Worlds Within Worlds

Unfortunately, despite many conversations with a veritable multitude of people in various states of inebriation, nobody has admitted to knowing Blood Tiger. At one point, near the end of an evening, one old local spluttered something about 'not wanting your sort at The Pit' but his friends quickly surrounded him and stopped him from answering your questions further. And whilst you don't know much about your home city, you know that bar fights are a matter for The Black Watch.

In any case, despite the allure of your scroll something else is pressing on your mind. You keep on finding yourself drawn to certain parts of the city. When you go there -purely to investigate Blood Tiger amongst the locals of course- you'll find yourself seeing things that aren't there. Images. Memories.

Sometimes, it is all you can do not to sit in one of the pubs that attract you and wait. You're not sure what you'd be waiting for. You know you should be investigating your lead but somehow it just doesn't seem that urgent.

[successful 1d stunt - diff 5 Cha+Inv roll]
[If you would like to investigate the strangely familiar scenery of Sijan, turn to Page 58. If you would like to continue your investigations, turn to Page 117]

You remain at your table in The Noose for some time, ignoring the noise around you and drinking the minimal amount to justify your continued presence in the tavern. Eventually night replaces day and you're beginning to suspect that it's time to cut your losses when the noise of wood thumping down on wood jolts you from your reverie

'What's the matter with you, Liam? You look like your a million miles away' says a smiling youth, shaking his hand to despose of the ale that had just splashed from the wooden tankard. You smile and mutter something that you hope sounds suitably urbane but it doesn't carry across the noise from the bar 'What? You're not sore about the game are you. Because nobody made you bet on a pair of 3s, and I'm using my winnings to buy you a drink' The young man hits you on the shoulder in what you assume was intended to a playful fashion 'cummon! don't be like that'

Slowly you drag yourself out of your reverie. As though you cared about a handful of silver. It might seem like a lot to him but your parents wouldn't miss it. As you negotiate your way through the required small talk you cultivate a mild but persistent dislike for your so-called friend. There's the way that he has the head of a normal-sized person perched on top of a body the size of a small ogre. Let's not forget his corpse-stench breath, and the permanent hunks of food in his gap-teeth. Most of all, though, it's the way he's here, consoling you when you would much rather get your faux-comfort in an alley with a cheap tart.

Fortunately, after one drink he lets you leave when you make up a story about needing to be up in the morning for a family-do. He's an idiot, though, he probably would have taken a story about needing to catch a flying pig at face value. Outside, you can hear the rainfall on Upper Sijan, and you can see the water pouring down drains and tunnels into your subterranean home, poorly lit by occasional torches. All you ever get down here is the piss of the dead you think bitterly.

The cold weather has left the streets deserted, so no ally-comfort for you. Instead you stumble home, into the wealthier part of town. As you raise your hand to the door it opens in front of you. Your father's voice crawls out from the darkness inside 'What time do you call this, then'

'I said, what time do you call this then'. You blink, surprised to find yourself back in The Noose, being confronted by a not-unfriendly barman. 'I think you best be off to your bed, young man'. You nod, and put down a generous tip of other people's money. At least now, with this new memory fresh in your head, you know where there might be a bed you can call your own.

Outside, the weather is just as foul, and the streets are just as deserted. You don't see the face of the man huddled in a shop doorway across from The Noose, out of both light and rain. And if you did, the deep scar across it would mean nothing to you.

It's not too hard to find a way in to the house. At least not for a man of your talents. After a few short moments you are able to pick the lock of the servants entrance and you vanish silently inside the house.

The first door you find leads out into the entrance hall. As you ease the door open you see yourself, six years ago, standing at the threshold exchanging shouts with your father like they were blows. Your mother tries to calm you and in the confusion you lash out and knock her to the ground. The blood that spills onto the ground is a vivid red but you barely notice it, staring at your hands in disbelief. The silence is broken by the howl of your little sister and without another word you turn and stalk off into the streets of Sijan.

The memory fades and you see the entrance hall, unchanged. The same pictures hang on the wall, and your father has stowed the same umbrella in the same hatstand. You hesitate, unsure of where to go next.

Your exploration evokes a strange juxtaposition of feelings. On the one hand you feel as if you are trespassing in a strangers' house. On the other, you have a strange nagging feeling of familiarity. Every now and again and item evokes a feeling or, occasionally, an image. So an urn makes you feel somehow guilty, an empty room makes you feel slightly aroused, and a room littered with toys brings back a memory of playing with your sister. You see a portrait of each parent and one of your sister, aged 10 or so, but the only picture of you is standing behind your parents with a hand on your father's shoulder. The first floor is no different. There are two occupied rooms; one has two people in it and one has one person in it. As you walk further down the corridor you pause outside a blank door adjacent to what you assume is your parent's bedroom, remembering a time many years ago when you paused in a similar place.

* * *

'---hing we can do for your hand. Whatever power you disturbed, it is beyond our abilities. Perhaps, even our understanding'.

'I still want to know what provoked you to go down there in the first place'.

'Come now, friend. Why scold her? Hasn't the child been punished enough?'

'No. Master Willow Leaf is right. I... I was foolish'.

'To say the least! What good is an apprentice with only one hand? You leave me with litte choice, child. Shall I be shamed by having to give up an apprentice, or by having one who is no good to anybody?'

'Please, master. I shall not fail you. Only let me prove myself'

'I shall have to think on it. For now, get yourself home. Start practicing your calligraphy with your left hand, just in case I decide you're yet worth the trouble'

'In that case I believe I shall take my leave as well. Wait outside, Kestrel, I shall accompany you home'.

You hear steps walking towards the door and you duck into one a cupboard next to the study. Inside, amidst the brooms and buckets you can hear the conversation inside through the thin walls even more clearly. A trick that you learned some years ago.

'--- find out where she went'

'Yes, of course, because it seems so utterly safe. Don't be foolish. The necroplis will keep its own mysteries'

'I'm serious. Imagine what we could do with that kind of power. This is like nothing we've known'

'It scares me to hear you talk like this. Not because it betrays a disturbing naivity, which it does, but because... it's not you! To seek power is not your way, nor mine. We serve a greater purpose'

'But not for long. You've heard the rumours. Do you think we can remain neutral for ever?'

'Sijan's neutrality is a given. Even he wouldn't dare--'

'Don't be so sure. Did you not hear ab---'

But here the conversation cuts out as one of the maids opens the cupboard and screams. You jump out, squeezing past her laughing. A laugh, that is cut out when you see Kestrel, a withered, purple hand raised to her face in shock. Your father flings the door open, and you race away towards the stairs. Behind him, a beautiful woman strolls out. The wry smile on her face is the last thing you remember

* * *

The study door, once always locked, swings open when you prod it. Your foot guides itself over a creaky floorboard and you spend a few minutes rifling through papers, which reveal nothing interesting at all.

[No, but the red voice was the only male one - also gain 2 motes back for a 1ds]

The house seems to have given up its fill of secrets for the evening. Still, the bedrooms may provide some more information. You seep into the smaller of the two rooms, leaving the air undisturbed by your presence. It is a girl's room; belonging to either a young girl, or a girl who didn't care to update her decorations.

The figure on the bed's head is partially covered by the blanket but as you approach she stretches in her sleep, pulling the blanket down and uncovering her face. It's the girl. The one from the woods. Only completely undamaged.

[assuming you use your abyssal sense you will not sense any necrotic essence on or in her, although you will know that there's some within 200 yards of your location]

[she's around five]

In this room you find your parents, almost unchanged from when you last saw them six years ago, though slightly worn by time. You see yourself framed and hanging on the wall, in pride of place above your parents' bed. You distantly remember the day you sat for that portrait, and the various arguments, bribes and threats that went into you sitting still and wearing something vaguely sensible. You made your mother cry.

Now, though, she sleeps peacefully next to your father.

[I can't decide whether you should get resonance. Canonically, probably not. Thematically, probably yes. I'll let you decide]

[sorry - I managed to miss that this had been updated. Also, you gain 1 resonance. You can have all of your essence back; there's a few shadowlands dotted around].

It takes a couple of days but you are as patient and unmoving as the dead. Late on the second evening you see a group finish their drinks and leave, and as they head out the door you hear a couple of mentions of The Pit.

Tailing them through the streets of Sijan isn't hard. The area around the tavern is crowded and they appear to be at that level of inebriation where one's senses become very focused. Things become a litte bit harder as they stagger towards the outskirts of the city and thence into the fields surrounding it but they're loud enough, and your senses are keen enough that you can keep a suitable distance.

For once you are surprised when the sudden warmth of essence flowing into your body signifies that you have crossed the border of a shadowland. You have grown accustomed to your hearthstone or local knowledge telling you when a shadlowland is upon you, but in Sijan your stone keeps on registering different directions and you don't know this part of the vast graveyard that constitutes the plains outside Sijan. Still, this part of the underworld is relatively tame, thanks to its proximity to the great city of the dead.

You walk on for another mile or so. For half of this you begin to notice various other people -mostly ghosts- converging on the path that leads to your destination. You see a few dozen in total. Coming over the crest of the hill you see many more, all converging on what appears to be a fairly unassuming building. Many of the ghosts stride confidently in, exchanging nods with the doorman, but the majority -including all ofl of the humans- show what you can only assume are tickets.

[successful 1d stunt]

Immediately inside the doors a staircase leads you down into a large stone chamber with a high ceiling. The chamber is sumptuously garnished with rich red carpets and curtains but aside from a few stalls clustered into the corners the floor itself is bare. Large torches around the walls provide just enough light to see by without lessening, in any way, the abiding sense of gloom.

Still, the people in the chamber seem happy enough; they are taking advantage of the drinks on sale, milling around in groups and talking. Casual eavesdropping, however, reveals nothing about the location. Even before you descend the steps you notice that most people are walking straight through this room, exiting via a set of double doors directly opposite you. It seems as good a place as any to start.

Coming through the doors you are met by a cheering crowd, all with their backs to you. The room is much larger than the one you just left, and circular with similar doors equally spaced around the circumference. On closer inspection, the crowd is standing in a circle around a pit. You know what this is now; you even went to a similar, albeit smaller example when you lived in Sijan as a mortal. You barge your way through the lines of people to the rail and see a sandy pit several feet beneath you. Two ghosts are dragging a prone body out a door almost directly beneath you but you barely notice them, as your eyes are drawn to the focus of the crowd's cheers; the victorious gladiator.

After watching several fights it becomes clear exactly how this works. Somebody walks into the pit with Blood Tiger. He defeats them. The crowd cheers and chants his name. This isn't a martial contest where two equally matched combatants face each other. This is a slaughter, where the entertainment is derived from the various painful and dramatic injuries inflicted by the champion. Bones snap; an ear is torn off there; an elbow is ripped out of it's socket.

Watching Blood Tiger fight, though, it is no surprise that he lacks a worth opponent. Although he spends most of the matches casually strutting around the pit, he occasionally lets himself lose. He's inhumanly, fast, strong, opportunistic, and he fights dirty. Several times you see him throw sand in the face of his opponents, and then snap one of their extremities whilst they're fighting blind. He likes grapples, and the chain wrapped around his torso isn't just for show. In theory he fights unarmed, but a near constant stream of glasses, bottles and the occasional chair from the crowd means that he's rarely without a weapon.

Your martial arts training tells you he's using charms of some sort to increase his speed and damage. You necromantic training leads you to suspect he's using some kinds of arcanos. His sharp teeth and skins that seems to shimmer with a faint stripe lead you to believe he's sculpted his own corpus.

The complex itself is fairly unremarkable. There are five foyers, all identical, with exits leading back out to the Mortuary Fields. All have doors behind the main bars but getting into these would involve talking your way past the barman. There are no obvious places to hide upstairs.

It's easier to work out how to get into the ring. You pay the organiser any amount of silver from a few coins up to half a talent. If you stay in the ring for longer than three minutes they double it. Or so say the posters dotted around the arena in a variety of languages.

As for The Tiger... it's hard to know how the fight would turn out. He knows a lot of tricks and charms, and his blows are devestating but you know from experience that ghosts don't have the mastery of essence that you do. You've seen ancient ghosts taken down with the judicial use of essence and very little else.

The map's scale means that you can't be more specific on the location of the scroll than 'Sijan', and the only information available is that the scroll is related somehow to Blood Tiger.

One thing you do notice is that the kata being performed is fairly simple and straightfoward. You assume it would be a terrestrial martial art.

The organiser shrugs. 'I'd let you triple it. And I'd lick your ballbag myself - aint no way a scrawny little mortal like you lasts the time in there. Still 'he adds, raking the money towards him 'it's your funeral. You're on in 30.'

[anything you want to do before the fight?]

Judging from the jeers and taunts your acting is working. You see several punters taking advantage of thsi short break from the proper fighting to leave the ringside, allowing the people behind them to elbow and jostle their way into the premier viewing position.

Blood Tiger stands in the middle, apparently oblivious to your presence. You're still several yards away when suddenly he is upon you, one arm snaking out towards your windpipe whilst the other still salutes the crowds.

[BT declares a punch. You both act on tick 0, but he gets first shot]

Unfortunately, Tiger's arm is faster than it looks and it lashes into your windpipe before you can raise your block, forcing you to choke and gag. Still, you are able to hop back further than any mortal currently gasping for air should be able to, which causes him to pause for a second.

[you take 3 bashing damage. I'm saying it's still tick 0 and you're using your move action to move back (if you still want to), which means you still have a Proper Action on tick 0; he goes again in 5 ticks]

[3 bashing! how many damage dice did he roll? :-(]

Shit! Coughing and spluttering I swear meaningfully under my breath. Ok, time to stop being cocky and to do this properly.

I bounce forward again leading with my fists and feint an uppercut to his chin, but miss wildly and let my momentum overbalance me. I turn it into a skid, falling towards the floor but aiming my legs at his. My right leg wraps round the back of his knees and my left goes through his ankle. He tumbles towards me, but I'm ready and before he even hits the ground i'm transitioning into side control.

I keep him in a leg lock, but it's non-standard enough to look like an unintentional tangle to all but the best trained martial artists. Shifting my weight slightly I keep his left hand pinned under my body and reach over to twist his right hand across his back, the most basic lock there is, and one that will again look like the luck of an amateur unless you're highly trained.

It's a pretty effective pin, and it also gives me a good position to whisper into his ear. "There's two ways this can go. I'll only beat you if you force me to."

[I'm going for a clinch attack. Max burning on MA excellency and channeling valour. If I win the clinch I'll inflict bashing damage.]

[He doesn't get an action, he is now effectively inactive until my next action when we get another clinch roll. Assuming no response in the mean time my next action will be this;]

As he begins to squirm beneath me I sigh, with audible frustration, though presumably not audible to the crowd over their jeers. I should probably be trying to give them a better spectacle, to win them over, but that'll have to go down as low priority right now.

As the intensity of his struggles increases I lever the arm further up his back, I can almost hear the strain in his tendons. I have just about enough leverage to place my elbow on the back of his neck. Ghosts don't breath, but enough pressure on the neck still cuts off enough of whatever it is they require for consciousness. I whisper, with a little more menace this time 'I'd hate to have to break you before we've had a chance to talk.'

[Spend 5 motes on excellency and an additional 1 to prevent anima banner bleed.]

[Not sure on language, I was watching him for a while, did I not see him speak at any time? Presumably most of the crowd is shouting in Riverspeak so that'd be what I would try if I haven't seen him talk.]

[Fair enough. Though I am a bit upset that he managed to do so much more damage than I did. :-( Also that his pool and/or rolling is clearly superior to mine. Can I begin to estimate the size of his pools from the fight?]

I limp away from the hospital, my ego at least as bruised as my body. I head into the wilderness from the hospital, keeping to the underworld, I find a less than populated area, out of the way and lick my wounds. [Activate Injury Absorbing Discipline, repeatedly until all damage is healed.]

I need to go back, and I need to go back better and stronger. I take out my scroll again and study the next charm detailed therein. [Gonna spend XP to learn the form charm.]

[Did you remember soak on his first attack? And the fact that my clinch damage is piercing? Not to mention that his soak his reduced by my hearthstone bracers. Do I still have my teeth? You are correct that I don't have any ox-body.]

Dammit! I was sure I had him wrapped up there. Now I am pissed off. Fine, time to stop playing and start kicking his fucking ass.

I roll over on to my front, coughing up blood. Wave away the people coming to stretcher me out, and decide to drop any pretense about my nature. I mutter 'You're right. Enough talking.'

I push up off my hands in a press up motion, but my charm means that I find it very easy to jump right now, so I use the momentum to propel me up off the floor completely. I'm now leaping backwards towards the wall of the pit, so I bend my knees and reach out one hand behind me, grabbing on to the wall and coiling like a spring.

As the Blood Tiger turns towards me, eyes widening in surprise I push off the wall. Leaping high and fast, I seem to hang in the air, time almost slows down, his vision tunnels as all he can see is the figure in black hanging in the air in front of him, blurring with the speed of movement yet seeming to take forever to arrive.

My left leg drifts downwards and as I reach my opponent it plants on his shoulder and pushes off again. With a speed that seems to defy the physical laws, surprising even given my leap through the air my right leg snaps forward, with a powerful kick catching the Tiger under the chin. His head snaps back, spraying blood saliva and sweat yards into the air. He falls backwards.

My right leg continues it's swing taking the rest of my body with it. I somersault in the air high over the pit, not stopping at a 360 degree spin I let myself go a little further stopping a touch over a 450 degree spin. Still in midair I point my elbow downwards, bracing at the wrist with my other hand across my chest.

The Blood Tiger has skidded along the ground, but I still had plenty of forward momentum from my original jump, and just like when you jump on a moving cart and land above the same place I fall towards him. My elbow lands on his breastbone, and there is a sickening, yet satisfying crack, reverberating around the room, as the crowd gasps in shock, the dim echo of the cheers from a moment earlier now seem to mock rather than celebrate.

I roll off the tiger and kick flip back onto my feet. Learning from both my previous mistakes and his I keep a careful watch on him. Narrowing my eyes to assess his likely next move.

[Two attacks, going to spend 8 motes for MA excellency on each - think the elbow drop would be more appropriate as a kick than a punch mechanically.]

[I've deleted the first post. I keep forgetting that I have to declare an attack and wait for you to declare a defence before declaring outcome. You can still win this fight so I don't want to take away your shot. Sorry - I'm still getting used to pbp]

So here's what my post should have said]:

As your anima flares it seems to stun Blood Tiger enough for you to land a solid blow on his chin. Fortunately for him, it seems to snap him back into the fight, and by the time you complete your spin he manages to deflect most of the force of the blow, although you can hear the thud of bone on bone.

The anima also seems to have stunned the crowd into silence. Out of the corner of you eye you can see some of the spectators moving away from the ring.

In the meantime: before you manage to land from your second attack Blood Tiger snaps hold of your elbow and tosses you back into the air. His fist heads towards your unprotected gut like a sledgehammer

[You do 4B damage for a successful 2ds. He'll conduct 2 punch attacks using a charm that, if he hits, provokes a reflexive roll on your part to see if your action will be delayed a tick. He will be spending a wp on each]

The ghost in fine attire is the manager of The Pit. He's apologetic, self-effacing and clumsy in the kind of way that only somebody who thinks you're about to tear down his business and forge him into soulsteel can be.

It doesn't take long before his simpering becomes offensive and the voices in your head start helpfully suggesting appropiate measures. Luckily for him, Blood Tiger relieves him within a few minutes.

The gladiator looks even bigger outside of The Pit, and his battle-clothes stand in stark contrast to the infirmary. He sits on the chair by your bed and looks you up and down. Then, in Old Realm he asks 'You said you wanted to talk?'

[no teeth - he'll meet you in the bar at The Pit in a couple of days if you ask. We'll see how it goes with you not knowing about scrolls]

The ghost shrugs 'You fought well for one so young. Perhaps not so well for one with that power. I may yet train you. First I would want to know who your current sifu is?

As for my techniques? I hear that on the streets in Creation they emulate me and it First Pulse Style. Here, they name it for me. I created it and...yes, your stance approximates mine.' He frowns. 'I rarely use that form of it, though. Who showed it to you? For that matter, what lead you here?'

Blood Tiger raises his eyebrow when you mention you have left your master but makes no further comment on the subject. Instead, he asks 'If you possess it then it's not, I assume, a person. What manner of thing can train a warrior? And what manner of thing knows my name?

'You want to be my student? Then answer my questions'

Blood Tiger seems suitably impressed, and he agrees with your hypothesis that it must show the location of people who can train you in the martial arts.

After a while he closes his eyes, weighing up his options 'yes, I will train you in the charms of my style. I can be found training here most days at noon. You were welcome to join me any time'

It's hard to hear him, though, over the whispers screaming at you about his deceit and his intent to hurt you.

[he can train you in First Pulse Style for 4xp a shot. If you learn swallowing the lotus root (8xp) then he will train you for 2xp a shot. Although in this instance you know OOC he's hiding the existence of the scroll from you (IC you didn't make the roll to notice him hiding something) as a rule the whispers are happily indifferent to the truth]