Worlds Within Worlds

There's moments in your life that make you, that set the course of who you're gonna be. Sometimes they're little, subtle moments. Sometimes... they're not.

Shadows played on the wall of the cave. The fire was dying down. Angel picked up another branch, snapping it into pieces and chucking them onto the fire. It flared briefly. The sky outside was beginning to lighten, but the morning was cold. Angel disliked the light, but even as he huddled closer to the fire, drawing his heavy cloak closer around him he shivered, nothing ever seemed to penetrate beyond his skin. Nothing seemed to impact on the coldness in his chest.

He stared into the fire. Trying to erase the shadows from his sight, it seemed as though each one was a spectre from his past. A memory demanding his attention. He wanted to burn them from his mind. He wasn't sure which part of his past he hated more. His wasted youth, or the last two years of his service to the Bishop of the Chalcedony Thurible. He wanted to put everything behind him, find some way to live in peace. But his own inner turmoil prevented him, each experience he had called up some other memory he'd tried to bury, the constant whispers of his former masters still echo in his mind. All of this tainted every day of what he wished he could call his life.

The upper room in the tavern had a roaring fire. It was a cold winter in Sijan, but no expense was spared to keep him and his guests comfortable. The card game was going badly as always, but he had never really managed to care about such things. His cup was empty and angrily he shouted for a new round of drinks from the waiter, lashing out at him with impatience. It would cost him a little more when he came to settle the tab at the end of the month, but his parents could afford it. He looked around the table at the faces of his companions, the other boys at the table were a little older than him but not one was over 20.

They looked to him to take the lead on the next activity of the evening, his allowance was the largest so he tended to be the ringleader. He summoned the girls to provide the next round of entertainment. The best that his parent's money could provide. The niggling boredom still reverberated at the back of his head, but again he shunted it away, hoping that by looking like he was enjoying himself to the full maybe he finally would.

Angel walked on through the wasteland. This region was warm for the season, but the ground was still hard with the frost. Hints of green trying to push through the layers of cold. There were almost no signs of human habitation, but everywhere his experienced eyes picked up signs of the life that inhabited the area. The tiny trails of the small rodents, droppings of the birds. He forded a small stream, swollen with snow melt from the north. He was still heading north-west, drawn by some unknown, unfamiliar impulse. Another one of the tantalising hints, echoes down the centuries of the previous owner of the power he now carried within him.

He didn't understand the process, he only knew what the Bishop had taught him, and what he had briefly believed so strongly, that he was an avatar of death, blessed by the Neverborn with the power to slay the very world itself. Yet sometimes the odd impulse would awaken within him, and he felt the shard of power was the source. It guided him along the course of this stream, towards some goal that he knew not. His path had been curving east for some time now, and his steps led him with a certain inevitability towards a dense pine forest. Night was falling, but that mattered little as the greater darkness ahead resonated with his more esoteric senses. He could feel the shadowland ahead of him, the siren song of the Bishop's teachings always calling out to the darker side of his own nature.

His footsteps carried him North, he was far too furious to have planned a route of any kind, but he had to leave Sijan far behind. He was incredulous at how his circumstances had changed. His parents had never cared one bit about his conduct. He had been planning his 20th birthday party for months and of course he was going to have a good time. So what if he had got into a fist-fight with some other idiot at the party? The scarring was minor, and in a city where ghosts held all the most important positions anyway, an inconvenience of such a kind in a relatively brief mortal life hardly seemed important enough for the other boy's parents to make an issue out of. But the family were extremely influential in the mortician's order and the edict had been handed down. His own parents, having deigned to talk to him for once, had told him his behavior had gone far enough and that it was about time he learned some responsibility. There had been a flaming row, he wasn't sure quite the end point his father had intended at the beginning of the argument, but he knew once he had struck his own mother there was no going back. It was all so unfair. He was far from the most reprehensible young man ever to grow up amongst the wealthy families of Sijan. It was hardly his fault his parents ignored him so completely and sent him off with a huge allowance to entertain himself. He couldn't be blamed for having had a bit more practice in drunken brawls than the other spoilt rich kids.

The tears of rage and frustration streamed from his face as he continued walking away from his past life. He was heading for the Black Chase, without even realising it. Perhaps, subconsciously, hoping to join the legions of men who had died there. But that was not to be his fate. He settled down to sleep in the shadowland, knowing the likely consequences but accepting them without hesitation. As twilight descended the shades of the dead arose, the hungry ghosts began to swarm, in twos and threes. He raised his head, defiant, awaiting the teeth and claws. There was a flash of red from behind him, a figure trailing fire and holding a bright red daiklave leaped from an outcropping of rocks above him. The daiklave flashed and hissed as it burned into the necrotic essence of the hungry ghosts dispersing them into the darkness, leaving only the fiery glow around the Dragon-Blood.

The dynast laughed, turning to him and telling him to be more careful about where he chose to sleep. The terrestrial was deaf to his protests and stayed with him overnight and the next morning guided him out of the Chase again. The dynast had spent the whole time mocking him, preaching to him patronising him. It was then that the young Sijanese man resolved to live. He had a new focus for his life. He would prove everyone wrong. He would prove to his parents that he was not someone to be ignored, he would prove to this dynast that he was entirely capable of coping without the help of some jumped up young exalt, he would prove to the world that he was someone to be reckoned with.

He camped on the edge of the forest overnight. Not wanting to risk entering the shadowland after dusk. He knew that this territory wasn't officially claimed by any Deathlords, but it was still a risk to draw too much attention to himself. The Bishop had always allowed him a great deal of autonomy, but had never been too pleased with his performance, he hoped this meant he wouldn't be hunted down and dragged back into service. He hadn't risked taking most of the trinkets that the Bishop had bestowed on him over the couple of years he'd been his servant. The one artifact he had kept was the bracers he still wore on his forearms, insignificant enough not to draw attention, he hoped, but still one of the most useful pieces of equipment available.

He prepared the wood for a small fire to keep him warm overnight, but held off on lighting it. Venturing a little way inside the forest he found a likely looking bush and heaved a stone into the far side of it. Two small creatures darted out, veering off in opposite directions as they saw what was unmistakably a predator in front of them. Angel leaped into motion, dashing after one of them without pause for thought. He tracked it briefly, it took him a couple of hundred metres to get close enough to pounce. He landed on top of it locking two well practiced hands around its throat and snapping it's neck. He carried his spoils back to the camp and lit the fire to cook his dinner.

He had spent a long time honing his skills, surviving by his own wits, cunning and athleticism. He avoided human contact where possible, but found settlements useful sources of necessities. He had become experienced in stealth and thievery, as well as hunting and finding shelter, at home in the wilderness or in villages and towns. He travelled far and wide, not wanting to form bonds to any particular place. He was a solitary figure, taciturn and dour when forced to seek refuge in a tavern for brief respites. He found he still occasionally craved some female company though, but he relied purely on his looks in these cases, or on money he'd managed to steal, preferring the direct methods to some of the more subtle approaches he might have used.

He had stopped in a town a week or so's journey south east of Icehome, looking for some companionship for the night. Having struck out in the local tavern he wandered around the central streets searching for another location to chance his luck. Off the central square was a noble house that seemed to be holding a party of some sort. Having a set of fine clothes stashed in his travelling pack, as they often proved useful in a pinch, he changed his outfit and slipped past the guards into the party. He floated through the function, skimming the free food and drink, without getting too involved in any conversations. He spotted a woman on the other side of the room and playing off his looks and his unusual directness it wasn't long before he found himself alone with her, in an upstairs bedroom, the same thing on both their minds. Swiftly, they began removing each other's clothing.

He was in a rather advanced state of undress when the woman's father burst into the room. He looked up and his eyes widened in shock as he realised it was the same Dragon Blood who had rescued him in the Black Chase so many months ago. There was no recognition in the Dynast's eyes, and he could do very little to stop the onslaught of the older man as he was beaten. He was flung through a window, his own meagre combat skills proving to be almost worthless in the face of the exalt. He lay on the ground aching, bleeding and panting as the Dragon Blood advanced for the kill, and time seemed to slow down.

It was in that moment that the Bishop came to him, offering everything he wanted. The power to control his fate. The power to strike back at this dynast, at everyone who had ever mocked him or wronged him. The price seemed trivial, not worth caring about and he accepted gleefully. His new power burst forth from him and taking the Blooded by surprise he turned the tables, glorying in the violence and revelling in his new found strength. He lingered too long though. The Dynast's guards rushed to his aid, and not yet knowing the limits of his gifts, he decided to escape and head to join his new master. He was guided by the reassuring voices of his new masters, little realising then what a terrible burden their constant whispers would become in time.

Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does.

Angel arose with the light. Though he found the brightness uncomfortable. He took stock of his surroundings once more, and hid the obvious signs of his little camp from anyone who might pass by here. He entered the wooded area, feeling the seeping coldness that was so familiar, like descending in to a pool of cold water, washing over him as he stepped into the boundary of the place where the underworld met creation. He still wasn't sure entirely what had led him here, he new it wasn't the incessant undertone of the whispers, but something deeper. A quest from much longer ago.

The signs of the shadowland were abundant, even to one who couldn't feel it on a deeper level. The bark of the trees was darker and drier, and seemed somehow older than it should. The leaves were pale and sickly, verging on grey in many places, and seemed to hang limply from the trees. The very air itself seemed to hold a malignancy, each tree locking in a spirit full of rage and hatred of the living world. The shadows played over them, seeming more often than not, to bring to mind the images of faces, worn and haggard, twisted in visions of fear, apoplexy or torment. The small brooks that twisted through the wood, offered little sound, but swirled and bubbled darkly, as if predestined to fill the cauldron of some mad alchemist. A mortal of unexceptional bravery might well have turned away from the stench of decay that permeated the forest, driven off by the heavy threats hanging in the air, but Angel took a deep breath and forged on.

In the centre of the forest he found a clearing, the brook surrounding like a moat a battered old wooden hut. Old trees and timber seemed to have fallen across it, creating a strange mesh of wood, like bars on a cage, locking up the dwelling within. He stepped over the brook, and walked up to the pile of logs, and with a touch and a small expenditure of essence they fell away, seemingly at random, but his eyes had begun to detect a pattern in it. He entered into the hut, but drew up sharply, surprised to suddenly realise that this was a place of power, a manse, and amazed that he hadn't felt it earlier. Admittedly it was somewhat weak, but it seemed to resonate within him. The place was small and spartan, the bottom floor consisting merely of a large open space, clearly a small dojo. There were weapons hanging on racks on the walls, but all seemed to be suffering from age. Upstairs there was a very modest living area, with a bedroom and some facilities. More importantly there was also a small trove of wonders.

Angel found three things in the hearthstone chamber. Firstly, he was surprised to discover the hearthstone itself, a small flat stone, which looked like once it was the bright green of a vibrant plant, but like everything here seemed to be infected with decay. It looked dilapidated and worn, and though the stone still had traces of it's old colour mostly it was now the green of rot and the green of mould. Secondly, he found what looked to be a plain black shirt, at first he took it for some sort of old discarded garment, but upon closer inspection he realised it shimmered slightly in the light. And despite his expectations was without holes or even signs of wear. On a sudden impulse he put it on, and he felt the familiar swirl of essence as his inner stores began to attune to it, as without surprise he registered it as an artifact of power. The most stunning discovery of all though was the last. An ancient scroll. It showed a map, and many symbols. Angel realised at once that this was an artifact of great power and slid it carefully into his left bracer, clipping the hearthstone into his right. Though he was pleased with what he had found he felt suddenly purposeless, no longer filled with a desire to go anywhere. At a loss as to what to do next.

He had thrown himself into his new life at first. He embraced the teachings of the Bishop and delighted in the role assigned him. He was christened 'Silent Lament of the Fallen Angel' and for a while imagined himself to be happy. He was a favourite of the Bishop's at first,devouring the information provided to him and eagerly charging into each task laid in front of him. He learned much and began to increase his power, but still felt weak compared to his masters and his compatriots and his many enemies. He was callous and cruel to anyone who didn't demand his respect. He gained a reputation for being blood-thirsty, for enjoying the most gruesome aspects of his job, for brutality, and for collateral damage. As he grew more careless he began to do worse, and slowly slid from favour with the Bishop.

But power was not the only thing granted to him when he accepted the Bishop's offer. Wrapped up in the shard of power came certain memories and certain feelings that felt alien, yet different from the whispers of the neverborn. Sometimes it felt like someone else, but more often it seemed like a new part of himself and awakened, and was making it's displeasure known. It seemed to strengthen within him as he increased in power. These other feelings became stronger, announcing themselves more often and more forcefully. The things he had taken pleasure in months before started to become distasteful to him. He became hesitant, his ruthlessness replaced with indecision. He became substantially worse at the missions assigned him. The sense of belonging that he had been searching for so long faded, and he began to hate his situation.

Trusts and privileges began to be stripped away from him. Terrified of what his next decision might mean he hung around as he was relegated to little more than a menial role as his master's other servants replaced him. It took him months to finally summon up the courage to leave. Drawing on every skill he had learned in his time with the Bishop he escaped his masters' stronghold and struck out on his own. Returning to the life he had led long ago, wandering creation and the underworld, scavenging, hunting and stealing to survive. He never saw any signs of pursuit. He hoped that he had proved useless enough to be immaterial to his former masters' plans. Yet he was careful to keep a low profile and cover his tracks. He avoided human contact as much as possible, even more than he had as a youth, frequently sleeping in caves or under the stars. It was a while before he realised that he had started to develop a pattern to his wanderings, no longer at random he found his steps taking him north and a little east, into areas of moors and forests.

So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are.

He spent a long time meditating on the floor of the dojo in the ruined manse-shack. He attuned himself to the place, and considered his next move. He studied the scroll he found for some time. Slowly working out the functions and the import of the symbols he found within it, realising that each one probably represented a different martial arts style. He knew a little about the greater theory of the supernatural martial arts, but not a huge amount. He wanted more than anything else to be free, to be independent of anyone else. Free of the chains that bound him to the Bishop and to the Neverborn. He reasoned that greater mastery both of others in combat, but also over himself and his own inner essence might be the best avenue he had available to him.

He considered many of the locations that he had managed to work out, but finally decided that after the many years of absence it was time that he returned to his birth place, and so unfolding himself from his meditative position he packed his few things as normal and left to head south for Sijan. He pondered the strangeness of it all as he walked. He could never have predicted the twists in his life that would finally lead him back to his original home. Each one seemed more unexpected than the last. And when he had left Sijan so long ago he hadn't even expected to live very long.

He remembered much of his former life clearly, but most of it was images. He had sold his name to the Neverborn for his power, and with it seemed to tumble many of the details of his life. He couldn't remember the names of anyone he had known whilst he still lived in Sijan. The names of the places he had frequented had also disappeared from his recollection. Faces and pictures remained strong, but there was only one solid thing he could cling on to from that time of his life. It had recently surfaced, from the depths of his memories, when he was asleep, in his dreams, they called him Liam.

Ravaging Blow
Cost: 2m
Type: Supplemental
Keywords: Combo-OK
Duration: Instant
Doubles net successes for damage from unarmed attack (not grapple). Increases min damage by 1 if Dark Messiah Form is active.

Foe-Blinding Jab
Cost: 3m
Type: Supplemental
Keywords: Combo-Ok, Crippling
Duration: Instant
Reduce an attack from 2+ levels to 1 level and blind one eye (can repeat to fully blind). Can reduce attack to 0 damage to make effect temporary.

Dead Man's Grasp
Cost: 1m/action
Type: Supplemental
Keywords: Combo-OK
Duration: Indefinite
Inflict lethal damage in a clinch. Raw damage increases by 1 (capped at Martial Arts) each action. Resets to 0 for any action it isn't used.

Inescapable Iron Grip
Cost: 5m
Type: Supplemental
Keywords: Combo-OK
Duration: Indefinite
Target takes penalty to dice pool equal to number of actions Abyssal has held clinch. Target is also unable to breathe.

Injury Absorbing Discipline
Cost: 10m
Type: Supplemental
Keywords: Combo-OK
Duration: Overnight
Speed up healing by a factor of 10.

Raiton's Nimble Perch
Cost: 3m
Type: Reflexive
Keywords: Combo-OK
Duration: One Scene
Balance on any surface.

Spider Pounce Technique
Cost: 3m
Type: Reflexive
Keywords: Combo-OK
Duration: One Scene
May jump with a movement action, double length of all jumps.

Ominous Portent Method
Cost: -
Type: Permanent
Keywords: Avatar (2)
Duration: Instant
Automatically succeed on any roll to notice attack or similar threat. Charm does not work if Resonance > 10-Essence.

Flitting Shadow Form
Cost: 1m
Type: Reflexive
Keywords: Combo-OK
Duration: Instant
Use full Dodge DV against single attack.

Flickering Wisp Technique
Cost: 3m
Type: Reflexive
Keywords: Combo-OK, Obvious, Spectral
Perfect dodge. Reappear up to essence yards away.

Personal: 16
Peripheral: 38
Committed: 6

Spent: 8/11
Available: 8/21

Willpower: 7
Available: 6

Resonance: 6

Health Levels:
-0/-1/-1/-2/-2/-4/I
X--X--X--X