Aurethius
Elder Member
--Yu-Shan--
Far beyond the normal, mortal understanding of Creation, in one of the thousands of offices of the Celestial Bureaucracy, Ember of Slithering Thought sat in an ornate crafted chair, his hands gripping his head in mental torment. Across from him, laid across a table, sat a wide map of the Northlands, from the River of Tears in the east to the coast of the northern peninsula in the west. Near the center of the map, west of Gethamane and northwest of Whitewall, lay Jacob’s Peak… the source of Ember’s recent worries. He speaks now to those worries, to the darkness, and to himself…
Impossible… catastrophe…
Scant hours after Khaleesa Vorken, his Sidereal ally and friend, had left his office, Ember had received word that an expedition of the Wyld Hunt had been dispatched to Jacob’s Peak. Two-Ton Thunder himself, in the Terrestrial Exalt disguise that he had been using for more than 90 years, was leading the force, and by all reports it was a big one.
He already knew. Long before I sent word to him, he knew. But what does he know? The Wyld Hunt does not move unless the target is confirmed… unless the Eye sees…
Had the bindings been worn so thoroughly that violent action had been called for? Had the Juggernaut released some form of servant, and sent it out to do his bidding? Whatever the case, Ember’s reputation, no, the reputation of every Sidereal that had been responsible for Jorune’s imprisonment would be destroyed… save Two-Ton’s.
But why would he act without us? Why would he make such a high-profile reaction, save to discredit us? What in the North warrants a full expedition of the Wyld Hunt?
What indeed. Ember lifted his head and stared down at the tiny line of text that read ‘Jacob’s Peak’. He had had no time to warn Khaleesa, whose most promising Architect was somehow embroiled in the situation.
And there’s another curiosity. What’s happening to that girl of hers? What does she see?
Surely Khaleesa would’ve warned her that a Wyld Hunt was approaching. The expeditions of the Anathema Hunters were notoriously single-minded, and though they did not threaten mortals, anyone was in danger if they were in the way. Surely the Fanghensk girl, on orders to investigate the very cavern that Two-Ton was no doubt approaching, would catch their judging eye.
Ember peered closer to the town amidst the cluster of mountains, far from any major city but close to the prison of Befouling Juggernaut of the Corrupted Mind, the Thirteenth Deathlord…
What is going on up there? he whispered.
The growing gloom held no answers.
—Fanghensk Manor—
Kraggachek’s deep, rumbling laugh echoed through the pristine halls of the beautiful manor. The cleaners and servants of the house had soon grown accustomed to it, and even the children had taken to him swiftly, giggling and squealing as he picked them up and carried them in his rocky hands. Even now, the tiny daughters of the head housemaid were crawling on him, playfully chipping at his thighs with little paper-machete picks.
Their play was interrupted by the unlocking and opening of the foyer doors. The guardian Jokun stood slowly, knowing that only the Mistress of the Manor kept a key to that door, but it was not she that entered…
No, but the woman that stepped through…
Her clothing was that of a well-respected scholar; sagely white robe, tightly drawn hair falling into a long ponytail at the back, and thick, round spectacles. By all appearances she was a professor at a University, but her movements belied something deadly… Something powerful.
Kraggachek squints his crystalline eyes toward her, and turns, confused, to a large portrait hanging above the Manor fireplace. He turns between the two several times, wondering why, and how, the woman in the portrait was now standing, in the flesh, at the doorway to Fanghensk Manor.
The woman, who up to now had been silent, was looking at the interior of the foyer with smiling familiarity. Her eyes went to Kraggachek immediately as he entered the wide room, and narrowed slowly.
An elemental Guardian? A Jokun, low-ranking but dedicated. Pleased to meet you… Curious that you are here…
Kraggachek is silent, conflicted with the woman’s words and appearance. She steps meaningfully across the carpet of the foyer, her eyes resting for a moment on a portrait of Alaura’s father. Her face changes slightly, a tiny hint of… no, it’s gone. The mask of professionalism is back.
It would seem that there is more to dear Alaura than I had thought. You and I will have much to talk about, noble guardian, but first…
She gazes up at the portrait as she approaches the fireplace.
Wonderful likeness of me, I must say. she comments, furthering Kraggacheck’s soundless confusion. The beautiful woman begins to search the small bookcase above the fireplace, whispering to herself as she does so. Finally, Kraggachek finds his words, concerned with her probing.
Harummm. Pardon, Madame, do you… claim ownership over an item within this manor, a house, a domain, Fanghensk Manor?
The woman, apparently recalling Jokun tendencies to recite every title that a noun has ever possessed, grins widely, and does a bit of elicitation work.
And whose manor, a house, a domain, Fanghensk Manor would this be, Jokun?
It is that of Alaura Fanghensk, Mistress Alaura, Child of the Twilight.
The woman tenses visibly at that last title, as if something massive had just dropped across her shoulders and burdened her mind. She stands there, silent for many moments. She breaks out of it when her eyes spot the item she seeks, a nondescript black pebble on a simple chain. She holds it up, gazing into it…
In answer to your first question Jokun, yes, I do claim ownership over an item, something I haven’t bothered to look at since I left it here… years ago…
She pauses. Something has caught her eye… A tiny gust of black ash had blown in through… the open doorway?
The woman, once known as the original Mistress Fanghensk, mother of Alaura and Sidereal Exalted, turns to see the true owner of the item she now held, standing in the doorway of her manor. His laugh seems to come from the depths of the Void itself.
Wonderful to see you again, Khaleesa Vorken. Intones the 13th Deathlord.
--An Teng, Star Transport Subsidiary 12, Formerly Known as the Queen's Legs--
Matchstick, her long hair falling down over the garish scar on her face, fingers through the pages of a recent report, one that had come at great cost to the life of a fellow Watcher. Some of the pages were still wet from the blood he shed... Wounds from his terrifying flight through the city...
The book was a supply log for various high-level Imperial logistical trains. Many of the cities and towns mentioned were too far from An Teng to be of any importance to Star Trade, but one name in particular kept catching her eye...
She wasn't sure what it was, but something... in the back of her head... Something Miss Sapphire had said... What do the two...
Then it hit her. Jacob's Peak. Miss Sapphire had gone there, and if these logs were right...
Like a flash, Matchstick was up and running, log in hand...
--Jacob's Peak--
The sad truth was, many people had an idea of what was going on Jacob's Peak, of the many moving pieces present there... but only a few truly knew, three groups, to be exact. One group was currently scrambling to haul a convoy of wagons out of the valley. One was preparing a massive assault upon the first.
And one... one sat beyond the veil of mortality, waiting in the Underworld, watching events transpire...
Far beyond the normal, mortal understanding of Creation, in one of the thousands of offices of the Celestial Bureaucracy, Ember of Slithering Thought sat in an ornate crafted chair, his hands gripping his head in mental torment. Across from him, laid across a table, sat a wide map of the Northlands, from the River of Tears in the east to the coast of the northern peninsula in the west. Near the center of the map, west of Gethamane and northwest of Whitewall, lay Jacob’s Peak… the source of Ember’s recent worries. He speaks now to those worries, to the darkness, and to himself…
Impossible… catastrophe…
Scant hours after Khaleesa Vorken, his Sidereal ally and friend, had left his office, Ember had received word that an expedition of the Wyld Hunt had been dispatched to Jacob’s Peak. Two-Ton Thunder himself, in the Terrestrial Exalt disguise that he had been using for more than 90 years, was leading the force, and by all reports it was a big one.
He already knew. Long before I sent word to him, he knew. But what does he know? The Wyld Hunt does not move unless the target is confirmed… unless the Eye sees…
Had the bindings been worn so thoroughly that violent action had been called for? Had the Juggernaut released some form of servant, and sent it out to do his bidding? Whatever the case, Ember’s reputation, no, the reputation of every Sidereal that had been responsible for Jorune’s imprisonment would be destroyed… save Two-Ton’s.
But why would he act without us? Why would he make such a high-profile reaction, save to discredit us? What in the North warrants a full expedition of the Wyld Hunt?
What indeed. Ember lifted his head and stared down at the tiny line of text that read ‘Jacob’s Peak’. He had had no time to warn Khaleesa, whose most promising Architect was somehow embroiled in the situation.
And there’s another curiosity. What’s happening to that girl of hers? What does she see?
Surely Khaleesa would’ve warned her that a Wyld Hunt was approaching. The expeditions of the Anathema Hunters were notoriously single-minded, and though they did not threaten mortals, anyone was in danger if they were in the way. Surely the Fanghensk girl, on orders to investigate the very cavern that Two-Ton was no doubt approaching, would catch their judging eye.
Ember peered closer to the town amidst the cluster of mountains, far from any major city but close to the prison of Befouling Juggernaut of the Corrupted Mind, the Thirteenth Deathlord…
What is going on up there? he whispered.
The growing gloom held no answers.
—Fanghensk Manor—
Kraggachek’s deep, rumbling laugh echoed through the pristine halls of the beautiful manor. The cleaners and servants of the house had soon grown accustomed to it, and even the children had taken to him swiftly, giggling and squealing as he picked them up and carried them in his rocky hands. Even now, the tiny daughters of the head housemaid were crawling on him, playfully chipping at his thighs with little paper-machete picks.
Their play was interrupted by the unlocking and opening of the foyer doors. The guardian Jokun stood slowly, knowing that only the Mistress of the Manor kept a key to that door, but it was not she that entered…
No, but the woman that stepped through…
Her clothing was that of a well-respected scholar; sagely white robe, tightly drawn hair falling into a long ponytail at the back, and thick, round spectacles. By all appearances she was a professor at a University, but her movements belied something deadly… Something powerful.
Kraggachek squints his crystalline eyes toward her, and turns, confused, to a large portrait hanging above the Manor fireplace. He turns between the two several times, wondering why, and how, the woman in the portrait was now standing, in the flesh, at the doorway to Fanghensk Manor.
The woman, who up to now had been silent, was looking at the interior of the foyer with smiling familiarity. Her eyes went to Kraggachek immediately as he entered the wide room, and narrowed slowly.
An elemental Guardian? A Jokun, low-ranking but dedicated. Pleased to meet you… Curious that you are here…
Kraggachek is silent, conflicted with the woman’s words and appearance. She steps meaningfully across the carpet of the foyer, her eyes resting for a moment on a portrait of Alaura’s father. Her face changes slightly, a tiny hint of… no, it’s gone. The mask of professionalism is back.
It would seem that there is more to dear Alaura than I had thought. You and I will have much to talk about, noble guardian, but first…
She gazes up at the portrait as she approaches the fireplace.
Wonderful likeness of me, I must say. she comments, furthering Kraggacheck’s soundless confusion. The beautiful woman begins to search the small bookcase above the fireplace, whispering to herself as she does so. Finally, Kraggachek finds his words, concerned with her probing.
Harummm. Pardon, Madame, do you… claim ownership over an item within this manor, a house, a domain, Fanghensk Manor?
The woman, apparently recalling Jokun tendencies to recite every title that a noun has ever possessed, grins widely, and does a bit of elicitation work.
And whose manor, a house, a domain, Fanghensk Manor would this be, Jokun?
It is that of Alaura Fanghensk, Mistress Alaura, Child of the Twilight.
The woman tenses visibly at that last title, as if something massive had just dropped across her shoulders and burdened her mind. She stands there, silent for many moments. She breaks out of it when her eyes spot the item she seeks, a nondescript black pebble on a simple chain. She holds it up, gazing into it…
In answer to your first question Jokun, yes, I do claim ownership over an item, something I haven’t bothered to look at since I left it here… years ago…
She pauses. Something has caught her eye… A tiny gust of black ash had blown in through… the open doorway?
The woman, once known as the original Mistress Fanghensk, mother of Alaura and Sidereal Exalted, turns to see the true owner of the item she now held, standing in the doorway of her manor. His laugh seems to come from the depths of the Void itself.
Wonderful to see you again, Khaleesa Vorken. Intones the 13th Deathlord.
--An Teng, Star Transport Subsidiary 12, Formerly Known as the Queen's Legs--
Matchstick, her long hair falling down over the garish scar on her face, fingers through the pages of a recent report, one that had come at great cost to the life of a fellow Watcher. Some of the pages were still wet from the blood he shed... Wounds from his terrifying flight through the city...
The book was a supply log for various high-level Imperial logistical trains. Many of the cities and towns mentioned were too far from An Teng to be of any importance to Star Trade, but one name in particular kept catching her eye...
She wasn't sure what it was, but something... in the back of her head... Something Miss Sapphire had said... What do the two...
Then it hit her. Jacob's Peak. Miss Sapphire had gone there, and if these logs were right...
Like a flash, Matchstick was up and running, log in hand...
--Jacob's Peak--
The sad truth was, many people had an idea of what was going on Jacob's Peak, of the many moving pieces present there... but only a few truly knew, three groups, to be exact. One group was currently scrambling to haul a convoy of wagons out of the valley. One was preparing a massive assault upon the first.
And one... one sat beyond the veil of mortality, waiting in the Underworld, watching events transpire...
