>>4055339

>Go East.

You've heard that the satrap to the East is a valiant warrior whose origins were not so dissimilar from your own, who upon awakening the Blood of the Dragon within him, elbowed aside the nobles squabbling for power and claimed the satrapy as his own. Far away as he was from the centralized power of the Realm, no Dynast rose up to challenge him, and a fortunate thing that was, for the eastern satrapy rose from being a lifeless husk to one of the primary exporters of medicine and game, as well as being a spawning ground for brilliant musical and theatrical performances. Sorcery began to flourish, encouraged by the bright young satrap.

Ironically, it is for the same reason that the Satrapy of Wild Light began to flourish that it is now imperiled.

Drawn from the Wyld by their lust for beauty and wonder, the Fair Folk came for Wild Light, slipping out of the forests and along the borders of the satrapy, where the rolling fields gave way to humble farming villages. These were the first victims: countrymen borne off into the night, spirited away and leaving eerily burgeoning fields in their wake. Where the Fae stalked, the Wyld walked in their footsteps, and left the earth overgrown and iridescent with creatures foul and fair stalking the undergrowth.

It is a time of reckoning, in which one hero of legend may not be enough to hold fast. But as of today, they no longer stand alone.

On this late summer morning, the fields are not empty. A scouting party has been caught by a party of fae warriors, and the single Exalt among them is the only reason they have yet to be wiped out. The Terrestrial performs wonders on horseback, standing up to clash with a laughing cataphract, sheathing his sword and firing his bow in a single breath. His arrow takes a raksha through the eye, saving the life of one of his scouts, but it is still not enough; another is pulled from her horse and torn apart by dogs with branches growing from their shoulders. Even should the Dragon-Blood survive, his companions will be slain before he can fend off the enemy.

You burst from the clouds with a joyous battle-cry, keeping your sword sheathed for the selfish goal of bloodying your hands. The fae have a moment to look up at this new source of entertainment, but only a moment. Then you are upon them, and their wonder becomes terror as you rip through them like a beast of nightmare. The razor talons of your feet lash out to open stomachs and break skulls. They bleed strangely - in place of blood, one's hideous stomach wound begins to sing a sad tune - but they bleed all the same. In seconds, it's over, the green fields made multicolored by the insides of the Fair Folk.

Dusting off your hands, you look upon the surviving scouts, who instinctively recoil from your gaze. Who could blame them? With wings on your back and talons on your feet, you look like you could be one of the fair folk yourself.

>[Write In]

>>4055340
>"Calm yourselves: I've come to fight against the Fair Folk -- if I were trying to kill you we wouldn't be talking. Now, if any of you could direct me to the Satrap I'd be very grateful."

>>4055340
Supporting >>4055366

>>4055340
>”Your fear is understandable, but unnecessary. I’ve come to make an agreement, that we may help one another.”

>>4055339
QMs often put pastebin links in their OP for recaps or missing content.

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>>4055366
>>4055511

>"Calm yourselves. I've come to aid you against the Fair Folk - if I were trying to kill you you'd already be dead. Now, direct me to the Satrap."

Your tone makes it clear that you will brook no argument. Though they owe you their lives, it's plain to hear that you'll have no problem striking them dead if they attempt to defy you. After a moment of tense silence, the lone Terrestrial steps forward. "You're looking for me," he says, surprising you with his boldness. "I am Iron Reed, Satrap of Wild Light. I learned that my scouts were being hunted by my enemies, and rode to their defense."

"Alone?" you observe skeptically. "What satrap rides without a company at his back?"

"One for whom time is of the essence, and none of whose soldiers could keep pace with him," he answers evenly. His words could be taken as arrogance, but you detect nothing but the unembellished truth in what he says. The man truly did set forth in hopes of saving his scouts, with little thought of personal glory. After all, what use is glory to a falling province?

"Brave of you," you commend him with a wry smirk, "but foolish. What if you had died, leaving the people without a leader and guardian?"

"Died to this rabble?" he scoffs. "The name 'Iron Reed' is worthy only of one who does not bend even in the foulest storm. A storm is come, Sir Moonchild, and I shall live up to my name." Well, well... for a Wood Aspect, he's a fiery one indeed. His Dragon-Blooded arrogance did come out in the end, but again, it's born of noblesse oblige rather than self-importance. These are the proclamations of a man standing fast for the sake of his people.

>>4060960

"You need not justify your valour to me, Iron Reed," you say, omitting his title from your address. "Any man who charges the ranks of the raksha is one I'll speak to over a drink." That olive branch earns you a relieved smile, and after ensuring the safe return of his scouts to the city of Glowing Leaves, you find yourself at a long dining table with Iron Reed's soldiers, a cup of cold rice wine in your hand as you sit and discuss.

"I owe much to our sorcerers," says the Satrap, nodding politely to the serving girl as she refills his cup. The gesture is a significant one; there are many Dragon-Blooded who would not acknowledge her presence at all. He continues after taking a sip of from the cup. "They have valiantly held against the machinations of the Fae, countering their tricks with spells to undo the Wyld where it seeks to erode reality. But even with their help, and the unfaltering courage of my soldiers!" He raises his cup to them, and they respond with a hearty cheer. "Even though my citizens work tirelessly to keep our businesses afloat, our fields are abandoned and external trade has ceased for all but the bravest, wiliest merchants."

He looks directly at you and spreads his hands, laying the hard facts before you. "We are in a terrible bind, Lord Raven, and were it not for the spirit of my company I would already have declared the satrapy lost. But with the iron in our hearts and with your gracious assistance, we may yet win the day."

>Coerce him into allying with Great Forks.
>Tell him to abandon the satrapy and follow you.
>Tell him you'll battle the Fae with him.
>[Write In]

>>4060965
>Tell him you'll battle the Fae with him.
>Coerce him into allying with Great Forks.
The idea being that we will help him and if he allied with Great Forks even more reinforcements would come.

>>4060993
+1

>>4060993
Just to be clear, the key word there is 'coerce'. Meaning that through this course of action, Silver Raven will be neither polite, nor subtle, nor respectful, and might even resort to violence to get his way. This is his default setting, and he is very good at being intimidating, but it might create hostility or even outright enmity with the satrap.

>>4061012
Ok, changing to this them
>Tell him you'll battle the Fae with him.

>>4060965
>Tell him you'll battle the Fae with him.

>>4061012
Ah, alright.
Then I won't vote to coerce Iron Reed.

>>4060965
Tell him you will battle the far with him, but in turn expect his assistance at Great Forks

>>4061030
>>4061051
>>4061063
>>4061573

>Tell him you'll battle the Fae with him.

"Well then, if that's the way things are, I think I will enjoy taking the field again." You shake out your hair and give your company a chilling, bloodthirsty smile. "It's been too long since I cut those knife-eared bastards down to size." You stand and brashly plant one foot on the table, causing wine to slosh over the edges of pitchers. No one protests; every eye on the room, whether belonging to soldier or servant, is fixed on you, waiting for you to speak.

"The satrapy of Wild Light has made great strides on its own, and has risen far from the rotten hole I recall but a few years past!" you proclaim, raising high your cup. "But these lands belong to Great Forks, whether it be governed by Gods or Exalts. If you ask for my blade at your backs, I would have your given word: when Shadow of Eagles calls for aid, that Satrap Iron Reed and his heroes of Wild Light answer."

There is little pause. Iron Reed leaps to his feet, arms open in a gesture of camaraderie. "If any there be who would not come to Shadow of Eagles's succour, let them speak!" Predictably, no answer meets this challenge. A satisfied smile sets across his face. He does not look half as troubled as he did when first you met. "Then let us all go forth with Lord Raven, and show these Wyld-spawned fiends that the souls of men are not so easily claimed!"

The cheering is fit to bring down the house. This is the revitalization that Wild Light needed: another hero to stand by the first and give them not only a hope of victory, but the promise of resounding triumph. You see in their eyes a desire for vengeance that reminds you of your own. They will fight well come the morrow.

You consult with Iron Reed after the meeting, away from the ears of his soldiers. "We have given them a taste today," you say, eyes hard, "but we left no survivors to tell of my arrival. We must be certain to leave a few to rout next time."

"You want them to know of your presence?" asks the satrap, sounding taken aback.

"Why, of course. They are arrogant beyond belief, and upon hearing of my arrival, surely their greatest champions will leap at the chance to have a go at the great and terrible Silver Raven." You smirk confidently. "It's said the Fair Folk know only whimsy and merriment. Before I sheathe my sword tomorrow, they will know fear."

He knows by now to expect such brash and ferocious statements from you, and responds with an eager smile. "I itch for battle, Lord Raven. But in the meantime, let me make your stay a pleasant one. Though we are beset by evil, I assure you that my city of Glowing Leaves holds wonders of mental and physical stimulation. Shall I leave you to explore? Or perhaps you might like to spend some time with our soldiers?"

>Take a look around the city. You might find something useful for tomorrow.
>You want to assess and advise these fighters yourself.
>[Write In]

>>4065219
>You want to assess and advise these fighters yourself.

>>4065219
>You want to assess and advise these fighters yourself.

>>4065219
>You want to assess and advise these fighters yourself.

>>4065219
>You want to assess and advise these fighters yourself.

>>4065234
>>4065273
>>4065277
>>4065864

>You want to assess and advise these fighters yourself.

You laugh aloud at the notion of exploring the city at such a time. “Spare me your fine city today, Reed, that I may spare it come the morrow. Let me have a look at your soldiers; I’ll judge for myself whether they’re fit to cross blades with goblin-kin.”

He nods and directs you to the city barracks, where the main body of his military is housed. Its yard is a training field, where you find the soldiers hard at work honing their skills at arms. Iron Reed barks an order, and within seconds the clamour has stopped and the warriors’ attention fallen on you.

It’s time to see what you’ve learned from Shadow of Eagles.

“I see the sweat running down your brows,” you say, loud and confident as usual. “I hear the clash of your steel. I feel the beat of your hearts in my own chest, pounding with the desire to bring down your foes. And I tell you, good soldiers, that as you are now, it will not be.”

Demoralized exhalations and protests ripple quietly through the force, but are quickly silenced by the ferocity of your gaze.

“How, you may wonder, can you fight an enemy whose strikes reach beyond the ends of their spears? Whose axes sever not only skin but sanity? An enemy who smiles upon you with adoration, even as they plunge home their swords?” You move forwards, walking among them, at once one of them yet removed beyond measure. Such is the nature of the Exalted: to be unreachable to mortals.

“Hearken close, defenders of Wild Light, and I shall tell you true: your battle will be won tonight, before swords are crossed or horns sounded. But how, I see you wonder, and where?” With startling celerity, you seize a man’s helmed head between your hands, holding his head in place as you stare into his eyes. It pleases you to realize that he is more curious than afraid. “The first bout,” you hiss, “is won in the mind.”

Releasing the startled soldier, you walk on, addressing them all again. “Stray thoughts, hollow dreams, hazy desires and treacherous doubt are the deadliest swords the Fae bring to bear. They will wrap your errant minds around their pretty fingers and tangle you in webs of Wyld so gossamery that you won’t realize your peril until you’re already slain. They’ll snatch up your soul and wear it like a ball gown to boast of to their kin.” Anger begins to spark in the warriors’ eyes. You smile dangerously.

“But, brave defenders, they will not get the chance. You will corral your thoughts and stay your dreams. You will quench your desires and frame your mind in cold iron, which they cannot abide. Tonight you will live life until it overflows from you, and when you tumble into bed, there ought not be a single lingering regret in your lion hearts.”

>>4069873

There is no martial ability on which you can educate them that will allow them to fight the Fae better than they already can. Their bodies will collapse under the strain of Celestial Martial Arts, and nothing less will grant them a physical edge. Iron Reed has given them the prowess to stand fast - you saw it when they trained. All you can do is tell them to empty their souls, so that the Fae may not use their unspent desires against them.

“If there is a person you love, see them tonight. If there is an art you’ve longed to attempt, try your hand at it ere the sun sets. If there is a food you long for, have it for dinner. If you would live through tomorrow and not have your thoughts pickpocketed, sate all your wishes before you draw your sword. A warrior’s mind must be unblurred. Am I clear?”

Universal acquiescence comes from the Wild Light military. Satisfied for the moment, you return to stand next to Iron Reed, who calls for them to resume their training before turning to you with a raised brow.

“You’ve never spoken to soldiers before, have you?”

“Not like that,” you admit. “When we started - Shadow, Blue and I - the only army we had was ourselves. When they got people to join us, I stayed as a separate entity from their warrior bands. I was the lightning bolt, falling wherever they needed me.”

“I see,” he says, sounding as if he finds that odd. He tells you why a moment later: “The Dragon-Blooded don’t work that way. Everything we do, we do together, as a group. Our abilities work best when combined with those of others.”

You can’t imagine being dependent on anyone else to make the most of your power. It almost disgusts you, but the valour Iron Reed has shown makes it difficult to think ill of him.

In the afternoon, you go to oversee the formulation of a battle plan, which has been heavily modified to make the best of your presence. In essence, you’ll be the spearhead to meet their champions head-on, allowing Reed and his few Dragon-Blooded to lend weight to the charge of their soldiers. Your arrival has allowed them to take a previously defensive, elusive strategy and turn it into a fiery offensive.

Once this is done, it is evening, and word reaches you that the warriors have gone out on the town, drinking, eating and merry-making. They are heeding your advice, and if the winds of fate are at your back, the Fair Folk will find no purchase in their minds, for lack of any desire but for glorious victory.

That night, you find two servants, a man and a woman, waiting for you outside your room. They bow as you approach.

“We are to attend to you,” says the man.

“However you wish,” the woman adds, a bit shyly.

>Allow them to serve you.
>Dismiss them.
>Take only the man.
>Take only the woman.
>[Write In]

>>4069875
>Ask them who sent them, so you know who to thank.
I have this odd suspicion that something isn't quite right here. After all, the Fae thrive on emotion and the soldiers are experiencing a flood of emotion right now.

>>4069875

>Allow them to serve you, but ask who sent them first

>>4069875
>Ask them who sent them, so you know who to thank.

what happened to Tim?

>>4069898
This

>>4070160
He’s reading the book and this is the story

>>4069875
>Allow them to serve you.
Never a good idea to refuse hospitality.

>>4069893
>>4069898
>>4070125
>>4070172
>>4072948

>Allow them to serve you, but ask who sent them, 'so you know who to thank'.

"Your services would be most welcome," you say, approaching them with languid steps. You let your shoulders relax. The killing intent that always remains semi-present about you dims. With some effort, you give yourself the air of a pliable fool. "Tell me, who am I to thank for sending you lovely creatures my way?"

The woman blushes, while the man smirks arrogantly. He is very aware of his beauty, no doubt having been complimented on it all his life. As to the woman, she either came into her natural aesthetic later, or is unused to having it pointed out to her. "The good Satrap himself," answers the man, "who was loath to let you spend the night without being attended to, if you were perhaps too polite to ask." You almost laugh aloud at the idea that you'd be too polite for anything - or that you'd ask permission before taking something you wanted - but retain the illusion of the placated nobleman. If there is a trap, you'll walk into it with verve, and thence emerge just as enthusiastically.

You reach them, taking them each by the waist and indicating the sliding door to your room with a jut of your chin. "Shall we?"

You spend some time up, unnecessarily studying your scroll copy of the battle plans. You sense the man watching with intrigue as he rubs oil onto your upper back. He smiles admiringly when you look at him over your shoulder. "You are a brave warrior indeed, if you'll be fighting down the middle of the field."

"There is little room for bravery with strength such as mine," you drawl, practically oozing arrogance. "Invincible as I am, what have I to fear that I'd need courage to overcome? The fire you feel beneath my skin is fury and might, but not bravery." Both servants feign - very convincingly - being impressed, but you can practically smell the derision behind their smiles. The trouble is, you can't yet tell if it's simply distaste for egotistical nobles or the wryness of an impending assassination. This is Shadow of Eagles's area of expertise, not yours, but this new milieu's challenge is one you welcome.

The woman pours wine from a pitcher into your cup, which you take and guzzle without a word. It's the third one you've had since sitting down, consumed with such eagerness and in such quantity as to have made most anyone drunk. Yet, unbeknownst to them, your flushed cheeks and gradually slurring speech are masking the fact that your body is neutralizing the effects of the alcohol at an accelerated pace. And soon, very soon, you'll be able to tell if there's poison in your drink.

"Wouldn't you like to lie down, my lord?" asks the woman. "You have had much to drink, and the hour grows late."

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>>4075651

"Oh, I... I should, shouldn't I?" you murmur, blinking and running a hand through your silver hair. "I suppose I have s... studied enough for one night. Battle tomorrow... hm." Unsteadily, you rise with the man's support, and soon the woman is at your side as well, her delicate hands tracing soothing patterns on your chest as she pulls your loose robes away. Very soothing. Almost hypnotic.

No, not almost. You're definitely being charmed.

A set of needles plunges through your back. The woman's dainty fingers become claws and shove deep into your chest, leaving you impaled from either side. Your surprised cough becomes a drawn-out death rattle, your eyes flying wide.

Then you smile, reach up and crush the woman's face.

She screams and staggers away, clutching at her ruined visage. Alarmed, the man lets go of the needles he thrust between your shoulders and leaps away, but not fast enough to avoid a barehanded chop to his ribs. It almost cuts him in half, and he falls to one knee, a look of shock replacing his disdainful smile. "Wha..."

"Thought you stabbed my heart?" You cackle, wiping a bit of blood from your lips. "You ought not make the assumption that I wouldn't have moved it beforehand. Also, you've got my blood on your hand. Might want to get that off." The woman's hand, covered in your vitae, has begun to melt. Her agonized screaming grows louder, before you tear open her throat with a taloned kick.

"I'll concede that, were I not a child of Luna, you'd have had me." You turn and stalk towards the man, extending an arm to catch your sword as it comes flying out of its sheath at your command. "But tonight, the moon smiles on another."

In a flash of Wyld energy, he reveals his true form: a Fae courtier, garbed in woven poetry, with eyes like the starred sky and a face fair enough to soften the hardest heart. A living work of art that it would be a shameful thing to destroy. Thankfully, you feel no shame. He is strong, and swift, and durable, but you summarily tear him apart all the same.

This leaves you with a bit of a dilemma on your bloodstained hands. If these faeries got into Glowing Leaves, it must mean that they have found a way to circumvent the sorcerers' defenses, and there must be more in the city.

The soldiers are in danger, and if they die tonight, the battle tomorrow will be a hell of a lot harder - not to mention, Iron Reed will be far less inclined to help you out of good faith. The question, then, is how to proceed?

>Tell Iron Reed about the breach and get the military on high alert.
>If you want something done right, do it yourself.
>[Write In]

>>4075658
>If you want something done right, do it yourself.
The military needs to be rested for tomorrow

>>4075658
>If you want something done right, do it yourself.
Let the boys rest

>>4075658
>If you want something done right, do it yourself.

>>4075658
>If you want something done right, do it yourself.

>>4075658
>If you want something done right, do it yourself.
I don't actually know what to do, but surely done kind anon will, right?

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>>4075680
>>4075682
>>4075851
>>4076391
>>4076995

>If you want something done right...

No point in causing a panic in Glowing Leaves when you can settle the matter yourself. It's going to be a long night, but certainly not unproductive. And boring? Never in the company of elves. You clothe yourself again, leaving your evening robes discarded on the floor amidst the pooling blood and donning your usual traveling garb, whereupon you pop open a window and defenestrate yourself like an absolute champion.

It's only a hundred-foot fall down the side of Iron Reed's manse. You land without a sound, and ghost off into the city, which on this night truly befits its name. Glowing Leaves is alight with life, its streets lit with leaf-patterned lanterns that cast sylvan shadows every which way. It is a place that almost seems to demand festivity, from beautiful the buildings are to how merry and upbeat the people seem.

Wait, what? Aren't they under threat of siege by soul-devouring creatures from beyond the world's edge? Why so cheerful?

Assuming the form of a nobleman you once killed and devoured, you make your way downtown, speculating as to the nature of the citizens' good humor. Could it be that the events going on outside of Glowing Leaves have been kept secret from them? Or perhaps Iron Reed has made his confidence in you very public, to boost morale. Whatever the case, your guard is up, your every sense heightened.

You pass in front of a side street, and chance upon what appears to be a prostitute being felt up by a seedy-looking man, whose boozy breath you can smell from halfway down the street. Wrinkling your nose in distaste, you begin to step away, before noticing a trail of essence drifting from the man's lips into the whore's.

Aha - you've not stumbled upon a trade of sex, but of soul. And whether the drunkard is consenting or not - and given what you know of faerie powers of persuasion, he might be - you can't let this proceed. The fae woman blinks when your sword clicks from its sheath, in the instant before you blitz her.

"Huh?" the drunk slurs, wiping a trail of wine and spittle from his chin. "Wha- she's dead. Oh, Dragons, she's-"

His head joins hers on the street. You don't have the time or patience to calm his panic. Shadow might, but Shadow isn't here, is he? You're doing things your way.

You dart among the shadows, guided by your inhumanly acute senses to where otherworldly mischief is afoot. Your blade flashes in the dark, ending immortal lives with every stroke, and mortal ones with a few. These casualties seem to you a necessity, to prevent the Fae from knowing of your presence. And anyway, it's not like Iron Reed will pin them on you. There is a worse enemy to contend with.

>>4080403

Minutes turn to hours as you prowl the bright city. Iridescent, evil blood mingles with that of the innocent, and trickles away into the sewers, equal in death. When the witching hour at last comes upon Glowing Leaves, you thought at last people would retreat into their homes, but the merrymaking presses on, and folk begin to drift towards the central square, for no apparent reason. There is no public summons, nor is there a shared whisper; it simply draws them all in, hundreds all gathering in the square, empty-eyed and wonder-filled.

And like a moth-hunting raven, you go with them, still wearing that same unassuming shape.

It doesn't take long for you to notice that there are no Dragon-Blooded among those drawn; only mortals, whose minds are easier to skew. They remind you of fish, tricked into a net by a cunning fisherman; puppets, dancing on fantastically perfidious strings.

There is a great wooden statue in the square, masterfully carved in the likeness of some significant Satrap of the past. Atop the statue's stern head sits a figure in dazzlingly opulent robes, their face obscured by leaved shadows. You can't tell if their garments are made of dreams or starlight; it might be a blend of the two. They smoke a long pipe, daintily held in fingers too delicate for a man. But when the voice rings down from above, it defies any attempt to ascribe it a gender. From that voice, you can tell that this is no goblin, nor even a cataphract or a courtier.

Here is a creature as skilled in war as in wile, its killing intent hidden by a veneer of celebration and ceremony. The people don't seem to think anything's amiss as it sings to them from atop the head of one of their heroes, deadly subtext beneath every word.

Clip the raven's wings tonight
Ere his body takes to flight
Free this city from his blight
Bathe instead in Wyld-born light

And in awful unity, the horde of slack-jawed, innocent citizens turns to you, their eyes filling with madness.

>Attempt to slay the Fae Lord in a single blitz. You'll spare the citizens, but leave yourself open to other attacks.
>Flee the mob and look for another angle of attack.
>Slaughter your way through the crowd to reach the Fae Lord. Moral dilemmas are beneath you.
>[Write In]

>>4080405
>Flee the mob and look for another angle of attack.
A few people here and there is one thing, but Iron Reed would never forgive us if we killed this crowd.

>>4080577
+1

>>4080405
>Flee the mob and look for another angle of attack.

>>4080405
>Flee the mob and look for another angle of attack.

>>4080405
>Flee the mob and look for another angle of attack.

>>4080405
>Flee the mob and find another angle
3d movement. Get on top of some houses where ordinary people can’t reach you. Attack the fae lord from above, use houses to get in the mob’s way if they want to chase you and limit their field of vision to attack with ranged weapons.

RIP

Hello, everyone! I apologize for the long wait between posts. This was my midterm week, and I've had an exam every day, giving me little time to write. Rest assured, though, Tim Quest is very much still a go. I promised that I'd take it to the very end, and I intend to keep that promise. As long as you keep reading and voting, I'll keep writing. The experience has so far been incredibly gratifying - thank you all again for coming with me this far.

The coming week is my reading week, which means I will be able to post every day like I used to. Tim Quest will be updated tomorrow.

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>>4087823
>mfw quest confirmed dead

>>4080577
>>4080622
>>4080691
>>4080848
>>4080996
>>4081415

>Flee and look for another angle of attack.

Well, killing this lot isn't going to earn you any brownie points from Iron Reed, much as their deaths would simplify things. You wrinkle your nose in annoyance, having found the most direct route to victory compromised, and let out your wings. They carry you away from the hands of the enraged mob; you retreat like a gale, wind blasting through the streets and forcing many citizens to shield their faces from its wrath. With their attention diverted, you turn to a tactic you find profoundly irritating: subtlety.

Away from the main streets, you leap across the district, keeping in the shadows wherever possible. Out of mere curiosity, you glance up at the sky, and chuckle at what you see hanging there - or rather, don't see.

New Moon, hmm? An inauspicious time to be fighting, but it's not like I have much of a choice.

Finding a perch on a high windowsill, you concentrate for a moment, and the feathers on your wings stiffen, rattling grimly as you move. Now wearing a cape of deadly plumage, you begin to set your trap. It's a simple trick, but it worked when you were a youthful hunter in your village. Now as an Exalt, it may serve you well again.

>>4090608

Your name is Aerdeth Kyr, a princeling among the Fae. You and your sister, having little better to do and being sick of idling around the Wyld issuing orders to a court of adoring subordinates, decided to launch a raiding expedition into the East. Great Forks was out of the question, defended by gods, Lunars and Terrestrials. Lookshy, while lacking in the gods and Lunars, was in possession of ancient technology whose potency was yet unknown. Curious as the two of you were about said technology, it seemed not worth the loss of your immortal lives to acquire, and besides, that sort of thing would be a covert operation, not a military campaign. So you turned your eye to the Satrapy of Wild Light. Led by a fierce warrior and protected by sorcerers, yet lacking in immediate assistance, it seemed the perfect place to begin.

The fields and villages were easily taken, but the further into the satrapy you ventured, the stronger the resistance became. The forces of humanity, even in this far-flung wilderness, were not as frail as you supposed. No matter, you thought; their sorceries could be undone with a bit of work, and their soldiers could be undone with a bit of death. Still, that fool Iron Reed held fast - just long enough, it seemed, for word to reach the ears of a greater power. A troupe of Cataphractoi slaughtered during an ambush, torn open by avian claws. It was then that you knew one of the Moonchildren had flown to the satrapy's aid, and you recall the smile you wore.

Things had gone from amusing to exciting.

This evening, you had finally compelled reality to let you and your kin through that silly barrier the sorcerers had woven around Glowing Leaves, letting you and a number of your courtiers in to snack on some souls and sow some discord. A merry night out, made merrier when you received word that your assassins had been killed and the Lunar was loose in the city. While your subordinates' lives bought you time, you got comfortable on the heroic statue in the central plaza and prepared another spell.

He appeared near the tail-end of your singing, just as you'd finished beguiling those adorable little humans into turning on their saviour. Of course he radiated killing intent as soon as he understood what was happening, and intriguingly, rather than slaughter his way through your puppets, he fled into the dark. Given yesterday's performance, though, you're certain you haven't seen the last of him.

Your intuition is proven right when an array of feathers whistles out of the darkness, faster than sound and sharper than knives. One flies for your face, and you turn your head so that it doesn't punch out the back of your throat. It is very fast, almost faster than you, and it slices a bloody line across your cheek... which then proceeds to burn worse than any flame. You hiss in pain, lifting a hand to your face, feeling the hot flesh beneath your touch, and understand that he must have turned his feathers into cold iron.

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>>4090611

Playtime is over. You're serious now.

You pull the purple shawl from your shoulders and cast a dream into being, in which you are multifarious and present in several locations. This ought to distract him enough for you to create a stronger defense and get your puppets back into position. You guide them through emotions, feeding on their memories both sad and joyful to empower you, and then reassert your control, pointing them in the direction whence came the feathers.

No sooner have you done so than another flight of arrowed feathers comes streaking forth from the shadows, this time directly opposite where they came before. It shreds your shawl, and you cast it off, letting fall in pieces to the statue's head, before drawing your sword. It's a beautiful thing, shining rose gold in strange games of light. To look upon its blade is to entrap the mind and render one blind.

Dauntless Silver Raven suffers no such impairments when at last he charges - not from either side, but from above. His strike lands like a thunderbolt, forcing you to parry with every ounce of your impossible grace. The clash of your blades resounds in the night, alerting the civilians you've ensorcelled and hastening them back towards you. You slash, but at nothing more than the empty air. The Raven's mocking laughter comes from all sides, daring you to defend yourself again and be humbled before the mortals you thought to devour.

He appears then, cutting through your crafted reality as easily as if it were cloth, standing before you with his argent anima blazing bright. You have seen many things in the Wyld that would terrify a man out of his mind, but the smile this winged monster wears as he faces you down chills your faerie blood.

"You can go."

You blink, tilting your head curiously. "I can go?"

"That's what I said," he snarls. He would probably be pretty, were his face not twisted in bestial hate and bloodlust. "I am going to let you go. You can leave this city and live through the night before you die facing me tomorrow, with you and all your faerie friends knowing that you were too feeble to duel Silver Raven."

You frown, your bristly brows furrowing. This you never considered - the possibility of being at his mercy and being allowed to leave in one piece.

Are you at his mercy, though? You've still got cards up your sleeve. As if you'd come unprepared for a battle worthy of a chapter in your unfolding tale.

>Fight Silver Raven. Probably suicidal, but it'll be a clash of legend, and certainly won't leave either of you unsatisfied.
>Flee Silver Raven. It'll earn you scorn from your sister and peers, but your chances against a Full Moon Lunar are slim.
>[Write In]

>>4090615
>"You're a clever one, moonchild, to corner me like this... but you've forgotten that a lion fights most fiercely when he's cornered!"
>Fight Silver Raven. Probably suicidal, but it'll be a clash of legend, and certainly won't leave either of you unsatisfied.

>>4090615
>Fight Silver Raven. Probably suicidal, but it'll be a clash of legend, and certainly won't leave either of you unsatisfied.
Didn’t it said it was new moon ? Why is the other option saying that’s full moon ?

>>4090866
The other option said "Full Moon Lunar", meaning that it's Silver Raven's caste.

>>4090615
>Fight Silver Raven. Probably suicidal, but it'll be a clash of legend, and certainly won't leave either of you unsatisfied.

Also, Helvegen: ETA on returning to Tim?

>>4090871
Ah, ok dude
>>4090907
After we finish the story my dude

>>4090930
>After we finish the story my dude
Also, Helvegen: ETA on us finishing the story?

>>4090615
>Fight Silver Raven. Probably suicidal, but it'll be a clash of legend, and certainly won't leave either of you unsatisfied.

>>4090940

Can't quite be certain, but here's what's going on: Raven has to journey to each of the satrapies around Great Forks, and then return for the confrontation with Lookshy. We're currently a little over halfway through the eastern satrapy, so it's going to be a while before we get back to Tim.

Much as I do like writing Tim in the modern world, there is a reason I'm devoting such a chunk of the quest to following Silver Raven. It is very important, not just for the first Story, but for the entire Chronicle (by which I mean the quest, for the sake of using WoD terminology) that Tim - and by extension, the reader - understands what kind of person Silver Raven is, and 'show, don't tell' seemed the best way of conveying it. There are also other reasons these events and characters are important, which will be revealed later down the line.

>>4092275
Can’t wait, keep the good work

>>4090631
>>4090866
>>4090903
>>4091556

>"You're a clever one, moonchild, to corner me like this... but you seem to have forgotten that a lion fights most fiercely when cornered!"

"So I've heard." His eyes gleam with amusement, just before someone tackles him from behind. He turns, effortlessly cleaving them in half, and their divided corpse lands messily on the tiled roof beneath his feet. It's one of the civilians, who, under your direction, climbed the house he stands on and threw themself at him. Now that he's turned, you throw your sword end over end, gauging the distance to his chest perfectly. He deflects it without even looking, and launches himself at you in a leap that destroys the roof, but your own trap, far more elaborate than his own, is already in effect. The individual threads of your undone shawl are spread out through the air around the statue like a spider's web, slowing him as he attempts to tear through them all. You stay on the statue's head, using it as a centrepoint to effectuate your manifold manipulations: over the people throwing stones and other objects to distract him, and over the gossamer dream-threads that maintain your hold over reality. Drawn by their vibration, wyld-spiders crawl forth from the beyond, hints of your home bleeding into Creation. Their attention is drawn by the Lunar, who becomes further swamped in enemies to deal with - half of which he must avoid killing if he can help it.

You smirk at his predicament. He should have blitzed you when he had the chance.

Tangled up in webs and fighting several foes at once, he's not mobile enough to avoid your sword as it comes back, pulled by the same strings you've stretched over the battlefield. It punches through his heart - or so you think, before his sword arm lashes out to skewer an overeager wyld-spider. He reaches the statue, but what he cuts through upon arriving is not you; your discarded robe drifts earthward in twain, as 'you' dance over the threads - there, and there, and there, mingling with the citizens, taunting him with smiling faces and thrown stones. For all your bravado, these charades are little more than delaying the inevitable; he's too durable for you to seriously injure without getting in close, and he's both faster and stronger than you with his excellencies active. To add insult to injury, the arrogant bastard doesn’t even seem to have assumed his war-form yet.

>>4094037

His wings make it easier for him to thwart you, their razor feathers cutting through your strings while his sword meets the enemies you send his way. He'll be at your throat in a few seconds, and no amount of puppetry or illusions will save you then. So instead, you manipulate the raw energy of the Wyld, and visit upon him the power of the oaths you swore to it. A thousand swords - real swords - plunge into existence, hurled from hands both real and illusory towards the Raven's bound body. Evil-faced lightning reaches out for him, howling imaginary promises of destruction. And you twist through the air, changing your shape every moment in the blink of an eye, denying gravity and taxonomy with the thousand forms you take, making you impossible to pin down. Impossible to strike.

And yet, he is Exalted. Overcoming the impossible is what he does best of all.

The threads are gone, slashed apart by his bladed wings. The swords are all parried in a single flourishing flash of his own. He catches the lightning, channels it through his body, and lets it fly from the tip of his daiklave. You writhe around it, just barely, and make for the sky, but he is already there. He hangs against the absent moon's silhouette, his wings seeming to take up all the heavens in their span, for just long enough for you to register the fact that he's still smiling. Then he dives, taking you and all your whimsical ambitions through the throat, piercing all your myriad forms at once, and shattering you atop the head of the very statue on which you sat.

>Silver Raven: Summon the Dragon-Blooded to the scene.
>Silver Raven: Send the puppeteered people home to sleep.
>[Write In]

>>4094043
>Silver Raven: Summon the Dragon-Blooded to the scene.

>>4094043
>Silver Raven: Send the puppeteered people home to sleep.

>>4094043
>Silver Raven: Summon the Dragon-Blooded to the scene.
We can't afford to keep this a secret any longer. Iron Reed can keep people calm and help us kill any other princes who might've gotten in.

>>4094043
>Silver Raven: Summon the Dragon-Blooded to the scene.
It's his town. He should know.

>>4094043
>Silver Raven: Summon the Dragon-Blooded to the scene.

>>4094049
>>4094169
>>4094372
>>4094423

>Silver Raven: Summon the Dragon-Blooded to the scene

When the fae princeling died, he broke like a mirror, his pieces scattering across the plaza among the feet of his mob. They have begun to awaken from their dream - some of them changed from the experience. He could not shape you, but their minds are not as well-guarded as your own. Many of them have gained claws, or horns, or fangs, or eyes in places where there should be none. Horror is the natural reaction to this, until you stomp your foot hard enough to send a tremor through the plaza. Some stumble, or even fall to their knees; all regard you in a mixture of fear and confusion.

"Congratulations, humans. You get to live another day. If you'd like to live past tomorrow, however, you will rouse the Dragon-Blooded at once and have them meet me here."

The more level-headed ones are quick to do your bidding. The rest, shocked and dazed by what they've been through, simply stare at you. Their faces are masks of dread and trepidation, as if fearing that you'll strike them dead if they so much as move. You sweep your gaze across them, cold and unyielding.

"I've come here to save you," you growl, trying to keep the frost from your tone, "and with your compliance, I will do just that. Rise now and help me help you."

That prompts the rest of them to follow your command, scurrying off into the strange shadows cast by the lamplights. You don't bother to watch them go, instead sitting cross-legged in the very spot where the princeling sat, sheathing your sword across your lap. If there were any more Fae in the city, they'll have fled at the death of their leader, so you needn't concern yourself with stragglers. It isn't long before Iron Reed, accompanied by a half-dozen Terrestrials, arrives, his armor hastily donned and a sheen of sweat - born of panic, not exertion - shines on his face. "Lord Raven, what-" he stops and looks down at the shards of Aerdeth Kyr, aghast. "...I have failed my people," he whispers.

>>4097088

"No more than I would have, had they not sent assassins my way," you declare, leaping down from your perch and striding towards the Dragon-Blooded. "Fortune led my blade tonight. The Celestial Incarnae have smiled upon us and allowed us to counter their covert attack. Come the morrow, they shall find us unbroken, no?"

"I cannot help but feel some shame in my absence," he mutters.

Your blade is at his throat in an instant. Five swords leave their sheaths halfway, while Reed looks at you in shock.

"There is no room for shame in the coming storm," you hiss through clenched teeth. "You heard me speak to the soldiers, did you not? When you stand at my side tomorrow and face those pointy-eared bastards, I need to know that your mind is unburdened by guilt, sharp as this sword of mine."

He is silent for a moment, but only for a moment. His shoulders square, his chin rises, and you see the wood dragon coiling in his eyes. "I shall not be found wanting, Lord Raven," he says. "Forgive my lapse. I will see to it that the barriers are reestablished, and patrol the walls myself."

"There's no need for that, Satrap." Your bird eyes narrow as you stare off into the distance, over the walls to where your enemies hide in the distant dark. "They are defeated for now, and will not rise up against us again until tomorrow. Let your sorcerers sleep, and get some rest yourself. Tonight's doings are ended."

Without another word, you take flight, heading back to the window whence you leapt.

>Go faerie hunting.
>Take your own advice and sleep.

>>4097091
>Take your own advice and sleep.
The lightning needs to recharge, them we’ll strike at full power

>>4097091
>Take your own advice and sleep.

>>4097091
>Take your own advice and sleep.

>>4097091
>Take your own advice and sleep.