The Exaltation of Aesir, edit
So, I've been meaning to do this for a while, and today I finally found enough time to sit down and just write for a while.
Anywho, who knows if we'll ever get to play the game again, but I felt the need to get this little bit sorted out regardless. Jut the transcript is up on Exalted_fever, for those of you that were in the campaign.
The Exaltation of Aesir
Her hand clasped lightly on the brilliant node of essence. From it she could feel the warmth of life recently departed, still fresh, still striving to forward the will of its most recent owner. According to the precepts it should not be in her possession at all now, but the Trickster rarely followed those regulations when denying them would not violate law or her own volition. It was, strictly speaking, not a crime to have, or even to make use of an uncleansed Exaltation, but the fact was likely more due to the absence of such a thing ever being than the purpose of preparing the spark for a new host.
Luna smiled as she caressed what had been no small part of Endless Chase's soul and the heart of his power. She, as did every god in Yu Shan, heard of his sacrifice, and she was pleased by it. Besides the interest they drew, she did not feel any particular fondness for his companions, but they were the children of The Unconquered Sun, and her acolyte performed well in his last actions.
She had made this spark, long ago, with the rest of its kind, and like those, with this she had broken more of the precepts in its creation. The other Celestial Incarna chose the roles of their servants, shaped them into the sparks of their own Chosen. Luna had left hers all the same, and subtly different from the others. Her chosen could, though deed and decision, choose their own roles, and even vary them from incarnation to incarnation. It pleased her that this should be so. Endless Chase had been a warrior, a great warrior, even, and would have rivaled any of her or another's chosen one day, had he lived. That project was ruined. The Spark, uncleansed, still held much that was Endless Chase, and if left as it was may rise to fulfill that lost role.
It was time for her to decide. With a breath the spark flew from her hand, rose into the sky, and then plummeted upwards and out into creation. The spark had already chose, and there was a mortal ready for it. She sent a servant with instructions, formally a request but one that should be honored with little qualm, to agents in the Gold faction. Hours later she received a message from one, a yellow winged frog that vanished after it spoke, “It is done.”
It was her turn to play in the Game, and she was in the lead already. The sky of Heaven was that of the purest night, a full moon, her idea, directly over the stadium watching the game. As she reached for the dice, she paused, and noted that she had the attention of many of the most prominent Gods of Heaven. She lifted the dice, prepared to cast them, and waited.
The tension grew as gods watched the uncast dice in her hand, occasionally flicking their eyes to hers. She knew she had their absolute attention, and smiled.
“I pass my turn to the inheritor of Endless Chase's Exaltation.” Gasps and shouts filled the stadium. It was not often that a turn was passed to another, and even less frequent to one who was not a god. “But before, as decided by the Celestial Incarna, there shall be a holiday in Yu Shan in celebration of Endless Chase's sacrifice and defeat of The Walker in Darkness. Titles shall be given to his heir for services rendered, a Manse in Heaven, trappings fitting a warrior of his prowess, and he shall receive citizenship of the Celestial City!”
Roars of approval and of dissent met this. One god, Hashu, a greater deity of propriety, shouted, “But his heir has not earned such rewards, and the spirit of Endless Chase perished in Oblivion!”
Luna's voice, spoken, not shouted, yet still heard through the stadium, “The Exaltation Spark of Endless Chase will not be cleansed before his heir receives it. What lingers of Endless Chase will endure in my newest Chosen. The memories of his life as Exalted will be preserved in a new mind, and his purposes will not perish with him. It is to that mortal, who will renew an otherwise lost life, who will reincarnate the essence of Endless Chase, and through him my chosen will claim what is due. Does this still offend?”
Hashu's eyes blased in black and red for a moment. He nodded.
Luna the Trckster opened her free palm, whispered to it the words, “Bring the chosen mortal to me.” An ethereal messenger formed, an impish sprite of pure moonlight, and raced from the stadium. Moments later, accompanied by a pair of Celestial Lions, walked a mortal.
The young man that entered wore a simple robe of purest white, so pristine it seemed almost to reflect silver to those near him. His skin, pale and blemish free, showed him to be of the people that lived near the elemental pole of Air, though his eyes, despite being the bright blue of Yu Shan's sky when Sol lead the game, were slightly tilted, implied Imperial blood in his ancestry. His hair was, perhaps, the most remarkable of his features. The white of fresh snow and as radiant as the robe he wore it swept back from his head, hanging down to the nape of his neck and no further.
“Speak, Chosen, of who you are and what you have done this day.” Luna said, ignoring the gossip of those who deemed it prudent to converse on how unorthodox these proceedings were.
The mortal bowed to her, and then to Sol, and spoke in a surprisingly clear baritone voice, “My name is Aesir, and I am an acolyte of the Unconquered Sun and the Shifting Moon.”
More gasps then. A polytheist priest or priestess was a rarity, even considering the plethora of Gods that ruled Creation.
“This past night my home city of Whitewall was assaulted by forces coming from Marma's Fell, a huge shadowland to the South and East. I, with my brothers and sisters, took the infirm and the children deep into the city to care for them while the warriors and guards went to the walls. They could not hold.” He paused then, and made a gesture of morning and respect for the fallen. “Some of the dead made it into the city. I do not know how they found us in the hot springs, but they came.
“As they rushed, led by one in black armor that shouted commands, I took up a brass candle rack to use as a weapon. For the first time in my life I prepared to use violence. When the first of the walking dead neared me I struck it, and it fell to be replaced by two others. I fought with a fervor that I did not know or understand, one that I had felt nowhere but in my devotions to Luna and the Unconquered Sun. I prayed, and as I did my strength flagged. There was an endless stream of them coming, and the one in armor had begun his approach. I knew that even if I could have held the others at bay that this one would be my doom.
“Still I fought. I would not abandon those whom I had chosen to protect, and should it take my life to give them moments longer I was prepared to give it. One of the creatures blocked my swing, grappled my weapon from my hands, and struck me with it. I fell to my knees. Knowing the next strike was death, I did the last thing I could. I closed my eyes and prayed for salvation.”
His eyes closed, and he knelt. Luna could feel the essence he was emanating, possibly without yet knowing what he was doing. The story was coming to life through his words and gestures. He would be a great storyteller one day, she could see, a great trait for one of his kind, who all so much liked to boast of their accomplishments.
“My prayer was answered. I felt,” he paused, “Something flow into me, and through me. I opened my eyes to see a different place than the one where I knew I had knelt. A meadow of silver grass in a beautiful night sky lit my no moon. I saw before me the figure of a beautiful lady, bare but for hair that flwed out in the wind to cover a thousand miles of horizon. I knew her at once, for who else could this be but the Goddess Luna herself?”
He raised his head in pantomime, “'Lady, do you come to answer my prayer? Are the people to be saved?', I asked her. She smiled at me, and spoke only a few words. 'I do not save those that would not save themselves. Fight, my acolyte, and save yourself. You have my blessing.' I fell asleep.”
Luna smiled, and poured a measure of essence through the boy's mind and story. His words faded, and with their departure imaged formed in the stadium, showing the kneeling man and the creatures which were attacking. The seats faded, and the Game withdrew until all there was to see was the scene of the battle.
A brown-haired young man knelt before many of the walking dead. Aesir opened his eyes and faced the walking dead. The creature raised the arm holding the candle rack, drew back, and lashed with ferocity at the young man. N a blur of movement the rack landed upon the upraised arm of the would-be victim. The raised hand did not move at all, and the brass pole of the rack bent around his arm. In a blur of movement Aesir was up, his other arm and right leg kicking. His fist struck the creature's head, and his boot its midsection. It went flying, crumpled and ruined, into several of its fellows. They collapsed from the impact.
A glow of silvery light illuminated the cavern under Whitewall, emanating from the young man. As it grew in intensity his hair lightened, color draining until it became the pure white of the moon. He rose to his full height, and though not tall his demeanor had changed, turning him into a something that commanded respect.
The armored figure, clad in black plates and chain that seemed to drink the light of Aesir's Anima smiled, and blood began to run from the solid black disk imprinted upon his brow. “What a treat!” it exclaimed before charging, drawing a wicked looking whip from its side. The whip, of fine black chain, had three heads, sinister looking hooked blades. It flashed, and Aesir spun past them, avoiding the talons and closing the distance to the figure. He struck it with his shoulder, and both staggered further from the cavern entrance. A fist clad in ribbons of white and silver essence struck the figure in the shoulder of the arm not carrying the whip, and the sound of cracking bone erupted.
With a snarl the dark figure twitched its uninjured hand, and the whip circled them both twice. Soulsteel clad legs and one arm wrapped around the young Exalt and squeezed as the hooks of the whip sank through white cloth and into the flesh of Aesir's back. Aesir screamed, and fought his own arms around the Deathknight, squeezing with all his strength. They tumbled to the ground, rolling and struggling to control the clinch. Both could feel the breath begin to squeeze from their lungs. Aesir pulled a hand free, grabbed a fistful of black hair, and slammed his opponent's head into the stone of the cavern floor.
With a snarl of fury that turned into a sneer of victory the Deathknight took his uninjured hand and grabbed the blades of his whip. Dark essence flowed from the black caste mark on his brow, which gushed even more blood, down his arm, and into the barbs.
The glow of Aesir's Anima began to diminish, receding an inch at a time. His power, and strength, was being drained from him thorugh the cruel barbs. The Deathknight squeezed harder, and the sound of breaking ribs came from Aesir's chest. He let out a wheeze of breath that was followed by a trickle of blood down his chin. “Easy meat.” the Deathknight mocked, and opened his mouth to bite at Aesir's neck.
Bucking, the young Lunar fought on, trying to regain control, and failed. The teeth of the deathknight bounced twice against his flesh as he heaved, but did not manage to puncture yet.
“Luna!” he cried, and pulled back as far as he could. His eyes locked with his adversary's for a moment, which he saw widen in surprise. A quick snap of teeth met only air, and the barbs of the whip fell to the floor, red with blood but no longer biting flesh. The deathknight swiped his good arm in the air, and failed to snatch at the pure white eagle that Aesir had become.
The bird flew back for a dozen flaps of its wings, and the turned and dove at the deathknight. Just before it struck it changed again, not into the shape of a man, but a man-like beast with an eagle's head and wings. In a flash Aesir, in his war form, was again grappling with his opponent. Grip met grip, and the dark-armored man struggled to gain control. Hey fought on, trading blows, striking and being struck, until again the Deathknight opened his mouth, this time managing to bite the flesh of Aesir's upper arm.
The bird-creature shrieked, the cry of a bird in pain, and tried to struggle free. Blood ran freely down his arm, slicking his hand. Its grip on the Deathknight faltered and failed.
The eyes of the evil one glowed with the fervor that was known victory, and he smiled through his drinking. Aesir's anima faded in intensity, pulled in, and nearly vanished. His eyes closed, his beak opening slackly, and he stared to sag. The Deathknight loosed his hand from his waist, and pulled up to his neck, preparing to crush the life out of him as he drained his essence.
A single gold-rimmed eye opened, and Aesir's bloody hand flashed up, and grabbed the encroaching hand. It locked around the wrist and pulled it away. A look of surprise burst into the Deathknight's eyes.
A flash of silver light erupted from Aesir as his suppressed Anima reignited. With it the shapes of feathers of all sizes appeared, made of glowing essence formed. Though ethereal in appearance they cut like razors, slicing and puncturing exposed skin, digging between the cracks of armor, and scoring the face of the Deathknight in a dozen shallow gashes.
Aesir began to thrash again, not to break free this time, but instead to attack. Hundreds of other cuts erupted across the Deathknight's body, some shallow, some deep, and the beast screamed in pain. Aesir crushed harder, and grasped the Deathknight's head with talon-tipped claws. As he crushed with those impressive hands the talons grew longer and turned the color of silver. Shallowly puncturing barbs elongated and dug deeper, deeper, and then broke through the skull of their victim, the points sticking through the far sides of the skull.
Aesir rose, pulled his hands free of the fallen warrior, and screeched a victory cry as his wings expanded to their full breadth, a dozen feet to either side of him.
The vision began to fade. As it did, the gods of heaven saw Aesir, again in his battle form, standing where the image of him had been moments before. He folded his wings, and then slowly changed back into his human shape. In the absolute silence, he bowed his head, and took a step back.
Cheers arose from those who supported Luna and those who dissented alike. The other incarna clapped in approval, and Luna smiled at her chosen. She gestured then, to the board of the Games of Divinity, “Cast the Dice, Aesir.”
Anywho, who knows if we'll ever get to play the game again, but I felt the need to get this little bit sorted out regardless. Jut the transcript is up on Exalted_fever, for those of you that were in the campaign.
The Exaltation of Aesir
Her hand clasped lightly on the brilliant node of essence. From it she could feel the warmth of life recently departed, still fresh, still striving to forward the will of its most recent owner. According to the precepts it should not be in her possession at all now, but the Trickster rarely followed those regulations when denying them would not violate law or her own volition. It was, strictly speaking, not a crime to have, or even to make use of an uncleansed Exaltation, but the fact was likely more due to the absence of such a thing ever being than the purpose of preparing the spark for a new host.
Luna smiled as she caressed what had been no small part of Endless Chase's soul and the heart of his power. She, as did every god in Yu Shan, heard of his sacrifice, and she was pleased by it. Besides the interest they drew, she did not feel any particular fondness for his companions, but they were the children of The Unconquered Sun, and her acolyte performed well in his last actions.
She had made this spark, long ago, with the rest of its kind, and like those, with this she had broken more of the precepts in its creation. The other Celestial Incarna chose the roles of their servants, shaped them into the sparks of their own Chosen. Luna had left hers all the same, and subtly different from the others. Her chosen could, though deed and decision, choose their own roles, and even vary them from incarnation to incarnation. It pleased her that this should be so. Endless Chase had been a warrior, a great warrior, even, and would have rivaled any of her or another's chosen one day, had he lived. That project was ruined. The Spark, uncleansed, still held much that was Endless Chase, and if left as it was may rise to fulfill that lost role.
It was time for her to decide. With a breath the spark flew from her hand, rose into the sky, and then plummeted upwards and out into creation. The spark had already chose, and there was a mortal ready for it. She sent a servant with instructions, formally a request but one that should be honored with little qualm, to agents in the Gold faction. Hours later she received a message from one, a yellow winged frog that vanished after it spoke, “It is done.”
It was her turn to play in the Game, and she was in the lead already. The sky of Heaven was that of the purest night, a full moon, her idea, directly over the stadium watching the game. As she reached for the dice, she paused, and noted that she had the attention of many of the most prominent Gods of Heaven. She lifted the dice, prepared to cast them, and waited.
The tension grew as gods watched the uncast dice in her hand, occasionally flicking their eyes to hers. She knew she had their absolute attention, and smiled.
“I pass my turn to the inheritor of Endless Chase's Exaltation.” Gasps and shouts filled the stadium. It was not often that a turn was passed to another, and even less frequent to one who was not a god. “But before, as decided by the Celestial Incarna, there shall be a holiday in Yu Shan in celebration of Endless Chase's sacrifice and defeat of The Walker in Darkness. Titles shall be given to his heir for services rendered, a Manse in Heaven, trappings fitting a warrior of his prowess, and he shall receive citizenship of the Celestial City!”
Roars of approval and of dissent met this. One god, Hashu, a greater deity of propriety, shouted, “But his heir has not earned such rewards, and the spirit of Endless Chase perished in Oblivion!”
Luna's voice, spoken, not shouted, yet still heard through the stadium, “The Exaltation Spark of Endless Chase will not be cleansed before his heir receives it. What lingers of Endless Chase will endure in my newest Chosen. The memories of his life as Exalted will be preserved in a new mind, and his purposes will not perish with him. It is to that mortal, who will renew an otherwise lost life, who will reincarnate the essence of Endless Chase, and through him my chosen will claim what is due. Does this still offend?”
Hashu's eyes blased in black and red for a moment. He nodded.
Luna the Trckster opened her free palm, whispered to it the words, “Bring the chosen mortal to me.” An ethereal messenger formed, an impish sprite of pure moonlight, and raced from the stadium. Moments later, accompanied by a pair of Celestial Lions, walked a mortal.
The young man that entered wore a simple robe of purest white, so pristine it seemed almost to reflect silver to those near him. His skin, pale and blemish free, showed him to be of the people that lived near the elemental pole of Air, though his eyes, despite being the bright blue of Yu Shan's sky when Sol lead the game, were slightly tilted, implied Imperial blood in his ancestry. His hair was, perhaps, the most remarkable of his features. The white of fresh snow and as radiant as the robe he wore it swept back from his head, hanging down to the nape of his neck and no further.
“Speak, Chosen, of who you are and what you have done this day.” Luna said, ignoring the gossip of those who deemed it prudent to converse on how unorthodox these proceedings were.
The mortal bowed to her, and then to Sol, and spoke in a surprisingly clear baritone voice, “My name is Aesir, and I am an acolyte of the Unconquered Sun and the Shifting Moon.”
More gasps then. A polytheist priest or priestess was a rarity, even considering the plethora of Gods that ruled Creation.
“This past night my home city of Whitewall was assaulted by forces coming from Marma's Fell, a huge shadowland to the South and East. I, with my brothers and sisters, took the infirm and the children deep into the city to care for them while the warriors and guards went to the walls. They could not hold.” He paused then, and made a gesture of morning and respect for the fallen. “Some of the dead made it into the city. I do not know how they found us in the hot springs, but they came.
“As they rushed, led by one in black armor that shouted commands, I took up a brass candle rack to use as a weapon. For the first time in my life I prepared to use violence. When the first of the walking dead neared me I struck it, and it fell to be replaced by two others. I fought with a fervor that I did not know or understand, one that I had felt nowhere but in my devotions to Luna and the Unconquered Sun. I prayed, and as I did my strength flagged. There was an endless stream of them coming, and the one in armor had begun his approach. I knew that even if I could have held the others at bay that this one would be my doom.
“Still I fought. I would not abandon those whom I had chosen to protect, and should it take my life to give them moments longer I was prepared to give it. One of the creatures blocked my swing, grappled my weapon from my hands, and struck me with it. I fell to my knees. Knowing the next strike was death, I did the last thing I could. I closed my eyes and prayed for salvation.”
His eyes closed, and he knelt. Luna could feel the essence he was emanating, possibly without yet knowing what he was doing. The story was coming to life through his words and gestures. He would be a great storyteller one day, she could see, a great trait for one of his kind, who all so much liked to boast of their accomplishments.
“My prayer was answered. I felt,” he paused, “Something flow into me, and through me. I opened my eyes to see a different place than the one where I knew I had knelt. A meadow of silver grass in a beautiful night sky lit my no moon. I saw before me the figure of a beautiful lady, bare but for hair that flwed out in the wind to cover a thousand miles of horizon. I knew her at once, for who else could this be but the Goddess Luna herself?”
He raised his head in pantomime, “'Lady, do you come to answer my prayer? Are the people to be saved?', I asked her. She smiled at me, and spoke only a few words. 'I do not save those that would not save themselves. Fight, my acolyte, and save yourself. You have my blessing.' I fell asleep.”
Luna smiled, and poured a measure of essence through the boy's mind and story. His words faded, and with their departure imaged formed in the stadium, showing the kneeling man and the creatures which were attacking. The seats faded, and the Game withdrew until all there was to see was the scene of the battle.
A brown-haired young man knelt before many of the walking dead. Aesir opened his eyes and faced the walking dead. The creature raised the arm holding the candle rack, drew back, and lashed with ferocity at the young man. N a blur of movement the rack landed upon the upraised arm of the would-be victim. The raised hand did not move at all, and the brass pole of the rack bent around his arm. In a blur of movement Aesir was up, his other arm and right leg kicking. His fist struck the creature's head, and his boot its midsection. It went flying, crumpled and ruined, into several of its fellows. They collapsed from the impact.
A glow of silvery light illuminated the cavern under Whitewall, emanating from the young man. As it grew in intensity his hair lightened, color draining until it became the pure white of the moon. He rose to his full height, and though not tall his demeanor had changed, turning him into a something that commanded respect.
The armored figure, clad in black plates and chain that seemed to drink the light of Aesir's Anima smiled, and blood began to run from the solid black disk imprinted upon his brow. “What a treat!” it exclaimed before charging, drawing a wicked looking whip from its side. The whip, of fine black chain, had three heads, sinister looking hooked blades. It flashed, and Aesir spun past them, avoiding the talons and closing the distance to the figure. He struck it with his shoulder, and both staggered further from the cavern entrance. A fist clad in ribbons of white and silver essence struck the figure in the shoulder of the arm not carrying the whip, and the sound of cracking bone erupted.
With a snarl the dark figure twitched its uninjured hand, and the whip circled them both twice. Soulsteel clad legs and one arm wrapped around the young Exalt and squeezed as the hooks of the whip sank through white cloth and into the flesh of Aesir's back. Aesir screamed, and fought his own arms around the Deathknight, squeezing with all his strength. They tumbled to the ground, rolling and struggling to control the clinch. Both could feel the breath begin to squeeze from their lungs. Aesir pulled a hand free, grabbed a fistful of black hair, and slammed his opponent's head into the stone of the cavern floor.
With a snarl of fury that turned into a sneer of victory the Deathknight took his uninjured hand and grabbed the blades of his whip. Dark essence flowed from the black caste mark on his brow, which gushed even more blood, down his arm, and into the barbs.
The glow of Aesir's Anima began to diminish, receding an inch at a time. His power, and strength, was being drained from him thorugh the cruel barbs. The Deathknight squeezed harder, and the sound of breaking ribs came from Aesir's chest. He let out a wheeze of breath that was followed by a trickle of blood down his chin. “Easy meat.” the Deathknight mocked, and opened his mouth to bite at Aesir's neck.
Bucking, the young Lunar fought on, trying to regain control, and failed. The teeth of the deathknight bounced twice against his flesh as he heaved, but did not manage to puncture yet.
“Luna!” he cried, and pulled back as far as he could. His eyes locked with his adversary's for a moment, which he saw widen in surprise. A quick snap of teeth met only air, and the barbs of the whip fell to the floor, red with blood but no longer biting flesh. The deathknight swiped his good arm in the air, and failed to snatch at the pure white eagle that Aesir had become.
The bird flew back for a dozen flaps of its wings, and the turned and dove at the deathknight. Just before it struck it changed again, not into the shape of a man, but a man-like beast with an eagle's head and wings. In a flash Aesir, in his war form, was again grappling with his opponent. Grip met grip, and the dark-armored man struggled to gain control. Hey fought on, trading blows, striking and being struck, until again the Deathknight opened his mouth, this time managing to bite the flesh of Aesir's upper arm.
The bird-creature shrieked, the cry of a bird in pain, and tried to struggle free. Blood ran freely down his arm, slicking his hand. Its grip on the Deathknight faltered and failed.
The eyes of the evil one glowed with the fervor that was known victory, and he smiled through his drinking. Aesir's anima faded in intensity, pulled in, and nearly vanished. His eyes closed, his beak opening slackly, and he stared to sag. The Deathknight loosed his hand from his waist, and pulled up to his neck, preparing to crush the life out of him as he drained his essence.
A single gold-rimmed eye opened, and Aesir's bloody hand flashed up, and grabbed the encroaching hand. It locked around the wrist and pulled it away. A look of surprise burst into the Deathknight's eyes.
A flash of silver light erupted from Aesir as his suppressed Anima reignited. With it the shapes of feathers of all sizes appeared, made of glowing essence formed. Though ethereal in appearance they cut like razors, slicing and puncturing exposed skin, digging between the cracks of armor, and scoring the face of the Deathknight in a dozen shallow gashes.
Aesir began to thrash again, not to break free this time, but instead to attack. Hundreds of other cuts erupted across the Deathknight's body, some shallow, some deep, and the beast screamed in pain. Aesir crushed harder, and grasped the Deathknight's head with talon-tipped claws. As he crushed with those impressive hands the talons grew longer and turned the color of silver. Shallowly puncturing barbs elongated and dug deeper, deeper, and then broke through the skull of their victim, the points sticking through the far sides of the skull.
Aesir rose, pulled his hands free of the fallen warrior, and screeched a victory cry as his wings expanded to their full breadth, a dozen feet to either side of him.
The vision began to fade. As it did, the gods of heaven saw Aesir, again in his battle form, standing where the image of him had been moments before. He folded his wings, and then slowly changed back into his human shape. In the absolute silence, he bowed his head, and took a step back.
Cheers arose from those who supported Luna and those who dissented alike. The other incarna clapped in approval, and Luna smiled at her chosen. She gestured then, to the board of the Games of Divinity, “Cast the Dice, Aesir.”