt were best left to debate and discussion--and such was his design.  War with Twin Blades was paramount to suicide, and so war and violence in his lands were unheard of, for fear of retribution from the God-King.

Powerful as he was, Twin Blades of the Perfect Edge was not without kindness, and was a good ruler of his kingdom.  But as time grew, he became more and more demanding of his subjects.  He was afraid that the imposed peace of his kingdom would falter if the other, less noble Exalted ever turned their greedy eyes toward the wealth and prosperity that he had crafted.  So, he thought, it would be a good idea to train not just an army, but an entire militia, and so sought to make every man, woman, and child in his kingdom a brave and dedicated warrior.  This, of course, made Twin Blades very unpopular, and though he still loved his people fiercely, and was doing only what he thought was good and right for them (in his Cursed manner), until he was turned upon by his own Army, and slain by his most trusted Dragon-Blood generals.

No one remembers much of the Most Diligent Bridger of Concepts, the first of Veldygar's incarnations. A discreet hero by Solar standards, he could not claim a Primordial as his personal trophy, like Queen Merela did; he nonetheless ensured that his Circle could operate at the greatest efficiency, and managed to sow discord between the Second and Third Circle Souls of one of the gods' enemies, making its ultimate demise possible.

He perished during the Aftershock War, one of the earliest casualties of the rogue Primordial that came back to assault the Solar Deliberative more than a millenia after the final defeat of its brethren.

His next incarnation, Sharia of the Peak of Promises, had a likewise unremarkable first five centuries - acting as embassador to the Fair Folk (having drawn her Second Breath after uncovering a dastardly raksha plot to ravish the population of her home city in her city, far to the West of Okeanos), managing her small territory alongside her older Lunar mate, until the Time of Cascading Years.

Forever changed by the experience, she took an interest in motic science, and its application to the manipulation of reality. She used her utmost abilities to endear herself to the Chosen of the Maiden, and spent time in Yu-Shan to learn as many of the reality-warping Sidereal martial arts as she could.

Progressively eaten by the hubris of the Great Curse, she devised a plan: if she could reinitiate the Cascading Years phenomenon, and overwrite the base reality on the Loom of Fate, she could reach omnipotence, vanquishing the shaping defenses of her peers and enabling her to take Queen Merela's place as the ruler of the Chosen... And master of Creation and Yu-Shan alike. Who better than her could decide what would be good for Creation, if not the fittest of the god-kings of Creation?

Fortunately, her plans never came to fruition despite millennia of preparation (her own lack of natural affinity for several fields of research pertaining to her project, like magitech, somewhat slowed down her progress, as did regular Sidereal inquiry), for the Usurpation came. Knowing her as one of the few Solars who had ripped off Sidereal secrets, she was targeted by one of the most excessive and brutal application of force the Chosen of the Maiden could muster. Her Shard reached Lytek's cabinet already scoured of every trace of what had been Sharia of the Peak of Promises.

"See you later mom," Veldygar kissed his mother on the cheek, and shouldering his bag, caught up with his father.

"How are you feeling today, son?" Moram Arhandor asked. "I trust master Vigon is teaching you a great deal."

And indeed he was. Veldygar was absorbing knowledge like a sponge. His father was sure that he would one day accede to the highest position available to a mortal thaumaturge...

Today was the first day he would be introduced to the wonders usually created by the Dragon-Blooded (or some Anathema slaves). He would likely become a bio-thaumaturge and an alchemist later in his life, but his interest was piqued by the mechanical wonders of jade he had seen his betters use. He was nonetheless chagrined, because the most fascinating Arts he had heard from, those who dealt with summoning and parlaying with spiritual beings, were usually barred from mere mortals, exclusively reserved to-Dragon Blooded.

On the way to the factory-cathedral, he welcomed the sight of Vaminder and Seela holding hands. Two months ago, the two lovebirds had been growing desperate, their families at odds because of a two-generations long feud, dating back to Vaminder's grandfather being promoted before Seela's despite the latter's seniority. Veldygar hadn't resisted to the idea of meddling and righting their wrongs, and after getting to know the various members of the family, he had seen which buttons to push to unlock the situation and, even if the grudge, compounded as it had been by decades of petty struggles, was a long way from being given up, he had managed to reunite the two lovers.

Somehow, he seemed to find a strange sense of rightness to this. He had since long had a good grasp of the social structures in the Wood District, and he was beginning to understand how to use them. His father told him that it would serve him right when he would be competing for a promotion later, but deep inside Veldygar wondered if he could not use it for some greater purpose. Surely, his horizons could not be limited to a thaumaturgy greenhouse and the biggest desk in the office?

"I'll go home by myself this evening dad," he bid his father a good day, and entered the thaumaturgical workshops. He greeted the stern master Vigon, the thaumaturgy instructor who supervised a handful of promising pupils.

He nearly ran to his booth, and grinned madly when master Vigon handed him a small bucket of rune-marked cogs, pinions, pipes and rods, and other esoteric components the purpose of which he did not have the faintest idea of.

"For the next following days," master Vigon told them, "you will be trying to figure out the correct symbological associations on the various parts I gave you, and try to assemble them into coherent Essence-guiding patters. You know enough geomancy basics and Old Realm glyphs to figure it out by yourself. Go ahead."

Veldygar was not as underwhelmed as his fellow apprentices by the task at hand. Playing around with the various symbols, he managed to find an appropriate pattern, shaped a bit like an angle bracket. Six elements in thirty seconds flat, that's a good start!

He touched the design, trying to 'feel' the Essence flow around the glyphs. He received a small jolt, and several of the parts inside and around the design re-assembled themselves into another vaguely humanoid pattern. Alerted by the small cry he gave out, master Vigon approached his booth. "Oh, clever of you," he commented upon seeing the new arrangement, "but that's no reason to disturb your fellow apprentices. Keep up the good work. Let's see how much you grasp this first day."

Try as he might, though, he did not manage to do better than the spontaneous pattern this day. He regained his home thinking of what it might mean.

Over the two following days, Veldygar received several more similar jolts. Each time the designs became more and more intricate. Master Vigon commended his ability to conceptualize Essence flows, much to the jealousy of his fellow apprentices, so usually avaricious of praise was their teacher. Yet deep inside Veldygar felt he did not actually understand how these patterns came to be, no matter how he let others think otherwise.

On the third and last day of the exercise, the patterns had assembled into a three-dimensional humanoid shape. Master Vigon commented that with Veldygar's intuitive understanding of the Essence flows in a humanoid shape he could have worked in the assembly or maintenance of warstriders or other humanoid automata.

"Vigon-sensei," Veldygar asked, "just how old can a person get before they cannot become a Dragon-Blooded?"

"A strange question," Vigon commented. "I know of no person who has Exalted past twenty, so I'm afraid you are a little late, if that's what you had in mind."

Veldygar had turned twenty a month ago.

Still harboring a little hope that he would be a statistical outlier - how else could he explain those spontaneous patterns appearing when he tried feeling Essence? - the apprentice returned to his work. Well, too bad, I'll just finish this apprenticeship, get a job supervising the Wood District's greenhouses or alchemical vats, marry, have children, and die at the ripe old age of 'as long as the Dragons mercifully grant me', he thought, a bit dispirited.

That's when he heard faint whispers coming from the doll-like assembly. At first he could not make out the words, but then it sounded much like the syntax of Old Realm - only vastly more subtle and musical, compared to the crude dialect they had studied in order to practice the mysteries.

Then understanding dawned on him, and he made out the meaning of the words: "Prince of Creation, thou hast forgotten much, but fear naught, thine faithful servant shall hasten thy return to glory."

Flashes of memories coursed through his mind, all pertaining to titanic struggles and grand heroics that he felt belonged to an Age long gone, but the most marking sight was the open sky, through which he soared on a great clockwork bird of gold.

"What was that," he said aloud, and heard a commotion coming from the nearby booths. His fellow apprentices recoiled in fear.

"What's happening? Did you hear what that doll was... telling?" he said incredulously, the doll having vanished from his workbench.

Vigon watched him, aghast. On a reflective metal sheet hanging from the wall, he saw his own image, a golden disc within a circle burning on his brow. A...na...thema? Me?

Vigon stepped towards him, his limbs going through the motion of practised katas. "I am sorry," he told him with sincere regrets in his voice, "that is for the greater good."

"Vigon-sensei, wait..." Veldygar said feebly. Only sheer instinct saved him, enabling him to leap aside as the enlightened mortal threw an Essence-sheathed foot at him, creating a crater in a nearby wall.

Now fully understanding his predicament, Veldygar ran out of the workshop, and out of the factory, as the alarm bell rang in the Wood District.

He recovered his breath in a nearby alley, surprised to find himself physically fitter than he had felt since was born. He let the glowing mark on his brow die down as he was laying low, the patrols and Dragon-Blooded hunting teams drawing closer.

Panicked, he left his shelter for the streets of the wood district, and willed himself not to be found, and, to his shock, a patrol of guards, who surely knew of his description, failed to notice him as they brushed past him.

Relieved by this apparent ability to make others ignore his presence, he tried to escape this level, but that was without counting on the Dragon-Blooded's supernatural tracking abilities.

As he neared the central shaft, he found himself surrounded by armed and armored Dragon-Blooded.

"Surrender, Anathema," a warrior in red jade armor told him. "You will not be hurt if you comply."

Clenching his teeth, Veldygar extended his hand, a golden blade materializing in his grip. "And spent the rest of my life a slave?" he spat disdainfully. "Come and get me!" Somehow, he sensed that the wounded pride swelling through him did not exactly belong to him, as did the knowledge of how to create and wield the blade in his hand, but he did not care.

Two Dragon-Blooded, the one clad in red jade and the other wielding a blue jade spear, then pressed on him, making vicious attacks that even with his newfound talent he could barely parry.

Trying to disengage himself from the two warriors, he saw a third figure surrounded by a vibrant green glow, coruscant leaves flying around him like they were blown in a absent wind, and multicolored glyphs flying around him.

Veldygar instinctively recognized the workings of sorcery. And illumination reached him, distant memories from another life that he compared his own experiences to.
Humility. When he had understood that he was merely a part of the greater whole, and that he could contribute to the good of that greater whole.
Tutelage. When had received master Vigon's teachings, expanding his understanding of the world around him.
Journeys and Fear. When his newfound abilities drove him away from his older life in fear.
And Sacrifice. Just now, as he understood that his older self was no more, subsumed into the greater entity that he was now, past the point of no-return.

"Circle of Emerald, BE UNDONE!"
"Essence of Metal, BIND MY FOE!"

As he shouted the words in a perfect Old Realm, making the Lesser Sign of Unmaking with his right hand, the Dragon-Blooded Sorcerer made another mystic gesture, finishing his own casting.

An emerald green hue surrounded him as the local metal was reshaped into tentacular chains that flailed at him and sought to bind him, yet in a shower of green sparkes they were stopped from doing so. Taking advantage from his momentary immunity, he darted, the two warriors hots on his heels, and in a desperate attempt to shackle them, he leapt into the central shaft.

He heard a sound that only his alien memories enabled him to identify as a thundering gale, and the spear wielder was on his back in mid-flight, bringing down the butt of his spearshaft on his head. He let go of his golden sword, and through the unconsciousness seizing him, he witnessed the Dragon-Blooded throwing his spear into the shaft's walls, his hand still linked to the wall by a small thread of Essence, and in a movement like a swinging pendulum, they landed on a platform one level below.

Then he plunged into darkness.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:39, Sun 19 Apr 2009.

At Broken Eternals request I've put together an image of his character, as best I can as I wasn't able to discern his caste or choice weapon.  Believe it or not this is a 3D render using a new technique I'm testing to produce a "Sin City" effect which I thought would be appropriate.  The only real post work was adding the caste mark, where I used Day as it's the easiest to modify into another one if I need to.

Graffiti of Five Coils

Wherever there is oppression, discontent, and humanity, graffiti is found. A message left across stone to show the dissatisfaction of the people, the graffiti in Five Coils varies dramatically, but there are a few of them that stand out. One of these is a set of five blasphemous haiku, praising the sun's dominion over the terrestrial elements. They may sometimes have slight variations, but the following examples tend to be standard.

The Sun burns the Earth
Earth bleaches, and turns to sand
The Sun creates flux.

The sun is that which
All fire tries to imitate
That glorious light.

The sun lights the sea
Gives all water its reason
Brings light to darkness

The sun beats the wind
Rays create current in air
Without? Air stagnates.

Sun brings life to wood
Feeds, nurtures, protects, makes grand
Without the sun... Death.

It's rare that an individual has the time to complete all five haiku, but in these troubled times, more are taking the risk, and have begun to write a sixth.

The five elements
All within the sun's power
None hold back the sun.

The immaculate order and Peace Keeper forces, obviously, take a very dim view towards these opens shows of defiance, but as dissent begins to spread throughout the Five Coils, it becomes harder and harder to suppress.

The waning days of the Solar Reign in the First Age saw many fantastic inventions. The Five-metal Shrike, the most powerful small-scale vehicle ever produced, the Thousand-forged Dragons. None of these compared in sheer power, however, to what could have been the most important discovery ever made: The Protoshinmaic vortex. A kernel of a new creation, protoshinmaic vortexes were used primarily as a- admittedly somewhat unstable- power source, capable of generating truly unimaginable quantities of Essence. Shining Eye had nothing to do with their discovery, but on learning of them, it was intrigued. The age of the Zenith command of the Solar Deliberative seemed to be coming to a close, and Shining Eye, though not as much of a radical as some of the twilights calling for the unmaking and remaking of Creation, believed that protoshinmaic vortexes could be the key to a smaller-scale expansion of creation, and potentially unlimited new tools- Through the careful manipulation of the vortices, it theorized that entirely new Creations could be created, with their own new, foreign Elements. The initial experiment yielded a ReCreation that was inimical to Creation-based life, and was left to be devoured by the Wyld, but in the decade before the Usurpation, Shining Eye headed a small project, designing a ship to travel into the Wyld, carrying a collection of protoshinmaic vortices, to be seeded through the Wyld and reinforced to withstand the Deep Wyld around it. It was launched secretly the night before Calibration began, uncrewed, empty, a shining pearl travelling into the void. If the Usurpation had not come, more of them would have been built, and ReCreations seeded across the endless Wyld, a thousand stars in the night. Some would be uninhabitable, and might be left to die, but even these would provide endless new places to experiment, unleash a panoply of advances for all Creation- And there would be those that, while alien, would be livable if Creation ever need be abandoned.

Nobody knows what happened to the Pearl. Some say that it was destroyed by Unshaped, others that the idea was foolish and unstable from the start, that the ReCreations would simply erode away before anything could be done.

But some say that out there, a chain of worlds lie waiting to be found, and that some of them may even have survived. Nobody alive today remembers Operation Dewdrop now, and only the Celestial Exalted involved with it might ever have a chance of remembering it, to say nothing of the difficulty of finding these places. But should Creation be overrun, they may be the only place left to go.

An artist's conception of Divine Spark, as requested by Danae.  Somehow when she gave me carte-blanche to add whatever features I wanted, the temptation to put a smiley face on the pommel was almost irresistible but at the last minute I put a sunburst instead.  I wasn't entirely sure of a lot of features so I went with a hilt that looks like Clockwork and a jewel-keyboard on the blade spike for controlling added features.

The Fire District is well known as the military and production center of Five Coils--and as is proper, in terms of size, depth, and history, it is also one of the richest that any mortals have a fair stab at reaching.  As such, there are many hidden depths to be found within.  The Shattered Citadel was the core R&D hub of all military research being done within The Pillar of Creation in the First Age, and it is said that many secrets still lie buried within.

Sadly, despite the best efforts of the Council of Five Coils, they've yet to penetrate beyond the Citadel's first line of security...  While admittedly, even cracking the security to get this far inside resulted in a veritable treasure trove of equipment, complete with enough First Age Dragon Armor to provide a suit for each officer of Dragonlord and above...  Despite the best efforts of the Dragon Blooded however, they have yet to reach beyond the facilities in the external courtyard--and in fact, when they sent a collared Anathema inside to see if a Celestial could get in any further--they lost all contact with the one sent inside--rendering this a tricky proposition in the future.

Considering it's apparent power as a Manse, drawing upon the thick Dragon Lines extracted from the very blood of Creation itself as well.  It's little wonder that the Dragon Blooded have taken great pains to try getting inside--and it's usually protected by a garrison of no less then a Wing in size.  Only their refusal to believe that a stray anathema could both overcome the considerable force protecting it, penetrate the defenses that the greatest resources of Five Coils could scratch, and 'Then' turn it to their cause, keeps them from destroying the location outright.

An Anathema capturing the Shattered Citadel would both gain a powerful base within the Fire District, and also be a sounding call to war across the rest of the complex...  The Council could never ignore this stronghold being in anyone hands but their own, and the discontent would finally have a clear banner to rally around...
This message was last edited by the player at 02:42, Wed 29 Apr 2009.

Named for it's position as being roughly at the midpoint of Five Coils' height, Midway Station is a sprawling city built around the central elevator of Floor 16, as a fortress against any from below who may attempt to reach the upper levels.  As a shield for the Gatekeeper Core of the Fire District, and as the High Command of the Legions.  It is, in a very real sense, one of the greatest civil metropoli of the entire complex, and also a center of trade--as all elevators reaching down below Midway, and reaching the floors above, must pass through here and have their credentials verified to continue beyond.

Guarded by a full Legion at all times, given the best weapons available, and officered by some of the finest soldiers known to the area.  It's a daunting task to try taking a fight through here.  The Elevator is heavily defended, and a natural choke-point for anyone who tries to break through here--while approaching from the deserts outside will drive you right into the fortified walls, essence artillery, and warstrider forces available.  When coupled with the fact that reinforcements can be pulled in from anywhere else in Five Coils within thirty minutes, even the greatest uprisings in the complex are always stopped dead here.

A Juggernaut by anyone's standards, to reach for the upper districts, this beast must be slain, one way or another...
This message was last edited by the player at 03:23, Wed 29 Apr 2009.

The Amethyst Edge
Artifact 4

A weapon of unusual powers, defining the Amethyst Edge's properties is...  Tricky.  Pulled in almost entirely by accident during the First Age during an experiment in tapping odd forces from the Wyld, after being cleared as something that wasn't going to blow up and take a large hunk of Creation with it, the Amethyst Edge was taken up as an oddity by one of the Dragon Blooded of the day--who was later surprised to find it served as a fine complement to his skills, focusing his elemental energies as though through it, and gaining striking power unheard of for handheld weapons.

So, as was usually proper, it caught the attentions of one of the Solars, who requisitioned time to study it.

As far as anyone can tell, The Amethyst Edge requires no motes to use, rendering it within reach even of mortal warriors.  Aside from being a quick and deft blade (Combat Stats equivilant to a Daiklave, except for a Damage of +0L), the Amethyst Edge has an ability to devour essence provided to it, to increase it's ability to fight.  In short, for each mote committed to the blade for a scene, the damage score increases by one.  Unfortunately, the motes cannot be decommitted for one hour after being provided, and do not return afterwards, requiring the wearer to recover them through whatever methods available.

If the Amethyst Edge has greater powers beyond this, none have been able to tap them yet...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The design is from a weapon of an old RP I ran once, and was nice enough that I wanted to try reusing it.  The effect is more or less the same as well (Though altered to fit the Exalted setting in this version).  In short, by providing it with energy, you can get a weapon of tremendous fighting power--but at the cost of losing your inner powers as an Exalt for a while..

Just tossing this out in the air, seeing if anyone wants to run with it.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:21, Wed 29 Apr 2009.

Glitch

First Iteration

Creation, while incredible, has its flaws. Some were put there deliberately- The cracks in Creation that allow the Yozis to slip their servitors into Creation when fate is damaged in certain ways. Some are less deliberate, but work to the advantage of Creation's enemies- The necrotic sores in Gaia's flesh known as Shadowlands forming when many are pulled into the Underworld at once, the cancerous tumors of Wyld zones forming around areas that have been damaged. And then there are those that are strange. Shining Eye, in between the great projects that took up her life, was enamored with these. Impossible to find normally, simply because their existence would cause havoc. The only way to find them was through incredibly careful manipulation of materials, watched over in an area outside of fate, so as to avoid inducing their catastrophic effects in Creation proper. They were each different, ranging from the dangerous- One ratio of length to width created an object with a least god who possesses a uniquely psychotic bent towards Creation, searing anything in fate, sizzling the strings of their destiny in the Loom of Fate- To the useful- A certain angle of blade to hilt, and edge to edge, that would cause the object to twist in on itself, taking a strange shape, and warping Creation around it, slicing through objects with brutal fury, leaving the edges frayed, twisted, nodular, as though touched by strange forces, not of Oblivion, of Malfeas, or even of the Wyld, Shining Eye theorized privately that it may have something to do with the strange region known as Elsewhere- To the bizarre- A sigil that, when touched to anything outside of fate, would speed the accumulation of the strands of fate about it, until it was twined in the Loom of Fate, its actions as apparent as anything within Creation, until it cleansed itself by leaving Fate until the strands dissolved off of it.

This second property was the one used for the first iteration of Glitch. An Orichalcum Daiklave, it is a Reaper, possessing the proper calibration of angles, set to excruciatingly specific standards, to twist Creation around it. To keep these glitches from becoming widespread knowledge until Eye could study them more thoroughly, Eye never brought this weapon into Creation, but it had theorized about including a slight shard of moonsilver, activated at will, to change the angles, and render it a normal reaper daiklave until its special properties were needed. It was capable of rending through armor with surprising ease, separating the armor without regard for strength. When activated, light does strange things around the blade, twisting in odd formations, spraying rainbows like a prism- Though the colors are arranged in the wrong order. There's a faint hum around it, as well, air molecules agitated by their trip through the strange medium- This makes stealth relatively difficult while it's activated.

OOC: This, basically, is the first level of Glitch. Most likely, it'll function as a normal Reaper Daiklave at most times, with the addition of being able to switch into a mode where it gains the Piercing tag, and potentially an increase to its damage, and/or a crippling effect. Something to talk over with the GM, I figure.

One of the more standout cities in the Fire District, Firefly Alley is a neccessary evil in the otherwise (Relatively) smoothly running soldier's society.  Less a place for people to live and work, and more of a Red Light district oriented towards channelling any discontent of the populace into non socially damaging manners.

As such, this place is remarkably free of Peace Force attentions, and naturally, this area has one of the higher crime rates outside of the former Water Districts.  Theft, Brawling, Prostitution, Gambling, all of the unsavory pursuits suitable to the mortals who make up the brunt of the Creation Reclaimation Legions can be found here--and so long as everybody's able to get back to business later on, the Dragon Blooded in general tend to ignore any complaints coming from here.

Not a slum persay, though there is a certain aura of grunge floating around it, Firefly Alley nonetheless isn't the sort of place respectable people want to go anywhere near.

Which makes it a fertile breeding ground for sedition...

I'm going to start posting some of the story bits I've written for Xurizu's lost (and now regained) memories, as they give some insight to the character that people may never see or appreciate IC.

---

"Remember these faces," says the gorgeous woman with the red hair. A display projected on the bare wall in front of him cycles through image after image of the same seven people. An austere gentleman with short brown hair and a trimmed beard. A muscular male laborer, scarred and dusky, with penetrating dark eyes. A young woman with large brown eyes and fine black hair cascading to her ankles. A narrow-faced lady in courtier's finery with blue eyes and pale blonde hair. An elderly man with milky blue eyes, hunched and wearing a ragged grey cloak. A hardened middle-aged woman with short auburn hair and an eyepatch. A tall man with solemn green eyes and long black hair in a braid.

"Every one of them must die. You will do that for me, my fangs in the dark."

His prison is a metallic room with no windows and no obvious doors. Framing the screen and on the walls themselves are Essence patterns like the ones Xurizu observed on the door panel controls -- except these ones depict a stand of trees verdant with essence-leaves, shifting shape now and then as if some supernatural breeze ripples through them.

It might have seemed artistically pleasing, if not for the fact he is strapped tightly to a chair. His head has been held in place by a clamp, so that he can only look straight forward. After a while the red haired woman walks away. He can hear her talking faintly. "...Stronger surge this time... need him to retain it longer..." A warm throb starts to form on his temples, a throb that ramps from soothing to searingly painful, and he screams and screams...

...Everything after that moment seems to fast forward at great speed. He is hunting. Moving. Waiting. Stalking. His prey never notice the silvery barbed chains spinning their way, until it's already too late. Their severed heads are plastered with expressions of surprise, of horror.

Six of them. Only six.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:52, Fri 08 May 2009.

Another bit of Xurizu's story written by me ^^

---

The King Cobra found her beautiful. That long, cascading dark hair, the lovely, smooth face and dark eyes. He hadn't been expecting that at all. She was too young, too fragile seeming to be a target, and the part of his psyche not ravaged by mind control, hypnosis and memory-stealing screamed not to hurt her.

Not the silver-barbed chains. That just wouldn't do.

He stalked her first, through the streets of Fire District. She was a beacon of purity in those soot-stained alleyways, a cool breeze in the oppressive heat of the factory furnaces. Mesmerized, Xurizu followed her, his swift and analytical mind piecing together an impression of her from what he observed, even as his struggling heart was simultaneously drawn to her and sickened at what he would do. What he must do.

Sienna, his gorgeous, captivating (demanding, cruel) keeper wished to test him, he understood that much. It was simple to kill a man who he knows has done wrong, whose weathered, hard-bitten face had the capacity for sin. It was comparatively simple to snuff the life of a woman who has never known pain or struggle, whose eyes are filled with naught but avarice and self-indulgence. But a girl such as this? He wondered if Sienna had forced him simply because he gazed at her with longing.

In the end, though, Halima was a rebel, too. She was a consummate courtesan who had the ear of some key officers in the Peace Forces and the Legions, and she was feeding that information to Celestial sympathizers and sky-chasers who yearned for the fabled 'above world'.

Now the King Cobra would deny her that sky.

He caught her gaze from across the street, his eyes flaring with power. When the spell took hold of her, he could have told her anything. He could have whispered to her to run away, to change her appearance, to hide with people she trusted and lay low. He could have told her to come away with him, to fall in love with him, to bring him to her rebel superiors. But Sienna's commands were too strong, too fresh, too overpowering in his mind, and his infatuation with Halima paled compared to his owner's scalding suggestions.

"Come to the B16 Sector 7 exhaust shaft at 23:00, and leap over the railing. I promise... you will fly."

The last he saw of Halima was the fluttering of her dark, luxurious hair, stark against her pale silk overgarment, just before she descended into the flames. Somewhere in the Fire District, he'd stashed away the bit of silk that remained of her.

I've tossed up a quasi webpage for the Blue Stripes, providing a nice, slightly doctored image to serve, as well as quick reference for their capabilities at present.

http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=df2hpts9_0wdxg3bgz

It's also been added to my character sheet, but in the interest of keeping size down to a reasonable level, most of the details are available outside of Rpol.

The Council of Five Coils--much to their own dismay, have yet to manage total, absolute control over the entire Dragon Blooded populace--The Keepers of the Crown are those who claim to carry the will of the legendary Scarlet Empress--and according to some of the most ancient myths, also possess at least one household that is directly descended from one of her children, taken into Five Coils at the onset of the disaster.

Said to be rallied by the total dominance the Immaculate Order has maintained throughout Five Coils, in spite of the balance of power that once maintained harmony. the Keepers of the Crown have disseminated their numbers across the structure of Five Coils.  Young, radical university students, noble Peace Force officers, and cunning bureaucrats.  While it's not entirely positive how they pass messages between each-other, their once ironclad resolve has, over time, faded from their memory and practices--and only the core members still recall their true purpose as more then fist-waving dissidents, tolerated only due to the purity of their blood.

Whether this purpose is sinister or benevolent, and whether they would look in favor upon the present uprising, is still up in the air...
This message was last edited by the player at 17:27, Mon 18 May 2009.

The Depository is a wonder of creation, both artifact and manse in one.  In fact it's actually multitudes of both, being a careful construct where a desmene of wood and a desmene of Luna overlap, coupled with a vast magitek construct to channel the abundance of essence in that location.

In appearance the Depository is a grove of trees, their roots exposed and forming whorls and hoops across several acres.  The leaves have the appearance of moonsilver, though they lack the substance if picked, and the bark forms ornate, decorative patterns, each unique to that tree.

The true power of The Depository becomes apparent only on it's use.  When an object is placed in one of the coils of the many tree roots, it vanishes into the Elsewhere and a fruit forms in the branches above within a few moments.  When the fruit is placed in the same coil, it is destroyed and the object returns.  In this way The Depository acts as a virtually infinite storage system, secure and discreet.  It's also extraordinarily beautiful, and whatever first-age team constructed it clearly had an eye for art.  One section is left unused simply for visitors to gawk at.

The Depository has been managed for generations by a politically neutral group of Terrestrials and Mortals, generally pulled from the ranks of those who have little hope of advancement due to birth position, but possess a sufficient amount of talent to be useful.  Thus far The Depository has remained uncontrolled from the major political groups because each faction finds it simply too useful to have a perfectly secure way to hide evidence, materials, and artifacts too dangerous to leave lying around.  The Depository asks no questions and uses no paperwork, if you have the Jade or Silver you can put your item in storage.  If you have the fruit you can draw it back out.  Criminals, Dynasts, Rebels, and even Honest Citizens all use The Depository equally.

They say that see was born knowing the pain of all living beings.  They say that even before her exaltation she had found the secrets of life and death.  They say that in the Cascading Years, she gave birth to a new Creation and disappeared into it, never to be seen again.

They say a lot of things.

The Little Mother came to the Pillar of Creation from the Far North, attended by hundreds of her "children", specimens of the various species she had created.  She saw the Pillar as a sancutary for Celestials and favored beings.  As such, she did all she could to ensure that it was the strongest fortress in Creation.  To this end she created a race whose sole purpose would be to improve the Pillar, to build it up and strengthen it in service to its rulers: the builder bugs.

In appearance, she was petite, with pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair which she wore in a braid wrapped around her head like a crown.

In personality, she was once described as "embodying motherhood in all things".  Most people interpreted this as referring to her kindness, and affectionate nature, forgetting that motherhood has its darker side.  She could be ferocious in the protection of her "children", driven to obession in pursuit of her craft, jealous, demanding, and proud.

The circumstances of her death are unknown, except that her exaltation was passed on at the end of the Cascading years.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:01, Fri 22 May 2009.

Darkness Falling used to be the chief of security for the entirety of the Pillar.  The security forces he led were known for being well disciplined and the strike teams were highly skilled.  The Peace Force at that time was organized more like a militia than a police unit and Darkness Falling wielded it in new and inventive ways.  The majority of the Terrestrial Exalted under his command were Air Aspects.  They were capable assassins and masters of stealth.  Furthermore, Darkness ordered all his troops with the ability to learn sorcery.  To that end, the Nightbringer and his troops regularly summoned demons and elementals to aid with peace-keeping tasks.  Demons were the preferred spirit of choice.

Some people would have referred to Darkness Falling as being  a driven man.  This understatement was usually used out of fear that harsher words might get back and invoke his attention.  More accurately, he would be called obsessed with knowing everything about this facility.  He thought its security was of the utmost importance.  Accordingly, he often ordered the violation of people’s privacy.  The ends always justified the means with the Night Caste.   He could often be incredibly cruel in the course of investigation.  He often ordered a person tortured before an interrogation and sometimes afterwards as well depending on his mood.

His primary combat skill was throwing weapons (Not unlike his Air Aspect underlings).   He knew all the thrown charms available to Solars of his essence rating and had most of them worked into powerful combos.  He also had a very powerful presence and several of its charms.  In fact, the only out of caste skill he shares with Dashu is Investigation.

When confronted with this Past Life, Dashu would be horrified.  While he remains bitter at his enslavement and the cruelty of the society which enslaved him, he himself is not a cruel person.  Just a socially awkward, cold person.  When confronted with some of the atrocities committed by his past incarnation, he would likely feel guilty when seeing some of the same actions being taken by the current masters of the Pillar.

"Is this really going to work?" the miner asks nervously, peering twitchily at the shadows. "I don't mean any disrespect, but this vein has been dug out since my grandfather's time."

"And the folk I travel with are not the most reputable to boot, is what you're not saying, correct?" The speaker is a young man, features mostly concealed by a large cloak, dressed in clothing that was once finer than that of the workman beside him, but has seen a lot of rough use.

"But yes, this is going to work, as you put it. Frankly, I am impressed with how well you have done here, with mineral depletion and rising taxes. That's the greater miracle here, not what I'm going to do."

The pair comes to a stop at the intersection of multiple mineshafts, in what was once a chamber bustling with activity but is now empty and uninhabited. Following the youth's directions, the miner sets his lamp on the ground, then moves away to watch, jittery and uncomfortable even before anything happens.

"Voices of stone, walkers of ore and crystal. Will you heed my words, gather near to listen to my tales? I have come from distant parts of the Coils, to tell you stories of the far reaches, of light brighter even than the lamps in the temples. Will you heed me, and accept the gifts I bring?"

From beneath his cloak, the speaker produces a polished bowl made from precious wood and sets it on the floor, then pours stong smelling liquor within.

"Come, drink, and be merry. For a while, we shall converse. For a while, my stories and your memories will mingle. Will you not return, to feel light and life, and to grant it to these lands that cry for your touch?"

Suddenly, bright lights fill the cavern, and rapid steps echo from the surrounding corridors. The storyteller's words cease as the bowl is turned over, and he bends down to collect it, then stares at the miner, who wilts before his gaze.

"Do you know what they do to demons and those who consort with them? I have a family, responsibilities to my people."

Any reply is drowned out by the arrival of a score or more soldiers, led by an Earthblooded officer. Their foe does not hesitate, and charges directly at a pair of troopers, his momentum driving him past them, into the narrower confines of a mine shaft. Even there, he is quickly surrounded by a slowly narrowing knot of warriors.

"Surrender now, and you'll live," the Dragonblood barks, pushing past his men to face the fugitive.

"You probably even believe that. Still, I have to decline."

While he speaks, the young man is keeping the men closest to him at bay with quick feints from a somewhat makeshift club. His oddly agressive style contributes as well, as he seems willing to accept blows striking him if her can return the favor.

Still, the odds are very much in favor of the forces of authority, when their target suddenly spins about and punches a supporting beam with his empty hand, the blow smashing through the reinforced materials like so much paper. Chaos erupts when the ceiling begins to groan and shake, leaving only the officer behind, confident in his bloodline.

"So you've chosen to die here instead. I expected more from you than this," the scion of Earth swears, "bringing this place down only makes me stronger."

His foe has liberated a polearm from one of the fleeing soldiers, and wields it easily. "Not quite. I'm not the one who is causing this collapse. They are."

The hostile presence of a dozen elemental beings distracts the officer for a fatal moment, and even before he has fallen, the youth is running back into the center of the quake, ignoring the stones that crash against him. Pushing aside a boulder, he pulls the miner free and drags him away, surefooted despite the darkness.

"Why?" the miner asks, once the pair has reached stable ground.

"If you sink a shaft through this area once more, you'll find the earth has been renewed," the other does not reply, then focuses on the miner.

"You did what you felt was necessary for you and your people to survive. Why should I bear you ill will for that?"

"But... betrayed... renewed? How? Why? What price will you claim, now? My soul? My people?"

"Two week's rations, if you can spare them, was what you'd offered before. If you dare, I think that a shrine at the minehead will help preserve it longer, though I'm not sure. As to what happened, I did what was right, Deneast, nothing more. If you feel in my debt, think on that - and think of doing the same when you get the chance."

"I will."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:09, Wed 27 May 2009.

The temple was magnificient, a work of art in and of itself, as well as the fulcrum of the Circle's efforts. Within its great chambers, sanctified tools and materials waited, melding essence, divine influence, and other technologies. A quiet hum of excitment filled it, now, as the masters of Five Coils came to observe the outcome of their latest experiments.

"The force currents are properly attuned, this time," said the Twilight, aura spreading outwards to feel the forces in play with far more precision than the magitech dials would allow.

The Night spoke softly with the Eclipse, then concurred. "What demons can observe or interfere are warded from the cathedral, contained, or set to tasks that will keep them far from here until the work is complete."

"We've troops and security enough to deal with any mundane troubles as well. And the magitech installation I set up to redirect the geomantic forces is up, running, and stable." the Dawn stated, then grumbled, "I still think it would have been better to reshape the site's architecture."

The Twilight began to rise to the bait, then the Zenith stepped between the pair and diffused the long lasting dispute. Priorities for time and resources were always bickered about, for all that the Circle had nigh unlimited amounts of both. Mostly, the arguments were habit, a way to work out new ways of doing things together, when the Circle proved itself more than the sum of its parts.

Stepping to the very edge of a catwalk, beside a massive suspended cylinder radiating enough essence that even mortals could feel it, after a find glance at the others, the Zenith spoke in turn. "And the gods have promised success, if they are but pleased." There was no hint of doubt that the gods would be pleased. Or else.

The Twilight incanted, the Zenith prayed, the Eclpise did whatever it is that Eclipses do, while the other members of the Circle watched. Slowly, the cylinder was lowered as the forces within gathered. A brief instruction, a switched valve, and the device grew increasingly transluscent. At first glimpse, the contents were opaque, greenish fluid infused with other colors, red and silver stains the most prevalent.

Then the inside of the cylinder began to resolve, as advanced magitech extrapolated what lay within and altered the materials that contained the lethally toxic essence brew. Small sacs pulsed in the flows of power and strange fluids, growing at a phenomenal pace. First one, then ten, then hundreds reached twice or thrice man size and began to open, revealing silvery insect-like beings. Even newborn, even blind, the sense of purpose radiated by these new lives was evident.

After such potent preparations, it should have been impossible for anything to go wrong. Perhaps, somewhere in the Wyld, a task was completed and a bargain made invalid. Perhaps a demon found that the lines binding it had a minute flaw. Perhaps the gods thought to punish hubris. Perhaps the spirit of Autochton flared in an effort to assert itself.

While the Circle watched, entranced, the accident happened. A pipe snapped under pressure, somewhere, and the containment failed. Jets of corrosive liquid, ravenous flame, and other more dangerous substances shot out of the cylinder, laying waste to the inside of the cathedral, scourging the workers within. The Circle was unaffected, the Dawn's blade diverting any threats with unconscious ease.

The chains broke, and the container fell the rest of the way to the ground, then exploded while men and women fled in terror. Even as it was dropping, the Circle followed it down as one, responding to threats before they they were realized.

"So, another failure," the Twilight spoke later on, tending to the wounds of a favored technician.

"I still think we can use the creatures offered by Arik'Sel Tas," the Eclipse argued, showing no fear at speaking the name of one of the greater Demons of the Age.

"Perhaps," the Zenith opined, organizing evacuation and rescue efforts around the pool of noxious death that filled the base of the cathedral.

"What is that?" the Night interrupted. A huge silvered claw emerged from the seething mass, followed by an equally massive limb.

"It seems we succeeded in imbuing them with animation, at least," the Dawn spoke, blade at the ready.

"Wait!" Closer to the site of the impact, the Zenith stared into the failed experiment's aftermath, listening. The Twilight, equally curious, ceased bandaging wounded men and advanced on the pool, stopping beside the Zenith.

The Circle members gathered behind the Zenith and Twilight, watching as a great, metallic insectiod creature thrashed partway out of the ooze in which it had been born. The Twilight's approach drew its attention, and it stated at the tiny, potent figure before it. The beast loomed over the fearless pentet and lowered itself towards the Twilight.

Little?... mother! it declared, limbs clacking in glee as instincts forged into the beast's essence rose to the fore.

Nonplussed, the Circle watched as their creation slipped and fell back into the acidic pool. After a moment's thought, the Zenith adressed the Twilight.

"Well, Little Mother, take care of the men - I have another flock to look after."

The Zenith dove into the acidic pool, reaching towards the slowly sinking creature, a heartbeat before the sputtering Twilight could respond. Clothing dissolved but Sun-blessed flesh unharmed, the Zenith grasped the thing's nearest limb and cradled it gently, then sank beneath into the eerie womb.

Hours later, the first builder bugs clambered out of the drying lake of toxins, utterly loyal to the Unconquered Sun and the Circle. When the last was free, and the new servants of Five Coils had begun to work, the Zenith followed.

In the times that came afterwards, the Zenith never spoke of what happened while the builder bugs were born. And the Twilight, after years of fruitless effort to convince the metallic creatures otherwise, gave in and adopted the name - then grew into it until few recalled there had ever been another.

---

Perian shifts in his sleep, his caste mark glowing for a moment. The mercury hunting insects approaching his campsite pause, then wander off. If they could dream, they would recall kindness and unconditional acceptance, and a human figure from which all such blessings come. Perhaps they will...

This was originally part of Perian's prelude, but I decided it worked better as a creativity post than an intro. So here we have some more background on Free, the Freerunners and Kares Perian by me! :)

---

Two floors above where the free Celestials began their actions against the Dragon-blooded of Earth District, another long-enduring group of rebels lies in wait for their next move. They are the Freerunners -- the self-named followers of a legend, the henchmen of an insane, improbable giant of a man known as Free.

Truth be told, Free himself has never directly hired them, or even made any claims of leadership. But the man himself does not seem to resent their presence, either, and when he does give directions, he does so assuming that someone among the pack will respond to it, and act in his name and word.

They are, after all, his children. Or at least, it started that way.

In the first years of Free's daring self-imprisonment, it is said he sought out suitable mates to birth his progeny. Thus he spawned the wolfmen, who would spread his words and perpetuate his deeds. Or perhaps they spawned him -- no one can say for sure. No one, except perhaps the Council, has lived as long as he has. Free has existed in the hearts of those who yearn for freedom for as long as Five Coils has been closed to the outside world.

Over decades of working for the underdog and rebelling against the Dragon-blooded establishment, the original Freerunners -- the wolf-children of Free -- have made a name for themselves as well. Their allies, their eyes and ears, are everywhere that citizens toil for their Terrestrial masters. They propagate the Free 'meme' through well-placed rumors; they provide what help they can, whether it be information, food, supplies or sabotage. But only a select few have had the courage and the mettle to break away from society and join the Freerunners for life.

Not everyone made this decision by choice. Some, having no where else to run, were simply taken in, and placed where their skills would serve their cause best. Kares Perian was one of them, and a rare advantage at that: one of the Freerunners' only successful attempts at freeing a Celestial Exalt from Immaculate clutches. Since then Perian has been key to the Freerunners' survival, giving proper homage to the small gods and elementals of Coils in return for sustenance and resources. Such beings could not otherwise hope to compete with the worship of the Elemental Dragons, so chose to favor him almost on principle.

One year ago, the Old Grinning Wolf sought Perian out. Since then, tentatively and often indirectly, the two have collaborated to keep the rebel movement alive. One as part of a Legend, the other as a budding overseer of Practical Matters, the accessible Face as foil to the untouchable Myth.

   Into every life, a little rain must fall, or so the saying goes. I have never known it not to be storming. I remember things from my early life, small flashes of terror, tears, and great sadness. At least I think so, these could be false memories created by the monsters and they never happened. However, reality or illusion, they are my memories now, ones I must sleep with every night.
   Most of my family was forcibly removed from my life. First, my mother, a sister or two, a brother, and then finally, I was taken. My tears could not save me, the cries of my eldest sister could not prevent it, and as they clubbed my father to death I was taken to a dark place. A place, I still visit in my dreams, albeit without the tears. After all, the ability to cry is one of the first things they take from you as you are subjected to a growing number of horrors. You are given a knife and forced to learn to kill. The lessons are harsh and you either learn them or die. There are no easy lessons and they all must be learned. It could explain why I possess a wide variety of skills. You learn to be slavishly loyal to the Immaculate Philosophy. This indoctrination is meant to break your will and mind. And for most of us, it works exceedingly well. Along with a set of specialized skills and slavish devotion to gods that don’t give a shit about you, they also give you scars: mental and physical. Ones you should bear with pride. After all, you are robbed of feeling any pain regarding them.
   Their idea was to turn me into one of their pet assassins; the ones you whisper to your children in fear at night and hope they never come for you, but it seems there were other plans for me. I exalted despite evidence that I would not and turned into a monster, but not of their choosing. Instead, I became an Ashen Bow, a child of Sextes Jylis, but what is a glorious transformation for so many did not free me. I was unclean after all, trained to be an abomination, and what was all that training for if not to be utilized to its full, if diminished, potential. I was given a new name; one unattached to the family I was formerly born. I became a slayer and hunter, a “sweeper” of those who opposed the dictates of the Council and attached to the Peacecorps. After all, dissention is death and who better to bring it to those who rebel than a failed experiment. Lesser crimes called for extraction and removal to one of the lower levels – after all death was a permanent solution to what could be a temporary problem. Imprisoning a rebel or a spy or a troublemaker can do as much as leaving their horribly mutilated body where the right people can find it.
   I wasn’t the only sweeper; we were a specialized force used for tough jobs that didn’t quite call for what I should have become. Never call in your A-team when the B-team is more expendable and can do the job. I killed those who needed to die, I captured those who needed arrest and I made sure I came back alive and only slightly more broken than I already was. After all, the “others” were called to kill those who succeeded in eliminating other Terrestrial Exalts. Of course, other Terrestrial Exalts did not have the benefit of my training and therefore the chances of death were much greater than mine.
    It was through this work that I finally had a complete understanding of what happened to my family. I didn’t bother looking for them; it would have been a futile use of precious energy. Besides, my observation of others is my living family would have expected me to feel an emotion I am incapable: love.
   At first, I didn’t ask questions. I took orders and followed them to the letter. The problem with a failure though is you do not keep up the same amount of care and consideration as you did before. The religious brainwashing ended; I was cast out of the cult, you see. And I began to doubt my mission. Sure, I still heard the rhetoric, but it wasn’t beaten into me. Fear of not towing the line lessened. With my previous training, I needed that. The seventeenth time, I killed a child I wondered what she could have done that was so bad that it deserved death. And more I began to question. It didn’t help that my new comrades referred to me as “broken,” “unclean,” and “abomination” since they lived normal lives prior to attaining their position of sweeper. It was a choice for them; it was necessary for me.  I began to view my actions as despicable; I began to listen to the views of my victims before killing them anyway. Eventually, I just went through the motions and plotted my escape. My way out of my lifestyle and a way out of the prison we are all born into. I would take my destiny into my hands and follow the fate determined by me. I would escape this hell and I would create a way for as many as I could as I did so.
   Now I hunt those who would order innocents deaths. I come upon them in the streets, when they sleep, where they work, and I enjoy slaughtering them like the food they should be. I assist those who would free this place and I work to get ever closer to ripping the soul of this hell out. The council will have to wait, as they are well protected, and probably stronger than I, but their day is coming. Soon, it will be time for me to kill them or them to kill me. Either way I will leave this place with a smile on my lips and free.
   I do not encourage friends; I have allies who sometimes I will create just the right death to allow their sparks of revolution to burn brighter. In the chaos, I revel. In the destruction, I laugh.
   I do not ask you to pity me. I do not tell you my story for redemption or forgiveness.
   Forgiveness is for those with religion. Redemption is for those with a soul. I need neither.

Harue's calling card, so to speak, left with the bodies of her victims.

    An open letter to the Council,

I understand and accept that most people who chose to oppose you do so because of some great and tragic evil that befell them while impressionable. I do not claim such admirable motivations. No, I oppose you because the council makes a mockery of justice. It makes villains out of victims and victims out of the villains. The system chooses to enslave its population and bend those of intelligence to its will. It has created an elaborate prison that swallows the hearts, minds, and souls of the citizens it should be protecting. The council is diabolically evil and supports a system that cannot sustain itself. When this occurs it is the duty of its citizens to rise up and bring down the system – replacing it with something more in tune with the values and morality of its citizenry. If this challenge must be met by a small minority of its personages or by one covered by a mask, so be it. I as a citizen of this prison must obey what my conscience tells me is the correct thing to do. To all who oppose me and stand in my way, I promise your retribution is coming and it will be swift, severe, and complete.

Signed,
The Veridian Judge

Because the ST is a lovely person, and I'm an utter reviewhore.

“Wake up, child.”

Mama smells of apples and roses; she is also scrubbing my face with a wet towel. I sputter; she laughs, and easily slips off my sleeping-clothes, wrapping a silk bodice around my flat chest. “You are performing today,” she whispers; and I smile at her, half in longing, and half in fear.

Grandma is praying at the altar; she whispers murmured silences to the Dragons, to the gods, and to Grandpa above. Mama clasps my hands before me, and I join them in the words. I don't really remember Grandpa; he died when I was very young, and now I wonder if my prayers would reach him, guided only by the scent of sandalwood and soap. He had kind hands; I remember that. Callused and warm.

Grandma seems to be praying more, nowadays; she says that, at this time, it was better to stack up a little currency with the gods. Mama says it'll bring us good luck, and so I pray too, whispering words or praise to the drifting incense. I hope it works.

Papa is already outside, shouting at Jewel and Whisper to hurry out. I give him a hug; he bends over and kisses me on the cheek. “Good luck, little one,” he smiles; and I smile back. I am not afraid.

When I climb the ladder, the applause begins; higher, and higher, with every step I take. It is dizzying up here, but Papa winks at me, and I am alright. Downstairs, Xiri is making the crowd cheer for me; he winks as well, and my heart leaps in my chest. I think I may be in love with him. Jewel says I'm much too young right now, but she says in a few years, I'll be prettier than anyone else in the troupe. I hope it's true.

The knives are cold in my hand, but I steel myself, and hook my legs around the trapeze. One more breath, and I will fly.


**

Papa smells of charcoal and leather; his is the forge, and I sit beside him, watching the fires flame and flicker as the bellows go. “See here? The blade must be worked until its white hot—not red, mind, but white—and then we can start to fold it, metal against metal, like paper against itself.” He smiles. “You wouldn’t be able to do this at most forges; this one is a gift from Boss Heron herself. There’s red jade in there to keep the fires hot.”

Obediently, I bend in closer, and he wards my head off with a laugh. “The fire’s still on! Ye won’t be able to spot any darn thing in the flames now, would you?” He smoothes my hair back, and kisses my brow. “First thing to learn; you might be able to work with fire, but she’s always her own girl. Looks cheery, warms you, heats the steel, but take yer eyes off and she’ll burn your house down.”

He swings me up, and I giggle. “Papa!”

“I know, I know. Yer’re thirteen, and too good fer me now.” But he doesn’t put me down. “Soon enough, ye’ll learn to be old and cranky at yer old papa, and be too heavy for me to carry besides.”

“I won’t!”

“Grow too heavy? Well, ah think it’s a tad eahly to start worrying ‘bout your figure…” He runs his fingers down my side, and I shriek.

“No! I won’t grow old and cranky!”

“Mmmm. Well, this old man surely hopes so. He’s running out of little daughters like you.”

I punch him, but gently. “You only have one daughter.”

“And that’s why ah think ahm runnin’ out.” He winks. “It’s onhly logical, no?”

**

“Looks like you didn’t get to turn old and cranky, after all.”

Papa has four voices; the posh, the commanding, the working, and the family’s. He’s using the posh voice now; there are Dragons around, and he doesn’t want to lose face for the family.

Mama’s somewhere, talking and laughing; I hear her saying what a beautiful little girl I was, how obedient I am, and for a moment I hate her. Don’t sell me. Don’t give me away. But everyone is watching now, and I can’t say that in front of them; not here.

He is… a very handsome man. Jewel’s envious of me; she says I’ll have my own bathroom, and gardens, and servants to help wear my clothes and shod my feet. It’s… a nice dream, I guess. A beautiful dream, and maybe I’m being very silly to hate it, but.

I don’t want to go away.

Papa told me I was being silly. All little girls have to go away some time—it’s called growing up. But I didn’t want to be this grown up, this fast. I don’t want to leave.

His hands are kind, and caring, and he smells of heady incense and steel. He smiles when he sees me, smiles when he takes my hand, and smiles when I look away. Perhaps he thinks I’m shy.

Boss Heron nudges me, and I curtsey before the m—my husband. My husband. “Pleased to meet you,” I say, and it is barely a lie.

**

Mama was right. He is a good husband. They told me he was a warrior, of sorts, and I have seen the evidence in his flesh; but I have never evidenced any hardness in his eyes. Perhaps he is like Papa; one man at home, and another outside. Mama said many men are like that; and sometimes, it was best never to see the other at all.

Life is sweet, for a time. I do indeed have my own bathroom; my own garden; but I drew the line at dressing and shodding my own feet. I… I wasn’t a highborn lady, and it felt wrong to be otherwise; and it reminded me, a little, of life back before I wore perfumes. I wasn’t… unhappy.

In time, I even got bored.

He laughed at me; told me how utterly adorable I was; and then acquiesced, sending for a tutor and a gymnast, and, in time, even a smith. I think he was amused, a little, to see his little wife play at fire and steel; and, well, why not? It didn’t keep me from his bed, and it kept me busy when he was away. I think I was vaguely expected to fritter my time with embroidery and music; but no. It wasn’t who I grew up to be.

**

In time, he got married, too.

She? She was… strong, and beautiful. One of Danaa'd’s children; touched by the grace of water, and carrying with her the salt-spray scent of the lakes. There was a time when I dreamed I could be friends with her; when she smiled at me, or spoke, or sometimes winked in teasing jest against the man that she loved. But perhaps that wasn’t to be.

She was the one that taught me the dance of the sword and blade; for her, every woman should know how to fight, and my interest in the forge and in steel suggested a certain strength in her eyes. She complained incessantly of the weedy flesh cows and breeding tits of other manors, suggesting that our husband at least had the decent sense to choose an actual woman for his concubine, and I think I would’ve been flattered but for her constant, aggravating pity for one of my station. Perhaps that was entirely my fault—my pettiness, my jealousy—but I never had any pretensions to perfection.

No, that was reserved for the Dragonblooded. Of that, she could not but remind me, day after day.

**

It happened in the training pen; where else could it be? She was… fighting, blades flashing, eyes grinning, and I was trying (as hard as I could) to match her impossible grace. Last week, I had defeated her once; then again; and thereafter, I could do so no longer. We would fight, and we would fight, until the air begin to sparkle with essence; and once I tasted the sea-spray, I knew full well I was lost.

I had complained once, sulkily; she had laughed, and told me to be honoured. “It’s not often that a mortal can so threaten a Princess of the Blood. He had been watching then, and he had laughed, too; and that had hurt.

(He apologized later, in the deep night; and it was only when he left that I wondered; why does he come to my bed less often?)

(I can hear them in the night; laughing, joking. Sometimes they talk about me.)

Our blades sing in the dawn, one two three four, and I am pressing her back; she smiles, a hard-pressed warrior’s smile, and…?

(There are some things a mortal can’t do; and that is, to compete with the Dragons in any endeavour.)

The taste of salt and water is bitter on my tongue, and suddenly she is fast, so much faster; I parry a hit, and the blade almost falls from my hand. But he is watching, isn’t he? and I refused to back down. Let her beat me. Let her cheat and beat me. Again.

(I wasn’t unhappy.)

The storm and surf are roaring now; it’s like looking into the great rain-machines, staring into the hose as pure Essence streamed forth to bathe the elephants and the tents. Salt stings my eyes, my ears, my mouth; the hilt of the blade shifted;

(Why did I have to leave, anyway)

(All little girls have to go away some time)

I’ve been waiting for you to come home.

**

I killed her. At least, I think I killed her. The blade was suddenly… golden in my hand, and the strike tore through the leather like a gutting blade. The spray suddenly turned red; and then there was an immense fire at my back, shearing down through bone, cloth, flesh.

It hurt.

It hurt.

They told me they had killed my parents. They weren’t really meant to—not really their fault, scum, for their daughter to be a demon—but he had hunted them down, after my… change, and slain them in a fit of righteous anger. It was his right, because the Dragons laid claim to my life.

My lucky lucky life.

They said he was acquitted of any wrongdoing. Because it was his right, see? He had a right to take his vengeance—and underneath, I knew full well why he had the right. Because he was a Dragon, and nobody else did.

Sometimes I dreamed maybe he didn’t kill them that maybe they told me this just to break my heart but then I woke up and well what difference did it make

So they set me to work. They didn’t want me near the blades—I think they felt… naked, after a death of their own… so they gave me all the worthless jobs, all the difficult but menial tasks, and made sure I was never so allowed to touch anything with an edge. So I smiled at them, of course. I smiled, and told them I was sorry.

“First thing to learn; you might be able to work with fire, but she’s always her own girl. Looks cheery, warms you, heats the steel, but take yer eyes off and she’ll burn your house down.”

I didn’t give them any trouble. No, no. I learnt that fast. Any trouble meant a beating. Any trouble meant a dark room and a hungry night and, more often than not, some low voice grunting in my ear. If I smiled, it’s be in a soft bed, with warm lights. I liked soft beds. They weren’t all hard and stuff.

Sometimes I dream of a sunrise, a bright red warm light coming out of the top of the world. it tells me it loves me. it’s waiting for me to come home.

And so I smile. In time, they let me dance for them; and I do. I dance as they love me to dance; and let them watch me, and imagine me, as I imagine dancing with them.  I smile and I dance and they will smile back, laughing and hooting, and perhaps they will forget the circle in my head; and I will smile and I will dance and maybe someday I’ll come home and I’ll bring a little present, won’t I, Papa, Mama, I’ll bring a present for you too. I’ll bring a present up to where the sun will rise, and Grandpa’s watching me (did I mention that) Grandpa’s watching from above.
</quote>

Been playing with a skin for Dena's 3D model, in preparation to try for a larger-scale image than I've done so far.  Also trying to get the "Evil Grin" facial expression I keep referencing in posts.

I'm not sure about the head.  On the one hand the second head seems too plain and I feel like it needs stripes somewhere.  On the other hand all the stripe patterns I've managed to produce tend to look like Spawn and I don't like them.  Any ideas?

Hmm, I've had a few days to work and put together the current battle in the Inner Temple, Danae vs. ludicrously tough rock warrior!  Bonus: Bugs vs. Students!

This is basically a refinement of the style I used to draw Eternal, I've just taken up the black a bit and added color.  I think I might have simplified the color too much though.

Dena is creepy and awesome.

Also, because there needs to be Wyld zones somewhere:

There is a place here, in the heart of stagnation, where a little bit of beauty still rules; where a flower may hold hearts as well as still water, and where poetry weaves clouds as it wills. There is a place, born of joy and sweet water, where the birds sing too sweet for our ears; and the grasses here all taste of autumn, of leaves and the passion of years.

There step the songs of the devilboys and the angelgirls, and their passion is red, dark, and aching; theirs is the dream of summer, and the neverborn spring. It is in the heart of our city that they sing their love, of lust and moon-madness, splaying across our thighs; and they leave, weary, with hair matted and bloody upon whip-scratches and chains.  They have a hole in their eyes, where the pupil should be; some say they stared too long at the sun.

(Others say: this is where the mad-maw is, that they eat your lust, that they eat your sight. Look upon them and fall into their deep deep eyes; stay with us, and be the whim of the wind. I have looked, and I have listened; but I can ken no teeth.)

The trees of stern autumn do oft come and go; theirs is the spirit of the troubled king, of the judge’s wait upon logic and fact. They but sit, and say: I am, and the Oracles of Aven to sit at their roots, cowled and meditating, speaking of dreams. They speak wisdom to blind the ears; their words are a harsh whisper, molten gold, choking iron.

(And they say: do not speak of iron, for they hate chill iron, and rust eats them from within. To sit too long is to don the robes; to sit and speak the will of thee trees. And yet I, too, have worn the robes, and tasted the quiet serenity of heaven; all I may say is that Nirvana is peaceful, and in the end, ‘tis not for me.)

And to the north and the east lies the ravenous fields; and in the light of day, they lie quiet and easy, only opening their minds to the travelers therein. It is said you may pass them with a sacrifice of meat; of a child, bound in wire, touched by bone, and his sister’s blood on his eyes. He must wear shoes of bronze, and gloves of brass; his loins girded with honey and sweet, and his eyes plucked to dangle upon his chest; so it is, or you will be visited by crows and ravens, who will shower waste upon your caravan.

(Most gentry pay the price of a commoner child; the commoners pay the price of a gentry’s child; and the children pay each other. No, that is not the worry; the worry is for honey, and wire, and bronze, for who has the cash to pay for such things?)

But perhaps you think that all this is madness; and you may be right, and you may be wrong. It is my opinion, of course, that we may be both; that the world is cruel and illogical, and follows not its rules. But there is a place at the heart of creation, and its manners and methods are thoroughly wild.

(down the rabbit hole)

(whisper of tea)

And there is a warehouse in the Five Coils; but we will speak of that a different day.

Shining Eye’s Madness
Shining Eye, publically, was a fairly moderate Solar, in many ways. Deliberative influence was steadfastly moderate, and there may even have been some among the Sidereals who were sad to see her pass from life.

This is because she was very, very careful about her private prejudices.

Shining Eye experienced something during a fight against Ebon Dragon, a moment of singular epiphany. It never shared this experience, but ever since, there was a subtle change in the mind of the Solar, towards Fate, towards the Sidereal. Some think that the Ebon Dragon made the Solar into a double agent, but in Eye’s mind, it caught a single, unguarded glimpse of the Ebon Dragon’s plans… Including for the Loom of Fate.

The Loom of Fate is the invention of the Primordials. It was their tool. And perhaps the greatest power that the Exalted were given was the control of Essence, to let them defy Fate, something that mortals were bound by. Shining Eye believed strongly that this was, intrinsically, wrong. The mortals around them, still bound by fate, were forced to live according to the whims of fate, or risk incursions of Demons, other forces. Third believed that it was not the consequence of fate being damaged, but an intentional purpose of the loom, to leave a doorway for demons, left by the Primordials as a backdoor into Creation.

In 2325, Creation shattered like an infinitely complex mirror. It is not certain what happened, but after this, Shining Eye stopped its experiments into destroying the Loom of Fate. Whether she was responsible or not, she was convinced that it had showed the Loom had automatic defenses, potent enough to cause a great deal of damage to Creation. It did not want to risk another event like the Loom of Fate- Even in her madness, Shining Eye did not wish to destroy those that the destruction of the Loom was meant to save. She began her investigation into how to separate mortals from fate.

Shining Eye, as a result of these certain beliefs, had certain prejudices that she hid. These include a rather strong disdain for those who tried to preserve Fate as it was- Particularly the Sidereals. She remembers little of the Usurpation, but from the state of the world, she knows that someone betrayed her, and does not believe that the Terrestrials alone would have been able to mastermind the Usurpation, hubristic God-King that she is.- She suspects the Sidereals, but has little evidence besides her own prejudices. Whether Third will follow Shining Eye’s prejudices is entirely up to those around it- As it stands, there’s not much to preserve its personality as Shining Eye asserts herself more.

This is what happens when I get bored at work.

Insane DB scientists, whee.



Fold iron and copper; twist it, bind it; place it in the fire; and burn. Thus we make brass; thus we make strength out of two of the lesser; and that is the lesson we learn. Two are stronger than one, and three than two, and five are better than three, than four; so it is with mortals, and so it is with the Dragons, so why is this not in the elements they birth?

(Look! Look and see!)

(Fire and Air, Air and Water; East and West and North and Center. Why? Why not?)

We need every strength we have to reclaim the surface, my lord, and surely, it cannot be mad to wed mere self to self? The Ten Thousand Dragons fight as one, and their elements will fight beside them! Marry Daana'd to Pasiap, Mela to Jylis; a blessed spark from two Dragon's minds, twice as powerful, twice as strong in their godly might!

...no, no, of course not, say. I was, ah, speaking figuratively. No, no, of course not.  I'm certain the Dragons do not, ah, fornicate.

(Look! Look and see!)

(The screams? Oh, no, certainly not; they are but the screams of birth. Growing pains, my lord--mere growing pains!)

Indeed, my lord. Don't you see? Imagine--a talon, no, a Dragon of these, bursting from the ground to shower fire upon your foes! Yes, yes... well, no... no, my lord, fire purifies the soil. No, my lord. Yes. Trails of fertility in their wake! Grasses will bloom--yes, certainly--why not? Why not? You have a brilliant mind, lord! Allow this lesser one to salute you!

(How about.. Ahhh. Yes. Yes. Why limit the dragon-in-flesh to merely one expression?)

(This takes the Immaculates but years upon years, my lord. Now, we can do it in days!)

What? Yes, my lord. <i>Yes, my lord. Why keep ourselves to the Terrestrial elements? There are... the stranger ones, and we can mine them, my lord. We can turn them and remake them in the light of the Dragons!

Yes. Yes.</i>
This message was last edited by the player at 08:29, Thu 06 Aug 2009.

...yes, well.

Think about it, Sanae. There are a thousand thousand people living in the Coils; breathing, speaking, drinking, eating, and everything they do they drain a bit of our world into themselves, and there is only so much of this world for so very much of us. Perhaps, up there, in the... ah... what is it? Yes, the daylight, there is enough of the world for every one of us; but here? In here?

Our world is small, Sanae. It is a column, a tube, a mere toothpick sheltered under rock and earth, and within, raw humanity swarms. The are the chaff, and we are the wheat; no. Hmmmm. Dust and gold? Diamonds? Help me a moment, Sanae; I need... something organic. Something rare. Something that grows.

...no, not that, that's an act of cultivation. Of, of artificial care and---hmmm. But that is true, isn't it? Blood begets blood. They'll never tell anyone, indeed, but we know, don't we, Sanae? We know how.

So, so, so, so, ah. Yes. You understand my metaphor? Well, yes, I do suppose it is, after all, in part your metaphor, but then I asked you to think, didn't I? Without that blessed seed of input, even your fertile mind couldn't possibly have thought what you did. So I lay claim to it, and that's all there is. Yes. Ah... you interrupt me excessive, Sanae, for now I've lost my thoughts.

Mmm. Mmm. Oh, that, yes. So. Every time every single one of these... antlings, yes, ants-things do anything, the rest of us perish, just a little more. Each one of them requires food, requires water-- but we can put limits on those We can always ensure that we have enough.

But air, Sanae? Air goes everywhere. And there isn't enough of that at all. Yet we cannot kill them; to kill them would mean less material, less stock, from which can come the rest of us. Or so they say, so they say. That experiment... was cancelled. Perhaps, in time.

Hmmmm?

Oh, yes. Well. We can't feed them all, Sanae. Well, not feed, perhaps; how would you say, to give air? Respire, breathe, inhale.... hmmmm. No matter. You understand, and I understand. We can't feed them all, and the population is... growing. So we'll change them. To breathe stale air, and to release freshness back out. Get half the population into it, and the system'll maintain itself.

And why stop there, hmmm? We have fused the elements themselves to make better servitors; why not temper the bodies of men? Surely, it'd be easier to work on this... dust. Gills for the water, dark-piercing eyes... yes.

What? Yes. Yes. It is... difficult, at best. But the Anathemea did it, once, and we have Anathemea now, don't we? It is a strange thing, this warping, but I trust that the Dragons will see us through; that, or we will all die by the sweet lack of Mela. Heh. Life is hard.

...well, no, of course not. Don't be a fool. In the meantime, we'll kill all the useless ones, of course.

Not that they tend to survive, anyway. Heh.

Hey!  Been a while, but I thought I'd post a little something here while we wait on our ever-awesome ST.  This isn't an exact portrait, of course--not even close, as a matter of fact, but I just really enjoy this picture, and thought it conveyed a good bit of the atmosphere that Broken Eternal can invoke...that feeling of 'Oh shit, this guy is so good I DONT STAND A CHANCE' kind of vibe.  Enjoy!

http://i37.tinypic.com/2mxpfzk.jpg

Omnipotent Sky was not a nice man.  This was in itself a mystery, given how blessed by the Dragons he was.  He was born to a wealthy family and interitor of one of the most successful businesses on his floor.  He was gifted with a darling family--a beautiful and kind wife, who bore him three children--two of which hatched at an early age!  And yet despite all of this, he was not a kind man.  He was a hard man, cruel and dismissive to those whom he had nothing to gain from.  He was lord of his home and master of his business...and his rule was that of iron.
One night, Omnipotent Sky was working late at his factory, putting the finishing touches on his records.  His factory churned eternally with multiple shifts of several men and women, and occasionally children, to keep the gears turning.  It was a comfort to him, the constant noise.  But he was so obsorbed into his work, there is no telling how long it was before he finally noticed the silence.  Sky put down his feathered quill as he strained his ears, something he had never had to do in the confines of his factory.  He checked his watch and frowned--it wasn't break time, and even if it were, they had split times in order to keep the machines running.  Something was wrong, and he wouldn't stand for it.
The floor was completely devoid of life, he thought.  There wasn't a worker to be seen.  He walked in a hurried huff, his rail-thin body carrying him quickly to the small break room his workers used.  There was no one to be seen.  His frown deepened.  He would fire them all, of course, and replace them in the morning.  There was no shortage of bodies to fill the metal halls, after all, and the turnover rate was high, after all--he generally lost a few workers a week thanks to the stress and duress of the job.  He went back to his office and tried to finish his work, but found the silence to unnerving.  Sighing angrily, he slammed his book shut, put on his expensive coat, and stormed home.
By the time he reached his front door, Omnipotent Sky had lost much of his anger, though not his general foul mood.  This was only compounded by the fact that his door key was simply refusing to work, causing him to curse loudly into the darkness of the street.  At night, the Coil's artificial light was shutdown in order to preserve the natural orders of the body...though the essence fueled lamps bade small havens of light along the streets.  On instinct Sky turned sharply, looking over his left shoulder.  He didn't know what he expected to see--a begger, perhaps, or some other riff-raff.  There was nothing though...just the fleeting feeling that he was being watched...possibly followed.  His nose twitched, and he chided himself for being so scared of the dark.
The key turned, and Sky let himself in.
The house was quiet...almost as silent as the factory.  Lights automatically turned on as he passed them.  He was unsettled by all this silence, and found himself quickly searching the rooms for his wife or his children.  He found no sign of them, thought the signs of their living were evident enough.  Scattered toys from the youngest, dishes on the counter, rebelliously ignored by the two oldest who constantly bickered over the chore.  They were probably away, he decided...possibly to his Mother In-Law's.  Omnipotent Sky had an important and stressful job, and that stress made his hand heavy when he came home.  Their fights were usually very brief, though extraordinarily violent, and the previous night had been especially so.  The authorities had never been involved, but short holidays usually followed suit...though it was unusual for her to take the twins.  The youngest, yes, but...bah, he wasn't going to give it any thought.  All the better, he decided--having the house to himself was nice, every once in a while.
 He feasted that night, as he did every night, and thought little else of his missing workers or family.  He would sort out the former in the morning, he thought with a smug little grin, and the latter would sort itself out.  After all, HE was the one with the wealth and the power, despite his being a mere mortal, instead of an Exalt.  Oh, he wasn't properly welcomed in the high society of the Dragon Born...but his money was.  And that was all that mattered.