Sagas of Wayward Suns - Arc 1

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Gentle River

River peers up at the fading star mistrustfully. For a moment he wants nothing more than to go back to his inn room and wait out the day with the young man who had caught his eye yesterday - and who was currently sleeping off helping River cope with the visions he had been given.

His name is Galen, and he wanted to join the guards but after a knee injury he works in his aunt's goods store. And he's probably in love with you, now, and you don't care at all. At least you have the decency to feel slightly ashamed about that.

River instinctively understands he can build this shithole town up in to something special, but he'll need to get to work on remembering why he's so sure. In the meantime, he follows along with the others, lost in his own thoughts.
 
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Ferat:

The relative luxury of his own room was lost on Ferat, who had curled up for the night on the hard floor beside Shalla, bed untouched. If he had dreamed, he had forgotten them on waking. Probably for the best, he had seen enough violence and fear yesterday.

Ferat raised an eyebrow at Wenceslas' exhaustion. "Trouble in the night? You can have the rest of my breakfast, i don't eat much. A snort from below the table suggested that Shalla felt personally affronted at the idea of good food going to waste. Ferat dropped some meat underneath, to much snuffling and chomping sounds.

"Wouldn't mind having a look at the body myself. Used to be a believer in the Philosophy. Met more monks outside of combat than in, might be a fresh set of eyes."
 
Iskandr

The hunter's night was convivial but careful. No more than a couple of beers found their way past the scarf, and he engaged a few folks about the most dangerous beasts of the grasslands. He paid close attention to the comings and goings of his fellow Solar demons, and found relief in the notion of them safely sleeping.

But safely sleeping is not what the monk is doing, is it?

Bright and early, his bow at his back beside the huge bundle of Epitaph, Iskandr looks the old man right in the monocle.

"Please. I'd see the body, if I may."
 
Resonant Hammer's Descent

The guest house has effectively become a second home for Resonant Hammer in the couple of years he's spent shuttling black goods to the border town. He cordially greets the wizened couple who own the place, enthusiastically showing them his new acquisition. He sits with the other Anathe- his companions for a while, before retiring to his room.

In the morning he collars Wenceslas. "Your commander has asked me to outfit the guard. What weapons and armour do you use, and how many troops am I outfitting? I'll need to know by this afternoon. I'm also going to require iron. If you can requisition that for me it would smooth this process remarkably. If you need to find me I'll be in the square where the badness went down yesterday." Resonant Hammer claps the poor constable on the shoulder, before heading out to finish deconstructing the portcullis from the day before.
 
Red Snow

Maybe it's just the rush after battle, but Red has especially vivid dreams. She is the Dragon of Morning, leading his 10,000 into battle against impossible enemies. In spite of this she wakes up better rested than she has in months. She'll never, ever admit it, but Red has dreamed of having a feather bed all her pife. Rested and washed, she does her very best to clean out the guest house's pantry, beckoning Wenceslas to sit with her after Resonant Hammer leaves.
"Good morning soldier, have a bite to eat."
"Another thick slice of bacon disappears into her maw.
"Before we go to see this body I need you to tell me what the command structure of the guard is."
 
@Sarky @Chaka

The captain nods gratefully, shoveling down a few of the Medoan specialty, scrambled eggs. "Not many people at all slept last night after events kicked off. We need a new Hetman. It's early in the planting season, but we need someone to wield the bureaucracy, meet with the regional burg and shamans." Looks between the lot of you. "Much to do."

@Hair

Before you cross the threshold for the square, "Weapons? We're constables, not infantry. A stout club and leather jerkins, maybe mail for the commander."

@Ragoza

"There are a handful of other captains, then a few pikes—er, lieutenants—, and about a hundred constable foot." He shrugs. "We're peacekeepers. The Satripal witch took the Realm regulars with her. We're marchers, they didn't allow Medoan troops here. Their rules."

@FuzzMonster @Excession

"Anyway. We can go, if you please." Old Koblyz interjects. "I'd like to be rid of it soon. I've discerned what I can."
 
@FuzzMonster

There are the usual game and wild aurochs, but the grasslands are Home to a few oddities: vicious tribes of cherubic chaun, feral claw striders, yeddim and mammoths, herds of ox-dragon, great flights of strigoi which hunt from their nests from the western mountains.
 
Gentle River

The Eclipse Caste glances up. "Give me a week and I can have this town running the smoothest it's ever been. I'll deal with the shamans and other necessary figures too, as we go. It'll give me something to do."
 
Resonant Hammer's Descent

Resonant Hammer stops dead at the door, half stooped for his exit. He turns, the last traces of joviality from the night before giving way, once again, to a familiar worried frown. He crosses to the table where Red and Wenceslas are sitting.

"Constables," he begins in a furious whisper. "You rose in rebellion against The Realm with a hundred fucking constables?!"

Resonant Hammer turns to Red. For a moment her face is limned by otherworldly flame, the features subtly different. He blinks a moment, before continuing, "I'll have arms for five hundred light infantry when I return. I trust two weeks is enough for you to teach a man how to throw a javelin and use a shortsword? I'm still going to need that iron, Wenceslas," he finishes as he stands once again to leave.
 
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Radiant Shine

"Then let us proceed - and tell me what you have discerned so far whilst we walk."
 
Iskandr

Walking a pace or two behind the doctor, dressed in leathers, Iskandr probably looks like nothing so much as the gentleman's guard or guide. As the wee group proceeds towards wherever it is that they've been keeping the body of the monk, Iskandr listens carefully to the old man, while keeping a close eye on the streets around them. As a man who makes his living by providing meat, hides, furs, and herbs, all gathered from the northlands, he's curious to see the goods here, to see how the town interacts with the grasslands around.

He's also musing about his new companions, sorting through them in a peculiarly focused fashion. Specifically, he's thinking about how to welcome the southerners to the north, and how to communicate to Red Snow's Herald his support for her whipping the town guard into shape. He's got a couple of ideas, which, by sheer coincidence, require the use of arrows and his skinning kit.

River would look enchanting on a snowy night with a cloak of wolf fur. Like something out of a tale of the Pretty Ones.

Toughened forge gloves for those huge ham hands of Resonant Hammer's.

A bone toggled satchel for the doctor here, he strikes me as the kind who'll always want pouches of this and pots of that.

If I'm gonna have some spare bone and leather around, I'll make pauldrons and a gorget for Red. Let her wear wolf on her shoulders and in her hands.

And Ferat....now there's a man who's seen something dreadful and isn't yet done running from it. I must see what condition his boots are in.

He'll snap out of his watchful reverie as soon as Koblyz announces their arrival.
 
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Ferat:

I suppose if we're sticking around, I should see what else needs doing.

Ferat followed to the group's morbid destination, keeping an eye out for the townsfolk and ay particular troubles he might lend a hand with. He filed them away for later, when he could ask someone who knew better if offering to chop wood or help train hunting animals would cause as much trouble as offering to lay the dead to rest did yesterday...
 
@Hair

"We'll figure it out. Giant godling or not, you've seen what this place is. You've lived here. It's marches. They could roll us even if we had an army kitted to the teeth. The Bull, and implied threat therein keeps this region safe. His people roam in and out of the border at all times. You've all killed that thing playing hetman, and stopped a riot. Chances are Dezsofi would have given a fig for the False Smile." The constable shakes his head, eyes furious. "And now there are more of you. I dare say you'll invite rather than repel a reply from the Realm."

@Excession @FuzzMonster @Ragoza @Chaka @Sarky @Hair

Koblyz warily eyes your giant friend and Plume Hat. "Anyway. When the incident occurred, he obviously couldn't speak or anything. It completely immolated his head. The monk was a kind enough sort. But even with the horrific damage, I could have sworn he was alive for a short time after. He is certifiably dead now--a precautionary act of mercy from one of the other monks before they fled." The man searches through voluminous sleeves for a clay pipe, packs it.

As the argument between giant man and giant feathered cap dwindles a moment, the doctor leads you down a lane of warehouses hard against the inner wall. A quiet street of teamsters and local guildsmen rich with the stink of tanner churns and sweat.

Puffing fragrant smoke, Koblyz nods to a nearby warehouse. "I've used this for a makeshift triage in times of need." A remarkable chill sweeps out of the open doors. It's like stepping back into early winter, so cold it is. Large piles of cool river stones and huge sawn blocks of ice pile away into the rafters. Whale oil lanterns provide weak light.

At the center of the chamber lies the body with ice packed against its joints.

From the neck down, it's a dead man. Bruised skin. Stark white fingernails. Old scar tissue.

From the neck up, it's some grim representation of a skull in basalt. Carbonized eye sockets, fused teeth like long wicks of bone. The neck a horror of rotted veins and scorching. One waxy green eye, still intact, rests in the right socket. "Our departed Tepet Ishin," the old surgeon declares, "once-defender of the people of Zala."
 
Iskandr

Without a word, with not even a whisper of cloth, the hunter moves forward. He glances up and down the body, cataloguing the insults and injuries overcome, and the final, fatal, desolation of the head. After a moment, a whisper can be heard from behind the lanky man's scarf. It's in High Realm, and has the intonation of a prayer.


Courage. You stood against the terrible fire, and it consumed you, but you stood. You are remembered. You'd have fought me. You'd have fought them. You defied Hyades. You need fight no longer. Be cleansed and reborn, Tepet Ishin.

Iskandr takes a moment to finish his prayer, an Immaculate chant for the soul of a pure hearted warrior, and turns away.

"Can it be made certain that his soul has gone to rebirth? Ferat, you offered peace to the ancestors, peace they would decline. Will you offer it to this man?"
 
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Ferat:

"Nasty."

Ferat watched Iskandr curiously. He didn't understand a word but he knew the sound of High Realm.

"Death might have changed his mind, more polite to ask him, if he's not gone already."

Ferat steadied his breathing, puffs of breath lingering in the frigid air, focusing his mind on the frayed wisps of essence that once inextricably bound the monk's body and soul. Each puff of breath grew smaller, though his breathing remained steady, until it disappeared altogether. Then his caste mark flared, lighting the warehouse, and his booming voice, tinged with Otherness, spoke words cold as the ice, black as shadow, charged with the power to bridge worlds.

"Tepet Ishin! By the authority vested in me by the Unconquered Sun, if your soul yet remains, come forth!"

[Spending 7m for Zenith power and 1 wp for auto-suxx on Cha+Presence(Intimidation) roll]

[4 successes from roll +1 is 5 total]
 
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@Sarky @FuzzMonster

A thousand diamond reflections from inside the ice reveal the lone shadow of a man standing just beyond the body. It shrinks briefly from you, before striding forward, holding umbral arms to peer through your light.

It solidifies quickly, looking much like a charcoal etching of the body laying upon the table, face intact. He was a handsome man, once. Slowly, his arms fall to his side and inaudibly sighs.

A voice like the chimes on a monk's staff calls out, "Bit loud, aren't we, Blasphemer?"
 
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Ferat:

A grunt of laughter.
"Look who's talking. Wasn't sure if you'd moved on, like the Philosophy teaches. Mehmet Ferat, formerly of Thorns." He bowed in respect.

"Gave the thing that killed you a bloodied nose. These folks have some questions about that. I have only one: Do you like being dead, or would you prefer a helping hand towards reincarnation once we're done talking?"
 
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Red Snow

"Stand down Wenceslas. Hammer, stay a moment."
She waves to an empty seat, hopefully it'll fit him.
"Major Wenceslas, enjoy your promotion. We start recruitment immediately, I expect our troops to double by the end of the day. Any able bodied man or woman is eligible to join, pay is whatever the constables already get, plus half. Enjoy your raise."
She takes a long drink of water, wondering how the hells she knows what a Major is.
"Resonant Hammer, I'll have a quartermaster sent to your home with measurements withing the next three days. We need shortswords, javelins, light mail and shields, as quickly as you can. Any assistance you need can be provided."
One last slab of bacon, loaded with whatever this gravy is.
"Major, let the constables know that the Commander will be speaking to them in the barracks in two hours. Dismissed."
Polish off the heel of bread, try not to think two hard about how you apparently know how to run an army.
"I'll be catching up with Ferat and Iskandr if you're coming, Hammer."
She rises and heads to the door, taking one last sausage for the walk.
 
@Sarky

"No, I quite like this dank morgue of a warehouse where my body sits like a bloody altar." He shakes his head. A sound like a cough comes from the corners. "Honestly, we thought it one of your kind at first. How quickly it inserted itself and assumed command.

"It's gone?"
 
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Ferat:

Ferat let the sarcasm sail over his head without acknowledgement.

"For now, anyway. Whatever it was it didn't much like me either, too big to die just from killing it. Demon, maybe? I don't know. Either way..."

He shrugged, stepped back.

"While you're here, these folks know more about strange creatures and sorceries. Answer their questions and you can get back to enjoying the dank in peace."
 
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