Editing RY 766, 29th of Descending Wood: Heavenly Warning

'''A Moment of Sidereal Candor'''

Later that evening, Shrike is once again interrupted by the sudden appearance of the Sidereal, although this time he has the foresight to knock. Probably fortunate, although the question of what he would do if he truly walked in on say, a bathing Solar, remains an interesting prospect.

"Forgive my sudden departure earlier - the news shared was...alarming."
With a nod, Shrike dismisses the innkeeper's daughter, whose clever fingers were employed in the business of plaiting Shrike's hair, shining and damp from that evening's bath. The expanse of bronzed limbs exposed by her short belted robe, graced here and there by water droplets sliding down her skin, suggest that the Sidereal is only minutes shy of having truly walked in on a bathing Solar.

Alone with him, the Solar stretches, her muscles finally relaxed after days of tension spent plotting and strategising. A number of things still weigh on her mind: at least one Abyssal is still at large in the city, their Bronze Faction meddler still has his fingers in too many pies, and the Mask of Winters is still inexorably marching on Lookshy. Too many factors, too little reliable manpower. She's glad to see Lament again; despite her protestations of his loyalty to Inkwell, the manner in which he had abruptly stormed off after hearing the news of the directional Titan worried her. Seeing him once more returned, more subdued than when he left, enables her to relinquish some measure of anxiety. 

"Think nothing of it," she replies magnanimously. "I'm sure you have plenty of other obligations. After all, it would be remiss of me to believe that one of Heaven's finest had nothing better to do than spend all his time hanging around pretending to be my secretary. What with his well-deserved popularity and everything.

"I presume you're talking about Inkwell's discovery of the Titan? Yes, most likely. It's a momentous find, but surely not a bad one. In the right hands, that weapon could enable all manner of wonders... and I'm fairly sure that our hands are considerably more right than the alternative, especially if the Mask takes Lookshy and the surrounding lands."

Wind of Lament takes a lingering look at the beautiful Solar. It is not so hard to see why so many followed them in the First Age, despite their glaring flaws. Something so beautiful, so terrible, had a certain draw.

"I am. But first...may I sit? It occurred to me that you do not truly know who I am. And for what I am going to say to you, it is important that you do."
"But of course." She looks at him oddly. "For someone who's spent his share of sleepless nights in my bedroom, you're being oddly formal. Help yourself to something else if you like. Candies? Tobacco? Amusing pharmaceuticals?

"And then you can tell me all about yourself." She rests her chin on cupped hands in a posture of almost-parodic rapt interest.

"Spend your life among Gods, and you learn not to take what should be trivialities lightly." Still, he sits, removing his helmet and setting it beside the chair.

"I am Wind of Lament, Chosen of Mars - but this is not all of who I am. I have a calling, a talent. It is not merely combat, or war. It is the destruction of cities. You have a gift with words, and compelling the hearts of men. My canvas is a city wall, a burning roof and a poisoned well. I bring, I manage and I fight war at its cruelest."

There is a certain amount of sorrow in his voice, but more than that, a sense of grim duty. "I am one of the foremost swords of Heaven. I was telling the truth when we were in the goddess' chamber - I do not build. I kill." She gets the feeling that there are other tales to tell, but that his point has been made.
"Of that I've had no doubt. I was never under the illusion that the starmetal-armoured juggernaut who turned up just when things were starting to get interesting and so handily dispatched that horde of ghosts was some kind of glorified celestial accountant." 

She cocks her head to one side, thoughtfully. "You know, I've encountered a Sidereal before. May Blossom, I think her name was. Beautiful girl. Back then, I was still much newer at this, and I envied her. I envied her the training, the preparation, the logistical support she got. She had a mission, a purpose, and a massive organisation backing her up. Back then, I thought that it must be a nice feeling. 

"Now I'm not so sure. I don't know what you had to do to become one of Heaven's foremost swords, or at what price you bought the fortune you usually walk around in. I'm not sure I want to. I'm also not sure it's entirely relevant."

Her eyes meet his, and there is a deep, empathetic sincerity in them. "As I understand it, you are here to see Lookshy fall, and ensure that it is accomplished in the way of honest warfare and not internecine struggle. You would see this city's ruin painted with the palette of war. 

"No part of your mandate covers hiding us from Heaven's eyes, or even helping Mari's friend. Or watching over me as I slept. I've no doubt that you are everything you say you are, but I also believe that you are more than what you've mentioned. There's a heart in the midst of all that starmetal, and I think it's one that beats, at least a little, in tune with ours." There is no artifice in her smile, only gratitude and compassion. "Am I right?"

Wind of Lament looks thoughtfully at one of his hands, flexing the starmetal gloves. "Yes, and no - although where you are not correct is not your doing, but mine."

"I am not necessarily here to see Lookshy fall - only that it stand or fall in a way that suits Mars, and Destiny. I thought perhaps that would be your Circle, but you have taken a different path. And the Death Lord..." he smiles slightly. "This actually leads us very well to what I came here to speak to you of. Heaven's plans do not take the Dead into account. I was not there with Thorns fell, because it was not its fate to do so. Exalted can defy fate with their will, but there are others who exist outside Fate itself. The Dead, the Demons, and the Fair Folk - none obey Creation's laws or mandates. I have spent my life fighting them, and that is what I have come to speak with you about. But, as is apparently the way of the Sidereals, we have gone far afield."

He takes another sip of his drink, and looks Shrike in the eyes. "My kind once served yours as advisors and counselors. We are vilified by the returning Solars as murderers, and exalted among others for doing what had to be done. But there is a third story, one told by neither side, of those of the Five Score Fellowship who fell as well during the Usurpation, beside the Chosen of the Sun and Moon. I ask that you hear me, in their name."

"The discovery today is one more dangerous than I think you can imagine. My greatest art is in the destruction of cities, and compared to a Directional Titan, I am but a child with a scavenged stick, beating at the walls of Lookshy. It is the kind of power that drove your predecessors mad - the kind of power that is the solution to every problem. Think of what you would do with the ability to simply snuff out the Scarlet Empire. To crush a Death Lord in a single moment. To dare all who oppose you to give voice to their opposition, in the face of certain destruction. Then think of the costs - the shadowlands created, the lives ended, the changes I know you feel in your heart when you bend mortals to your will through force."

"This Viridian Inkwell...I do not trust him. The Twilight caste were perhaps the maddest of all the ancient Solars, and beyond that, there is something not right about him. He cavorts with demons powerful enough that they should chafe under his binding. I cannot find him in the Loom of Fate - it feels as though he is outside it. Corrupted Solars walk the Earth, creatures of the Dead, or of the Yozi. And he comes laden with promises of power, and asks for nothing in return. You, most of all, know that everything has its price."

Shrike sees genuine tears in his eyes. "There, I have delivered my warning. What to do with it is up to you. By the time it comes to pass, it will be well within your capabilities to destroy me out of hand. I am sorry to give you this burden Lawgiver."

Impulsively, Shrike embraces him, although the chill of his armour bites through her clothes. "Thank you for your trust, Wind of Lament. I hope it will not prove to have been misplaced. I am only beginning to understand the price we must pay for walking this road, and, as you say, sometimes it seems like too much to bear. But what is the alternative? Our enemies would not balk at using every weapon at their disposal, and they have had centuries to bide their time and develop methods and machines we cannot even imagine. Can we do less? 

"What you say about the Titan is true, and rings true in my heart. I have no love of combat, but it is not... unfamiliar to me. This Titan goes against everything I have been taught, everything I know, about battle. There is no battle against such a thing, based on what Inkwell tells us. It is an abomination, a temptation. An expression of power that might tempt even gods to ruin. It was undoubtedly the cause as well as symptom of unimaginable folly in the First Age. 

"But the First Age did not suffer from the problems of the Second. I fear to suggest this, but using the weapons of our maddened predecessors in the true defence of Creation for which they were intended might be the only way to begin justifying their existence. Buried in the Wyld, unsalvaged, the Titan remains just another of a million million legacies of the First Age that testifies to the insanity and extravagance of the Solars. Used properly? It might be the first step taken towards redeeming that insanity and extravagance. Using it 'properly' will be difficult, of course... but more difficult than defeating deathlords and Yozis?" 

She runs her fingers through his short, cropped hair. "I understand your wariness of Inkwell. His aloofness and his abilities are both causes for concern. Yet I have seen no sign of anything but good intentions from him, and if he seems odd, well... Some people are worse, even without the burden of Exaltation. He makes me uncomfortable, that's true, but probably mostly because I don't understand the slightest of what he's capable of. I'll be wary of him, or at least more so, now that you've mentioned this... but right now friends are in such short supply I'd rather not start making moves against those who have at least earned the benefit of the doubt.

"But thank you, Lament. I know you're doing this because you care, and I appreciate that. Truly I do."

Wind of Lament returns the woman's embrace, careful not to hurt her despite the immense power of his armor. 

"You speak well Veil Winged Shrike. I pray that it will prove true."

He bows slightly, and turns to leave.

"So do I. Sometimes I wish I was more prophet than dancer. I need to hear these assurances as much as you do, I think." She bites her lip, watching him turn away. He is very different, she thinks, from Wrath, remembering the other man's brash attempt at seducing her while she was confused. 

"Wait. Please?

"Really two goddesses?"

The Sidereal laughs genuinely. 

"Yes, although that story is difficult to tell standing before a nearly naked Lawgiver."

"Would it be easier to tell in front of an entirely naked one?" she asks archly.

The Sidereal looks down at his armor for a moment and winks. "Do previous lovers count as pillow talk among your people?"

"That depends entirely on how flattering the comparisons turn out to be," she points out.

He nods, conceding the point. "I suppose then, if you're interested, you get to find out yet more about me. I must say Lawgiver," he moves toward her, his expression both thoughtful and playful ", you are doing irreparable harm to my reputation as the mysterious and terrible stranger."

"I was Chosen to reflect the dark heart of the sun's concealed face." Her fingers are nimble, and the clangour of his armour falling to the floor is softened by their being cushioned by her shed robe. "Character assassination is best form of assassination there is." Her fingers are nimble, and Lament catches his breath. She chuckles. "My... Heaven's foremost sword indeed.

"Now, tell me how a dusty desert rose compares to the finest flowers that Heaven holds?"