Powder Kegs (and other delicate matters)
Amilar Agathon found himself in a familiar setting – surrounded by the warriors and elders of a Marukani range-town, listening to them vent their grievances. The town was White Bluff, and it stood perched high on a chalky outcropping, with a commanding view of the blighted lands surrounding. On a clear day, you could see all the way to the next town north, abandoned and eerily silent.
White Bluff struggled on as one of the few range-towns south of the Rift of Othoclase that had elected to stay put, even as their neighbors crumbled under the Mask’s attacks or simply packed up their belongings onto Rivers Between Us’ airships and resettled north of the gorge. The villagers spoke of raids by horrible necrotic monsters, and curses whispered in the night. Mostly, they spoke of anger and despair. One wizened shaman wailed: “Where is the Storm of Amber and his armies? Why has he not driven the Mask back to the walls of Thorns?”
This was all very complicated for Agathon. Not because of the tense diplomatic issues at stake, but because the villagers’ every words were utter fabrications. The stories sounded reasonable enough, but the Falsehood Detecting Attitude was infallible, and every time the villagers spoke it was as if a gong rang in his head, proclaiming deceit.
Shai Mei sat beside him, brushing the villagers’ words onto rice-paper scrolls that would record the expedition’s findings for posterity. She quickly scratched a note in charcoal on a tiny scrap of paper and handed it to him:
“They’re all ghosts given form. They died a long time ago.”
He nodded slightly to show that he got the message, and crumpled the note in his fist. That explains the lies… but what to do about it? As the villagers kept talking, Shai Mei scrawled a second note:
“Except the old shaman – he reeks of Nemissary.”
Agathon nodded once more, and whispered under his breath; “Soho, this whole place is a trap. We need help. I’m willing to wait thirty seconds.” He breathed essence into his lips, and let the Wind-Carried Words speed his plea hence. He motioned for silence, and the crowd of ‘villagers’ calmed down. He closed his eyes for a moment, and looked, really looked, at the layout of the room, the position of the crowd, the location of the door, and of the old shaman. Indoors, there was no room to use his daiklaive; his short sword would have to do.
He spoke: “People of Marukan, calm your fears. God Crossing’s armies will come when the time is right. It takes preparation to bring an army this far south in force. In the meantime, know that you are not alone. Advance elements are in place…” his hand went to his hilt… “and will move much sooner than you’re expecting.”
His blue jade kotetsu lashed out and plunged into the old man’s chest. The resistance was substantial; beneath the old man’s skin lay layers of bone and chitin; but the blow threw him backward against one of the poles that held the yurt upright. The impact rattled the old man’s skull and broke his concentration. With a sound like flesh being torn asunder, his necromantic spell shattered, and the visage of life fled from the deceased villagers. A rotten smell emanated from his wound, and Agathon and Shai Mei both gagged involuntarily.
His true self revealed, the Nemissary screamed an inhuman scream. The creature dashed for the door, with twenty zombies standing between him and the two Servants of the Righteous.
Bolstered by Hearthstone Bracers, Agathon’s Even Blade form lashed out again and again; Shai Mei watched his back, pushing the walking corpses back with her Fivefold Wood Dragon Blocking. At last, a path was clear to the door, and the two dashed through. The moment they broke through into the pale light, Nameless Ravine was there, and Soho behind him. The young monk crouched with his bow at the ready - a flaming arrow nocked and drawn. The Solar stood with the boot of his dragon-armor resting upon a barrel of flash powder; with a hearty kick he sent the barrel tumbling into the yurt; the arrow followed shortly thereafter. Agathon and Shai Mei threw themselves to the ground as Nameless Ravine drew The Promise and invoked the Heavenly Guardian Defense.
The resulting explosion was decidedly satisfying.
The shockwave made short work of the remaining zombies. Bits of flaming debris rained down all around, but the Servants of the Righteous stood in The Promise’s wake and were unharmed.
Agathon picked himself up off the ground, and brushed himself off. “It looks like they wanted to trick us into sending an army here; no doubt they have a trap prepared for just such an army.” He turned to Soho and Ravine. “What of the Nemissary?”
The monk shrugged “I let him get away.”
Shai Mei gasped. “But he’ll reveal our presence, and then we’ll have an army to deal with!”
“Yes, we will. But I did hit him with the Soul-Marking Strike as he fled; until sun-up tomorrow, I can tell you exactly where he is, and exactly where he’s going.”
“So, then what? We’re going chase him down and ambush his ambush?”
Agathon shook his head in disbelief. “That’s the most reckless plan I’ve ever heard. Who gets the credit for that one?”
Soho shrugged, and pointed to the Solar. Shai Mei stifled a laugh. Nameless Ravine simply grinned.
Agathon sighed, and sheathed his kotetsu. “You do realize that no plan ever survives contact with the enemy?”
“Oh, I’m counting on it. Let’s move out.”
The four gathered their belongings and saddled up, with Soho in the lead as the disciplines of the Immaculate Dragon of Wood directed them unerringly towards their quarry.
As they thundered across the plains, Shai Mei suddenly had a thought. She signaled the group to halt, and gazed around, bewildered. Nameless Ravine pulled his horse alongside her, and cast a questioning glance. “Cap’n,” she said to him, “Am I the first to notice that Sha Yan Shi has gone missing?”
