Prologue

It all started with two spiders.

The first spider was a normal brown spider. She hatched out of her egg in the early spring, two weeks after the last of the late frosts occurred. There was no name given to her, she was just a singular purpose, a minuscule point of self-aware Essence bound into a head, thorax, outsized abdomen, and eight legs. And she had to eat her way out through the myriads of her brothers and sisters if she wanted to survive. So she did.
She took a couple of good chomps by similar-minded siblings, but they weren't able to maintain their hold, given that they in turn were being eaten alive by other siblings. Fortunately her body was malleable enough that the damage wasn't too great. She managed to fight free of the hungering fangs long enough to punch a hole through the wall of her mother's egg sac, and then she was free.
She did not dawdle; attaching a line of webbing purely by instinct, she dropped down from the rocky cleft that had sheltered her from the ravages of winter and made her way into the world to hunt, kill, eat, build a web, and then repeat.

The second spider was… well, it was constructed in the mechanized god-forges of Autocthon as a Mark 1 pattern spider—one of millions. It was, however, still a spider insofar as you or I would understand the concept. Enhanced by magical thaumaturgy and the binding of a self-aware mote of Essence, this spider was designed to safeguard the threads of destiny, of All-That-Is. And it did its job accordingly. Skittering up and across and over and through the various world-weaves of Creation and Autocthon, the spider monitored for disturbances in the pattern. If there were problems, the spider would either fix the issue, or call in support from other spiders for neutralization.

But over years that accumulated into centuries, this steel-and-essence-imbued arthopod began to develop a sense of self-awareness. And, a personality. While this development wasn’t necessarily against Autocthon's rules, it was also not necessarily favored among the rational overseers of Autocthon. So this spider—and its fellow brethren—kept their burgeoning sense of “I am!” hidden underneath adherence to maintenance protocols. But on their own, on its own—his own (for the spider had developed a self-sense of being male), the spider began to watch and appreciate what it was like to exist in Creation as a normal mortal being.

So the second spider watched the Primordials abuse their fantastic, wonderful Creation. The Primordials, who sprang unborn from the wild torrents of unformed Chaos to create a stable cosmos and fashioned the gods as overseers, proceeded to tap everything they’d made as an energy source to play the unfathomable Games Of Destiny.

The pattern spider was as far beneath their notice as an amoeba was to a whale, and so avoided their attention. He also scrupulously made certain that he would not ever catch their attention, or even come close for fear of being utterly annihilated. 

But even in this eon of Titans making everything-that-is and that-would-be, there was a healthy spark of uncertainty. The kind of uncertainty that played subtle havoc with the best-laid plans, particularly those laid by one Primordial in particular: the Principle of Hierarchy, known as "She Who Lives In Her Name".

The creator of Order, of rules and laws and precepts and policies, the Principle of Hierarchy—and this was definitely a she—was irritated to the point of aggravation about the niggling uncertainties that kept creeping into Creation and spoiling her efforts, her need, to make everything predetermined. When the Principle bent her vast mind to investigating this strange unexpected phenomena, she discovered that the root cause was individuality caused by free will. It was the inexhaustible spark of “I am!”, the very source of identity, the wellspring of love, hate, fear, kindness that everything which could think possessed.

This offended the Principle of Hierarchy. In fact, the mere existence of individuality enraged her (which was quite a lot, given that she was the expression of a particular universal constant) because the existence of free choice, of uncertainty and identity meant that she could never achieve the pinnacle of her existence. And so she set about to eliminate individuality from all of Creation. It never occurred to the Principle of Hierarchy that she would be obliterating herself should she succeed. She could not conceive of the concept of Death, because as a Primordial she simply could not die. It was inconceivable to her that she would be committing suicide—only the thought of finally regulating all of existence mattered to her.

Thus the Principle of Hierarchy began her great work to enslave the universe into the service of ultimate Order. As an unintended result of her subtle machinations, the gods, who were servants of the Primordials, rebelled by exalting certain choice mortals, and the Primordial War began.

The second spider did not know any of this. All he knew was that Exalted humans were ignoring their masters, the Dragon Kings (who were by and large, irrelevant), and going to war against the Primordials. This caused the weaves of destiny underlying all of Creation to tangle themselves into an almighty mess at almost the speed of thought. Which, for the pattern spider, meant that he was in for a very bumpy ride.

Leaping from convulsing cable to cable, and thus touching various things in Creation such as a gigantic man-eating turkey (yes, they did exist), the dreams of a young maiden, a storm brewing off a long-forgotten coast, and several battles involving humans swarming the manses of various Primordials, the spider sought refuge wherever he could from the torrents of chaos besieging Creation.

He ended up finding it in the lee of a cliff located in a quiet valley thousands of miles from any conflict.

Here the second spider thought he was all alone, and thus materialized into the first spider’s layer of reality. He did this to take a break, because even this far removed from the fight, the vibrations across Creation’s threads were unsettling.

And so the first spider beheld a large metallic spider, about the size of a large bird, with glowing blue eyes materialize on the cliff face she’d been living in for the summer of her life. The timing couldn’t be any worse for her. She’d finished laying her precious eggs, had sown up the egg sac and secured it within a tiny cleft, and now was sitting outside the cleft, slowly dying from the internal injuries she’d sustained in giving birth. And now she was overrun with the conflicting instincts to run from this great enormous intruder, and to defend her eggs—her reason for living—with everything she had left. Other spiders would have run, would have woven a silk line with what was left of their own bodies and fled. But this spider… the sacred mystery deep within her chose to fight. And so she dragged herself forth, and attempted to sink her fangs into the steel pincep of the second spider’s leg. It was this action that saved her.

The second spider sensed the intent, and looked down to notice the final attack of a small, organic brown spider against one of his forelegs. And in that moment a violent tremor hit the cliff. Rocks shifted, cracked, and spilled forth.

Through one of her eyes, the first spider saw the rocks forming the cleft where her egg sac rested, suddenly clench together and in doing so destroy what was within. And just like that, her dream—such as it was—was destroyed. Though she was just a spider, even she could feel loss. Then the rest of the cliff gave way, she lost her grip, and fell.

The pattern spider slid down the cliff face, but even in his fall, he was aware of the little brown spider. His exposure to living mortal beings of all kinds had engendered a sense of empathy within him. And so he extended his legs and caught her as they hit the ground. He did his best to protect her from the tons of rock falling around them, by vibrating the causal strings of reality to cause the boulders to tumble away from them. As he touched the underlying currents of What-Is, he realized something was seriously wrong. But even there, he felt the brown spider’s mote of grief. And so he brought his attention back to her.

She was dying. Two of her legs had come off, the internal bleeding was worsening, and she had lost her egg sac. And all her insectoid mind could do was try and process the loss. The inability to do so reverberated through the tiny spider’s body as waves of grief.

The pattern spider could communicate with anything in Creation, and so it sent an immaterial, psychic tendril of telepathy to connect with the dying female spider. In this way, he came into contact with the emotions of grief, and loss. Limited as they were by the fact that the being feeling them was indeed a spider, those feelings still resonated. The pattern spider’s own grasp of existence grew, and he experienced sympathy for the fading mother.

There was an Underworld in this age, which consisted of the vast waters of Lethe, into which all living souls dropped from death to be wiped clean and reborn anew according to the dictates of the Primordials—who themselves could not die and as such had no sympathy for or understanding of the dead. The pattern spider, who was technically “immortal”, did know of the reincarnation process. To try and ease the brown spider’s suffering, he sent a message consisting of a simple thought construct into her mind. And that message, consisting of images and emotions, was this:

You will die, you will come back again, and you will have another chance.

The tiny soul of the brown spider, upon receiving this message and understanding it, expanded just a little. And in that expansion, a burst of pure, ecstatic hope bloomed. She would get another chance for a summer; to build webs, eat bugs, mate, and maybe survive long enough to lay another egg sac. One that might survive beyond her.

The little flicker of hope erupted out of her, infecting the pattern spider. It was an utterly new sensation for him, and he stumbled as he considered the strange new idea burning inside him. At that moment, the brown spider died. And in the next, the world beneath him split open.

The pattern spider dropped into a cataclysm of falling rock, fire, and torn weaves of Creation. The body of the little brown spider fell away from his outstretched legs and was gone, crushed within the maelstrom around him. He wove frantically, forcing the rock and earth and chaos away from his vulnerable body. All around him the fabric of reality tore itself apart. He glimpsed swathes of the unformed Wyld, of the waters of Lethe raging as if in a storm, the sky, the magma of the elemental pole of Fire, and struggled to find a safe spot to land amidst the insanity.

But there was none. For at that time, the Solar Exalted led the Dragon-blooded and regular mortals on their great assault against the Primordial named Malfeas and his allies. And, the Principle of Hierarchy, who was also a Primordial known as She Who Lives In Her Name, took advantage of the chaos and began her own assault on all factions, and all that existed. Nowhere in Creation was safe.

The pattern spider dropped through cracks and crevices in the wounded Creation, skirting the storms of matter and Essence as best as he could. He witnessed the deaths of hundreds of thousands of his fellow pattern spiders, plus millions of mortal lives, succumbing to the chaos encompassing them all. Yet somehow he survived, kept moving, seeking safety, the spark of hope he held within giving him the little extra push to survive he needed. Until a rock he perched on dropped out from beneath him and he fell through the bottom of Creation. In desperation he cast one last thread of will up, attaching to the shaking firmament above him.

The tumult ceased, as the pattern spider found himself floating on the edges of infinity. Behind and above him were the masses of Creation, his home of Autocthon, and Yu-Shan the City of Heaven, wracked by war and turmoil. But there was something out there amidst the eternity of the Wyld.

She Who Lived In Her Name understood that the winner of this war would obtain the privilege of defining all created reality. Her plan was simple: by remaining in her true state—that of an undefined, undefinable yet inevitable cosmic imperative—she would gain the leverage necessary to win the war and thus subject all of Creation to perfect, unending Order. So she had taken the step of moving her own being outside of the parameters of Creation, out into the unformed Wyld. This was a gamble that the Rakshas who inhabited the infinite spaces would be too distracted with the spectacle to attack her essence and subsequently define her. And if she were rendered via the perception of others into a conceivable shape, then she would have weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and would be at risk of losing her bid for supremacy.

Free of observation, She Who Lives In Her Name stretched her will for her assault. At the right moment she would reach out, unseen, and touch every single part of creation, from the Primordials all the way down to the molecules at the bottom of the world, Then she would enslave them to her will, to righteous Order and Organization. Free will, free choice, would no longer be necessary, let alone even conceivable. 

Her bid was winning, for almost everyone who could stop her was currently involved in either watching, or fighting in, the Primordial War within Creation. 

The pattern spider beheld a vast black ambiguity reaching out to envelop Creation. In trying to comprehend what he was viewing, his mind resorted to its standard default and defined the Primordial as a titanic spider as large as Creation itself, with eyes like floating glass spheres of different sizes, filled with fire, all rotating around a central thorax, its myriads of legs outstretched to grasp the cosmos.

In that moment, She Who Lives In Her Name's quantum-level superposition failed, and she succumbed to observation. She was surprised, for the first time in all her existence. Her own laws came crashing down around her, and she felt her power abruptly confined, defined, and limited. She looked around, searching for whomever had imprisoned her in this form.

The shockwave of the Primordial's sudden definition resounded throughout All-That-Is. The Gods who exalted the Solars, and those few Primordials who supported the rebellion, noticed the sudden appearance and definition of She Who Lives In Her Name. The divine allies realized at once what she was trying to do. With their collective might, they reached out to the now-vulnerable Titan, dragging her back into Creation where she could be bound. 

As She Who Lives In Her Name was pulled in, she caught sight of a mere speck drifting in the quiet expanses below the wrack of Creation on a gossamer thread. A pattern spider, who was staring back at her. 

The Primordial knew at once this was the being who had thwarted her plan. She struggled with all her might, but could not fight off all the forces arrayed against her. So she glared back at the spider.

I will have my vengeance, tiny little one, she told him across the vast reaches. I will break out and I will have my triumph. You will be there to see it, and you will be the first I subject to Order. So I swear. 

The pattern spider almost imploded under the weight under of the Primordial's curse. But deep within him, the spark of hope held fast and so did he. He met her regard and for the first time in his life felt both fear, and resolve. This was not over, the pattern spider knew that. Primordials could not die--but, hope whispered, maybe they could...

The Primordial, Malfeas, had already been captured, his fetich soul slain, and his very nature adjusted. He was to become a world-prison, locking She Who Lives In Her Name away from Creation. As his body contorted and tore apart to be reformed, she struggled against the prison forming around her. Three of her glass spheres cracked, releasing a fire that annihilated all it touched. The fire spilled forth in torrents, destroying all it touched.

The pattern spider, dangling below the firmament of Creation, beheld the new threat of the all-consuming fire spilling forth from the tortured orb Malfeas had become. He sprang away from the outreaching flames, throwing threads as far ahead as he could in order to outrace the doom behind him. He dodged gouts of fire, continent-sized chunks of matter falling off from the structure of Creation, and witnessed countless more lifeforms succumbing to the fires of She Who Lived In Her Name. The spider ran as far as he could, until the destruction was a dull rumble far behind him.

It was only then, when he paused to assess the damage, that he realized the fires of the Principle of Hierarchy had consumed two-thirds or more of Creation. And not just the Firmament--when he peeked through the veil at the Underworld, all he saw was blasted wasteland surrounding a river and then an ocean, instead of the all-encompassing seas of Lethe. Where the little spider's soul would have been, no longer existed.
The little brown spider was gone, he realized. All that was left of her was the spark of hope he now carried within his battered framework. And his memories. Then he thought of the millions, the billions of mortals who had also died in the fires and the tumult of the world tearing itself apart. There would be no coming back, no second chance for them.
In that moment, the pattern spider gave in to despair. He wondered what the whole point of it all was. What use was a simple pattern spider in the face of all the destruction that had occurred, at the hands of Primordials, Gods, and Men? He was a simple pattern spider construct, able to monitor and adjust the weft of Fate, and that was it.

A beam of light pierced the murk of the Wyld in which he was floating. The pattern spider noticed the illumination across his body and scanned his vicinity. The light of the Unconquered Sun should not be able to reach him, and he wondered what new threat was coming at him.
Instead, the light came from a distant source far, far away from the wreckage of Creation. Farther than Yu Shan, the newly-created world prison of Malfeas, or his own birthplace of Autocthon, the light came. The pattern spider stopped in wonder as he gazed upon a distant shining place, a great Source. The hope within him resonated to the distant glory. It was only a moment, but it was enough. He had a choice, the pattern spider realized as he gazed at the light that all Creation moved toward. He could give in to despair, or he could fight back. He had hope, the light seemed to say to him, and that was all he needed.
A cloud of chaos obscured the shining place and he was once again in the darkness that surrounded all of formed space. Above him, Creation burned in the aftermath of the war against the Primordials. If he could sigh, he would have. The pattern spider looked up, then grasped the thin thread taking him back to the world-that-is, and began climbing. 

1 - A Day In The Life

Chapter One: A Day in the Life

In the morning hours, the City of the Steel Lotus is like any other metropolis. The dawning light burns away the accumulated pretenses and illusions of a capitol city from the prior night, leaving behind a conglomeration of Tengese people greeting another day. The layered stink of humanity, waste, and despair from the night before is long gone. Those horrid smells are replaced by the scents of hope emanating from bakers’ ovens, wafting into the streets to entice the hunger of those traveling to the day’s work. Networks of canals, their waters glittering in the rising light, bear boats full of cargo, fruit, and vegetables among the market squares. 

Bureaucrats, courtiers, noblemen, merchants, guardsmen, and laborers mix in the streets, all sharing the same place and ultimately the same purpose. Those who have status in the City, walk underneath bright parasols, decorated with their family crests and carried by ever-watchful servants. The heat of the summer demands light clothing that resists the ever-present humidity of the river deltas on which the city is built. Colored linen is the fabric of choice for the majority of the city. And the Tengese love their colors, usually solid and bright, with faint floral patterns lining the edges. Pastels are reserved for the Dragon-Blooded Dynasts who reside in the City, and those native nobles who wish to curry favor with the Realm’s favored.

Tengese men wear their hair short, while the women pin their long hair up in buns, which they adorn with jewelry and ornate spindle-thin metalwork. Here, one’s family is one’s entire identity, and a life can be born, experienced, and ended without ever making a decision for one’s own self. Tengese men and women hold fast to tradition, the worship of the Golden Lord and the Pale Lady, to studied compliance in the face of their superiors, and to the importance of preserving the reputation of their family.

For those without a family in the lands of the An-Teng, life can indeed be hard. The burden of being isolated lessens in cities such as the City of the Steel Lotus. And places like the House of Seven Dancer Shadows can come to be the foundation of a surrogate family. But during the mornings, even a hospitable, enticing, and discreet brothel gets revealed under the morning sun as a business, and this day was no exception.

On those days where no guests were in residence at the House of Seven Dancer Shadows, the Madame of the House gathered the staff for daily reviews at the Ringing of Nine Bells. This was such a day, and more than that, it was an important day. For the most important client of the House of the Seven Dancer Shadows was due to visit that afternoon after a long absence, and it was critical that the House be in tip-top shape. The Madame had no formal name, for that along with her left eye had been stripped from her when she was cast out of her House in the Realm. Here in the City, her given name was One-Eyed Lou, and she was a formidable Dragon-Blooded woman.

The nine bells had finished ringing and the staff was assembling in the interior courtyard of the House, awaiting the Madame. Rumors were already circulating amongst the inhabitants of the House about the client’s impending visit.

Amongst the gathering crowd was: John, the Janitor and general maintenance man of the House; Michele, the favored Courtesan of the house and of the House’s most important client; Lexi, the Bartender and chief counselor of all the staff save for Madame Lou; and Shenzen, the Cook and dojo master of the House. All four had found their way to the House over the last two years, and over the course of that time had forged a cautious friendship.

“Wonder what she’s going to declare this time?” Lexi wondered to John, who simply shrugged.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he responded. “‘Clean everything, nothing must be out of place, our clients come first’. The usual bullshit.”

Lexi rolled her eyes at John, then turned to Michele. The Companion was still and silent, but Lexi noticed the male courtesan was enjoying the feeling of being the unspoken center of attention. I… won’t even bother right now, Lexi decided, and moved on to Shenzen. One look at his face told her that even asking the question would be a waste of time. Shenzen was even more taciturn than John, and far more unpleasant to talk to.

“Staff!” Madame Lou called out. Her confident voice silenced the gathering, and echoed along the walls of the atrium above them all. “Today is a great day for the House of the Seven Dancer Shadows, for our most important client comes to visit us! Every care must be taken to insure that the best service in all of An-Teng is provided! I am counting on all of you to do your best at all times while the client is in our care.” She looked down at Michele, and the gazes of everyone followed.

Michele smiled, unfazed by the attention focused on him.

“The client has her favorite,” One-Eyed Lou continued, staring at the courtesan, “and so I expect all of you to support Michele in his efforts to make her stay here worthwhile.”

Michele looked around at the gathered people, and then bowed to One-Eyed Lou.

The rest of the speech centered on specific tasks that the staff needed to accomplish. John would have to confer with the household gods that insured the water flowed through the pipes, that fresh air circulated throughout every room, that the kitchen fires were at the proper heat, and that the gardens were pristine. Lexi would inventory the bottles available at the bar, Michele would obtain new silk robes that were in the colors the client liked, and Shenzen would have to cook for fifty-plus soldiers in addition to the normal household staff.

Once finished, One-Eyed Lou looked around at all of them, her sole green eye surveying her staff. Pride filled her face. “Today, we will once more rise to the occasion, and prove that we are the best House in all of An-Teng. The Golden Lord himself will be proud of us!”

The Tengese staff cheered while Lexi, John, Michele, and Shenzen looked at each other. The Madame indicated with a wave that the staff were dismissed.

As people left the courtyard, Lexi looked at John, Shenzen, and Michele. “I’ll go do inventory and be ready to go to the Sun Square market by half past the bell,” she said.

The other three nodded and split up. Michele talked to his assistant, an eleven year old boy who was the son of two of the house servants, about the necessary inventory of garments and perfumes needed. Lexi went to her bar and started counting bottles.

John followed Shenzen down the stairs connecting the dining room to the kitchen in the basement below. Down here the walls were simple unadorned wood and stone, with large wooden joists well overhead. The large fireplace against the west wall of the kitchen, small windows up high on the walls, and candles mounted onto the support pillars provided the necessary light for the staff to see. The air here was thick with spices, sweat, and the underlying, mouth-watering scent of fresh bread. Shenzen beckoned to his line cooks, who came over with their attendants and within seconds was giving orders and taking inventory.

Meanwhile, John walked away from the kitchen, heading through the open double-doors leading to the center of the basement, which also happened to be the center of his world. This was the maintenance workshop, lined with shelves bearing tools and workbenches. It was here that he would fix whatever needed fixing, gather the tools necessary for yard work, or cleaning a room that was beyond the capabilities of the normal maid staff. The air here was cool and clean, with a hint of earth. The only light came from candles, and a bar of red light cast through the open doorway from the kitchen beyond.

For the last year, this had been John’s home and refuge from the chaos of his life. When he first took the job as the janitor and maintenance man for the House of Seven Dancer Shadows and was shown this space, he felt as if he’d been thrust into a prison. Now the shadowed gray walls provided a sense of peace and safety. He knew every inch of the room and felt that it was as much of a home to him as Uncle Calam’s had been. But he had a job to do.

John turned to his right and walked through an open doorway into the utility temple of the house. In front of him were four shrines, each dedicated to a particular element and color: Water (blue), Air (a pale yellow), Earth (green), and Fire (red). Each shrine was about three feet in height, and inscribed with sacred texts and images particular to that temple’s element. In the center of each was a small, glowing being of Essence in the shape of an androgynous human seated in the lotus position. These were the household gods and they sat in front of small curved bowls that received the offerings necessary to continue the proper working function of the House’s utilities.

To his left was the white shrine of the Madame’s Ancestors--which he always left alone because that belonged to Madame One-Eyed Lou. It resembled the design of the elemental temples in the room but inside, where a god would reside, was a darkness that resisted the ambient light. It contained selected bones of Lou’s ancestors, and once a month she would come down to perform sacrifices honoring those ancestors who were abiding in Stygia--the Underworld.

John ignored the Ancestor shrine as he was here for the household gods. He stood in front of the four shrines and cleared his throat. Four sets of glowing eyes opened in response and John knew he had their attention.

“Okay everyone,” John said to the gods. “A big client--the big client--is coming once again to the House and I need everything in working order. Is there anything out of place that I need to address?”

The Earth, Fire, and Water gods all looked to the Air god who had enough of an ego that it arrogated for itself the title of spokes-being.

John realized the three elementals were staring at Air a little more intently than normal, as there was a strange tension suddenly in the air. A faint expression of -something- crossed the Air god’s normally bland face, before it resumed its divine imperviousness. John wasn’t sure what he saw, but deep inside he was sure something concerned the little deities.

“Everything is fine, Torre,” the Air god said in a high-pitched voice, reedy and almost grating. But John spotted the Earth god shaking its head. “Tell him,” Earth said, its voice low and resonant.

“Yeah, tell me what?” John said.

Air gave Earth an ugly glare and then returned its attention to John. “Torre, bring us the standard offerings and we will insure that clean air moves through the house, that the fires burn properly, that water rolls through the pipes, and that the gardens are in order.”

“You’re also going to tell me what the problem is,” John said, staring at Air. He’d had run-ins with the bossy little god before, and he’d proven to the little divinity that he wasn’t anyone to be pushed around.

“Fine,” Air muttered. “But bring us those offerings first!”

“This isn’t over,” John said to Air as he turned to leave. “We have to take care of the House, you’re going to tell me what the problem is, and then we’re going to talk about your manners.”

***

The Sun Square market was located in the midst of the City’s southern quarter. From within the square, one could enjoy the sight of the magnificent teak-and-opal decorated spires of the Palace of the Three-Fold Magnificence, rising into the sky from beyond the northern wall of the market. It was here that the merchants of food and drink gathered to sell to residents and to the proprietors of the City’s innumerable cafes.

Michele, Lexi, John, Shenzen, emerged into the market from its Eastern entrance, over which was erected a gate made of teak to honor the Elemental Pole of the East. Accompanying them was Michele’s assistant and several house servants to carry the purchased wares. The market itself was full of merchants, shoppers, and people passing through on business. Bright linens in solid colors turned the public space into a marvelous blur of colors, accenting the cacophony of voices haggling, pleading, gossiping, and laughing. Salted meat hung from hooks, spices were stored in vast ceramic bottles, and fresh vegetables lined the shelving in the stalls.

Lexi immediately took off to the wine seller, and Shenzen made his way over to the butchers. But John and Michele halted, because they noticed discrepancies in the normal flow of the market that the Bartender and Cook did not.

Michele was the first to spot a tall woman wearing a greyish-white tunic, bound with a black leather belt, and pantaloons. This was unusual in that only foreign noblewomen and outcaste Tengese women laborers wore pants. Yet to Michele’s trained eye, this woman was not a despised outcast. Her skin was almost alabaster-white, and her composure was both graceful and poised. Then he noticed the three soldiers. He was wearing a green sarong, which he immediately began adjusting in order to disguise his examination of the stranger.

John did not see the strange woman, but he did spot the three men, each one lean and wearing non-description beige tunics and pants, casually occupying spots in the market which allowed them to view all comings and goings. Something about how they stood jarred him. The memories of the men in the shadows watching the House during his self-imposed arrest surged through his mind.

“You see them?” John whispered to Michele.

The courtesan nodded as he smiled at his boy assistant, handing the page a list of robes to be purchased. “I did,” Michele replied. “Act casual, because they haven’t seen us yet. Have you seen the woman?”

“No,” John replied. He looked down at the bottles of a nearby vendor, and in doing so let his eyes travel. He noticed the woman, who thankfully appeared not to have registered them. But he did see that she, along with the soldiers, were watching the entrances. He decided he would get as close as possible to one of the men to determine where they were from. “I’m going to go check out the one watching the entrance we walked in.”

Michele nodded. “Try not to get caught. I’ll do my thing and see if I can keep them distracted.” He then sauntered off--almost a sashay, really--and began examining the wares of the nearest merchant with dramatic flair. And heads did turn, because after all, he was an extraordinarily attractive man in a sarong.

As it turned out, Michele wasn’t needed. John selected one of the soldiers that was watching the entrance they’d come through. Though the Janitor used every technique he could to get close, he realized he didn’t have to worry. The soldier in question was staring straight down the exposed cleavage of a middle-aged woman, who was bent over to inspect the wares of a gourd merchant. Judging by the vacant, longing expression on the man’s face, John figured it had been quite a while for the fellow. The capper was when the soldier absently began to pick his nose there in public. John could have erupted into dance in front of the man, only to be summarily dismissed for breasts and the search for gold.

Feeling somewhat cheated, John got into a good position to observe the soldier. The Janitor was certain he could have done a better job being inconspicuous, but this was ridiculous! He found, adding further to his disgust, that the other two soldiers were just as captivated by the buxom woman. He inspected the man from a short distance away, pretending to be interested in linen scarves. There was a small carved ring on one of the man’s fingers that John recognized as being from a mercenary band out of Chiaroscuro, a faraway city on the southern straits. The soldier’s nose was crooked and showed evidence of having been broken several times. His knuckles were scarred, ridged, and indicated to John that he knew how to fight. His clothing was that of common laborers in Chiaroscuro. John judged that this man had been out in the desert for quite a while due to how tan and weathered the man’s skin was. This would also explain why he was enraptured by the matron’s breasts. There were no women where this man had been. Then John realized that, judging by the way these soldiers were behaving, that they were not with the mysterious woman in the far corner.

Just then, Michele sent his page home, carrying the robes and some other sundries. Both John and Michele noticed the woman spotting the page, as if for the first time. And they beheld the stranger subtly counting everything the boy held. Michele and John shot each other a look. Shenzen was the next to leave, and the woman made note of him as well.

By now the soldiers had recovered from their daydreaming. From his vantage point, John watched the soldiers, who were watching Shenzen and the house assistants leave. The moment Shenzen was out of sight, the soldiers all left their position to walk out another gate. Only the strange woman was left.

Lexi emerged from the tents of the wine seller, bearing with her a wicker basket full of bottles. She caught sight of Michele and walked over to him. “Find everything you need,” she asked?

Michele nodded. With a broad smile across his handsome face, he looked down at Lexi. “Act as if everything is normal,” he said to her, “Do not start looking around. Instead, figure out a way to turn around and spot the woman in white behind you.”

Mystified, but choosing to obey the sudden seriousness that belied the expression on the Courtesan’s face, Lexi pretended as if she needed to adjust the bottles in her basket, and in doing so managed an inconspicous look and thus identified the stranger. “Wow,” she said under her breath. “She looks weird.”

“No kidding,” Michele muttered. He made a decision in that moment. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

“What?” Lexi hissed. “Are you crazy?” Then she paused, considering. “Never mind, don’t answer that,” she said. “Try not to get killed.”

“Like anyone would dare harm this,” Michele told her with a smirk, emphasizing his half-naked body. He made for the woman, sauntering with a brazen, insouciant pride. As he strutted, he surmised that the woman was too busy noting what the other House servants were carrying, to notice him. It was a damn shame, Michele felt--he had the attention of over half the market, and the one person he wanted noticing him was too busy watching the staff like a… predator, he realized. A chill ran down his back as the thought silenced his exhibitionistic joy.

The woman glanced at him, and then did a double-take once she realized how close Michele was. For his part, Michele stopped because of the weight behind the woman’s deep-set, kohl-rimmed eyes. Though the heat of the day should have been pressing down on them both, he only felt a deep chill emanating from her presence. He had enough self-control to clamp down on the surge of gibbering panic that rose up within him. He forced his sexiest, “Hello”, to her through lips and teeth that wanted to clamp together in fear.

She smirked at him, and then her gaze darted across the square. The woman noted John and Lexi with disquieting ease. Then her icy stare returned to the Courtesan and she lifted a hand to dismiss him, her fingers idly flicking him away.

“Go away, little man,” she said in a quiet, low voice.

Michele, speechless, could only nod and turn around. As he walked away, he looked to John and Lexi--who were tracking the departure of the woman through one of the other market gates.

End of Chapter One.

The Bartender

The Bartender's Story
927th year of the Scarlet Empress's reign
(5th year of the Interregnum, under Regent Focuf)

I've always liked people because they have stories. And I love hearing stories. Used to drive my mother crazy asking her to read me a story of the Dynasts, or of the Immaculate Heroes and their struggles to drive the Anathema out of Creation.
My father was a sailor with the Merchant Marine, and so he took my mother and I on our ship across all of Creation. I've sailed into ports in the North, South, East and West, all before I came of age. As such, I took in stories and songs from every port that we touched in.
There's no surprise in that I eventually turned to scholarship and history, because of my love of stories. After I came of age, I went to the Imperial University in Sdoia and became a linguistics student.
My father and mother retired from the Merchant Marine and went to the Principality of An-Teng to spend their senior years. After I graduated from university, I found out that there wasn't much demand for a commoner historian or translator on the Blessed Isle. All the jobs were snatched up by the Dragon-Blooded or people with Dynast connections. Bogged down by debt and depressed, I caught a tramp freighter working its way westward along the coast. My plan was to go back to An-Teng, move in with my parents, and figure out what happened next.
My father took sick with a plague that swept through the City four years ago, and died. Now it's my mother and I, and we do all right. I found a job at the House of Seven Dancer Shadows as a bartender, and it fit in nicely with what I love to do. Though it's a Lintha house, the madame of the house is fair, and the Lintha leave it alone. It's a favorite of House Tepet, so I get to talk to the soldiers and officers coming through. Heck, I've even got my own client base, though I'm not a courtesan. Instead, I've got friends amongst all the Imperial Legions that come back to visit me when they're on leave. And so I listen to their stories of distant lands, desperate battles, and harsh campaigns. And I write their stories. I've even gotten clearance from House Tepet to do this, as long as I don't reveal state secrets. Turns out that even the military brass like having a de-facto unofficial historian cataloguing the stories that don't ever make it into the reports.
And, I love writing about distant places and peoples that I'll never meet. I get to imagine what it'd be like to go visit them and discover strange new things.
Someday I'll get to do that for myself, but that'll probably be after Mother passes on to be with Father. She's doing all right and keeps telling me to go out into the world. But, I can't just leave her. So I write, I dream, and I serve drinks. It's a living.

The Janitor

The Janitor's Story
927th year of the Scarlet Empress's reign
(5th year of the Interregnum, under Regent Focuf)

Uncle Calam always taught me to pay attention to everything going. And he also taught me how to fade into the background, be unseen. "There's a lot to be said for cleaning," he told me. "Clean things long enough, and you start seeing patterns, start understanding the way things are, the way things should be, and when they shouldn't be."
My uncle was a watchman in the City of The Steel Lotus. He was an investigator, and he saw things, lots of things. He used to say that most of the time the people you think did it, actually did it, but that he got paid for the times when the people you think did it actually didn't.
His parents, who were my grandparents, were cleaning staff for the Dynast summer palaces on the outskirts of the City. So he would go in and help them clean those big manses year after year, and he got real good at noticing details. He was the one that took me in after my parents were murdered. I don't remember them at all, because I was real young when it happened. He and his wife were all that I knew. And he had me clean his house top to bottom. Then he'd have me clean other houses in between my schooling. I hated it, until I realized that he was teaching me how to do his job.
I remember the day my Uncle figured out who killed my mother and father. I'd just come of age and was debating if I wanted to enlist in the Merchant Marine. He came home, covered in blood, and I couldn't tell if it was his or someone else's.
He told me that I had to go to the House of Seven Dancer Shadows and ask for One-Eyed Lou. Then I would have to ask her for a cleaning job, and then stay inside that house for a full year. And if I wanted to live, and eventually find out who murdered my parents, plus himself and his wife, then I would have to leave NOW.
He didn't tell me who was coming after him. His wife simply nodded and got a cleaver from the kitchen. Then she gave me a kiss on the cheek and a hug. She told me she loved me, and that I should remember to make offerings to her and my Uncle.
They stayed behind while I went down through the escape tunnel. I heard the door crack in, and a rough voice demanding that everyone inside lay down their weapons. I heard my Uncle calmly say that he and his wife were staying, and would defend themselves.
Leaving them behind was the hardest thing I've ever done. But my Uncle always expected me to do what needed to be done. And if he and his wife were going to be in the Underworld, then someone would have to remember them. So I got down the tunnel, ran all the way to the House of Seven Dancer Shadows, and asked One-Eyed Lou for a job.
She took me in, no questions asked, and I became the house janitor. I did not step outside of the house for a year and a day. During that time, people came around and asked for me. Lou always turned them away, because she had the Lintha behind her and no one wanted to mess with them. There were people in dark cloaks always outside the House, but they never came in. After a year went by, they disappeared. I stayed inside one more day, just to make sure.
I'm going to find out who they were one day, and I'll get my vengeance. For my uncle, my aunt, my parents, and for me.

The Cook

The Cook's Story
927th year of the Scarlet Empress's reign
(5th year of the Interregnum, under Regent Focuf)

Happiness is having a fully-stocked kitchen with four walls and a roof, and no one trying to kill you. Took me four years to realize this, and I'm only sad I didn't get it sooner. At least I've still got all of my limbs, my fingers, ears, eyes, and nose. I've known plenty of soldiers who aren't as lucky as me. I've just got this big scar running down the side of my face, from my right eye to below my lip. It was given to me by this barbarian who looked like his mother had fucked a cockroach. I mean it--the guy had these mandibles coming out of his face and five eyes. Plus half his body was covered in, what'd my sergeant call it? Oh yeah, "chitin". Damn stuff was as tough as steel, so I had to chop apart the half of the bastard that was still flesh and blood.
After that, I decided soldiering was no longer for me. Not if I had to go hunting Wyld-tainted bastards. Now if I ever got a lead on the Fae bastard that converted that entire city into bug-people, I might pick up my sword and armor again. What was done to those poor bastards, it still haunts me at night. I don't like bugs all that much now.
Oh, I still finished out my enlistment. House Tepet ain't a bad House to belong to, as far as Dynasts go. Sure, the lot of them Dragon-blooded are incestuous little bastards, but in House Tepet we've got the Roseblack. She's a damn good commander, and it was an honor to serve in the Vermillion Legion. Not that I talk about it much, even here in the City of the Steel Lotus. Too many ears, and the Roseblack has plenty of enemies. She's that damn good, more than enough to count for that waste of breath Tepet Lisara. If I never see that bitch again, it'll be too soon.
I cashed out, and made my way to the City of the Steel Lotus. Nothing ever happens here in the Principality of An-Teng. And, I'm a damn good cook. I learned at the feet of the best: my mother and father. Best cooks in all of Chiaroscuro. My family's been known for our prowess around the pot for generations. My skills were refined in the Imperial Legions and on the Kirighast campaign. I fed a lot of good men and women, and I joined them on the lines when needed. Being a good hand with a cleaver lends itself naturally to swordplay, I guess.
But anyway, I got to the City of the Steel Lotus and needed a job. I'll be honest, I also needed a good lay... it'd been a while.
No one in An-Teng messes with a soldier of the Legion--we've bailed their asses out multiple times regarding pirates from the sea, and bandits from Gem. What I'm saying is that no one robbed me, and I had a fair amount of jade script on me. A major I knew--one of the good officers, in the Vermillion--tipped me off to this brothel, called the House of Seven Dancer Shadows. It was a good joint, catered to House Tepet, and would be a good stop-over for me.
I found my way to it, and it looked like paradise. A three story house overlooking the riverbank in a quiet section of the city. I went in, got my action, and found out that they were in need of a house cook. Seems my fallen brothers and sisters were looking out for me from Stygia.
I took the job offer, and that night I went out to make my sacrifice to their memories, and thank them for helping to arrange things. I don't put much faith in Heaven... scratch that, I don't put any faith in Heaven at all. But my brothers and sisters in the Legion, that's a different story. I'll honor them until the day I die--and go to join them.

The Courtesan

The Courtesan's story
927th year of the Scarlet Empress's reign
(5th year of the Interregnum, under Regent Focuf)

Everyone in this life gets a choice to be either good-looking or smart. If you're lucky, you figure out that choice is bullshit. Why can't you be both?
I am beautiful, and I am brilliant. And what I choose to do with my life is my own business. I dictate my own destiny. I will not be told what to do, and I will not be told I have to be either/or. No one should ever have to be forced to choose. Or worse, have that choice taken away.
I was born on the Blessed Isle, where my mother worked as a dressmaker to the Dragon-Bloods. Her skills were exemplary and in demand, so she was able to pay for me to go to the same schools as the Dynasts. My mother was a formidable woman and she made it clear that if the Dynast ladies wanted her dresses, then her child would go to the same schools. She also threatened to reveal the identity of my father, and that was that--I went to the academies.
I don't know who my father is, and my mother died before revealing that. But I know he lives, and he's a member of House Peleps. I'm also aware that if I had Exalted and proven my Dragon-blood lineage, then I would not be here in the City of The Steel Lotus. But I did not and when my mother died, no one needed a yet another bastard child of a Dynast. So I caught the first freighter out of Arjuf to An-Tang.
As for being a courtesan, I enjoy it. I needed money at first, and was lucky enough to happen into the Silent Guild. There was once or twice that a pimp tried to claim me--and I know where to dump bodies. As for how I ended up in the House of the Seven Dancer Shadows, well... I needed a place to stay. I'd begun to establish a reputation, and build influence in the city. A lot of powerful people will pay for an educated, erudite, and discrete companion. You wouldn't believe how many times I've spent time with a client not having sex. Instead I've debated politics, conducted teaching lessons in literacy for a client's children (it's a sad story for another time), done research, and held the hands of the dying. That's the most surprising thing about this profession: discovering how lonely some people really are.
But, back to the story--for all the good clients I had, there are also some bad ones. And a few I wish I could forget. One of which decided not to forget about me and was powerful in the city. Though the Silent Guild can do a lot, I realized I didn't want to put my brothers and sisters in the Guild at risk, and so sought protection from the Lintha. They've got a bad reputation, but their local boss has a reputation for being fair. So I asked to work at the House of Seven Dancer Shadows, which is a Lintha operation. It caters mostly to House Tepet, so the Lintha leave it hands-off.
My strategy worked, in that I got the protection I needed to make the problem back off. Plus I've now got insight and connections into the Lintha Cartel, I'm making the local Lintha boss a lot of money, and my influence is expanding. I'm hoping within a year or two--maybe after Calibration--that I should have enough clout to arrange for a permanent solution to my problem. And after that... maybe I'll see if I can become one of the City Elders. I've always enjoyed politics, and the Silent Guild could always use more political power.