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So the Exalted game we've been playing for the past few months has hit a natural stopping point, and we as a group agreed to skip ahead, letting the party go their separate ways for a while and take care of their own business. We came to this decision tonight.
I originally wrote the following scene on February 28. Dear universe: it would be awesome to be psychic about something other than my roleplaying game. This is the second time it's happened and it doesn't get less weird. Thank you.
"Hammer?" The strange voice echoed in the confined space of his lab, and Exquisite Hammer shook free of the mesmerizing song of the magic he was working with. He started to put down his hammer, then changed his mind. Few people could find his lab, and fewer still could enter it, but that didn't necessarily mean that someone one who could wasn't a threat.
He didn't recognize the man who came around the corner into his work area at first. He was a little taller than Hammer, but not as broad-shouldered; his musculature suggested the martial artist rather than the smith, and the sword strapped to his back seemed to confirm it. His dark hair was sprinkled with golden streaks, like sunbeams in a cave, and a faint sigil glittered across his forehead, barely visible beneath concealing strands of hair. A white panther followed him in and sat at his feet, ears pricked forward in interest. "I know you're busy," he said, "but I need your help."
His busy mind took the voice, twitched it up an octave, and he placed his visitor with a start. "Lotus?"
"Yes?"
"You grew up," he said, feeling stupid with it.
"Most people do," Lotus assured him. "You promised me that I would, in fact."
"How long has it been?" he asked, trying to hide how flummoxed he felt. As a child, Lotus had the sort of presence that turned every head as he entered a room, that could inspire respect and trust in men and women old enough to be his grandparents. Riveting, certainly, but there was only so much dignity a twelve-year-old could muster, and Lotus had been his friend.
"It would be two years this autumn - but obviously it's summer now, so some two moons shy of that." Seven seasons had given him height, breadth, and turned his knack for being noticed into a presence that meant Hammer couldn't stop staring at him, and his over-serious demeanor into a gravity that could belong to no one but a Chosen priest of the Unconquered Sun. He hoped that some of the effect would wear off with exposure, or it would be embarrassing. And he's not even fourteen! Hammer thought to himself. What's he going to be like when he's twenty? Or forty?
I originally wrote the following scene on February 28. Dear universe: it would be awesome to be psychic about something other than my roleplaying game. This is the second time it's happened and it doesn't get less weird. Thank you.
"Hammer?" The strange voice echoed in the confined space of his lab, and Exquisite Hammer shook free of the mesmerizing song of the magic he was working with. He started to put down his hammer, then changed his mind. Few people could find his lab, and fewer still could enter it, but that didn't necessarily mean that someone one who could wasn't a threat.
He didn't recognize the man who came around the corner into his work area at first. He was a little taller than Hammer, but not as broad-shouldered; his musculature suggested the martial artist rather than the smith, and the sword strapped to his back seemed to confirm it. His dark hair was sprinkled with golden streaks, like sunbeams in a cave, and a faint sigil glittered across his forehead, barely visible beneath concealing strands of hair. A white panther followed him in and sat at his feet, ears pricked forward in interest. "I know you're busy," he said, "but I need your help."
His busy mind took the voice, twitched it up an octave, and he placed his visitor with a start. "Lotus?"
"Yes?"
"You grew up," he said, feeling stupid with it.
"Most people do," Lotus assured him. "You promised me that I would, in fact."
"How long has it been?" he asked, trying to hide how flummoxed he felt. As a child, Lotus had the sort of presence that turned every head as he entered a room, that could inspire respect and trust in men and women old enough to be his grandparents. Riveting, certainly, but there was only so much dignity a twelve-year-old could muster, and Lotus had been his friend.
"It would be two years this autumn - but obviously it's summer now, so some two moons shy of that." Seven seasons had given him height, breadth, and turned his knack for being noticed into a presence that meant Hammer couldn't stop staring at him, and his over-serious demeanor into a gravity that could belong to no one but a Chosen priest of the Unconquered Sun. He hoped that some of the effect would wear off with exposure, or it would be embarrassing. And he's not even fourteen! Hammer thought to himself. What's he going to be like when he's twenty? Or forty?
