Sagas of Wayward Suns - Arc 1

Gentle River

Unarmed? What an absolutely novel concept. River finds the giant's earnest concern endearing (you made him feel that way it isn't real) and he accepts the knife graciously. "My name's Gentle River. I appreciate the concern, my friend, and the gift. It's good advice in times like this." He chokes back a surge of emotion for a heartbeat - though he is a living weapon and the ring on his finger means he is never unarmed, the hand-carved dagger represented something new: a gift, freely given out of kindness. No-one had given him anything like it before. He slips it in to his belt. "You have an incredible talent. Never seen anything like it, and I'm from Nexus, so I've seen absolutely everything." He nods politely to the doctor as they draw closer. "My friend is too kind - I'm unhurt. There is a man in need of your help nearby though, if you'll come."

He keeps glancing around for the other man, with the wolf. So many questions.
 
Red Snow's Herald

"Not that I know of lad, but I'll ask him if I meet him. Put down the stones."

She continues her march up the street, inevitable as the North Wind. The halberd rests easy in her hand is she makes her way towards where she presumes the seat of government is.
 
@Ragoza

They drop with a clatter. Everyone else is looking on in confused awe at the man who was downed. The giant and the young man assaulted have disappeared toward the gate. "You're like them," the boy says before being hushed by the older man.

@Sarky

She quietly takes the cloak, staring at Shalla in more shock than fear. Feeble shaking hands grasp the cloak tightly. The blood, thankfully, has dried on her scalp, red patches of sea amongst islands of ravaged hair.
 
Ferat:

Oh. Yes. The large wolf may be offputting. Uh, chat about her to reassure, maybe? I'm out of my element...

"Her name is Shalla. Met her in the Scavenger Lands about a year ago, we've been firm friends since. Don't worry, she's guarding us, you're safe."

Shalla cocked her head, reading the situation, and turned the other way to lie down and watch over the small group.

Ferat poured water for damp cloths to clean off blood and for the shocked to drink. A thought struck him, and he sat down himself, offering some of his meagre food rations to the injured, be they shorn elderly lady or part of the mob that attacked them. Is this reassuring enough? You should probably talk more. City folks like talk.

"I can't abide cruelty. Revolution, I understand that. Lot of it going about since the Realm started withdrawing their legions. Their rule hasn't been kind to everyone. Lot of anger when they suddenly up and leave. Jealousy and suspicion towards anyone who survived the regime better than them. Some of them decide anyone with a bit more coin or bread on the table was their enemy. Now, maybe some of you waved the imperial flag here, maybe you didn't, not important any more, whichever Great House was here is gone now. What IS important is what happens next. You can keep hurting and killing each other, or you can sit down and talk it out, figure out a way to survive without the Realm. Because that's where you are right now."

At some point, without him realising it, the golden circle of Ferat's caste mark had begun glowing on his forehead. Now, it began to shine.

"Some of you hate the Realm. That's fine, they're power-hungry and enslave people. Some of you were ok with them, and I get that too, they brought some measure of security from bandits, beasts, angry gods... But their soldiers left, and the administration is in flames. No more enslavement is good, sure. But who do you turn to when the hungry dead come knocking? When one of the Fair Folk decides they want to steal your children? Will you be so busy accusing your neighbours of collaborating with the old enemy, that a new enemy can just wander in the front gate and take Zala for themselves?

For better or for worse, that's for all of you to decide, here and now. Will you demand an eye for an eye, and perpetuate a neverending cycle of hurt and violence? Or will you sit with me and share bread and water with your fellows, and teach each other about the challenges your free city faces?"

[Attempting to instill listeners with a positive intimacy towards all their fellow citizens of Zala regardless of old allegiances , Rolling Cha + Presence, granted 2 stunt dice, spending 6m peripheral essence on Presence Excellency and 1WP for 1 auto success]

[7 successes!]

Willpower 5/4
Personal: 13/8
Peripheral: 33/22
(5m committed top Summit's Rebuke)
 
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Iskandr
Town Square and Impromptu Charnel House

Well, the violence is held for a moment.

The Hunter gazes at the old man appraisingly.

"Long have I ridden with the Medoan outriders, survivor. They know me not for what I am, but I have walked this land and I have seen the deeds of the Realm. You know what it is that I see here today? It is not justice. It is the final act of violence perpetrated by the Realm upon you. It is a purge."

He looks around the square and raises his voice.

"The Tepet withdrew from here thinking that as soon as they left there would be carnage. Why are you proving them right? Why are you weakening your town, when you need each other more than ever? They did not know you. They did not care about you. They raised some of you up, and cast others down, to divide you and make you easier to rule! Stop perpetuating the harm they did to you! This is no magistrate's judgement, this is the howl of a wounded animal, savaging itself. You are better than this."

[Much like Sarky, I am attempting to seed an Intimacy, in this case the idea : "The Realm divided us to conquer us. We are better than that." Hopefully, it will complement his efforts!

Unlike Ferat, Iskandr has shit for social stats. Charisma 3 + Presence 1 +2 Stunt Dice + Willpower for 1 success.


Three successes. Wow. Didn't totally fuck it.]

Iskandr has blown 15 motes of his Peripheral pool, dropping it to 13.

He has spent one point of Willpower, dropping to 4.
 
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Radiant Shine

"Of course," Shine replies. Finishing his tea, he urges Ba Sao forward.

The grate is but a momentary impediment. Shine deploys a rope ladder, but himself jumps down with his doctor's bag.
"Please, climb up and help yourselves to the rest of the pot," he says, expression mild but betraying nothing, and moves to treat the wounded man.
 
Resonant Hammer's Falling

Rage, grief, and despair chase each other across Resonant Hammer's broad face as the yeddim bull breaks through the gate.

[rolling 3d for limit trigger]

[Limit at 5]

As the gate clangs on the flagstones of the courtyard Resonant Hammer's knees buckle, and he has to grip River's shoulder to remain upright. As the doctor walks away he drops to his knees by the iron grate, tears filming his vision.

"I'm afraid I've rather lost the desire for tea," he croaks. "You feel free to finish the pot yourself."

[Spending 6m, peripheral, activating Craftsman Needs no Tools. Anima Banner at Iconic]

As his Anima flares around him Resonant Hammer tears a hunk of iron off the end of one of the bars, roughly shaping it into a chisel and a hammer head that he affixes to the foreshortened handle at his belt.

[Rolling craft waeponsmith, +1 difficulty because it's slightly adjacent]


Using his makeshift tools Resonant Hammer begins rending his creation asunder, tossing the rough ingots into his cart.
 
@Sarky @FuzzMonster

Through your own impassioned speeches, you can see the words take hold in the people gathered round. Waves of guilt or sadness or anger wash away in an instant of absolute conciliation. Murmured apologies and outright repentance. A learned doctor looking sort comes from the crowd, carefully removing brass spectacles to gaze at the cuts sustained by the humiliated women. He opens a horsehide bag to fetch unguents.

A amicable hush replaces the fearful one of moments earlier. Children and women begin either filing home or helping to restore what they can of the smashed townhouses.

The alderman from before looks between the two of you. "There's more, but for now, enough. There will be much repairing to do. This was merely the final day of it. When night falls and our ancestors take the walls, we can explain what sins were committed here by us and them."

@Ragoza

Not a soul impedes your way through the square, though a clutch of constables in their obnoxious hats and billowing sleeves are numbly following you at a distance. The lighted archer and the man with the wolf have fairly tamed the crowd inside a minute with their words alone. People calm like watching wind sweep through wheat.

The constables look at one another, gray with fear. Then to you. Mainly staring at that big scythe you play ball with. Just at the edge of the square, one with a slightly larger and more ornate hat (its got a plume!) does his level best to take the squeak from his words. "Ma'am...ma'am! Can w-we help you?"
 
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Gentle River

River winces slightly under the weight of a much larger man, slightly confused as to why exactly he took the gate's destruction so bad. He gives Hammer a sympathetic smile and trots after the doctor's bull yeddim, lithely climbing up and helping himself to a cup of tea.

It's amazing. He hasn't had tea this good since before Sijan. "Thank you, kind doctor!" he calls down, then settles in to sip away. He scans the crowd, looking for the other Anathema and to gauge the mood.
 
Ferat:

Ancestors take the walls? I don't like the sound of that.

Ferat got to his feet, content he'd managed to help a few people at least. "Hadn't planned on staying that long, but... hadn't planned on walking into riots either. Plans change. The injured are being treated I see. What of the dead? I would... ease the passing, if any townsfolk wish it."

Don't get attached, Mehmet. Sooner or later you won't be able to save them.

[offering Ferat's services in using his sweet Zenith powers to help cremate the dead to prevent hungry ghosts, take their Intimacies on himself, and pass them on to relatives or loved ones to ease their suffering]
 
Red Snow

No man who chooses to wear a fucking plume in his hat can be an honorable opponent. Red stops, pointing Wolf's Hunger's blade directly at his chest.

"Your chieftan. Governor, prince, elder, whatever you call them. The prick overseeing this mess. Bring them to me."

As far as she's concerned Red's done quite enough walking lately. Whoever this asshole is can come to her.
 
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@Chaka @Hair

Amid the ringing of Resonant Hammer's, well, hammer, and flurry of ingots being thrown into the cart, you can easily see the square and the streets thronging with once-irate citizens cooled considerably. A general air of helpfulness and reluctant apology washes over them as freshly as the prairie wind. Peace, for now.

@Excession

...did a fair damned number on this man. Beyond the square, down the avenue there is a large mob slowly recovering from the mania of vengeance that once gripped them. The man River spoke of is still in the road, muttering to himself. His friends are giving him water, but he's taken a solid beating. The titanic goose egg growing on his forehead from the blunt impact of, say, a hammer, is worrisome enough.

"Can you help him?" One of the friends asks.

A clutch of older women, badly shorn and cut, huddle close next to a man and his wolf, eyeing the crowd. A fellow doctor seems to be tending to them.

@Sarky @FuzzMonster

Hesitance returns like the stench of yeddim shit. The old man clears his throat, "Ease their passing? No. I don't think you understand at all, Southerner."

@Ragoza

Sweat beads the officer's pinched lips. "And for what? So you can threaten another with your blade?" The other constables boggle at his sudden bravado. "Why are gods so suddenly interested in Zala? Who are you people?"
 
Iskandr

Ah, fuck.

"Please, take my sudden companion's good intent in the spirit which he meant it. He offers no threat to the honoured guard of the ancestors."

Iskandr turns to Ferat and quickly murmurs, "I fear you've stuck your foot in it, my friend. The ancestral guard of Medo are not any manner of hungry ghost, but are the comforting guardians of the walls when the sun sets."
 
Ferat:

Ancestor worship, then. That would explain the old man's "ancestors take the walls" quip. Ugh, this will be hard to swallow.

Ferat shrugged, then bowed in apology. Shalla, having somewhat more insight into her companion's feelings, growled briefly.

"Ah, I think I begin to understand. My apologies. Those who have died often behave..."
How to summarise the screaming death of the finest city in the Threshold at the hands of an insane ghost sorcerer atop a crawling mountain of putrescent rot?
"... A little differently in my homelands. No disrespect was intended to your ancestors. I'll not raise a hand to anyone who comes to me in good faith."

But any ghost that tries me, I'll smite them so hard their living descendants reincarnate on the spot.
 
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@Sarky @FuzzMonster

The old man brightens considerably. "No worries, no worries! I've heard of the barbarism that inflicts itself upon the South* and its dead. Despite the...events unfolding here, we have not given up our ancestor lists nor have the memorialists condemned us in the eyes of the Mother and Father."

People are starting off to finish their day's work or to home, those not involved in reconciliation or repair.

You do both notice your fellow Anathema with the scythe having a tense word with constables on the other side of the square, however.

The South meaning the rest of Creation, here.
 
Red Snow

Can't say much for his fashion choices, but at least he's got some bit of spine. Shame if I have to kill him.

Rolling Presence and Charisma with Specialty (Baddest Motherfucker in the Room), with three bonus dice from Harmonious Presence Meditation.

"I'm the North fucking wind, friend. Who the hell are you? We're interested in Zala because when we arrived here we found the commoners rioting in the streets and turning on each other with not a fucking guard in sight. Innocent people were dragged out of their homes and shorn in the streets, and where the fuck were you? Where the fuck were all of you? You have a fucking duty to protect those in need, and you fucking failed. I don't want to hear about how you were just following orders, or how these people had it coming, or how I'm a know-nothing outlander barbarian who doesn't understand the situation. I want your constables to disperse and see to those in need and I want you to turn around, march your FUCKING PLUMED HAT back up to that palace, bring me your boss in chains if necessary and bring me back a fucking ale while you're at it! Am I clear, soldier?!"
 
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@Ragoza

Each man seems to bend further backward with each shouted word until they are more like human reeds in the face of a hurricane than enlisted peacekeepers. The constables outright split, going about their duty with a passion (and fear) they've never known before. Plumed Hat, on the other hand, looks like he preempted the night soil collection by a few hours.

Running his tongue repeatedly over dry lips, he can't stop nodding. "Y-Yes, yes, ma'am. I'll, uh, I'll have her down presently, yes. Would you, would you like...never mind." Heeling and toeing his way uphill toward the governor's block, well, more like awkward waddling.
 
Iskandr

My, my. What a strange world it has become around me, while I stand in the middle as the only sane man left.

Wearing antlers made of noonday shadow. Indeed.

Iskandr pads over towards the person who is now in command of the city guard.

"I believe you introduced yourself as the North fucking Wind? It's a pleasure to meet you...again, and yet for the first time. I am the Prince of the Hunt, and I'm here to avoid hunting any mortals. What's the plan with the governor who allowed this shitshow to happen?"

A face of dusty light amidst shadow suggests a smile.
 
Red Snow

Subtle conversation has never been Red's strong suit. Or any kind of subtlety, really. The voice sounds vaguely familiar but too distorted to place. She allows herself to relax slightly, though never quite leaving the White Reaper's stance. Wolf's Hunger's tip describes lazy circles in the air.

"Hadn't really planned that far. See what the hell she has to say for herself and take it from there. Maybe prison or exile, execution sends a bad message. Might deserve execution though, guess we'll see when I get my beer."
 
Iskandr

I should really go and introduce myself properly again, later. As funny as this is.

"She oversaw the near tearing apart of her city. Exile from the community she endangered sounds appropriate."

Iskandr sighs.

"However...I have no desire to be in charge of this place. Do you? The town needs a shrewd councilor to oversee it, and the Wyld Hunt cannot but come for us and trouble these people after this day's work."
 
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