Players: Orduin, Hunting Mist and Azami

Edited by: Hunting Mist

 Day was slowly fading into night as Hunting Mist races through the early spring chill on his mount, Savage Yoshi. A long line of dust is kicked up by his passage, covering himself and anyone too close to the road as he races past. The hundred kingdoms was a vast expanse of land, but Clan Clan was specific in her directions to meet Orduin. Since she was so charming, Hunting Mist decided to take her up on her offer, despite what Aliasi said about Orduin and Zera.

The town was nothing fancy, the meeting place mildly moreso, but not by much. Lay priests puttered about, though two symbols stood out; a priest with a sun on his vestments, and a woman with a cogwheel on hers. Both are behind what appears to be an entirely average man.. If Orduin Of The Tools wasn't so well known, at least.

        Hunting Mist slows Yoshi down as he approached the quiet town, dropping the magical effect that sustained his mount for the last seven hundred miles. Yoshi, a claw strider, seems well heeled to moving through town, even if no one else expects anything except violence from him. Hunting Mist eventually spots Orduin, pretty much right where Clan Clan said he would be, wearing what she said he would be. Mist shakes his head; astrology was another thing again that he'll have to get used to.

You say, "Yer Orduin? Clan Clan sent me."

"So she told me." Orduin nodded simply, offering his gloved right hand. "Not technically part of the Cult, but I happen to help my brethren out where I can." A gesture to the priestess. "A representative of the Path Of Three Makers.. A small religion that attached itself to me and has proven very hard to convince I'm not worthy of worship. So I'm trying to work with them more to do good."

Hunting Mist laughs. "Worthy goal. People ought t'be selective on who they venerate; its one of the few things that people have that Heaven cares about.". Hunting Mist tips his hat to the preistess, "ma'am."

The priestess, petite beneath the thick robe, smiles a little at the Solar's disclamer. The upper half of her face is concealed by a soft blindfold of faded lavender cloth. Probably blind. She bows politely, hands folded into her sleeves.

Hunting Mist cocks an eye to her, but doesn't say anything.

"I keep telling her, I don't give visions like that, and Pasiap doesn't give visions like that." Orduin commented. "I will never understand religions. And I say this as someone who is the subject of one, and courting another who is.. Rather moreso on the scale. In any case!" He spreads his hands in a welcoming gesture. "How can I assist you, here and now?"

        "Not a clue, if truth be told. Not that I don' need an assist, I jus' don't know as to what. My mind is sorta full of questions 'bout what th'future may have for me, an'maybe I ought to think about I can do for Creation in a specific manner.", Hunting Mist says then dismounts, smacking dust from his buff jacket and chaps. He turns to Yoshi, who looks perfectly fine after running at impossible speeds for several hours, then starts stretching out his legs a bit to tries to work the stiffness out of them.

Orduin nodded simply. "You want to grab a seat somewhere? I'm fine for either. Ask what questions you can.. I can't read the future, a condition of my next date."

Azami turns her head a little within the muffling depths of the robe's hood. So akward, having it up over her ears. The young woman in priestess' robes fidgets slightly.

"There is establishment close by," the priestess says in a voice so thickly accented by Skytongue one might cut it with a knife. "Perhaps imbibement to refresh throats and ease dust of road."

 Grabbing a stool, Hunting Mist sits down and calls to Yoshi, "Don't go far, don' eat anything that anyone can lay a claim to. Shoo.". Looking back to Orduin, Mist leans over to him and says, "Where th'heck t'start? I've been wandering fer some time now, moving to get mah bearings. I've been Fae ravaged just before my Second Breath, an'that's left me with an uneven keel. There're people an'powers moving in this world, an'I swear I can feel them thunder thier way accross this land. To ask? What needs doin'? What's th'best work I can move to t'help Creation? Those are th'sort of questions that pop into my mind. Who di I trust, who do I avoid."

Orduin paused. No. There was no /way/ it was one of the Sezekanian refugees. He'd notice. He'd have to! He ventured carefully. "Yes. We'll go there." When Orduin and Hunting are settled into the establishment and their stools, he nods. "Faee ravaging I don't know too well, but I know a person who knows about it, and might be able to offer help. He is a Fae, but one bound into Creation and aiding it." He replied. "Trust is personal. Until you can make the earth shudder and the dragonlines sing with your step, don't trust anyone you wouldn't normally. Out here, it's relatively safe. The Realm is tied up in it's own things. But there's dark forces against us." A smile. "As for what needs doing? Towns built, farms tilled, animals and children raised.. But I think you mean more than that."

Azami takes a seat on one side of Orduin as her contemporary in the sun-marked robe sits on the other-- then leans forward. If it weren't for the blindfold, one could swear she was looking quite intently at the rider across the table. "Fae Ravaged?" She asks, suddenly quite a bit more interested in this business of Ord's than she was a heartbeat ago. For a moment she quite forgets her disguise (which is always a danger with the straightforward Lunar). "Oh that is terrible; what part of you did they take?"

         Ordering a brew by holding up a finger, Hunting Mist responds, "Well, I can be a better example, sure, an' I'm already working on that. But yeah, what can I do that mortals can't that needs doin'? I dunno. Creation's big...", now looking over to Azami, "Well, damn near everythin'. I only have what I have 'cause o'my shard and mah Exaltation. Affects me weird sometimes, like I suddenly know things I wouldn't otherwise.". He thinks for a second, "Weren't you speaking with a heavy Skytongue just now?".

"It is not impossible to repair," Azami says, undeterred. "Mind is like... is like a plant." She raises her pale hands and gestures with fluid illustrativeness, heavy sleeves moving slowly. "Raksha, they maybe take so much. But because you have still a seed, you can regrow. It is difficult. A nightmare. But you can be as you were if you are strong, yes?"

Orduin casts a curious glance at the priestess, then shakes his head. Must be in his head. "One thing you can do is protect people from things like Fae. I can teach you basic reality-reinforcement easily enough, and once you have a stable place to stand, you can fight them one on one. They're alot less dangerous to us." A pause. "We also have the ability to mete out punishment to gods who cross the line. These days, alot of the old laws are thrown away, so instead act when the god or elemental is being worse than just greedy, such as endangering people." A shrug. "And the last one is.. We are the heros. If you find out about bandits, don't feel you shouldn't rout them casually because someone else could. We are the examples and the guardians, or at least, that is the role I choose."

         Grinning fiercely, Hunting Mist looks to Orduin, "Aw, no, I got a fair bit from the Second Breath. The Hunting Mist choked on me as soon as Th'Sun set its touch on me, and I lured her to a place of Iron an'blood. I'm as dangerous to th'Fae now as anything can be, almost. I tend to turn Wyld Zones into Farmland, produce an'housing.". Pausing, letting the memories wash over him, Mist continues, "Those Laws you mentioned would be a handy thing t'know, especially th'ins and outs of them. Gods're running amok doin' whatever they damn well please, an'the order of things needs to be put back into some semblance of order."

Azami realizes her slip slowly, but with the sort of creeping horror that one normally experiences when they suddenly realize that the axe-murderer was in the back of the wagon /the whole time/. Under her hood her ears flatten back woefully and her small hands flutter meekly into her lap, swallowed up by the big sleeves.

"The laws were written for a different age, but mostly revolve around providing their magical blessings in exchange for prayer." Orduin replied. "Direct intervention, or rulership, was illegal. The Mandate Of Heaven, supposedly, was the sole purview of the Solars. I wouldn't bother even trying to argue that in a Yu-Shanian courthouse, though. A god's place, well, seek to cause good. If their direct intervention makes their worshippers safe or fed or healthy, is that worth a stink?"

         Arching an eye to the Priestess' odd behaviour, Mist continues, "Fair enough; I was thinkin' about th'ones who run their territory like a protection racket. Some things ought to be free to all who can claim their worth. So, this Mandate of Heaven, it was sumthin', an' now its not? How does that work? What's in th'history books, an'what's not?"

The Priestess remains silent, quite meek now unlike a moment before.

"The Mandate was the right to rule Creation." Orduin replied. "It was granted to the Solar Exalted by Sol, when we had fufilled our original function, and freed him and the gods from their slavery." He said. "Which means I must explain what you will never read, until you access ancient things that aren't words written down, but thoughts and feelings and experiences imbedded in crystal." He closed his eyes. "Before the times of Man and God, was the time of Primordial. The ancient titans strode from the Wyld, and forged Creation for themselves. To maintain their world for them, they conjured the gods, and worked them steadily. They retired to enjoy their creation, inventing new races and ideas just to do it."

Hunting Mist listens patiently, and takes a sip of his brew.

You say, "So what happened to th'original creators of us'n Creation?"

"Two of the many rebelled. Their names.. Well, today we know one as 'Gaia'. Yes, the world, she who rules the Elementals, the beloved of Luna. Primordials are big. She heeded the pleas of her stewards, the Elemental Dragons and their many minions. And Autochonth, lord of invention and science, creator of Humanity, knew both of his favored races.. Ourselves and the Jadeborn, a race made in his image, so to speak.. Were endangered by the flagrant misuse of power by the others. They struck a deal with the Incarna and the Elemental Dragons: A fraction of their souls, and he would make champions who would be able to strike the Primordials, and with enough preparation, slay them."

         Clasping a hand over his mouth, the other hand on his mug, Mist considers what Orduin just said for a moment. Putting his hand down, taking a sip with the other, Mist responds, "That's huge. I know we were created with a purpose in mind; we are tools in a rebellion, in infighting between beings whose power we can hardly comprehend. Don't think there's a right side in somethin' like that. But...two things, I reckon. One, the creators were abusing th'created, which is never a good thing, an'second we won. Were we right? Was rebellion built into us, an'so th'Usurpation happened? Were we made flawed?"

Orduin quietly sipped from some local drink that he apparently considered good enough to savor. Or perhaps he's thinking how to phrase the next bit. "Hard to say. The histories of the First Age indicate an in-built hierarchy was in us. But the Usurpation came. We were not built to lay idle, I know that. We were built to be bigger than life, and that couldn't work with peacetime. Were we made flawed?" He looked into his drink. "The artisan," The word accords respect in Ord's voice, from the sounds of it. "Who maintains the fragments of power believes there's an error in the Solars, at least. Only one knows for sure. Autochonth."

Azami holds a cup of steaming tea in her lap, listening for now rather than speaking.

You say, "Crap, hell an'Damnation! Damn yer eyes, Orduin! You tellin' me there's a problem with us, but hardly anyone can figure it out? That we have such power as t'make Creartion shake, but as Clan Clan says, we go off th'rails while holding such power? Where's Autochonth now? We have t'watch each other for loony behaviour, knowing it may be some curse, or problem, built into us? That what yer tellin' me?"

"WOuld you prefer me to shit rainbows and sunshine?" Orduin asked, straightfaced. "Tell you you're a hero who will know the right way? You're a Solar Exalt. You have power. Power can get people /killed/. So you have to deal with this sinigle fragment of horrible truth. Something makes us go in all sorts of odd ways. The one who can find out is beyond a Seal no being has yet been able to pry open, and who knows where beyond that." Orduin exhaled. "But that's the easy part. The hard part is this: If you are a Twilight, this is not the last horrible truth you -must- learn. Because someone must know every horrifying reality, to be able to use them if the need comes."

Azami sips her tea at that, quietly and thoughtfully.

         His eyes going intense, Mist takes another drink. He rolls Orduin's words around in his head for a bit, poking at them like a complex equation to see what results can be generated. Eventually, he opens his mouth again, "Fine. Shit's fucked up a bit. No, I ain't a Twilight. Zenith. Anything that might be useful might be shared. What other Horrible Truths are out there, then? What happened to th'defeated Primordials? Where have th'Gods been doing all this time? What's Yu-Shan like? I know that th'Realm would believe everythin' is fine, but th'Empress is gone, th'Realm is folding in on itself, an' we're back from wherever we were while we weren't here. What else is there to know?"

"The slain Primordials became 'Neverborn'; enormous, cosmically powerful ghosts who are completely consumed by their own pain and hate. They created the Underworld and the Deathknights, seeking to kill everything forever to end their pain in oblivion." Orduin replied. "The ones who surrendered were locked away in a prison, and are now 'Yozi'; their tiny servants are demons."

Azami's fingers tighten just a little on the teacup. "Yozi are one and same as Those That Sleep?" she asks, unable to not ask.

"Once." Orduin rumbled. "Death and imprisonment.. Changed them. But once, they were all the Primordials."

You say, "Alright, Yozi's I know a bit about, their names're trailing through history as the overlords of th'Demonic kind. Both place and being. Sorta like a klein bottle. Neverborn, I ain't heard as much about. Th'Deathknights I thought were new. Th'sack of Thorns was a show of power to everyone else in Creation. Th'Underworld has been around since time immemorial, tho...so that's what happened. Sore losers. Shoulda learned them not t'smack their kids around."

Azami frowns just a tad, but then sips her tea.

"If more people learned that, I wouldn't shed so much blood in fits." Orduin rumbled. "But. Zenith." He closed his eyes. "See, while I venture into the darkness for it's secrets, you've got a rough time of it yourself. It's easy to be a Zenith in the good times, when the sun is shining. Easy-peasy. But when the shadows get long, and the light is about to go out, and everyone huddles from what's in the dark.. You are the one who must hold against that darkness, be the light until dawn."

         "Yeah, I sorta figgered that. Th'Big Guy mentioned somethin' like that when he put me up to this. Was halfway down a Fae beasts gullet at th'time, but the meaning stuck. Yeah, I can manage that, an'I can grow until the Darkness has no choice but t'step off. I suppose that's all I really need t'do. What do you think of this Cult of th"illuminated?", Mist then leans back in his chair, a sort of easy slouch giving off a comfortable air as the sun dips below the horizon outside. Serving girls go about the process of lighting the lamps and getting the fire started. It might be spring, but the chill still settles in deep come nightfall.

"The Cult is.. Interesting. I keep an eye on their operations. I don't have enough information to judge for myself. The ones in charge of it..." A shrug. Orduin continues. "They have their own agendas and goals. For now, they coincide with mine: New solar, needs training, safehouses, friends. Beyond that.. We'll see."

You say, "Alright, they have their own agendas? What're they up to, an'where are they taking it?"

"I don't know. But remember: Everyone has their own reasons. Me, I help others because it's how I ease the pain. The pain of memories, the pain of the never-ending /knowledge/." Orduin replied. "I'm too powerful. Into my mind screams the secrets of EVERYTHING, and it's too much. I can't keep up. So I distract myself to help others to sooth it."

You say, "Huh. You sorta sound like Phil, now."

"Perhaps. Perhaps it was his focus on a single form of knowledge that did this to him. My own.." Orduin shrugged. "There is an ancient axiom of knowing your enemy. To perfectly defeat them, you must perfectly understand them. If you perfectly understand someone, you do not merely empathize, you love them. You, for a moment, become them. And in that moment, you must crush them." A pause. "And I can perfectly understand people."

You say, "I ain't worried about folk. They're not a problem. They're livin' their lives, grabbing at whatever bounty Gaia offers up. What is it that you're up against that you *have* gotten to know?"

"Deathlords." Orduin said softly. "I really have a horrible time, running into the servants of Death. I participated in the Battle Of Thorns against Mask."

You say, "Helluva fight, I understand. What happened?"

"I got to see the sheer horrors the Neverborn's least-powerful emissary had at his disposal. And I don't mind telling you, I did need a new pair of pants afterwards." Orduin shrugged. "We won though.. At great cost.."

You say, "Mmm. Sure, immense power and all. Incredible forces going up against each other. But what did you learn about th'Deathlords, and th'Mask?"

"Ghosts." Orduin shrugged. "They're.. Just ghosts in the end. The mortal parts of ancient Solars, whose madness went so far they turned on Creation. Tiny fragments of Neverborn empower them."

         "Mortal pettiness backed by nearly unlimited power. Wow. Th'Neverborn just aren't too far from th'abusive asshats they were when they were Primordials, are they?"

"I imagine the Yozi are just as bad." Orduin nodded simply. "Even the Incarna suffered greatly."

         John turns his head to a serving girl and tips his empty mug in her direction, and continues, "Well, worse in some ways, since they're still more or less 'alive'. Not like being dead means much to a Primordial, apparently. ALright, my head's hurtin' with the big stuff. I'm sure there's other news to be had, and still some questions about how we were kept away for so long, and what changed. But for now, I'm just wondering what can be done right now that can take my mind off this."

"My advice? Seek the gods and elementals of your homeland. Lay it out how there's new law in town. Negotiate with 'em." Orduin shrugged. "That alone might do good most could never try to."

         Mist laughs at the thought of him being a supernatural sheriff of Ironsplit. "Alright, I'll look into it. Spirits are sorta hard to spot, tho, and hard t'touch when they don't want t'be. You got anything for that?"

Orduin rummages through his pockets. After a few moments, he starts to mix them together in a vial. Apparently, he keeps spares. As it turns clear and stops bubbling, he caps it. "Apply a bit of this to your forehead, where your caste-mark shines. It's an effective way to train up the ability to see and harm the insubstantial."

         Looking at the vial in his hand, Mist pauses, considering. "Hrr...thanks, Ord, I appreciate. Not sure if Clan Clanmantioned my name; it's John, Master of the Hunting Mist. If there's anything I can get done for you, y'just need t'holler, alright?"

"I'll be sure to. You said Ironsplit? The little place with the cows?" Orduin tilted his head.

Mist chuckles, "Yeah, th'little place with th'cows. There's a few ranches in the area. Th'one you can find me at is the High Noon ranch there. Hard t'miss."

*Scene Ends*