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Lessons of Dynasty Part 2: Interlude Years	By : JohnDoe Category: +A through F > Exalted RPG Views: 277 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter 2 – Burn

Realm Year 737, 2nd Day of Ascending Air

After working late into the night revising Ro’s learning plan and starting work on their essays, the girls are awoken before dawn by harsh thumping on the door to their lab. Bleary-eyed Reya swings her legs from the top bunk.

“Just a minute!” She shouts as she makes her way through to the lab, where a steamer trunk of fresh clothes await her. She pulls on another practical outfit, almost identical to what she wore the day before and answers the door.

She blinks and wipes the sleep from her eyes as she looks at the school’s headmaster.

“Dominie… how can I? You know how early it is, right?”

Ragara Bhagwei smiles kindly at her, “I do. Would you come with me? No need to trouble your laboratory partners.”

Even Reya’s social skills aren’t smooth enough to cover her irritation, but she bites her tongue and allows Bhagwei to lead her out into the grounds. There an enormous figure looms: his appearance human, but he towers over eight feet in height, his skin glowing softly orange like the dawn in miniature. He is clearly not mortal. His powerfully built body is draped in a simple desert cloak, and his hair is tied in a braid in the fashion of the southern barbarians. If the winter air causes him discomfort, he does not show it. Reya shudders involuntarily: the being emanates a palpable frisson of power. The being turns and seeing Reya’s approach he stands square at looks at her full face. Reya’s breath catches and she seems to melt a little inside. Bhagwei seems unfazed as he sweeps out an arm in introduction.

“This is the student I was telling you about; Danireya, this is one of my very good friends.”’

Reya gives a short bow of introduction, treating the dominie’s friend as she would a fellow Dynast, “It’s a pleasure to meet any good friend of Dominie Bhagwei. I didn’t catch your name?”

The tall man gestures and somehow has Reya’s hand in his. He lifts it and gently lays a kiss on the back of her hand, “That, my dear Danireya, is the point of the exercise.” He speaks with a deep basso rumble, that seems to shake the air around him, causing it to shimmer in a heat-haze.

Bhagwei smiles indulgently, “Danireya, how familiar are you with the Ifrit?”

“They’re an elemental race, fire aspected. Virtuous, honourable, honest. Eight feet tall, noble noses, smooth foreheads, orange glowing skin. Often found in leadership positions in the elemental courts, generally strong supporters of the Dragon-Blooded since the beginning of the Shogunate. I’ve never had the pleasure to meet one before.”

The elemental smiles, “You forgot: arrogant, proud, so covetous of worship that we are often brought into conflict with the Immaculate Order.”

“And,” Bhagwei adds, “From a certain point of view, you still have not met a mere ‘Ifrit’. The greatest of Ifrit-kind are the Ifrit Lords. Some of these mighty beings go on to expand their enlightenment and take draconic form, ascending to become lesser elemental dragons – emulating our progenitors in form, but most have more terrestrial concerns such as My Good Friend.”

“I have heard,” Reya begins carefully, “Heard, but not verified, that Ifrit Lords in the Threshold, acting beyond the reach of the Immaculate Order, initiate aspiring sorcerers into the Art. They ‘uplift’ the righteous with their fire – usually after the aspirant passes three ordeals to prove their virtue. There was a southern poet, Jalal ad-Din, who wrote…
‘O! Ifrit Lord, In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest where no one sees you,
But sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this Art.
Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames.’
“It… loses something in translation. But you get the idea.”

The Ifrit Lord’s smile turns predatory, “I think you mean Attar the Healer.”

Reya returns the smile, “Attar gets the credit because of a compilation of poems delivered by Ragara Bowit in 670 that was reproduced with cheap block printing. But dozens of poems were wrongly attributed due to translation errors. Naturally, most of the poems aren’t fit for lay consumption, but this doesn’t stop Dynasts misattributing.”

The Ifrit Lord doesn’t miss a beat, “What do you know about ‘Cselenine’?”

“A lesser elemental dragon of fire. Pre-shogunate. Her ‘Book of Thoughts’ contains some… unique insights into the role of the Exalted in the creation of new elementals and the relationships between the Princes of Earth and the elemental races – and the ecosystems of Creation. A Pact between us then? The terms? I warn you now, my mother views me as a child: I do not have talents of Jade to throw at your feet.”

The Lord smiles, “I do not care overly much for money: my existing relationship with the Heptagram provides. I have two stipulations. Firstly, you shall become an honorary member of my court. As my pupil, your position will be second only to myself – all the elementals who are pledged to my service will be at your service. But you shall be at my service. In perpetuity.”

Reya looks about to object, but the Lord cuts her off.

“I am no fool. My court is far to the south, beyond the shores of the southern threshold. Your place is on the Blessed Isle. I do not desire that you relocate, merely that should you find yourself in the South, you are prepared to assist me and my brethren. Let me be clear, you are a Prince of the Earth, and your Pact shall be with me, not with my court: should I die, you are free of all obligation. Further you shall be bound by honour, not by magic: our Pact is an agreement, not a mystical compulsion. I do not wish to give you any motivation to seek my death. Whatever tasks I set for you shall be infrequent, only when you put yourself in my domain, and well suited to your inclinations and temperament.”

“Such as?”

The Ifrit Lord purses his lips, “Let us say for argument that you are holidaying in An Teng. One of my rivals has unearthed an artifact of the Realm Before and is being belligerent toward the Realm. I might ask that you humble them. You protect the Realm and keep the recovered artifact. I have a rival laid low by your Exalted power. We all benefit. I would expect that you take our side – or at least mediate impartially – in any disputes between my Court and… over zealous Immaculates. And not to abuse my elemental servants, though, of course, they will serve your commands as they obey mine.”

Reya nods slowly, “That sounds… reasonable.”

“Secondly, you will treat me with the reverence I desire. If you find yourself in my lands on my feast days, you will honour them. You will speak my name only in worship, or in battle, or to praise me. No matter how great your accomplishments may become, you will refer to me as your master in the mystic arts, in recognition that it is my fire that has kindled sorcery within you.”

Reya cocks an eyebrow, “That’s all?”

“Master Bhagwei and I have a… financial arrangement, where offerings are to be burned in my name. Any additional offerings you wish to proffer would be gratefully received, but they are unnecessary: my patronage of you is not conditional upon my Pacts with the Heptagram. In addition to authority over my court I will, of course, ignite the flame of sorcery within you: this is out Pact. Sorcery, position, and the reverence of my name.”

Reya turns to the dominie, “You’ve arranged this, Master Bhagwei?”

“I have.”

“How many other students are receiving this offer?”

“This year? None. I have arranged this for you alone: but only you can decide if you want to bind yourself in this Pact.”

“To be clear: this is a pact between Alinos Danireya, of Great House Mnemon, and…” Reya looks expectantly at the Ifrit Lord, who returns her gaze in smouldering silence. “You got a name?”

“I’ve got a hundred.”

“Well, I ought to know what to call you if you’re going to be my master.” The Ifrit lord does not respond, but just continues to stare at her, his eyes burning, “Is there something to sign? In blood perhaps?”

“If you accept our Pact, shake my hand and I shall seal it by speaking my name to you.”

As the Ifrit Lord extends his arm, Ragara Bhagwei suddenly moves between Reya and the elemental. “No!” He says decisively, “That was never our arrangement!”

Reya looks carefully at the two men before her, unable to understand Bhagwei’s sudden reticence. The Ifrit’s hand burns bright like a red-hot poker, but that is a pain Reya is more than willing to endure. His eyes gleam with… perhaps not malice, but mischief. Reya makes the only logical conclusion.

“What is so important about his name, Master Bhagwei?”

Bhagwei considers for a moment, “It is not a name Creation can endure. Only a sorcerer can carry it. He means to burn you alive and make a sacrifice to himself of a young Dynast.”

“Isn’t the point of this pact to make me a sorcerer?”

“Yes. Over weeks and months. With tutelage.”

Reya looks past Bhagwei to the Ifrit, “You seem like you treat in good faith. Your name then – will it kill me?”

The Ifrit does not withdraw his outstretched hand, “Either the sealing of our Pact will ignite the fire of sorcery within you, and you will carry my name always. Or if you are unworthy, you will burn and die here before me. These are my terms, I offer no other, though there are many paths to sorcery, and none better than Master Bhagwei to signpost them to you, should you not wish to initiate this day.”

Reya pushes past the dominie and clasps the Ifrit’s hand. For a moment there is searing agony as her flesh burns and melts. And then the creature whispers its name in her ear and by comparison the feeling in her hand is like cool water in a brook. Her mind is set ablaze. Her soul is branded with the burning name. There is nothing but fire.

All consuming fire.
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Lessons of Dynasty Part 2: Interlude Years