Heroes of Myth: The Black Forest IC

[Raz_Fox]

Rahn does not weep. Well, that is a lie. She does not let her siblings see her weep, that would be closer to the truth. It is strange, sometimes, for someone often hurt to see true kindness. Matapa's forgiveness, earnest and sweet - Marwaen's pardon, showing her how mistaken she had been in her assumptions - and everyone leaving again. She was not the only one changed, after all.

So her paint is streaked as she rises, the dark circles about her eyes running, and her cheeks are wet. Mata is already vanishing into the forest, she sees, and she flies after her, her feet pounding out an erratic rhythm on the grass of the glade. This is how Rahn leaves her former home, leaving behind Brisanne, Haeleth, Anghau, Philognos, Afein. She loves them, true, but there is something more important to her now, more important than her good-byes to them. Branches lash at her, roots trip her up, but there is one thing more she must do.

"Mata!" Long-legged Rahn, always fleet of foot - she places her hand on Matapa's shoulder, ignoring the cold. "Oh, Mata, I have no doubts that you'd find me, no matter where I went, because you're harder to shake than a hound on the hunt, but I'm a rover now, a wanderer, and me and mine are hard to catch. So, here-" She pulls a long bone from her coat, the thigh of some swift animal. Enscribed upon it is the mark of the sixteen-legged cat, and the diminutive Ana all about it, and above them all Rahn. "Call upon me, and I will answer, though I be a world away. Follow the path it leads you on, and it will lead you true to my doorstep, along winding forest paths." Rahn bobs her head awkwardly, her attempt at an honorable bow. "And, and- I love you too, Mata, I do, I was just so afraid, Mata, so- I'm sorry."

Rahn straightens up, shoving her hands awkwardly in her pockets, half-relieved and half-frightened to have said it. "Come and see me soon, Mata."

----

And now Rahn walks in the pale moonlight, back to where she'll wait for her beautiful cat, feeling all hallowed-up inside. You can't let so much emotion loose so swiftly, not without it burning up your insides and ripping them up on the way out through your lips and eyes. No, she can walk, she can just walk.

Ah, but what's this? Someone's scrawled forest-sign on the ground. She kneels, examines it, and grins. Well, only one person could leave sign like this, and sign it with the frog's mark.

Smiling wanly, she memorizes the way, and then continues on, waiting for Hajal to return. She knows that her children will be waiting for her there, and Kzei with the report of their earnings in the tribes nearby, and she'll finally be home.

[TheDarkDM]

Anghau stood incredulous at the scene transpiring before him. How could so many of them be so ready to forgive, after what Rahn had done? Did they not understand the depth of her betrayal? Did they think that time might mend the gaping wound in Matapa's soul? Even as he stood there, Anghau's eyes were drawn to the gaping chasm in her chest, the black void that spoke o fstolen innocence and amputated dreams. And yet Rahn was welcomed into Brisanne's lap, as though it were she who had been grievously hurt, as though she was the one who needed comfort and not the sister she had knowingly crippled. Every fiber of Anghau's being longed to scream, to rage to the heavens of the folly of his siblings, but he saw now that they were either incapable or unwilling to understand the immensity of what had transpired in the cold and dark.

Anghau pulled Marwaen close when she approached, his face stony as he watched the farce that Brisanne seemed set on playing. He made mental notes to seek out Afein after the fact to discuss this new threat, but he recognized that now was neither the time or the place for rational discussion. His smallest brother had become little more than a raving fool, Philogos was as caught up in his own version of wisdom as always, and Brisanne lacked the strength or the will to bind them together any longer. His fiery eyes caught the flit of motion as Rafe abandoned the glade, only to fall on Matapa as she proceeded into the shadows of the Black. Marwaen felt Anghau tense beside her, and though he hesitated for a moment he stepped forward before Matapa vanished from sight.

"Mata, hold a moment!"

Rushing forward, Anghau stepped aside for a moment when he entered the shadow of the trees. His hand flashed towards the branches, and when he brought it closer he held the ethereal spirit of a robin tight in his clutches. Bringing the spirit close to his lips, Anghau whispered to it, and though none but he would have seen it the spirit contorted slightly, the pattern of its plumage shifting to that of fire. Smiling, Anghau continued towards Matapa. As he hit the wave of cold surrounding her, he flinched slightly, but nevertheless knelt before her. Opening his hand, he revealed the robin, and under his influence it opened its mouth in a ghostly song that carried through the air like dying whispers, beautiful but unreal. It hopped about his palm for a moment before flitting to Matapa's shoulder, its flight unaffected by the cold it did not feel.

"I'm sorry little one, I have no balm to sooth your pain. But know that even after the loss you have suffered you are still the bright, beautiful girl that we knew so long ago, and I will seek a way to help you in the dark roads I fear I must walk. All I have to give now is this companion. She shall watch over you, and should you need assistance all you need do is whisper my name and she shall seek me out."

Anghau wrapped his arms around Matapa, and despite the cold he held her a moment before they parted. Returning to Marwaen, he gave a sad smile.

"Sister, I fear we have no more to say here. Shall we return to lands where we are more welcome?"

[White Blade]

No, Child, we can't just skip around the story to your favorite parts! You have to mix the good with the bad, the fast with the slow, the happy smiles and the breaking hearts with the quiet to let you know that our gods are also men... Oh all right, if you insist, but you mustn't tell your mother....

Haeleth wandered the world, slaying monsters and loving women (why? He was a young man darling! Now hush), defending the weak from the strong who sought to overpower them. And at the edge of his ears, hearing the cries of those in need. Always near enough the scent of the monsters.

When he was very young, the monsters had not yet learned to fear the light or the nearness of his hand. They thought themselves mighty and immune to the predations of such a thing as he. Once, he scented a monster near to a tribe on which it had preyed and he entered the village. Many of the villagers had never seen such as he, with a mane on his head and a smile on his face. They scattered and gathered together and looked up at him with strange, pale eyes. One approached him fearfully, "Ah, well, sir," he muttered, his voice tinted by a whining tone, "We have had monsters enough, if you might, perhaps..." he said, fishing for a way to politely reject Haeleth, and Haeleth thought to himself that this was truly the most cowardly, pathetic lot he had ever run across. But he supposed that was a thing when your whole camp stunk of monsters.

Haeleth just laughed, "I am a monster's monster, they live in fear of me. Tell me of what has happened, and I will see that it is no more.

"Ah, well," the man said, once again beginning to sound like a whining child, "There is a creature in the woods that is like a stag, but it is not a stag. It has a horn, true enough, but only one that grows from his face. It has fierce scales and a face like a dragon, a mane like a horse's but alight and bright red, it has a bright tail that is horse-ish. It is a thin, elegant thing, its' hooves are clad in a strange, foreign metal. It leaves no tracks in the earth..."

Fair enough, but what has this thing done?

"Ah, well," the man said, scrambling about for words, "Fine enough it was round here, till recently it began to eat our children! Just came in an gobbled them right up! See there's no children now? That's cause he ate them! Quite terrible really,"

Haeleth had the good decency to feel ashamed of his early judgment that they were cowardly. Wouldn't everyone be cowardly if they had no hope for the future (Sure enough, little one, if a monster ate you I'd be right useless for awhile)? So he resolved to hunt this monster unto the edge of the earth, lest it eat another pestle of children.

Outward he set and kept vigil three days and three nights beyond the edge of the camp. Bones scattered about the land, small bones and big bones, doubtless left by the monster near there. There, sure enough, was a beast like a stag but not a stag, with hair like a horse's on fire, hooves like a stag's and scales and head like a dragon's, just the one horn, long and straight. But it was not an angry looking creature, not just then anyway, though it seemed fearsome indeed. So he wandered up to it and looked it in the eye and it looked at him back. It growled fiercely and moved around him, even as he braced himself for battle.

It stood at the other side of him and growled at a man from the village, who stared at it with strange, pale grey eyes, "Go away, thing, we got no want for you here," the fierce creature growled again, its' anger grown hot, "Look, see, we've even got a man and we haven't killed this one yet, so best if you-"

Fast as lightning, the beast was on top of the man and the man transformed into a wretched, goblin thing only to have its' head ripped off. Very unforunate. Haeleth then realized that this was a village of goblin-men, the strange pale eyes the mark of a goblin's form, and he and the beast proceeded to drive the rest of the deceitful beasts out, for they were the beasts that had left the bones and devoured men and children alike.

That's the tale of how Haeleth met the Qilin, the bravest, fiercest of the beasts!

Spoiler

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1 Major Act on the Qilin

[Raz_Fox]

It is an unfortunate truth that all cats hate water. They despise it, for it washes away their ability to see spirits and nip at their heels. And though the Hajal cat may be the mightiest cat to ever live, save for Panther, who - though smaller - is more cunning and powerful, it is a cat like all others. And so it is that when it comes to Rafe's lake, it does not jump in and swim to the island in the lake's center, though that is where its beloved Rahn wishes for it to go. No, it skims across, like a basilisk, its paws barely touching the water. And when it reaches the other side, a gust of wind hailing it - for it was moving very, very fast indeed - it shudders and lies down, curling its wet paws beneath itself with a miserable yowl.

What time is it? Well, I'd say that it is past summer, but before autumn; that it is after the fire, but before Rahn forged the Oneirus, that it is after innocence, but before strength.

This is the part where the Ana come out, their backs hunched much like a frog's, their smiles not to be trusted. Come, they say, come and buy, come and buy! Look at our wares, and know that this market will never come this way again (which is true of itself, for no market is ever the same twice), come buy, come buy! We have long-bone spears, we have men who speak your fortune, we have women who know how to mend your rags and make them fine, we have herbs and poultices and exotic cures, we have dragon-scales (they say they bring luck) and firry-feathers and a unicorn's hoof, and here is a lusty night's dream for sale, and a nightmare to spite your foes, we have goblets of finest wood and knives of tin, we have slaves from far-off tribes and we have dancers and jugglers and musicians to beguile the eye and the ear, come and buy, come and buy!

One - Etek, a young whelp of Twei's brood - goes and seeks out the Frog King, the wise Rafe. Our Tatterdemalion has received your invitation, his message carries, and would see you in the Black Tent. It's your choice whether or not to accept, but she's made the cat cross the lake despite itself, so it'd be rather impolitic to ignore her, sir.

[Nefarion Xid]

Market Day at the Lake

With a wide grin, Rafe leaped from his nest in the shade of the old willow on Reku's shell and race down his sides, hurdling over the twins who were tasked with watching the vial. Instead of going through the tedium of actually feeding the lake himself, Rafe just wedged the open vial in the tangled mass of roots and tasked the two frog boys with keeping an eye on it. A waterfall was pouring from the tiny bottle, and gushing with exceptional force. One could imagine that chaos it would cause if it got free.

Rafe splashed into the water and with a kick and an arched back, he was on the island in a moment, shaking the droplets of water free from his hair. Despite frequent trips in an out of the water, it never seemed to actually get wet. One would suppose that to be a perk of being the water god and all... no need for a towel. A pearl danced its way across Rafe's fingertips before sailing towards Etek, who managed to get both hands around it after a bit of fumbling.

All about the island frogs gathered with pearls and their catch of the day to barter at the Market. If they had one defining characteristic (besides being green) it would be that they were a greedy people. Which isn't to say that greed is all bad. No, greed goes along with shrewdness and the frogs certainly had a head for value. They'd been gambling for ages and trading shinies for yummies well before that. It was on this day that the people of the lake decided they were very fond of hats and scarves while the Ana found out that wasabi was delightful; a good day for all and everyone left happy.

Rafe pushed aside the tent flap, carrying a tray with his free hand. He smiled dumbly in spite of himself; it certainly was good to see family... and on much more amiable circumstances. No need to mention anything in the past, he'd decided. The tray held an assortment of lake delicacies: finely sliced salmon steak and oysters and wooden bowls holding pastes in various shades of green and yellow. He gestured to the tray with a can-I-tempt-you smirk before setting it aside and going for a hug.

Earlier that day, Rafe had encountered Vivienne's messenger and had insisted that he was far too busy with the day to day dealings of his court to go visit her in the mountains. While true (the river folk had constant squabbles and even among the frogs there were ceaseless accusations of cheating and theft), Rafe also loathed to idea of actually climbing a mountain. If his sister wanted something from him, she'd just have to come to him.

[Jair Barik]

Luopani left that glade and returned to the valley. His valley. And he would make it his! Yes!

Having checked the mirror was where he had left it Lupani continued to explore. After several fruitless days and nights he was growing tired but eventually he found what he was searching for. Caves! Empty caves!

Venturing into their hollow depths he began to work away at the walls with his magic. Carving, carving, carving away. Soon it would be done. Yes soon. Soon...

[The_Snark]

Brisanne watches as Rahn stalks off with stiff back and hunched shoulders, and wonders if she has judged rightly. Her sister has acted badly and she can't say otherwise, but it is not in Brisanne's nature to see pain and shame such as Rahn is suffering, and not feel a little of it herself. But what could she have said? She spoke truly earlier: she doesn't know the words to make all of this right again, if such words there are.

In truth she has little time to think of it: her mind is frantic with thoughts of Matapa. Tiny flakes of white fall from the sky and melt against her skin and the fire like little pinpricks, but she barely notices. Rahn speaks from somewhere on the other side of Afein's shielding wings -- honest words, she will remember later, but right now she pays them little heed -- but it is Matapa's voice she strains to hear, Matapa who she cannot touch or even look upon. Brisanne has never envied a living soul more than she envies Rahn at that moment. She would walk away from the fire, even, if it only meant she could go to her youngest sister and embrace her without causing them both pain.

Then the cold tightens around her skin, and soft footsteps announce Matapa's return to the grove. She stands a bare few paces away behind Afein, and yet they might as well be worlds apart. The chill in the air makes her feel hot, almost feverish; the fire is within her, just as she is within it, and she knows now that this fire is anathema to her sister. Brisanne weeps now, despite her sister's plea -- for it is no easy thing to cast aside grief, even when it pains those you love to see it. But there's joy mingled in her sorrow, and relief: her sister has come out of the Black whole enough to love and be loved, and Brisanne will find what solace she can in that. Her tears do not abate, but she composes herself as the others say their goodbyes.

"I love you too, Matapa!" she calls back. "Oh, Mata; how I wish I could see you! But I can't, and that's that. Be safe, Mata, and be careful, and- and be happy, if you can. I, I think I can bear being apart from you, if only I know you are content." She pauses to wipe tears from her eyes. This is not how she wants them to part, in desperation and sadness.

When she goes on she is a little quieter, a little calmer. "I'm proud of you, Matapa. It's not an easy thing you're doing, but you're facing it. I can't give you anything more than I have already, but remember that you'll always have my blessing, and my love."

[Raz_Fox]

Rahn embraces her brother warmly, though he might notice that her perfume's strong today, and she does not hold him tightly but gingerly, like she's afraid that she'll break. But she smiles at him, so all is well.

"Well, brother-mine, you've made something of a name for yourself, haven't you? Not as renowned as some, of course, but even I couldn't have done what you've done here, big brother." Is her tone slightly nervous? Perhaps.

She doesn't remember Rafe's reaction, you see. She doesn't remember him standing up in her defense, or to banish her from his sight - he was simply there, hanging about in the crowd. But he'd left her directions to this place, so he couldn't be that angry with her. So the undertone of nervousness was simply that, an undertone, masked over by delight and respect.

"Tell me, Rafe - how did you come by this place?"

[Exthalion]

After departing, a short time after that, Philognos stood at the summit of the Solar mountain. He surveyed the distant lake and the forest, still dark around the mountains shining white slopes.

"Well, this won't do at all."

So saying he looked in his minds eyes and beheld all the land to the horizon. With a bit of mental acrobatics he shifted it, seeing where all changes would be required.

As he did so the sunlight blazed bright from the sky and fell in columns so think they seemed almost solid. The ground did not shake, the wind didn't even stir. However, there was much going on.

The trees were dissolving into motes of dust as did earth and soil. The distant and massive lake began to evaporate. The great swirling cloud of dust and vapor swirled around the mountain which now stood in the center of a great pit fifty miles in diameter and all the way to the bedrock.

Then gently, ever so gently the cloud began to settle. Dust became soil, then stone. From the bedrock up the Foundations of Philognos, wrought of white stone began to form. Rivers that had intersected the pit where redirected and the water of the lake began to resettle.

So did Philognos lay the groundwork for his great city, equal parts canal and solid ground and surrounded by a massive lake to secure it against beasts and things of the dark. There was still work to be done, much work. But he would not do that alone.

OOC: Fluff related to the Wonder he is building.

[Nefarion Xid]

Rafe's nose twitched and he snorted as the heavy scent of perfume made his nostrils burn, accustomed only to the gentle fragrance of clean water and the lilies. He looked abashed briefly and took his seat.

"There is a danger in having a name that's too big for you." It was frog adage, a rather recent one. "I would rather be lord of simple creatures who understand me than be misunderstood by my own kin."

Rafe nodded slowly as if to say, one trickster to another, simply that he understood. And that he doubted the wisest and proudest in the family were so wise as they claimed not deserving of their pride. Or perhaps he was just concentrating a great deal on dragging a piece of raw salmon lightly across the wasabi paste since that is an awful lot to say with just one nod. He plopped the fish onto his tongue and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before again gesturing for Rahn to try the regional cuisine.

"I'd rather be the water bearer than a great big glowing firefly or... whatever's the matter with Anghau."

Before long he settling in to drink his tea and tell his story. It went precisely as each telling did. There was the long dry riverbed (which now restored, swelled to the tops of its banks), the meeting with Reku who swore to be his vassal when freed, and the games with Lord Frog and the final contest with poisoned tea.

"Neither cup was poisoned of course. But we'd been feeding him chamomile all day long! A little bit is good to relax, but a whole pot will tie your stomach in knots. When it finally took effect, combined with the stress of the long game and the worry (I was smiling the whole time you see) Gaba was overwhelmed and vomited from the nerves... nerves and toxic amounts of chamomile. Everyone still thinks I managed to slip poison into his cup then and there and that I'm so bloody clever I somehow knew which cup he'd pick. A myth I'd like to encourage so... if you wouldn't mind."

There was something fishy about the story. Surely it couldn't have been quite so easy for him to triumph and steal a relic of the gods and the realm of an animal lord in a day. He must be hiding some slimy detail beneath the veneer of his happy-go-lucky tale.

"Ah, but you've let me ramble all evening. It's your turn to tell me a story, if you like. Or perhaps some trading first or instead, if it pleases you."

All told it had been a pleasant visit: no accusations, no grudges, no cross words at all and certainly nothing sinister or ulterior about Rafe or his motivations. He delighted in intimate conversation and if anything in the past did bother him, he hid it wel.

Spoiler

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Accounting. -2 Major Acts: Reku the Turtle Lord as a vassal

[Kasanip]

Matapa


The words of her sister, that she wanted to hear so much. And praise that was unexpected, and a gentle blessing. Words! They have great power!

And with Brisanne's feelings known, Matapa at last had this last relief. This little hope. Someday, maybe it would be better.


As Matapa hurried away, she started to run. Because if she was slow, it would hurt more. She didn't want to leave, but she knew she had to.

She couldn't stay.
So she ran on bare feet into the forest. Her hands ached and burned still. They hurt so much. But not as much as her heart.

But as she stopped, breathing hard, she heard her name called, and it was Rahn's voice. And Rahn had caught her- maybe not so easily for Rahn, but it was something of course that would happen. Winter cannot come before Autumn, it is said. So it was that Rahn when chasing Matapa, caught her easily, and put her hand on Matapa's shoulder.
It was cold, but endurable. And Matapa looked up first in surprise at her sister. She looked at the bone and reached for it slowly. But stopped. She accepted it awkwardly with her arms (her hands were burned!) and hugged it. She looked up at Rahn and nodded.

"Thank you Rahn. I love you." She said.
"I will come visit soon." Matapa promised, and watched Rahn go.


Anghau called out to her too, and Matapa turned to see him as he hugged her. He was warm too. But it wasn't an uncomfortable, hot warm. And Anghau's words were kind to her and Matapa looked at the bird in surprise. And the spirit robin landed on her shoulder. But even spirits can become hot or cold, and though the robin did not seem to mind, it was still a small feeling for it. Matapa looked at it in wonder, because she had not seen such a thing before. And she bowed her head gratefully.
"Thank you big brother. I love you too." She said. "I'll visit soon." Matapa promised again. To see her family in all of the places, she could do that. She did not have to be always lonely.


Matapa turned and started to go deeper into the forest.

She had not told of ermine white to her family- she had not mentioned the ermine at all. Maybe, a little because she wanted to protect them. Or just to keep something small for herself.

Now though, she was alone again.

[Kasanip]

Matapa - Winter in the north

After Matapa left her siblings, she wandered into the forest for a while. It was an aimless wander, so she could think. There was a lot to think about. The past was behind now. Matapa had wanted to be like her siblings, but she was not. She was different. As she walked on the snow, she thought about the future. She couldn't dream. When she slept it was empty and dark. A lot like the forest.

The spirit robin was kind, but always flying there and here because she was cold. Matapa had not gone to the ermines yet. She didn't want to bother them until they had grown new coats. But it is lonely in the forest, except for the animals that sleep when she is near. It is good to sleep in winter.

At last Matapa came to a river, and put her hands in it to heal her burns. And as her hands began to heal, the river also became frozen around her so her hands were stuck!

But Matapa didn't panic about this. She was more icy than ice. So, to pull her hands out it was not that difficult. But she pulled from it shards of ice like glass. For a time, these floated around her like crystal.
. It is said this river is called Matapet and the forest beyond it is a lonely place.

Though Matapa's hands were healed some and she could use them again, there were still scars. And when Matapa looked at the scars, she remembered Brisanne.
It was a sad thought, and bitter, but it was not Brisanne's fault, Matapa knew. So silently, Matapa hid her scars and sat by the river.

The bone that Rahn had given was kept safely with Matapa. And she took and wove a small necklace with ice beads to wear it with under her ermine coat. And even in winter, the spirit robin chirped it's whisper to her.

She treasured these things- even the scars- because they reminded her of her family when she was alone. And sometime Matapa had promised to visit her family members.

She crossed Matapet and into this tall forest she went. The trees here were tall and silent. Light only came through a little from high up. Only the trees grew so tall and thin.

And here Matapa walked for some time as it became covered in snowy winter. The shards of ice, which had been like wings for a moment, now began to fly away on their own.

And so born of the snow and ice, it is said the thing that is called 'fairies' came here, following Matapa's footsteps. They are not fairy, but more like butterflies you know. But butterflies do not live in winter. And these butterflies are like ice and glass, and their wings cut like knives sharply. If you wander in this forest, beware their faint glow. They cannot speak, but they can understand- and perhaps they can guide the lost from this forest. And yet, so easy it is to freeze or be cut by them.

So Matapa unknowingly had created these fairies- creatures of purity and yet dangerous in their simple way.

~*~

After Matapet and the forest, Matapa continued north. Now she had decided she would go to the ermine again to see Ermine White. And then perhaps she would visit one of her sisters.
Of course she could visit a brother, but she had a question and needed help that perhaps only Afein could give.
To wander barefoot on the snow, Matapa was not cold. But of course you should wear boots sometime if you are to walk long distances!


Matapa and the Ermine

At last Matapa returned to Anagumazuka and saw the young ermine hopping and playing in the snow. For the first time in a long time, Matapa smiled at this.

"Ermine white! Are you here?" She asked. And the ermine children saw her, and happily came to swarm her with warm bodies and fur. And she laughed as their fur tickled, but sat up when a familiar voice came.

"Is that snow child Matapa I see? How long it has been!" Ermine white said with a happy voice. The word quickly spread and the ermine all gathered to see her and she spent a long time telling her stories to them. But Ermine white was most pleased and she was most happy to see him.

"Ermine white. I came back because the ermine are my friends. But...this is a big world. And there are so many things to do. I must always travel if I am to see my family, and so I am worried I cannot come often." Matapa said. she had thought hard about this idea, and so thought now to propose her plan.

"So I want to help the Ermine to go far away. That way everywhere someday, there will be some ermine. So I will bless you and make you the best friends of all the animals!" Matapa said, closing her eyes and spreading her arms. Ermine white jumped into her arms so she held him gently.

"May it be that the ermine are closest, especially to snow child Matapa!" Ermine white said. And then he took a single hair from her head and tied it around his tail.

"There! Now I have some fur of Matapa! If we ever want to call you, now we can, like you with your ermine coat!" Matapa smiled.

"Yes, I will let the Ermine call me. But I don't know how exactly it can be done!" She sighed.
Ermine white hopped onto the snow.
"Of course we ermine are not as cold as you, but we have our own tricks and play. The hair about my tail, you can feel it?" Ermine white asked. Matapa nodded curiously. And ermine white began to dance and romp around like ermine do in their songs and dances. And the bouncing and hopping and singing resonated, and the other ermine began to do the same. And even if Matapa closed her eyes, she could still feel it- bouncing on snow and a small pull on her hair. And it is why ermine tails have a white band around them even in summer!

Of course, this is the ermine 'magic' of dance and songs. So can the ermine communicate desires and feelings far away. They can teach it to others, but truly to preform it, you must be an ermine! So it is best to make an ermine friend.


Acts

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1 Major Act: Create Monster Race: Ice Fairies (Ice Butterfly Elementals)
1 Major Act: Create Magic - Ermine Magic
1 Major Act: Gain Trait: Ermine Magic Child (like magician)

1 Minor Act: Empower ermine white as Matapa's familiar
1 Minor Act: Increase population of ermine, sending them far and wide
1 Minor Act: Change terrain: Matapet (river), the Deep Forest

[White Blade]

"Monsters and beasts I will slay.
The weak and the lowly I will protect.
I shall not place my pride above what is good.
I will stand against the darkness and shall not fear it.
But the darkness shall fear me." -The Starlit Oath

It was evening. All the best stories begin at evening.

A grim crowd of thirteen were gathered in a clearing amidst newly felled trees, each a warrior, each a hero. They had succeeded where others have failed. They had slain monsters. They had protected the innocent. Some where a multitude of scars, others are fine-skinned. Which is a mark of skill and which of ineptitude is debated. They are many, for one to have found in such a clearing, or in any clearing at all. The youngest is very young, the eldest is very old. All of them are experts.

A god entered the area, his sweeping midnight cloak following behind him. And he began to speak. The speech he gave, I could not tell you because it is so embarrassing that Haeleth has deemed it a sin to recite it. I'm not sure if he was serious, but I don't test the patience of gods, I'm not that brave. One of the older warriors barked out a laugh and told him to remain calm and talk straight. So he did,

"I want to form a group of warriors, to teach them, and to work with them to keep the Black clear of monsters, to defend the weak. Are you with me?"

Each one of them agreed. He presented the Starlit Oath to them and they gladly swore it. So he began to teach them. And it was grueling teaching indeed, and much was learned by each of them.

They grew in skill and as they trained, they changed. Their hands felt stronger, their steps surer, their eyes sharper, their skill greater. They learned more in that one evening than any normal mortal would in a decade. And then, their fierce lord departed into the morning sun.

And thus began the Starlight Order, the Disciplines of the Thirteen, and the Thirteen themselves.

Spoiler

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1 Major Act to create the Disciplines of the Thirteen,
1 Minor Act to create the Thirteen themselves, ought to think of them as twelfth level swordsages or about level ten Fighters in 4e

[Raz_Fox]

The Market: Being an unsubstantiated half-truth tale of rumors and shadows all intertwined, presented to a child before a fire and black-forest night, concerning the most magical market in all the world and its fae mistress, and the dark goblin-folk who serve her and sell hopes and dreams and fancies and all the world's possessions

So, you want me to tell you about the Hajal Market. Well, that's not easy. But I'll tell you what I can.

Everyone knows of the Hajal cat. It moves through the trees like a wraith, here one moment and gone the next, with bright burning eyes and more legs than a spider. It can dance over water, though it hates such a road, and it can jump from tree-top to tree-top where the ground is ill. When it comes to rest, it curls its legs beneath itself, and rests its head upon the ground, and opens its great jaws. That, you see, is how the Tatterdemalion keeps the fool and the fearful out of her market - those who are bold of heart will climb up past the long fangs, past the uncanny doorman, and down its throat, into the market.

In the first-days of the market, they say that it was a sparse affair, a few tents pitched in the yawning void of its belly. That was, of course, before the Tatterdemalion came into her true power. In those days, she, as Magpie before her, knew not the ways of becoming a place, of being so completely one with the beast that its form became mutable (for it was of the faerie-kind and capable of changing into a housecat or the lion that would eat the sun, some whisper, or a beast made by High Father in imitation of Earthmother's animals, only that he forgot to make the guts and bones inside out of carelessness, and so left it hollow-)

The time in the market isn't the same thing as the time outside the market, you see. Sometimes, while it is night outside the cat, the noonday sun shines down on the market through the windows in his skin; and conversely, while the sun shines on his fur, it is moon-lit within the market. Sometimes, it is dawn, and sometimes it is dusk, and sometimes his very skin within seems to glow softly, illuminating the market from below. This is the market; whatever it is, it is at the whim of the cat and the Marquis. And this is the market: a maze of stalls and booths. Many are closed, some are waiting for the proper vendor to arrive in days to come, but some are open. There are pedlars stretched out on furs in the middle of the path, and mountebanks and jesters who entertain and beguile. Most, and these are the truest merchants to deal with, are of the Ana-folk. They are honest, and their craft and skill is such that whatever they sell will be of the highest quality, and the highest price. But if you are poor, if you seek to deal secretly within the market, turn to one of the many strange creatures you will find within the market. Be wary, though, for not all of them abide by the Marquis's rules against fraud and theft.

If you want something that no one else can give you - not the dream-merchants, not the bone-workers, not the tailors or the brewers or the slavers, then you want to walk straight down the long road. If you turn aside, you'll never find it again, as the path twists behind you and leads you astray. Do not worry o'ermuch, traveler, for the exit shall always come to you if you seek it. But the long road is the way to the black tent. Come close, and you'll see that thin strands of red run through it, like thorn-vines; feel it carefully, and you might realize that it is not silk or cloth, but something other; a membrane, living, softly breathing.

Walk in, if you dare - and you'll see her, the market's Marquis. (It's an old title, and a man's. No-one knows why she took it, but I think that she's mad and wants all scholars and wise-men to know it.) She's dangerous, child, though she won't lay a hand on you without your permission. No, she can see hearts, or so 'tis claimed, and she can sell you whatever you want but never exactly what you need. So be careful! Do not lie to her, do not seek to cheat her, or else she'll eat you up and you'll never be seen again; some say she cuts you up and takes out your dreams and pickles your heart and feeds the rest to the cat - some say that she'll turn you into a stave or a sword or a chair - some say that she'll just give you what you want and let it destroy you, body and heart and soul.

She's younger than her words and older than her face, and she wears a crown of thorns and brambles. Her eyes glow in darkness and dance in the light, her blood's blacker than tar, her teeth are like a fox's and her heart's locked away in an iron jar. She's a virgin whose price is too high for anyone but the bearer of the Morningstone, she's a hag who steals the faces of young girls and bathes in their blood to keep a glamour on her with which she lures in innocent boys to be turned into her coal-black devils, she's the soul of the market given form by a black ritual, she's a cat who lived for a thousand years and stole away the crown she wears from the king of all foxes. She and the Hajal are one, and she can see through the eyes of anyone who steps within the cat, and her coats are made from the flayed skin of thieves. She seduces men who wake up within the coffles of her slave-market, she seduces maidens and steals their children away, she has never left the confines of her black tent, she often wanders about on autumn nights and places a hex upon those fools who kept her part of their harvest. She's nothing but a charlatan, she's the finest magician and conjurer in the world, she'll give you nothing except the three things you need at the dearest price available. She's the Tatterdemalion, and she says all the stories are true, especially the lies.

Of course, if you never come to the black tent, there's still a chance you'll meet her. She comes and goes as she will, always through the market, and sometimes she sells dreams half-price-off, and sometimes she accosts strange creatures and offers to tell them their fortune. Some say that if you have her heart, she'll grant your wishes, and some say that she'll do it for a kiss, or your voice, or your own soul. She can do anything, you know, except fix herself.

There are four types of currency in the market, if you're still fool enough to go. The first is barter - bring your meats, your woven blankets, your fruits and grains, your tools and trinkets. These will be accepted, food most of all, for the Ana do not sow seeds, merely harvest them. The second is bone-tokens - these are peddled at the market-door, and the Ana accept them without bargaining or refusal; the pedlars press them upon the traveler, telling them to buy many, for the next time the market comes. And if they are never used - well, they have a way of finding their way back to the market. The third is your body - many of the Ana will accept service for a time, if you wish to buy something that is very dear. Some tribes tell their young men to offer themselves up to the market for a time, so that they can see the multitude of wonders of the Black. If they keep themselves well, they can return with things for their people, bought with their sweat and craftsmanship. If not - well, there's always the next time around. (The Ana will take this from you, too, if you attempt to steal from them. They do not deal in many slaves, but if you know where to go, there's always a strong arm or a pretty face for sale-)

The last is blood. There is power in it, and magic, if you know how to take it, and this is one thing the Ana know well, and the Tatterdemalion even more. Be wary of giving it up, because there is more in it than even you know, but do not shy away when they bring the knife close. They know how to bleed without killing. They can do anything with it, they say, anything and everything.

This is the magic of the market: to buy that which is not real, and catch it in a vial. They can take dreams from you, and the memory of a song, and your skill with an axe or a bow, and they sell these things too. In their deals there is power, real power, and if you break faith with them, they'll know. Then they take everything from you. This is the magic of the Ana, for the Tatterdemalion taught them well, when the world was young and the child of winter was not burned.

What's that, you cry? Surely the servants of a god would not do such a thing? Well, perhaps if we spoke of Haeleth, or her darling Matapa, you would be right, but we are talking of the witch-queen of the falling leaves, the Marquis of the Hajal Market, the Tatterdemalion who tricked away her sister's fire. She had a good heart, once, but it was torn and shattered and beaten, and sewing-thread and needles can only do so much to repair a heart treated so. She is dangerous, child, remember this! If she loves you, then you must merely tread carefully, to ensure that you do not betray that trust - and then she will move heaven and earth for you, inasmuch as she can. But there is only so much room in that heart of hers, and Matapa is there, and the Ana-folk, and the Hajal-cat; how can there be room for the entire Black in such a heart? No, she deals well - if high - with the honest, and deals harshly with the liar, and that is all that one can ask of a merchant-queen.

If you remember all these things, child, and you keep time well, and you are not lured in by their market-patter and their temptations, and you speak honestly but reservedly, and you keep in mind that the Ana love fairy-stories and fables, especially the ones in which the greedy and stupid are punished, well then- you'll do well there, and tip the door-man on your leave, and watch the cat dash off into the distance until there is nothing left but trampled grass and a quiet wind at your back.

Spoiler

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2 MA - The Hajal Market is now a Realm in its own right.
1 MA - Create Hawker Magic, the market-patter magic, the magic of the immaterial bought and caught and sold, the magic of a deal sealed.

1 ma - Increase the Market-Ana population. (They're rabbit-folk, you know, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more.)
1 ma - Teach the Market-Ana Hawker Magic.
0 ma - Spread a thousand-and-one rumors about Rahn and the Hajal Market.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Marwaen

The Goddess of War inclines her head to her eldest sister, to the few siblings that remain in the glade, and then dashes into the forest with her brother. Back to the place where they belong, back to the Myrangh and their victory ground.

Jackal-men are carnivores, you know. They believe that consuming the flesh of their enemies makes them stronger, and consuming the flesh of their allies is a sign of respect. Taking a dead Jackal warrior into the body of the living ensures they, too, live on in their own way; consuming the flesh of a worthy opponent grants them the strength of the fighter.

(Monkey-kind were not considered worthy opponents; still, it is true that their flesh is sweetened by the fruits they eat, the young ones most of all.)

And time passes strangely in the Glade, and so by the time the twins return the bodies of Jackal and Monkey are picked clean, and their bones have been used to support the building of crude homes around the menhir of stones where the final battle was fought. And there is a growling sing-song from them, and jackal-children run about, unconcerned with the cares of the adults.

And there is care...some of the more superstitious among them have whispered that what they are doing is sacrilege. They believe in the power of the Twins--oh, yes! For the Twins saved them--but did not partake in the consumption of the flesh of the Animal Lords Jackal and Monkey, and did not clothe themselves in the leather stripped off the bones. Theirs are the homes made of bits of wood and leaves, the way they'd done before; theirs are the clothes made of monkey-fur and animal hide, unpainted with the vivid depictions of the battle that had allowed them to take back their forest.

(-1 Minor Act: Pictoral Storytelling. The Myrangh are learning to use berries, plants, and other materials to paint pictures onto hide, depicting the stories of their people. Most of the current paintings have to do with the fight that freed them from the Monkey-kind's dominion.)

The superstitious whisper that the other Animal Lords will be displeased with them; most of the Myrangh scoff at the small group, and say that the Twins will protect them. But a few listen, and change their houses, and are quietly doubting the true power of Marwaen's arm, the strength of Anghau's spirit-hound...

[Jair Barik]

There is a valley...

A valley more beautiful thana ny other in the world, or at least that is the belief of all those who have gazed upon it. The water pools in a manner that creates sights of wonder, the mountains that border it are not so rugged that they are ugly, they let the light shine upob the valey and make a firm border between earth and sky. The trees hang prettily here and there, the hills are exemplars of their rolling brethren and each rock seems to be placed perfectly in such a manner as to create order without uniformity.

Within this wonderous valley a cave was carved. Cut methodically into the mountain side it was itself a thing of beauty.
Each wall smooth and likewise each floor and roof. Pictograms and runes were carved upon the lengths of its halls and it was organised with a perfect sense of geometry. Some walls lay bare awaiting the pictures that would fill them. The upper caverns of this cave were nought but passages and rooms, beautiful in their own right but somehow...empty.

Delving deeper...
Deeper into the dark of that cave a man might comment that the light that filtered down made beautiful shapes reflected off of beautiful glass, played beautifully on the walls and in the water. But no mortal was permitted to come down into the cave. The air was chill and threatening, a menacing presence filled those halls whispering warnings, saying 'go back! go back! it is not too late!'
None were allowed into this inner place. Not but Wanderlust and perhaps his siblings. The walls of this place were covered, Strange discs and slabs of some material, stone perhaps were hung about but each was covered in a thick cloth or some fine material, hidden from all eyes so that none might gaze upon them. As the years went on more appeared, as the wandering God expanded his collection.

Spoiler

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3 MA-Create sanctum, the cave of mirrors.
1 ma- Carve the caves into the mountain

[Raz_Fox]

There are two things you must always remember about faeries: they are wonderful, and they are soulless. Their eyes are not like the eyes of men, which merely reflect the world they see, or the eyes of unicorns, which reflect the souls of trees wherever they walk, but they are like diamonds, shining and bright and glossy. They do not reflect anything, not sun or moon or forest-trees, but the light of some far-off lantern, dancing and flickering in their perfect eyes. And since they cannot see the souls of things, like unicorns, and cannot see the reality of things, like we can, they must assume that everything is alike - that a man can no more cry at being cut than a tree, and that a hare is as delightful a hunt as a child. The only things that are different to them are the things that delight them, whether it be a mirror or a clever flatterer, and once the mirror becomes fogged and dull, or the silver-tongued mortal loses his novelty, they are nothing again but just things, to be discarded or forgotten or broken.

That is why, if you want faerie-craft, you find the Hajal market, for the Tatterdemalion is the most charming, devious faerie of them all, a mirror with a leaping flame caught within it, and there is not a faerie alive capable of outwitting her.

Well, that's what she claims, but everyone knows that the Tatterdemalion is the finest liar of them all when she's in her whimsy. They whisper about something behind her back, you know, about a witch with three teats and hair made of twisted iron, who rings the bells of Damme Clemen - when they are not the bells of Crom Cruan, or of Eberu the Sandhelmed - and has conjured up harpies, and pixie-flocks, and horned children, and claims to have once caught the serpent beneath the deep roots by its lip and only let go once the mountains broke and the rivers leaped from their banks. And the Tatterdemalion laughs, and adds her own tales to the mix, speaking of how once the witch was caught with her head in Horse's feedbags, how once she challenged the witch to a race across the world and back and won through the use of three apples, one gold, one silver, one brass; the faeries believe her as long as she is speaking, and when she is gone the stories grow like flashroots, like fire-weed in the summer.

Faeries only obey those who can bind them, or those who can beguile them. Rahn is of the second, though she must be quick, and clever indeed, but this witch - this devil-witch of the woods who once supped with Stag and got the best of him, who made Panther leap like a startled kid, who once caught the moon in a tin cup until it was stolen away by Perun, who leaps across rivers and climbs under mountains - this witch worries her.

Still, business is good, and stories are just stories. Any Ana-child could tell you that. So Rahn drinks, and laughs, and makes merry with the soulless folk, and tomorrow she'll be off with their most precious possessions and they'll thank her for it, and the day after that will be special, she's sure. All days after tomorrow are special, when you dance with the faeries.

[Kasanip]

Matapa - Winter finds Autumn and thinks it is beautiful too

The snow of the north had traveled far, and in it were the playful tracks of ermine as they went around and became many. They met the Ana, and while the Ermine did not care for trinkets, they did love stories and would share them.

So it was not so long before Matapa had heard from the ermine that there was a mysterious lady, who could find anything, and would trade it, for the right price.

Hearing this, Matapa thought of her family, and in them decided it must have been Rahn.

So, barefoot on the snow, Matapa hurried after these rumors, and it was soon that after the harvests came, and the trades were made, that the leaves started to fall faster, and snow began to fall.

So Matapa arrived in a village, but it was too slow. The caravan had already left. Matapa thanked the villagers and hurried away, because she did not desire to harm their village with so much snow.

It had been some time now since Matapa's hands had been burned, and since the family had left. And at last Ermine White went ahead and called back to Matapa that he had spotted a very strange animal.

It was a cat of many legs, and Matapa recognized it from her brief sight of it long ago at her family's house.
"I will go to see Rahn. Perhaps she can help me, or at least we can talk together like sisters." Matapa thought to Ermine white, who hopped down the hill before her.

Here as Matapa approached she pulled her feelings close, and so soon she could feel the warmth of the land.
It was still warm here. This was Rahn's domain of course, and so still though Winter was coming, Autumn was still ruler here.
So Matapa came to the cat and saw the Ana and the traders of all kinds here, and she was in awe and surprise. Autumn was a place of golds and reds and all things like leaves and money- which was it? So many things to be found, and all of them were treasures. Perhaps.
Surrounded by this warmth, Matapa was bewildered and distracted. But at last she asked a merchant.
"I am Matapa, here to speak to Rahn. Please let her know I am here." She said earnestly.

[Raz_Fox]

What's this? A little girl walks about the Hajal Market, a pale girl in white furs, with such innocent blue eyes. Like ice over the river in the winter. This is not her world - this is autumn, buy, sell, do not stockpile for the coming cold. She is lost.

Here, she comes over to a wily merchant - he is tall for one of the Ana, his back hardly bowed over, and his eyes are wide and dark. He smiles as she politely asks him about the market's Marquis - no, not asks, commands.

"My dear," he says with condescension (although he is only her height), "Everything is possible here, at least for the right price. The one you are looking for comes and goes as she will, and it is difficult to catch her ear - but I could do it, if I were given something for the work, hmm?" He holds out his paw with a canny grin.

[Kasanip]

Matapa - Lost child in the Market

Matapa looks at the Ana with her ice blue eyes, and a confused look on her face. She looked at his paw closely, and then showed her hand to him. It is a child's hand, but scarred from fire. And she shows it to him as he had showed his paw to her.

But this isn't a trade. The child of winter, lost in a world of autumn doesn't know this. The only trade she has known was of a sacred fire, and food.

"If it is too difficult for you, I'll keep looking." Matapa said with a distracted smile. It was still warm here, and she was feeling a little sleepy just from this place. "Thank you." And so Matapa continued to wander the market.
There were so many things here to see, but the one Matapa was looking for wasn't here so far.

So Matapa put her hands next to her mouth and started to call for Rahn.
"Rahn! Rahn! Where are you?" She called- a lost child in a market calling for her older sister.

[Raz_Fox]

Lost Child in the Market

The market is a labyrinthine place, and busy too; though there are many closed stalls waiting for a vendor, there are still enough open and enough customers to make the market chaotic and mad, not a place for a lost child. Some look at this lost child with annoyance, some with pity, but none approach her. This market is not a place for pity, after all.

But here, by a stall that smells of holly and jasmine and crushed cloves, Matapa calls again for her older sister to come find her, and is finally rewarded. One moment, she is nearly alone, the market's chaos receding around her, and in the time it takes to blink Rahn is there.

"Hello, hello, what's this? Do my eyes deceive me, or is this a little sister?" She crouches down, bringing her painted face down to Matapa's level - she seems long and gangly, as showy as any of the merchants in her bangles and rings. "What do you think of my market, Mata?"

[Kasanip]

Matapa- Not a Lost but a Child in the Market

Matapa turns in surprise to see Rahn here now. It was Rahn, she knew, even though she had changed some more. Vainly Matapa tries to stand on her toes to measure height- has Matapa grown? No, but the market has! But Rahn crouches down with a painted face, and clothes with bangles and rings- jewelry and everything. And for a second Matapa looks relieved to see her and holds out her arms to hug Rahn.

"It's incredible!" Matapa said. And as she wrapped her arms around Rahn, Rahn felt the cold ice of Matapa, and yet it was not as cold as in the grove. Maybe Matapa was slowly learning to hold it within her- or maybe here in Autumn's domain, winter was just a distant feeling.

But Matapa stopped the hug to hide a small yawn. She blinked and shook her head.
"It's also very confusing." She continued honestly. "I'm afraid I became a little lost. Maybe you can show me your market?" She asked curiously.
"I... am wanting to find something." She said.

[Raz_Fox]

Sisters in the Market

I'll tell you an awful truth, if you promise to never tell the Black at night. Rahn flinches away when her sister embraces her. After a moment, she embraces her sister in turn, but her first instinct is always to run away. But that embrace is true, just as the flinch away was true; she fears everyone, but loves her sister even more.

"If it can be bought," she says to her sister with a proud edge to her sweet voice, "It is here, or can be ordered here." She stands, and then extends her gloved hand to Matapa with a smile. "Come, and I'll show you everything."

Of course, the Tatterdemalion always lies - she does not mean to show her sister everything. The secret-keepers, perhaps, and the herbalists, the jugglers and the trinket-masters and the dream-weavers and the tailors and the black tent. But Matapa will not see the slave market in the bowels of the beast, or the bone-smiths who make such clever spears and knives for cutting and killing. Such things would only upset her, after all.