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Lessons of Dynasty Part 1: Abecedarian	By : JohnDoe Category: +A through F > Exalted RPG Views: 470 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Chapter 2 – Ganan

Realm Year 735, 1^st Day of Descending Earth
Saber Edge Estate, Southern Courtyard
The Lap

At the centre of Creation is the Blessed Isle. Once the home of the gods of the heavenly city Yu Shen, now the nest of the Dragon-Blooded – the centre of The Realm and the heart of civilisation in Creation. Across the Inland Sea, to the South of the Blessed Isle, there stands a massive statue of a man sitting in the lotus position. This mountain-sized carving, known colloquially as the Penitent, dominates the landscape for miles around, and in the enormous statue’s lap, there is a city.

The Lap controls the most fertile farmlands of the South – where the Burning Sands stretch as an endless desert. The king of this Satrapy bends the knee to the Realm, sending tribute to the glory of the Empress and Her Dynasty, and in return receiving the wisdom of three Satraps and the protection of the Realm’s armies.

It is here that the last vestiges’ of the once powerful Gens Saber Edge make their home. Once an ancient and powerful line – kin to the sorcerer-princes of Chalan, and recognised by the Empress as a mighty Cadet House, there had not been a Dragon-Blooded born into the Clan for a hundred years.

Until Aharon.

Aharon Saber Edge, younger brother to the matriarch Theodosia, drew the Second Breath at age 19 – setting fire to the family estate in the process. Carrying out the repairs would have bankrupted the House, were it not for the intervention of a wealthy Dynasty.

Cynis Falen Ganan.

Crippled by the actions of The Mad Sorcerer, Amilar Shavok, crushed in body and wounded to his very soul. Thanks to the prompt intervention of the greatest Dragon-Blooded healer of the age – Ganan’s master, Ragara Bhagwei – Ganan survived an ordeal that by rights should have destroyed him. Confined to a wheelchair, unable to stand, let alone walk, for the past nine years, Ganan travelled to The Lap in his search for a cure.

Here, Aharon and Ganan met, and the wealthy Dynast has acted as patron to the Aharon who has been his host and guide. Their story is one of hardships and triumph, of life and of love. But that story is not this story.

In the southern courtyard of the Saber Edge estate, Cynis Ganan sits in his wheelchair. His skin is wrought of living bronze, polished to a dark lustre, his upper body broad and well-muscled, but his legs atrophied for want of use, his features are pronounced a brooding – a wide nose, fat lips – his eyes are brilliant blue, like sapphires set in his dark brow. He takes out a curious wooden staff. Carved from wood gifted from the Empress’s own private orchard and graven with a hundred different faces, the priceless artifact is a relic entrusted by Ragara Bhagwei to his favoured student. As Ganan touches the tip of the staff to the ground, a ripple of Essences passes through him, connecting the dead wood to the bare earth. The staff twists, and grows and sprouts, and in moments has formed a mature apple tree – fruit ripening on the branches.

The largest face, carved into the trunk of the tree at the height of a tall man’s head, stretches and comes to life. The carving’s eyes swivel down to look at Ganan in his chair, and split into a warm smile.

“Ganan my boy, what news from the barbarian south?” The rich, warm voice of Ragara Bhagwei, thousands of miles away on the distant Isle of Voices, emanates from the carved wooden mouth.

Ganan smiles from ear to ear, he rises from his chair, turns, pushes it away casually, and takes a small bow, “Oh, not much master. You know what they say: ‘nothing ever happens in The Lap’.”

The wooden mouth also rises into a broad smile. Bhagwei exclaims, “Bravo, young man, well done! I confess, I have ever harboured secret doubts that your quest should be fruitful, for a cure to your condition lay beyond my imagining. Yet, you have given be rare delight: the surprise of being wrong.”

Ganan bows, “I owe you my life, master. No other physician in all of Creation could have done as much as you to save my life – nor would they have for the foolish boy that I was. This miracle represents a completion of your cure, nothing more.”

The tree grins, “I hope you kept copious notes.”

Ganan nods, “I’m having them transcribed into a legible hand as we speak. I don’t think two many Dragon-Blooded are at risk from having their souls transmuted to jade, but hopefully some lessons can be learned from my ordeal.”

“And you will need to return my walking stick, of course.”

Ganan cannot hide his crestfallen face, “Yes… master. Of course. I will arrange a reliable courier to transport my notes and the staff.”

“I would prefer you bring it yourself: the next time you are on the Isle of Voices. I should very much like to discuss your treatment, Child of Earth.”

“As would I, master, but it may be some years before I can make such a trip.”

The tree’s grin changes to wry smile, “You may be here sooner than you think.”

Ganan shifts uncomfortably, “Believe me master, it’s not that I don’t want to come, but now that I am healed, my family will expect me to find gainful employment. I am not free to travel.”

“Then work for me.”

“Master?”

“Here, at the Heptagram as an instructor.”

Ganan blinks hard, blindsided, “I’d… it’d be an honour, dominie, but what could I possibly teach at the Heptagram? I doubt you need a martial arts instructor!”

The tree-face of Ragara Bhagwei chuckles softly, “My dear boy, what couldn’t you teach? Spirit lore, alchemy, demonic warding and banishment, mathematics – you could assist in all these classes and more. My principal need aligns with your principal skills: I need a geomancer to teach the proper principles to the advanced students and I need an instructor with encyclopaedic knowledge abecedarians a grounding in Shogunate History. I can think of no-one better. But you are quite right, I’ve hired a new martial arts instructor since you were a student here: Ragara Hironi, I am sure you will get along famously.”

“I am… humbled, dominie, I don’t know what to say…”

“Say ‘yes’, of course!”

“Yes! Thank you, dominie! You won’t regret this!”

“I’m sure that I won’t. I will need you for the start of term. That doesn’t give you long to get here.”

“Of course, dominie, you can rely on me.”

****

As Ganan arranges the particulars, our view shifts to inside the mansion. A giant of a man, nearly eight feet tall, with skin the colour of burnt ash, and golden hair and eyes, tenderly holds a baby. The man is young, but to look at him, he’d seem middle aged, his face lined with stress, his body scarred. The babe looks up at her father, and it’s almost like a mirror: she shares his skin, the same whisps of golden hair, the same sharp nose, and slightly pointed ears. Only where her father’s eyes are golden, her eyes are bright blue, wide and curious.

Aharon Saber Edge hands the child over to his mortal sister, “Will you take her upstairs?”

Theodosia takes the child and coos at her, “You’re going to tell him, aren’t you?”

“And what, beg him to stay? To take us with him? He is resolved to leave. I am resolved to stay. He does not need to know what he has given us. It will be easier if we do not invite the displeasure of House Cynis.”

Theodosia walks off with her niece, “I hope you know what you are doing.” She says as she turns her back on Aharon and walks off with the child.

Aharon opens his mouth to reply, then closes it, and thinks to himself: “So do I.”

****

Aharon walks out into the courtyard as Ganan snaps a branch off of the now rapidly withering apple tree – the enchanted staff reveals its form in the staff, and Ganan tucks it under his arm, leaning on it heavily as he walks back to the house.

“Let me fetch your chair!” Aharon barks, roughly.

Ganan waves him off, “You fuss too much! I can walk, I need to walk, to build back my strength.” He smiles at his lover, “I have a long journey ahead.”

Aharon looks down at Ganan, his eyes narrowing cruelly, “I heard,” He spits, “You’re going back to the Isle of Voices. You’re leaving me.”

Ganan reaches up with his free hand and strokes the giant’s face, “It’s hard to remember that you are so young. Yes, I’m leaving you, but remember fondly what we had: my leaving cannot take that away from you.”

Aharon makes a “harumph”.

“You have nearly saved House and Clan Saber Edge, Aharon. You have restored your family estate, you wield your ancestral weapon, and you have the favour of Great House Cynis. You need to find a wife and have a host of children. My staying in the Lap doesn’t help you with that.”

Aharon unslings his ancestral weapon, the seven-foot spined sword, Abrojo. The massive daiklave is taller than Ganan is, “It’s yours, by right, bought and paid for.”

Ganan brushes it off, “If it’s mine, then I want you to wield it for me. But if you’re offering me a weapon…” Ganan reaches a hand into Aharon’s trousers, “I can spare an hour or so before I have to set out.”
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Lessons of Dynasty Part 1: Abecedarian