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Exalted - Eona's BackstoryEona Inessa might as well have had “Iliria’s Daughter” as her given name – that’s what most people called her. If not for Kanir, she probably would have thought it was. With a mother as well-known as Iliria was – Iliria, the great soprano who had to cut short her touring when she learned she was pregnant – it was difficult for the girl to forge her own identity, and she grew to accept that she would be quietly in her mother’s shadow for the rest of her life, or, at best, following Iliria into the spotlight as a continuation of the singer’s legacy.
The soprano had settled for a few years in Gem after learning of her condition, waiting long enough to see her daughter out of her infancy before returning to the road and leaving the girl in the care of a portion of the mother’s employees, and Kanir, one of Iliria’s guards who Eona came to recognize as her father. Throughout the rest of her life, Iliria’s presence was in
Artisan - The Olaf Saga, Part 2Contrition.
The Artisan couldn’t decide if the word was an entirely fitting descriptor, but it was the closest that came to mind as he dangled in the closet with chains biting into his arms and the Hand’s zombie grumbling disconsolately somewhere beside him. Contrite, and humiliated; the god amongst corpsecrafters brought low and shamed by his own experiment gone awry. Of all the outcomes he had expected…
The boy – no, rather Olaf, though the doctor couldn’t bring himself to determine whether this change was owed to a prideful refusal to admit that the one who’d subdued him was a mere boy, or the acceptance that the disdainful connotations of the term no longer truly fit, or a bit of both – in any case, he had traveled the week’s ride with them back to the tower. He had been confused by their ghost driver and horrified by the face of He Who Walks, attributing the Abyssal’s ruined visage to the fighting in Boden. His inquisitive nat
Artisan - The Olaf Saga, Part 1Artisan ignored the guard, keeping his back pressed to the farthest corner of the cell. Having been imprisoned as many times as he’d been, he’d learned a few key lessons – the guards will almost always try to hit you or spit on you while you can’t retaliate, so stay out of reach; failing that, they will gloat incessantly. That aside, the walls of holding cells are typically made of stone, the coolness of which works wonders on the inevitable bruises acquired during one’s capture.
At least this time, it hadn’t occurred to them to try to break his hands.
Idly, he wondered how long it would take them to get on with it and hang him already. He’d heard it mentioned that the town intended to conduct a trial in this matter, but he had no doubt that the end result would be the same. Those who ran the town would want to put this whole business out of their citizens’ minds as soon as possible, and the fastest way to do that was to swiftly execute t
Artisan - Of Mystery Metals and Scientific WoesThe Deathknight followed the zombie at a distance, quietly scrutinizing its behavior and motions with a scientist’s focus. Robbed temporarily of the opportunity to study the creature in the way he most preferred – that is to say, surgically – he had been settling for observation alone. Thus far, the zombie had displayed nothing very unusual – disappointing, as Artisan knew there were several strange things about this particular undead creature.
Frustrating as his inability to properly research was, it was fair, and even merciful that they had gotten away with nothing worse than a month exiled from the tower and the comforts of civility following the debacle of the rose. The Walker in Darkness had given them very straightforward orders, and they had fallen far short of their master’s expectations. They were lucky to still be living.
Well…with the exception of the Hand, of course – he whose strangely reanimated corpse now menaced a scrawny Shado
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