Sagas of Wayward Suns - Arc 1

Red Snow

Dawn of the Second Day

The destruction of the Governor's Block, and the loss of life, knowledge and property that it entailed, was a thousand tragedies at once. The greatest tragedy of them right now as far as Red Snow is concerned, though, is the loss of her secure, well equipped dungeons. The cellar of the Plainsmen has been repurposed for the time being, and an armed guard of Red's most loyal soldiers have been keeping an eye on the surviving Immaculate bastard overnight while the Circle focuses on the immediate relief. When morning rolls around and the work turns from rescue to corpse recovery, Red finally finds the time to go have a quiet word with the prisoner. Exhausted, starving, eyes red and dry, armour coated in yesterday's blood, she finds River and Iskandr and brings them back to the tavern for a little stress relief. Her exact words.

Young Agnieska is taking her turn on guard duty when they arrive. Poor girl looks fit to collapse, but she still snaps off a salute when the commander arrives. This one will go far. Red lays a hand on her shoulder, thanks her, sends her upstairs with a breakfast order and a strict order that Agnieska herself is to have a proper breakfast and then go home to rest. The Dynast is on on the ground inside, wrists and ankles bound. He seems to be awake, but refuses to look up as they enter. Fucking rude. Red Snow strides acrross the room, delivering a nasty kick to the prisoner's chest and sending him sprawling.
"GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE!"
 
Gentle River


River has managed to change and wash the mercenary's blood off at some point over the night, and if he's tired he isn't showing it. He sweeps in after Red, leaning against the wall of the cellar with his arms folded as the Dawn Caste goes to work on the Dragon-Blooded's ribs. For a moment they make eye contact, and he treats the prisoner to a warm, encouraging smile. Otherwise he says nothing. Red'll lead on this, but River is ready to take it home.
 
Iskandr First Snow

Isk slips into the room with barely a breath of disturbed air. Dusty and weary, slightly bruised, but whole, and centred. He's not here to directly chat with the prisoner. He's here to listen carefully...and perhaps to speak up if it looks like River and Red may just go too far.

To that end, he quietly slips into the corner, produces a knife and a length of bone, and gets to work whittling.

Who knows what this little project might turn out to be? Gosh. We'll have to find out, once enough little chips and splinters have been carefully removed.
 
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Ferat:

Before consciousness failed him, Ferat had made peace with Creation. He prayed that the Unconquered Sun would acknowledge his attempt to do right by those under his care, and that the Elemental Dragons would understand the sad necessity of fighting their most faithful Chosen, who would have spilled so much more innocent blood in their misguided zeal. A peaceful sigh, acceptance of his fate, and then blackness as he smashed into the ground.


There she is, standing on her ruby parapet, watching her city burn. How long had these glass towers stood? Hundreds of mortal lifetimes, surely. And now at the end, just shattered ruins, reflecting the dying light of the sun. What grim symbolism, but the Maidens were always equal parts poetic and cruel. They are surely coming for her, and look, she is wounded, her power all but spent. Exalted of the Unconquered Sun, kings and queens of Creation, betrayed, divided, and now, dying alone. He watches her sink against the parapet, gripping her grimcleaver, and she looks up, sees his ship coming in. Their eyes meet. For a moment, he can forget the dozen jade arrows piercing his chest, the blood seeping out from behind his smile.
"I swore I would come for you" he says, helping her up. "All Creation burns. We will burn too, sooner or later. But I promise you," he placed one giant plated fist on his heart, snapping off the embedded arrows, "I promise you, whatever happens next, though the Elemental Host entire has turned on us, though our Lord Himself has turned His face from us- You will not die alone."
The sounds of the burning city make way for the roaring of flying machines, elementals, godlings, Dragon-Blooded assassins and the two-faced Viziers who had turned them. An army, a hundred armies. Even at this distance, he recognised banners and faces from his war dojo. A deliberate provocation, and the fact it had worked angered him all the more.
"We have some time yet, old friend. Let us prepare for death; theirs or ours, it hardly matters now, but regardless I will fight by your side until it is done."

He turns to the approaching host, screaming, "Come then, usurpers! Show us your fury! And damned be him that first cries 'Hold, enough!'"



Blackness gave way to blinding pain. At first Ferat saw nothing but white, and felt a curious sensation, as of a hot wind across his face. Is this the Underworld? Lethe? Malfeas!?

Slowly, the details resolved; Shalla was sleeping on the bed, snoring into his face, the white merely a ceiling. He had survived. That was unexpected.

"Huh."

The noise was enough to wake Shalla, who stretched lazily before barking softly and licking his face gently. "I'm happy to see you too, old friend. Old friend..." he spent some time mulling on the dream. Or memory? It had felt real like no other dream he could recall. And in some way it seemed to complement the odd feelings and flashes of someone else's memories he had experienced around Gentle River. Did they survive? He sat bolt upright, wincing; every muscle and bone must be bruised and aching. Considering how far he had Fallen, Ferat was amazed that his injuries weren't worse. Whatever happened the others, at least Radiant Shine must have survived then. If him, then perhaps the others. He gritted his teeth and hauled himself off the bed. Every move hurt, but he was still alive, and that was what mattered. He got dressed and set about finding out how the battle had gone...
 
@Hair

A latter-day piece of opulence repurposed for war. The hull has taken more of a beating than can be explained by the crash--an old hand the Realm (and maybe even the daimyos before the empire) has put through its paces in combat. The inside has largely been striped of any ornamentation that once existed, cabin berths stripped of tile mosaics, heretical icons of the Dragons and other now-nameless deities chiseled away; the blood of a few dead crew spattered over glyphic interfaces of long forgotten purpose.

It was built maybe 2000 years ago. The sleekness and style of the hull speak to the sort of maddened refinement of the latter eras of the First Age. Vague memories and old texts would call it a thousand-year-ship for the focus of the craftsmen in her laying down. The bowsprit cannon is a crude addition from a few centuries back, though done well enough to look mostly natural to the untrained eye. Most of the rooms of both decks have been stripped and widened and crudely shaped into crew quarters and soldier berths for civil riot suppression. The bell was a tacky add-on from some other device, not part of the original ship.

Essence thrums in the keel like a fading heartbeat. She's still alive, if wounded.

*Attunement 8m. Flight via geomantic engine, which is powered by a Hearthstone. The hearthstone powering the engine does not grant the pilot mote regen, but affords any other bonuses of the stone.
 
@Chaka @Ragoza @FuzzMonster

Sputtering, the Dynast tries to keep his eyes glued to the ceiling, but he keeps glancing at the two of you. The devil(s) in the flesh as it were. He gains enough control through the pain to stare at the ceiling. "The rest are dead, aren't they?"
 
Gentle River

River steps forward and sinks to one knee beside the Dynast. "Yes, they're all dead." He gently strokes the man's cheek with the back of a knuckle, wiping away a trickled streak of dried blood. "They're dead, and so are your mercenaries, and your troops, and many of our troops, and a sizeable portion of Zala's innocent mortal population. All gone."

He studies the flaked blood on the back of his knuckle for a moment before absently wiping it off against his shoe.

"I wonder, do you envy them?" He stands again, moving to a step or two behind Red.
 
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@Chaka

"Somewhat. More so later, I'm sure." He looks at your out the corner of his eye. "Is this the part where I'm to take a reluctant open hand whilst the other uses the closed fist?" He chuckles. "Bleeding hearts. Your friend crashed my ship into the city and the bow shot killed our turncoats, seeing as it smashed into their formation. Speak of innocence some other time. They drew their lot with you. And as I recall, the chime was keeping things relatively peaceful among the citizenry."

He returns to tracing the mortar in the cellar walls. A perplexed expression clouds his face for but a moment. "Mercenaries? Oh, those gents. One of our stranger investments."
 
Red Snow

The slap is swift and brutal, much like Red herself, gauntleted palm colliding with unprotected cheek. For the second time in as many minutes the dynast is sent sprawling on his back, before she takes him roughly by the hair and forces him to make eye contact.

"The fist doesn't have to be closed, friend. I'm not interested in talking morality with you, I'd much rather get this over with and wash your friends off me. Let's start with names, I'm Red Snow's Herald. And you are?"
 
Resonant Hammer's Descent

The hull of the ship shrieks and groans as Hammer grasps the control mechanism, the ship attempting to right herself as his essence spins the engine back up. Slowly, slower than treacle on a cold winter's morning, he raises her from her impromptu berth, feeling the rubble scrape against her hull, gravel against his skin. He waits with baited breath for a huge resettling, of the rubble, fearing for those likely still trapped inside. Should any of the settling debris herald a fresh set of screams he stops his ascent and clears the stone trapping the mortals, using his goremaul both as a lever and to break some of the bigger chunks down.

Once the ship is free of her stone prison Hammer rises faster, cresting Zala's rooves, before setting her down outside the walls. He then commandeers a blacksmith's forge and begins churning out supplies for the relief effort, chisels and mallets, crowbars and pulley-blocks, other sundry tools requested of him.


Once every available hand is filled with a tool and set to work Hammer takes the bellows and quenching trough from the forge, laying a new Zala obol on the anvil and promising their return. His tools in hand Hammer heads back to the airship and begins forging an elemental, deftly folding Air and Water together, much like iron and steel in a blade. The cloud elemental takes form, essence of the Dragons mingling and coalescing, as Hammer attempts to bind it, tasking it with piloting the airship "until the Suns shine on Zala no more."

 
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Gentle River

River laughs, honest humour in the sound. "My dear man, no no. I'm not the open hand to Red's closed fist. I'm Gentle River, and I am who you drown in." Grinning, he shakes his head. "Let's be clear with one another. Your secrets are ours. Your thoughts, ours. Your will is already broken, your knowledge revealed. Your mind is so much screaming meat for me to pick my way through, like a seagull who's dropped a clam on a rock. Do you hear the wind whip around you, child of Mela? The earth is rising to meet you, and your shell is brittle. Brittle. You'll find no merciful friend in me."

River begins pacing the cellar's perimeter, chuckling to himself. As he does so, he focuses on the Dragon-Blooded's expression, posture, tone of voice. Everything and anything that might give him advantage. The crack in the shell he can wedge open.

River is making a Read Intentions roll to try to determine if the Dragon-Blood has any Intimacies related to personal honour, protecting the weak, defending others or any other similarly noble ideals. Activating Motive Discerning Technique for 3m peripheral to substitute Wits for Perception and gain Double-9s on the roll, and popping the Socialise Excellency for 3m personal for an additional three dice. Waiting on stunt rewards to roll.



Double 9s boosts that to 9 successes. 3 die stunt awarded, so an extra 2 dice and two succeses.



1 extra success from the roll, so that's 12 successes altogether.
 
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Iskandr

In the corner, there is silence. Patience. Tiny shavings of bone fall to the floor. From the solid femur of a horse, emerges the crude outline of a figure. Curious. Its posture is unshaped. Even Iskandr doesn't quite know how it's going to turn out, whether it's going to be kneeling, slumped, or entirely fallen.
 
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Ferat:

It took Ferat a number of hours to calm down after catching up with events. The death toll tore a hole in him, knowing he was responsible for a significant number of innocent deaths was a crushing weight that trapped him underneath.

He sat at the table set out for his Circle when they had arrived, impassive, brooding. In rough, calloused hands he held a child's doll, all that could be recovered from a building obliterated by the implosion bow. He stared at it for an eternity, the lifeless button eyes meeting his gaze, judging him.

You let them die.

I tried, he thought. I did my best.

And it killed them. YOU killed them.

No, it wasn't my fault...

Just like your cowardice killed your family.

"NO!"
He bolted upright as if struck, knocking the chair and startling Shalla from her sleep. He shook himself out of his reveries, getting his bearings. The sun was high in the sky, had he really been sitting here for nearly half the day? His back and legs ached in response. He looked around at the townsfolk, ashen and shaken, hauling buckets of rubble or rushing supplies to Shine's hospital.

You self-pitying oaf. These mortals have lost just as much as you, and more. Do they spend the day weeping helplessly? You're better than this. Your god did not grant you mighty power to sit there, feeling sorry for yourself. Get up! ACT!

The days and weeks that followed, Ferat could be found at the forefront of the rescue and repair efforts. He worked tirelessly, obsessively, not stopping for rest or food, taking multiple shifts to spare tired citizens. He spoke rarely, taking orders as needed. The few times he stopped for rest, he shared most of his meals with the mortals working alongside him, gave them some encouraging words or shared a joke to lift tensions. Then, he went back to work with them, enduring the same hardship, the same horror when a body was uncovered, the same joy and relief when a survivor was rescued. He would not put himself above these people, he swore to himself. He would not lead by means of fighting prowess like Red Snow, or political skill like River.

No, he would lead by example.

Shalla's keen nose was a great advantage in finding bodies in the ruins, alive and dead. Natives of Zala he commended to their own funerary rites, whilst he cremated any bodies from the Wyld Hunt according to what he remembered of the Immaculate Philosophy, praying to both Sun and Dragons on their behalf. Whenever someone scoffed at him for this, he would respond simply with "Respect even your enemy, or be no better than him."

[Ferat is throwing himself into the relief efforts, hoping to lead by example and inspire the townsfolk to pull together in hard times to endure and rebuild. All his Survival charms for going without rest/food/shelter will be in regular use to let him work like he's trying to atone for the damage caused.
He'll also use the rescue efforts as an opportunity to train Shalla further to finish learning the commands he'd been teaching her.]
 
RADIANT SHINE

Shine hardly rests in the following weeks. There are wounded to heal, dead to mourn, streets to clear. He trains Iskandr's rangers in basic first aid, and makes a few promising candidates sit in when he teaches doctors. He works with River on projects of hygiene and education, and co-ordinates with Hammer for city planning. The walls must be reinforced, and he studies geomancy to ensure all constructions are harmonious.

He pointedly avoids the interrogation. A united front is important, and though his conscience seethes over what questionable methods he companions might be employing.

In the night, in his howdah, he scribes a code of law. In his time as a magistrate he has seen enough justice perverted, and Zala will not fall to the same corruption, even should the Realm crush the Circle.
 
Resonant Hammer's Descent

With the townsfolk armed, as it were, for the immediate relief efforts Hammer feels the tiredness settle into his bones. He drags himself back to the airship and has the pilot fly him home. Once there he collapses into a dreamless sleep, as the lessons given to him weeks ago unfold in his mind. He rises with the dawn, rested and filled with purpose. He finds the horde of iron his familiar has created and, smiling, gives it a lump of the white jade alloy. "I'll need some more of this, when you get a chance, little one. Just the stone will do, I can alloy it myself." Hammer then creates another earth elemental, a taller biped this time, to serve as an assistant. He binds it to protect the demesne and to serve the owner while Hammer controls it, before forging himself a new smith's hammer. He molds the whole piece from steel, haft and all, and inlays some of the white jade alloy, serving to conduct his essence more readily.

Rolling Int+Occult, full excellency, to bind the forge assistant


Undertaking a Major Project to create superior blacksmith's tools, Int+Craft, Full Excellency, Flawless-Handiwork Method to reroll 10s and 6s

21 successes total

Sleep. Wake. Work. Hammer summons a fire elemental, binding it similarly, and sets to work forging a mason's kit. A chisel tipped with pure white jade crystal, a smaller version of the hammer from the day before, various measuring and cutting tools. The demesne is lit in hues of twilight throughout the day as he toils.

Rolling Int+Occult, full excellency, to bind the fire elemental


Undertaking a Major Project to create superior mason's tools, Int+Craft, Full Excellency, Flawless-Handiwork Method to reroll 10s and 6s

18 successes total

When Hammer cruises back into town aboard Zala's Sovereign the hold is laden with refined iron bars, his belt weighted with his new tools. He sets down outside the gate and makes his way towards the center. Although the immediate signs of violence have been sanitised; the corpses cleared from the streets, the congealing blood scrubbed from the gutters, the deeper scars remain stark, deep red stains, ruined buildings. As he approaches the top of the hill the devastation becomes more severe, until he reaches the wasteland on the crest. Images sear his mind, unbidden. A red star crouching above a city, warstriders marching out, the towers of the city reaching up towards salvation, destruction. The towers... Hammer straightens, moving with renewed purpose, and finds whoever is leading the relief actions. He commandeers a platoon of haulers and gets to work, building towers from the rubble, apartments towards the top while the bottom stories are filled with roomy sections, perfect for shopfronts and workshops. The towers have bridges connecting the upper levels, forming a wide thoroughfare around the devastated hill, ten stories up.
All the while his mind is turning over plans for a new administration complex, replacing the mansion that was crushed when the ship came down.

Activating Bright-Forging Prana to get access to Thousand Forge Hands and two purchases of Supreme Masterwork Focus for one project, forging a Superior slot for the palace with two major slots and 2 Gxp. Activating Thousand Forge Hands to make the project take no longer than 5 weeks, assuming materials are gathered.

Rolling for a dozen of the apartment blocks











All succeed, 118Sxp earned

The people's housing and livelihoods relatively secure Hammer turns himself towards city amenities. First comes a hospital, allowing Shine to concentrate his patients and stop wasting time running about the town. Next, the training area Red had been pushing for, barracks and paved courtyards in a tangle that city warfare training can take place in. Unwilling to let the populous labour in ignorance Hammer builds a school, a campus that he intends to develop into a Creation renowned house of learning, eventually.

Hospital, Full Crafts Excellency, Flawless Handiwork Method

9Gxp,3Sxp
Garrison, Full Crafts Excellency, Flawless Handiwork Method

9Gxp,3Sxp
School campus, Full Crafts Excellency, Flawless Handiwork Method

Probably not enough successes here, so he takes a bit longer, makes the same roll

9Gxp,3Sxp

The plans for Zala's administration palace complex have laid themselves in traceries of golden fire through Hammer's mind, and he sets to work with a gusto and speed that push the haulage infrastructure to its limits. Working too fast for scaffolding and cranes to lift his materials he resorts to using Zala's Sovereign, the airship carrying loads of stone, wood, iron, all the while serving as his work surface. The towering spire that begins to emerge cannot be completed with the material on hand, but in the floors he can finish Hammer elegantly places offices and audience chambers which will house the nascent bureaucracy that River is overseeing.

Superior Project equal to a 2 dot Artifact, TN 30, rolling with a full Crafts Excellency, Supreme Masterwork Focus (double 8s), and Flawless Handiwork Method (Reroll 10s and 6s)



22 Successes

35 Successes; 57 Successes total

During the months he spends rebuilding the town Hammer continues summoning elementals, binding them to maintain the well being of Zala while Solars continue to rule it. First, wood, to keep the fields and rooftop gardens, then earth, to maintain the buildings, fire follows, a protective force, finally air and water, nurturing the weather and keeping watch over the skies and land. His construction efforts finished Hammer begins his education campaign, slowly nurturing literacy in the youngest generation of Zala's citizenry. He spends some time at home in his demesne, creating a simulacrum of a mind from gold and essence, before branding his brain with the patterns, improving his recall by magnitudes.

Sorcerous Working to give himself Eidectic Memory. Ambition 1 (TN 5) Finesse 5, Means 4

5 threshold successes, Working succeeds.
 
Iskandr

One of the greatest threats to Iskandr's survival, at one point during the season, was the giggles. Specifically, the giggles that threatened to erupt from behind his fox mask while he lurked in the shadows inside the satrapial palace in Dezsofi, at approximately three and a half bells past midnight.

He'd ridden the days north along the caravan trails to the capital of Medo with a bundle of furs slung along the back of his horse's saddle, posing as a humble huntsman. Because he is a humble huntsman, really. After all, Iskandr has never claimed to be the King of Hunters. Compared to Zala, Dezsofi sprawls, a significantly larger town, its walls strong and its towers high, the gates held by imperial soldiers...who had no reason to stop a fur trader from entering, so long as he pays the gate toll. Stabling his horse and paying for a room to himself with silver that his furs brought, Iskandr spent the first evening making detailed notes using the parchment and ink which he had brought with him, noting the guard strength, the layout of the outer walls, gates, and main avenues, and the frequency of patrols. He even found the time for a quiet drink. Very quiet.

However, prowling around the walls and culverts was only the preparation for the real fucking idiocy. In Dezsofi, the streets do not grow all that much quieter after sunset, and the walls are still guarded, albeit by the memories of warriors long gone. So Iskandr found it necessary to find a dark alley, don his mask, take a deep breath, still the excited fearful shaking in his hands, and propel himself over the wall of the satrapial compound. Slinking through the fortress, dodging the late night patrols, sniffing around the offices, Iskandr felt truly alive, centred in the moment, every breath as sweet and intoxicating as wine, every heartbeat in which the bells did not ring, the cry did not go up was like an entire lifetime of sorrow and joy. Iskandr left behind the heirloom as he had promised to Tepet Ishin...but, let us be fair, Ishin did not say "Don't rob the place blind on the way out." This is why, when Iskandr departed, he did so with two purses of hastily nicked jade obols and bits, and as much paperwork from various offices as he could stuff up his shirt. What larks, for a near suicidal idiot.

[Fourteen successes on a maxed out Stealth roll, 5 Dex, 5 Stealth, full Excellency, Night Caste anima, point of willpower.]
https://rolz.org/embed?X38492516

Clearing the hell out of there, Iskandr was among the first caravans out the city gates when they opened at dawn on the second day. His discretion near perfect, his composure unbreakable, the Prince of Hunters made it more than three miles down the road from Dezsofi before he burst into hysterical laughter and spurred his horse into a gallop for another half mile, to burn off the nervous energy which the faithful mount could read from his saddle. Miles behind him, in the office of what Iskandr assumed to be a senior official, the writing desk has been ruined by the addition of a knife, pinning three objects to the table. The first is the prayer strip celebrating the life, death, and courage of an Immaculate warrior and monk. The second is a leather pouch containing Ishin's Greater Hearthstone, the soft hide stamped with a message in High Realm: “To honour the memory of Tepet Ishin, who stood against flame and horror.” The third is a piece of parchment, addressing these items to Tepet Otama.

@Ragoza
Iskandr was gone from Zala for ten days. In that time, the broken daiklave Epitaph has been left in the care of Resonant Hammer, and Marietta has been dispatched to Red's command centre bearing the message "First Snow says we're your problem until he gets back, and he says not to follow him."

On Iskandr's return, he quietly slips his drawings of and notes on the defences of Dezsofi into Red's command centre. They're addressed to Red Snow's Herald, with a note saying "A little bird thought you might like this insight into the approaches to Dezsofi."

[That's a three success Wits + War roll to assess those defences.]
https://rolz.org/embed?X38492688

@Chaka
The growing palace atop the hill in Zala takes Iskandr's breath away, and he has to pause for a moment and allow himself to be awed by the talent, vision, and power of his Circle mate Resonant Hammer. That done, though, he makes his way to Gentle River's antechambers. There is a package left on River's writing desk, with a helpful missive written in Iskandr's charmingly unpolished hand:
"I paid a sneaky little visit to the Satrap of Medo, the most excellent Tepet Otama. While I was there, I returned the final gift of Ishin, wiped my dick around the insides of an ornamental teaset, and pilfered as much paperwork as I could. I have no idea whether any of this is useful, but it is my gift to you.
yours,
a reckless fool who wants you to come hunting with him."​


@Hair
When Iskandr goes to reclaim his broken sword from Hammer, he has a smug little smirk on his pale face. His payment to Hammer for holding the fallen blade for those ten days is two jade obols. Green ones.


When Iskandr finally returns to his duties as scoutmaster, he gathers his talented recruits around him, and picks out some of the best and also some of those in most need to his personal training and attention, all together no more than six. First Snow announces their first long expedition. He's bringing them to Sijan, twelve days ride across the grasslands. He has some business in the quiet and solemn city.
 
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Gentle River

It took time, and intense questioning, but in the end River was able to get the information they needed from their captive without resorting to base torture, for which he was thankful. I will have to do things I won't be proud of in order to secure our place here and our people's safety, but it hasn't come to that. Not yet.

The attack had come from Pneuma, of course. It was originally commissioned following the disappearance of a Wyld Hunt in the area - Iskandr's handiwork, no doubt - and was almost at full readiness when it was inexplicably massively bulked up with supporting troops and access to the bell. The Dragon-Blood hadn't known why, but River could see between the lines. The Realm would have agents in Zala, of course. They must got messages back to Pneuma advising a veritable plague of Anathema - not just one or two but a full half-dozen. The response, he reflected, was proportional to the threat the Immaculates must feel the Solars represented. But now their hand was overplayed, and it would not be easy to replenish their strength following such losses of troops and materiel. And Exalted, he thought. The cost in Princes of the Earth was a high one.

The captive's other information was useful, but less so. He had the names and ranks of the remaining members of the captive's cell, the ones who for one reason or another were not on the raid - but that was for one monastery in Pneuma, and there are five such Hunt Monasteries in the city, sequestered off from one another and compartmentalised. He could only estimate the potential strength, but even so such heavy losses would buy breathing room. Pneuma would not strike openly again. River promised himself quietly he would see those monasteries sacked and the hunters inside driven out or killed, but for now he needed to shore up Zala's defenses. Hammer would rebuild the city and create the amenities they needed, Shine would tend to the sick and begin the education program, Ferat and Iskandr and Red would deal with martial threats - once Iskandr was done scouting around the North for the aid they needed. River made sure he had letters to take with him to Sijan, proposing clandestine alliances and trade. The physical and medical needs of the city were secure, for now. River had his own war to fight.

For the next three months Gentle River reconstructs the government. He takes the remaining administrators and civil servants and bolsters them with new recruits. By day he works tirelessly, structuring and restructuring, calculating taxes, gate tolls, the cost and ebb and flow of financial life for the city. It's a world away from who he used to be, and he finds he enjoys it. More, he's good at it. Once trade starts coming in, Zala should prosper. Hammer's certainly making it something to look at. He is a kind, inspirational leader, ready to hear new ideas and work with his new administration's officials collaboratively.

They all swear to never willingly betray Zala or the Circle, and he ensures they'll hold to it.

By day he moulds the city like clay in his own way, even as Hammer forms it renewed in earth and stone. By night, he reverts to type.

River takes a division of Red's troops. The sly, quiet, careful ones. The ones who see a lot, and don't say much. He teaches them to watch, and to listen, and to blend in. When to stand out. He vets them carefully with Iskandr and Red, then teaches them how to vet others. He binds them with oaths of service, too. Then, they begin identifying spies. The ones who have no true ideology except coin are approached with a better offer than the Realm could give them, and if they're willing they're recruited into the spy network River is building. The ideologues and the stubborn die in dark alleys with knives in their backs, the victims of robberies gone wrong. They fall from ladders, or are set upon by bandits outside the walls. The others know, to an extent, but River tries to spare them as much as he can. He's served in wars of whispers and lies and hidden blades before, and he understands the cost to the soul. No need for them to pay it.

After three months, Zala is as free of Realm agents as River and his secret battalion can make it. He keeps a few alive, of course. If they all died off, it would arouse suspicion. He keeps track of them, lets them have some true intelligence mixed in with the half-truths, misdirection and lies they're fed. Once he's satisfied with the way things are, he releases most of the division back to Red's command, though he keeps a dozen of the best on.

He sends them to Pneuma. To wait, and watch, and infiltrate, and feed back secrets. He won't be blind again. Once things are better established, he'll expand the network to other cities. But he needs eyes in Pneuma now. And knives in Pneuma, soon.

He might ask Hammer to build him a small dojo, once there's more time. But not... not yet.
 
Ferat:

With the conclusion of the relief and rescue work, Ferat pondered next steps for everyone. The Realm had been given a bloody nose, certainly, but at a cost in innocent blood that would surely demoralise the people of Zala. The devil star yet hung in the sky. Ferat wondered if the recent slaughter merely amused this Mul Hyades. How he wished the Hunt had just joined them to fight the return of an enemy to us all.

The others were working hard rebuilding towers and armies and bureaucracy, and engaging in other less pleasant activities Ferat knew were necessary for security but left a bad taste. Though he had become attached to the people of Zala, was uncomfortable here, with the violence and the dead stalking the walls at night.

It came to him as he stared out over the plains from the airship Hammer had so quickly repaired. The circle was concerning itself with Zala of Deszofi or Sijan, but focused on within their walls. The spaces between cities were ferat's true home, vast stretches of uninhabited land teeming with danger and opportunities. He would make use of it.

Within three days of the rescue efforts drawing to a close, Ferat and Shalla disappeared from Zala without explanation, any who observed them suggesting they went north. He had left a ragged child's doll on the seat at the table in the square, a promise to return.

Out on the plains he went to work. He travelled far, and watched the movements of birds and grazing animals. He searched for tracks and droppings of predator and prey, building a picture in his mind of the natural order surrounding Zala, and worked his way upwards. Once, he came upon a pair of wolves feeding on a freshly killed wild ox. He carried the ox back to their hungry family and that night he and Shalla slept in the warmth of a whole pack.

Within a couple of weeks he found what he sought. From the migrations of some beasts and the gnawed bones of others, the cave he entered must have been the largest nest of Clawstriders within a hundred miles of Zala. The golden light of his caste mark lit the darkness and though they hissed and clicked threats at him, the beasts let him pass. A feathered variation, to keep warm this far from the jungles of the East and South, they nevertheless possessed wicked claws and snapping teeth.

it was not hard to find the alpha, by far the biggest, and with streaks of vivid red plumage where the others were mostly Greys and browns. She reared up on her hind legs, almost nine feet tall, and cranes her neck down to look Ferat, this human challenger, in the eye. He did not flinch. "I see you, great beast," he'd said. "I look into your eyes and know you. I see hunger, warning, violence, cunning. But not malice. Not good nor evil, you simply ARE. You exist to survive, your existence itself a prayer to the gods of nature. Know that I admire the purity of your existence. Now, look at me, great beast, look into my eyes and *know* me. What do you see?"

Almost three months after the attack on Zala, a man and his wolf companion appeared on the horizon. Behind them... over 200 large, birdlike lizards, covered in feathers the colours of the plains, moving almost silently apart from the occasional reptilian hiss or shriek. One or two snapped threateningly at onlookers, but a stare or gesture from Ferat and they were silent. Perhaps a hundred yards from the gates he held up his hand and turned to face the horde of claw striders, who stopped. Barking out a short command at the largest, she settled down on her haunches, and the others followed suit. Some lay their heads down to nap in the warmth of the day's sunlight.

Ferat and Shalla approached the gate guards alone. "Send a runner for Resonant Hammer's Descent, please. I have an urgent building request for some very... particular stables. And send for Red Snow's Herald too, tell her that the wilds of Zala have bestowed upon the city a most fearsome cavalry unit."


[Rolling Charisma+Survival to befriend as many damn Clawstriders in 3 months as I can! 3 dice stunt, TN of 4 for each pack of 5 clawstriders.
Friendship With Animals Approach negates penalties dealing with hostile creatures, Beast-Mastering behaviour adds 1 auto-success to training rolls. The training in this case is "Come with me and we can work together for mutual benefit". 1 roll per week, over 3 months, less two weeks spent hunting for the clawstrider nest, so... 10 rolls. Cha 3 + Survival 4 (+1 handling animals) +2 stunt dice = 10 dice, and 1 success from Charm, 2 from stunt, and +2 from Excellency, so.. over 10 rolls, guaranteed 50 successes. 42 successes from the rolls makes a total of 92, divide by 4 for TN and that's 230.5 claw striders. Rounding up to 231 so I can have the alpha as a future familiar ]
 

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