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[Playergamer]

Sal begins to tap his foot on the floor, like in the train carriage.

"Well, I 'spose I've got one or two things. There's a few songs I've learned around the campfire, 'bout life in the saddle."

He looks down at his boots for a few moments, before speaking.

"Also got the story of how they took my pa away. It's not some fancy story like that lady told, it happened only a couple years back, out in the prairie."

[GiglameshDespair]

The Orinost Relic is owned by that angry, red-haired young warrior, who took over for the injured leader. His mood doesn't seem to have improved...

'This is not a thing I stole.' he insists. 'Since those who owned it lie dead. The dead cannot own things. You are of the Orinost. There is no more Orinost. I will not allow it be sold cheaply...it is a useful thing. I don't want it. It gives ill luck. Those who owned it lie dead.' He says, intending to imply causation causing correlation...or something. 'Give me good luck. And, I will give you bad luck.' He says, pointing a long, bony finger to the Handyman. He refuses to elaborate further.

You remember when everyone in Orinost has something like this on their person...they were viewed as amusing toys, despite the intricate technology contained within. Times change...

"There are still the ghosts of Orinost, and those are our grave-goods. " Wen-Li said dryly.
"Still, a trade is only fair... but good luck is not something that those of Orinost have in abundance. I can offer an appeal to spirits, or perhaps something else."

The Shamanic Lore is offered by a group of very old Horsefolk...

"Speaking to Furies. You wish a thing that can cause you much pain. You cannot speak to a living flame without suffering the burns. You cannot speak to water-it will fill your lungs, quiet you forever. You must learn a balance of pain to properly hold the furies within in your hands. Or, you will not be here for very long.

We will trade you secrets...you give us some secrets in return. A story no one has ever heard. A story no one should ever hear. A story that may cause you pain. If you can stand to give us your pain, we will teach you the secret words."

"I do not flinch from the fire that burns the heart, because what does ashes have to fear? But the furies remember... and sometimes, they can tell, and sometimes they can listen. If the words are known.

Listen closely, for I will tell this but the once.

As in so many of these stories, there was a woman. She had a twin, who she loved dearly. Her twin sister was beautiful in spirit, but crippled in body - her legs could not function. Her sister cared for her as best she could, and made a living singing and telling tales. She would learn all she could, and recite what she learnt to her bed-ridden sister. The joy in her face to hear of distant lands and wondrous events... it rivalled the dawn in its brightness, and was no less beloved.

The land they lived in was peaceful, but a dark force was gathering on the horizon. Still, the sisters did not worry, for their kingdom was invincible and blessed. The furies sang in harmony from the rooftops, and the machinery clicked to their tune.

They were deceived by their own hearts. The storm broke, and the ramparts flooded in a torrent, of raging men and wicked hearts. The furies, the technology, the blades, all had failed and drowned in the deluge of greed and hate that poured into the city.

The sisters had to run, to leave, but one with legs cannot run for two. They headed for the workshop of the able-sister's patron, carrying her upon her back. Perhaps something there could help them, let the sisters escape together. Of course not. There was only cruelty in the fates... The Widow-Queen was keening, and all of Orinost meant what that meant.

Soldiers of the Enemy. Bloated with evil joy, addled on the scents of a despoiled city. They burst from the alleys like trap-door spiders. One sister could get away, but not two. To fight was to die. To stay was to die.

Before the crippled sister c-could know, she was dead - a knife through the eye killed quickly, before the knowledge of the future could be known. A-and a sister ran, not brave enough to die.

And now no sisters live, though perhaps one still walks. The face of one is the face of both, and so... to look openly is to be reminded of a sister's lack of courage... but hidden enough, with a mask."

Her head fell forward onto her chest as she slumped forward, and her eyes, if they open, were hidden in shadow.

"I am a ghost of whispers," she said, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "It seems fitting I tell the tale to speak to the same."

The Beast Tales are offered with less dramatics, however.

"A Warrior shares his best tales with the other warriors." A young one boasts-hardly into his adult years, with spiky hair painted turtle-shell green. It's likely he's been on many hunts, despite his age, and he seems interested in you. "Tell me how well you fight, woman of the Orinost. Spin me a story from your weave about yourself, as a great warrior. I like a pretty lie, like I like a pretty lady...like you. Tomorrow, we will be hunting the Werejacken, and we may die-tonight, I am alive and will give you a stories of the things, I and my father have seen over our hunts. This is a fair deal for both of us, don't you think?" he says, flicking his tail rebelliously. You notice his Horsefolk grammar is a bit off-he's probably comfortable speaking to you on human terms.

It had been a while, and any loss of composure was easily buried behind her mask.

"Now, strength is important, indeed. But the greatest warriors are clever - none are as strong as the dragon-tiger, but the witty hunter may slay him regardless, and take his hide to wear. This tale is true as the moon, you have my word.

In Orinost, the spirits are many, and some furies found their homes in bodies of steel. One wandering fury, curious as the wind, found itself in such a body. As the master of the workshop had worked, I had sung a song to inspire him, and the curious fury had followed the echoes from the hollow chest of the machine right into the spirit-core. But it could not get out! Oh, it twisted and turned, hurling it's limbs to and fro, but all to no avail.

It grew enraged, and with iron claws, it decided that I had tricked it in there. It lunged for me, and I had to flee, the great beast clanking behind me!

Now, many machines do not like water, so I headed towards the lake at the bottom of the hills. I had to stay close, so its rage was focused on me, but it had long reach, and I had to dance and dodge all the way. Finally, I had lured it all the way down to the lake... and I jumped in the water, and it followed.

Alas, the furies of the lake were the cousins - as far as spirits have family - and they would not let the water harm the machine. So, evading every attack, I played a song that so enraptured the lake spirits they forgot to keep the water from the iron-fury, and it seized long enough for me to merely reach in-" and she elegantly waggled a white-gloved hand "- and tear the fury-core from its open chest. Through cleverness, victory, for there is more than one kind of strength. To remember the combat, I made a mask."
Click! and she was wearing a mask, with a triumphant flourish. This one was unlike the others - hard and angular steel, with a grill over the mouth and two pieces of dark jade over the eyes.
"Each time I wear this mask, I am reminded of my victory."

[Dwarmin]

"There are still the ghosts of Orinost, and those are our grave-goods. " Wen-Li said dryly.
"Still, a trade is only fair... but good luck is not something that those of Orinost have in abundance. I can offer an appeal to spirits, or perhaps something else."

"This thing belongs to the Ghosts of Orinost, they should have it. You are no true Ghost..." He says, matching your dry tone.

~snip snip~

And yet, your sad tale afterwards-intended or not-seems to have moved him. There is also an element of using his cunning wordplay against him, something the Horsefolk respect. He claimed it belonged to the dead, after all...and you are the Ghost of Whispers.

He drops the Handyman into your waiting palm.

"Bad Luck." He declares, simply.

...

The Shamans are of a similar mind.

"...You have shared your pain with us. We are sorry you had to...sacrifice proves honesty. You have earned the right to host the Furies. You must know the secret. It it is balance. One Fury, alone, consumes endlessly-every element must be in coordination, or you will not be here long. Fire unchecked consumes the plains grass. Rain and wind and earth can stop it. A mighty wind can blow down a house of sticks, not a house of stone. The roots of the Earth tear down the mightiest of towers, and the Earth stops at the river.

You must take these words..." They say, an Old Horsefolk Woman leaning down to speak in your ear...

Spoiler: Fury Magic 101 (click to show/hide)

They explain you can now speak to the Prime Elements, at least in simple, short phrases-whispers on the wind, not exactly words, but shapes you mold from your essence and send out in a way they can understand. Poetically, they have literally taught your soul to speak-you could sing before, but you never truly understood the words until now. They warn that the Elements are best spoken or sung to with patience, prudence, and an honest heart, and that they may not listen, or even notice you at times. Or, they may notice you too much for your liking...

If you are particularly successful in this, you may encourage a Fury to bond with your own spirit-similar to how Orinost encouraged Furies to peacefully bond with their machines, melding technology and Shamanism into a cohesive whole.

They warn that if you wish to harness fury powers, you must find not one, but two-who are in opposition to one another. A lone Fury Spirit is very powerful, but will inevitably consume the spirit of a mortal who houses it. Twin furies fight and boast against one another, making them somewhat weaker-but instead of feeding off you, they feed off one another, endlessly. Since they are pure energy, they can never die or are truly harmed by this. It is the way to gain Fury Powers of your own without harm to yourself. They note with interest that Furies are initially fairly simple minded beings, but they absorb traits and personalities from their hosts. A person could, in theory, hold as many Furies as he likes, with ever increasing power-as long as the Elements stay in balance.

You think on their words earlier-it seems a balance of pains is the only way to nullify the harm you would otherwise take-by suffering the pain of two Furies, you can withstand them-whereas choosing the easier, less painful path of one Fury would lead to your destruction. A strange concept...

...

They summarize some of the general elements they know about.

Air Furies are easy to attract the attention of, but they only fully manifest most often during strong storms, like the one around you now. They are proud, arrogant, fond of bragging and have tender Ego's-being easy to provoke into anger. Their tempers vary with the weather, but they tend to be more capricious than malicious (hah). They most strongly oppose the elements of Water, but dislike tussling with the Earth-except for the loose, sandy deserts they enjoy playing in.

Water Furies predictably exist near any body of natural water, but are difficult to speak to-since all bodies of water are connected in a way none of them truly understand, it's a bit like poking an Oni (A Giant) in the toe and asking him to speak to you. Still, patience pays off. Water Furies, when roused, tend to mirror the environment-a Fury from a placid lake will be calm and serene, A river Fury will be more inclined to action, and Ocean Furies tend to be very angry. They love fighting the elements of Earth, which they wear away with relentless patience, but dislike fighting the capricious winds.

Earth Furies are even harder to contact than water Furies, for obvious reasons. For this reason, they most strongly manifest near sources of tectonic disruption, or places of natural, earthen power-such as mountaintops or the bottom of canyons. Getting the attention of one shows that Earth Furies tend to be incredibly patient and somewhat lazy, only moving or acting if they absolutely have to. Still, they are honest and predictable Furies, and the most dependable. They are passive, and don't actually prefer to fight...but they enjoy withstand the endless rage of the wind, which is impatient and aloof, easy to provoke into endless, amusing rage. They dislike being worn away by the elements of water, who are much calmer and more patient.

They say there are many more, and that is up to you to find them...not only base elements, but Conglomerate Furies-such as Steel Furies or Steam Furies, and Ideal Furies, which embody emotions, such as Hope, Joy, and Sadness.

They finally note something interesting-they claim your own instrument is actually a very powerful Song Fury,  a composition of an Air Fury, and Fury of Creativity. Most of your equipment is, of course, powered by furies-but, sleeping ones, who have not heard the secret words in a very long time...

...

The Young Horsefolk nods, enjoying your tale...though, you suspect he might have liked more action.

"A clever warrior is a strong warrior. This is a thing I will remember.

I owe you tales. Let's call for three? Choose three stories, and I will tell you what I saw, and heard.

The Werejacken
The Jiaolong (Or, Water Dragon.)
The Nine Head Phoenix
The Avalanche Tortoise
The Shan Yangs
The Mothmen
The Owl Devil
The Yuan Ren (Ape Man)

"

[Dwarmin]

Gulušun Tan remains incongruous, incomprehensible, a mess of limbs and broken quasi-human shapes, not at all unlike a shattered mirror. Alternate squeaks resembling affirmation and negation (perhaps more from expectation than actual resemblance) are heard with each movement, no rhyme or reason to any of them.

In a troubling note, none of this was in any way unusual.

You wake up. You remember nothing of your dream...which is probably for the best.

Still in your cell, you know it has only been a few hours. You have a lot of time to kill...your cell door isn't locked, so it's clear they are allowing you some freedom of movement. The sounds of your 'guards' can be heard down the hall, quietly playing some sort of card game.

What now?

[Harry Baldman]

Gulušun Tan stares at the ceiling for a moment. A sense of place slowly dawns on him. Rising from his sleeping spot, he takes a good moment to clear his throat, spitting a chunky, unidentifiable fragment into a corner. Shaking himself off, he gets up and straightens himself out. Wiping off a slight amount of greasy sweat off his brow with a sleeve, he assumes a blank expression and a restless twitch in his right arm quiets down.

Immanuel Jade can now begin the long day.

Action: Immanuel Jade quietly, discreetly opens the door and steps outside, taking stock of his surroundings once more.

[GiglameshDespair]

"Ah, how can a collector of stories choose? " Wen-Li exclaimed in mock horror.
"But tell me of the werejacken, the mothmen, and the water dragon."

[Dwarmin]

Spoiler: The Werejacken (click to show/hide)

"...You are knowing, The Werejacken is a dangerous thing to hunt. And very sad. I will not enjoy telling this story.

When men and women are born and die, so do the spirits and furies learn from them. Some become attached to them-they love the songs, thoughts, and words that they have been given. Some too much. There are those Furies who cannot go back to being a Fury. They are much like a human spirit, a ghost-but an important difference. Many things which you might assume hurt spirits do not harm Furies.

But, like I was saying...when many Furies are torn from the mortals they loved-by death, most usually-they become sad and lost. Some Furies possess the things a person owned, to try and live like the person did. A fury cannot. They do understand our ways. They are...lost. They will harm those they come across to sate a hunger that they do not truly feel. Their very presence leeches the warmth of the spirit, though you may not notice until it is too late.

A 'Werejacken', as we call it, possesses a dead man or a dead womans clothes. They make a false spirit with their memories to fill the clothes, and they lure people in with sad stories. They don't know how to really live, though they are expert at mimicking the life that came before.

Thus, we hunt them, when we find them. I remember our last hunt...we approached a simple old man, sitting by a fire. He was old, and looked hurt. We knew he was not a man, though. The Shaman said he could hear the fury speak when the man spoke-and he tricked the spirit, by speaking in the secret words. The Fury answered, and we knew what it was. I took my bow and fired! *Pfooo!* But, it passed right through, as it was merely empty clothes. You cannot harm a Werejacken by most mundane means, though this is a nice way to find out what they are, if you don't mind hurting a person to do so. Blades, bows, axes, fists-all are more or less useless. The Werejacken charged me, first-I felt it would tear the soul right out of my body...and then it would appear next, in my clothes, a sad spirit...

My father was calmer. He had set steel and flint quickly while I fired my bow, and had lit a torch-this scared the Werejacken away when he waved it. The only way to destroy it, at least for a time, is to burn the items it possesses. Once it has lost it's house, it must flee...though it will likely find another man's clothes, in time. It is why we strip the dead when we find them, though some have accused us of being robbers...quickly, our warriors circled it with torches, and we set fire to it. Unfortunately, while we destroyed it's shell, it came back-we are still hunting this one, and will continue to do so tomorrow.

The only way to defeat the werejacken is to calm the spirit-either make it go back to the elements it was, and let go of it's grief, or take it into yourself.

Spoiler: The Mothmen (click to show/hide)

"...This will be a strange story. No one has ever seen a Mothman but me, as far as I know-at least no one else has told a story like I do now. How can I tell a story about something no one else has never seen? Ah, but I will try, I owe you.

It is said the Mothman cannot be truly seen, unless it wishes to. It flies where it will, and it is always bad luck. No one knows why it does so, but where it is-terrible things are sure to happen.

I was alone, one night, watching our cattle graze. It was a very beautiful night, the stars were out...but, then the stars blotted out. A outstretched, winged-man shape flew over me, and I was suddenly very scared. It pierced me to the ground with angry red eyes, like two lanterns. I was not able to move, and I was very cold-not a metaphor. I could see ice creeping up my skin, rooting me to the spot. It begin to descend, pointing to the distance...and...it is not like a warrior should do, but I fell unconscious. I am ashamed to say...

I awoke in three days, they say, when I had recovered mostly-I could still feel the chill in my bones-I heard a terrible story. In the distance, a few miles away, where the Mothman had pointed-one of your Human mines had collapsed, killing many workers, trapping others underneath the ground forever. I wondered if I could have stopped it, if I had wakened faster...was it trying to warn me? Or did it cause the thing to happen?

I have no answers for you, but I hope my story is enough. I feel cold.

Spoiler: The Water Dragon (click to show/hide)

"...There are so few Dragons left in your Empire. So many have been killed, or chained. The rest are leaving our world forever...a few live, however, in the places left to them. Deep in the seas and lakes. They are beasts, but intelligent-and always hungry...but, they are also always bored. If you ever meet one, do not ignore him. I will tell you why.

I only met a Water Dragon once, and it was safer to say she was hunting me. Dragons do not typically eat humans, but horses and cattle are good to them. They will eat a Horsefolk gladly, though...I had been hunting Waterfowl with my sling that morning, and I had lobbed a stone at what I assumed was a very ugly, very bony bird. *laughs*...that was the Dragon's nose. When she rose from the water, I could do nothing but marvel at my death-it would be a beautiful one. Water Dragons have scales like sapphires, all along their body. They are very long, the adults a five hundred feet or more. She (I learned later she was a woman) looked at me with dark black eyes, speckled with stars-like the night sky.

She spoke...but not with her mouth. I could hear her thoughts in my head, even think of what her face might look like-a knew when said a thing with a smile, or a frown. It was...well, quite overwhelming, to be honest.

This Water Dragon was thinking, that she should eat me. I could hear this thought, and it was certainly her strongest one. She was concerned I was a bit too scrawny and lean, but was likely not to let an easy meal pass her by-she was hungry, she was always hungry, and she was annoyed I woke her up. I spoke back, gathering my courage. My reply was more or less, to not eat me. She found this amusing. They have a good sense of humor, I suppose. I asked if there was anything I could trade for my life...she gave me riddles. Said if I could failed to answer any of her riddles correctly, she would eat me in four bites, very slowly-if I answered at least two riddles, but answered falsely another-she would eat eat me in two bites. If I answered all three riddles, she would reward me by swallowing me whole-which she assured me was an honor.

I was clever...and lucky. Dragons never lie...but, they do know how to tell the truth while leaving holes. I answered two riddles, and did not speak anymore. Since I never answered the third riddle, she couldn't eat me-and if I never answered at all, I couldn't fail a third one. But I had solved at least two. In truth, we were both very confused.

I used the time to sneak away. If you ever meet a Dragon, that's the most important part. Tangle them in thoughts, and sneak away before they become hungry again!

'...What do you think, Lady? Are my stories good? Do you think I could be a storyteller like you?" he asks, with thinly disguised eagerness.

[Dwarmin]

Gulušun Tan stares at the ceiling for a moment. A sense of place slowly dawns on him. Rising from his sleeping spot, he takes a good moment to clear his throat, spitting a chunky, unidentifiable fragment into a corner. Shaking himself off, he gets up and straightens himself out. Wiping off a slight amount of greasy sweat off his brow with a sleeve, he assumes a blank expression and a restless twitch in his right arm quiets down.

Immanuel Jade can now begin the long day.

Action: Immanuel Jade quietly, discreetly opens the door and steps outside, taking stock of his surroundings once more.

*Creeeak*

Someone should really open these doors. There's nothing discreet about them. Oh, right. This is a sort of prison.

Looking up and down the Hall, Jade notes there are ten cells-five on each side of the hallway. Your cell is at the very end. At the end of the hallway furthest from him, your guards-Mags, and that guy who hasn't told you his name-are playing 'watch me', ticking away the midnight hours by torchlight, slapping cards but not really speaking much. The opposite of the hallway closest to you actually leads...nowhere. There is just a small jut of broken stone steps that was once a stairway, now collapsed-leading into a pit of darkness just beyond the torchlight. Jade edges closer, noting no wind, or smells.

Certainly be a risk trying to escape that way...

[SeriousConcentrate]

Vic goes to sleep.

[GiglameshDespair]

Wen-Li raised a white-clad finger.
"Ah, one comment. It is not my Empire. Quite the opposite, in fact, and that vile growth will only ever feel my hatred." She let that raised hand rub her masked chin.
"You tell stories well, but you're too honest.  The hero of a story must be clever and strong, and never admit his weaknesses! If he is defeated, it is through his enemies' cunning and fierceness, not his own failings. With the Water Dragon, say that you were cunning, rather than confused. A story should send it's listeners to the heights of emotion, to be memorable." She nodded towards him. "But you could certainly be a fine storyteller someday. Words, like any other art, must be practised."

[Playergamer]

Sal puts his hat over his eyes in the corner, and quietly drifts off to sleep.

Action: Sleep.

[Dwarmin]

Wen-Li raised a white-clad finger.
"Ah, one comment. It is not my Empire. Quite the opposite, in fact, and that vile growth will only ever feel my hatred." She let that raised hand rub her masked chin.
"You tell stories well, but you're too honest.  The hero of a story must be clever and strong, and never admit his weaknesses! If he is defeated, it is through his enemies' cunning and fierceness, not his own failings. With the Water Dragon, say that you were cunning, rather than confused. A story should send it's listeners to the heights of emotion, to be memorable." She nodded towards him. "But you could certainly be a fine storyteller someday. Words, like any other art, must be practised."

"...we are not supposed to lie...but if it makes the story better, I suppose it can be forgiven...as long as you are like a Dragon, yes? Tell the truth, but leave holes?" He asks aptly. "Also, I am sorry for calling it 'your empire', but since we lost the war, we all belong to the Empire now...at least, by their laws, if not in our hearts." he says, perhaps already taking your advice.

[GiglameshDespair]

"Never lie, no, but lead with your words, so your listener makes a conclusion - like the dragon, yes. It is no lie not to mention a few unfortunate details."

[Harry Baldman]

Immanuel Jade regards the darkness with an appreciative familiarity, then turns around and glides gently toward the would-be guards, the hallway behind him growing just a little darker as he passes through it, coming to a stop near the two guards themselves, possessed of the mildly delirious look he often had after the standard three hours of sleep he had once every three days or so. So fresh was he, in fact, that the strange pseudo-clarity in his eyes could be readily mistaken for enthusiasm.

"An uneventful shift you are having," he says as he approaches the guards, observing their game more intently than the guards themselves.

[Dwarmin]

Mags coughs into her hand.

"Yeah, real uneventful. Why aren't you enjoying the sleep of the just?" She asks, slapping another card down.

Being a Jade, you are familiar with most games. 'Watch me' is pretty simple-players take turn flipping a row of seven cards down to get the lowest possible numerical score among a standard, 52 card deck...while avoiding the aces. If you draw an ace, you lose...but, only if the other player is willing risk calling you out on it. Depending on what's in your hand when you call 'Watch me', you could win or lose, based upon certain combinations of cards. Four aces, for example, is called a Hellhole-the only thing it defeats is if the person on the other end of the table has less aces than you. Calling someone out with two Jokers defeats almost anything, except if the other player also has two jokers-called a Harlequin Full House...and so on, and so forth. It relies a good deal on intuition, and frankly, blind luck.

You can tell by watching only for a few moments that Mags is likely the better card player. She's much faster on the trick, and seems to be pretty good at the bluff. Then again, they are both only playing at half steam, as it were.