Research
The Mystery Cult of Talia Yvarai
Monday, April 26th, 2010 | Design, Research | 1 Comment
Quick Note
This is an excerpt from a forthcoming essay called “The Mystery Cult of Talia” I’m preparing for the Shanri Research Institute. It will be made available in both print and PDF form. I’ll be going through all the ven mystery cults one-by-one, giving as many details we have about their rituals, temples and followers.
(Plus, some game mechanics goodness!)
During this essay, I almost exclusively employ the female gender. This is only because, in the literature, the worshipers of Talia are exclusively female. However, just as I’ve made concessions to women in other areas of ven culture, I felt it would have been hypocritical to not give the same indulgence to men.
So, please assume that when I say “priestess,” I also mean “priest.” When I say “she,” I also mean “he.” In my game, both men and women can revere Talia. This, apparently, is an anthropological inaccuracy that many ven scholars have objected to. I don’t care. They can write their own roleplaying games if they don’t like it.
Introduction
Like lost mystery cults, we have very little direct evidence of exactly what happened in the Temples of Talia. However, through secondary sources, we have been able to draw what the Shanri Research Institute (SRI) considers a fairly accurate picture of the cult’s most secret ritual.
The story bears resemblances to many others more familiar with anthropologists and historians: a selfless sacrifice, murder and rebirth. Like other mystery cults, the story of Talia’s sacrifice is an initiation ritual designed to provide a sublime experience for initiates into higher esoteric secrets.
Initiation
The cult of Talia differentiates the devoted. The structure of a temple–and the language used by its priests and priestesses–illustrate these differences clearly.
Every temple must have five isolated areas or “Devotions.” Larger temples–such as the one in the Capital City–have five stories: one for each of the levels of devotion. Other temples–such as those found in smaller cities–have individual rooms set aside for each level of devotion.
Many temples have an open area for those who are not devoted to Talia. The cult called this area, “The Greeting Room.” Here, the devoted can meet with the uninitiated in a friendly manner. This is also where city officials and nobility may speak with the High Priest or Priestess of the temple without passing through into the Inner Devotions.
The first through third Devotions are isolated with secret passwords and codes to allow entry. Only those who have undergone the proper rituals gain access to these codes. Often, the codes are call and response poems relating to knowledge gained during rituals performed in said Devotion.
For example, in order for a ven to attain the first level of Devotion, he must submit himself to the temple for testing. While we know little about these tests, we do know they required a specific form of dress for the candidate (which possibly included a blindfold) and an elaborate ritual designed to test both the will and endurance of the candidate.
The Priestess of the Yellow Rose was often responsible for testing possible candidates.
Further tests involved more elaborate rituals and, as it turns out, less clothing. This little fun fact will be explained later in the essay.
If a candidate passed the initiation ritual, she gained access to the appropriate Devotion. Further learning and service to the cult allowed advancement and further access to the deeper secrets of the temple. Moving from the First Devotion to the Second and Third required selfless sacrifice to the temple and its clergy but only the truly faithful ever gained access to the Fourth and Fifth Devotion. Those levels belonged to the Priestesses and the High Priestess herself.
You can read about the Priestesses and their roses in the previous blog entry here.
Talia’s Sacrifice
As an example of one of the ritual plays performed in the Temple, we provide here Talia’s Sacrifice. We do not know at which level of Devotion this mystery plays was revealed, but its very nature suggests level three or four.
In this version of the story–we are led to believe there are many; possibly as many as there were temples–Talia is her mother’s Spy Master. A woman of Cunning. She is cold-hearted and calculating, a woman without remorse, mercy or compassion. At least, on the surface. The story reveals that Talia had a lover–an unnamed woman–who was the only ven Talia ever shared her passions and weaknesses.
But an enemy kidnaps the lover and demands ransom. Talia’s mother forbids her from using any resources to bring the lover back and so Talia goes by herself to rescue her. Talia arrives in the home of the enemy to pay the ransom. The enemy declares that only one of them–Talia or the lover–may leave his lands safely. One must remain behind. Talia offers herself in exchange for her lover. The enemy laughs and releases Talia’s lover into the wilds, naked and alone.
This is what ven scholars call “Talia’s First Transformation.” (The first of three.) She has made a selfless sacrifice to save the one she loves the most. She has taken her first step from being the cold-hearted calculating Talia at the beginning of the story to the woman she will become at the end.
The enemy then reveals that he is a secret worshiper of Avhril (the Forbidden Suaven of Pain) and he plans on torturing Talia until she dies. He throws all manner of pain upon Talia and the tortures demonstrated in the play are beyond the abilities of this brief description. (There is a line in the story that I am particularly fond of that mentions, “all his whips and scalds had never tasted blood so sweet.”)
Eventually, Talia calls out for mercy. Her cold heart is broken and she can do nothing but beg for that she never gave her own enemies. This is Talia’s Second Transformation.
In the end, Talia is crucified and left to die. She hangs on the tree for three days (a symbol that should be familiar with every faith), slowly dying from exposure and blood loss.
At the end of the three days, Talia dies.
Midnight of the third day, Talia’s lover returns. She removes Talia’s body from the tree. She tries to restore Talia’s body with a secret ritual, but fails. Then, she tries a second secret and she fails. It is only when she uses the third secret that she restores life to her lover. She whispers a secret word into Talia’s ear and her breath returns to her lungs and her eyes shine with life.
The secret word is one rarely spoken outside the Temple of Talia. In fact, it almost never appears in any other ven literature.
The word is tava. “Please.”
With that word, Talia is completely restored. This, of course, is Talia’s Third Transformation.
What happens next is unknown. Presumably, returns to her mother’s castle. We assume, from there, she plots her Revenge against the unnamed Enemy, but any subsequent stories have been lost. This is where the story of Talia’s Sacrifice ends.
The Ritual
While we do know that initiates who undergo the ritual also undergo Talia’s tortures, it is unclear whether these tortures are literal or metaphorical or both. We do know particular Priestesses take roles during the ritual.
The initiate, of course, plays the role of Talia. She is blindfolded and led about the Inner Chambers by one of the other Priestesses. Scholars agree this is most likely the Priestess of the Yellow Rose. When Talia must speak during the ritual, the Priestess of the Yellow Rose speaks for her. She leads the initiate to different chambers where she encounters the different characters of the mystery play and responds accordingly.
The High Priestess plays the role of Talia’s mother, refusing to allow the initiate to rescue her lover, the Priestess of the Red Rose typically plays the role of the lover and the Priestess of the Black Rose plays the role of the Enemy.
There is some secondary evidence to suggest the tortures listed in the story had, at the very least, real counterparts in the ritual. Some Priestesses boast of “the scars I suffered for Talia” when undergoing the ritual. One scholar suggests that an initiate undergoes the torture until she can take no more and calls out for mercy (something Talia also does in the story). It could be the initiate is actually tortured until she begs for mercy. We will never know for certain.
The crucifixion is also listed as one of the steps in the ritual. Most ven scholars agree this step is a metaphorical one rather than a literal crucifixion. Considering the nature of the cult of Talia, many believe the “crucifixion” is actually a ritual sex act.
Game
Those who gain 4 Devotion or higher to Talia may undertake the ritual of Talia’s Sacrifice as a Season Action. (The ritual requires moths of study and preparation.) The ritual must be performed at a Temple (not a Shrine).
- To pass Talia’s First Transformation, the initiate must make a successful Cunning risk (TN 10).
- To pass Talia’s Second Transformation, the initiate must make a successful Courage risk (TN 15).
- To pass Talia’s Third Transformation, the initiate must make a successful Strength risk (TN 20).
Failure of any risks disqualifies the candidate.
Any wagers gained in the first risk may be held and used as bonus dice in the subsequent risk. For example, if the candidate makes two wagers in the first risk, she may use them as two additional dice in the second risk. Likewise, any wagers used in the second risk may be used as bonus dice in the third risk.
If a candidate fails, she must wait an entire year before trying again.
Success of all three Transformations means the candidate has undergone the same sublime experience as the Sacred Harlot herself. She gains gains…
___
I think I’ll save that part for later.
Can’t give everything away for free, now can I?
A Game of Tears — The Final Letter
Thursday, October 22nd, 2009 | Research | No Comments
I am called Shajar Thorne, a Baron of House Falcon.
I write this testimony in response to a request for information regarding Countess Ismene Yvarai and her brother, Count Tomas Yvarai. Although the events occurred almost a year ago to the day, the memories remain sharply clear in my mind. I regret that I am unable to deliver this report in person, but the particulars of it are still too painful for me to speak, and may remain so for quite some time. As the Senate well knows, as a result of these events, I have elected to take the black. My word, therefore, would mean very little when delivered on the Senate floor. I have given this written testimony to a trusted friend, who has promised to read it before the august Senators, omitting nothing.
I grew up in Uliinsher, which borders my current holdings of Teravie. You are likely not familiar with the lands. They are quiet and pastoral. Nothing rare or valuable can be found there, and it lays off the main highways. As a result, it is peaceful, idyllic sort of place. I was raised by two honest and decent ven - Baroness Sophias Thorne and her husband, Baron Kilim Adrente. I realize such virtues are not recognized by many of the Senate, but in the back counties, far from the City, honor and decency are as valuable as steel and iron. There, the Storm rages fiercely, and one learns quickly to unite with your neighbors for survival’s sake. This engenders a strong sense of community I have not encountered in the city, and which may be alien to the city-bred among you.
Shortly after his arrival, I was formally introduced to this man as Baron Tomas Yvarai. I recognized the name. Even in the wilderness of Shan’ri, we had heard of the Prince of Rakes. I wondered what business he had which brought him to our residence. After all, I had no sisters for him to seduce, and Baroness Sophias invested all her energies into her playwriting. We were left alone to talk.
“I owe your parents a debt,” he began. “Especially your father. The particulars are not important, but I pride myself on paying my debts. Even though this debt was incurred before you were born, I will honor it. I have discussed the matter with the Baron and Baronness, and they agree with me. Therefore, I have a proposal for you: while you have no doubt been provided with the best tutors money can buy, there is only so much one can learn here. Come with me, and I shall see to it your education is completed. University, if you’d like. But more important than that, I can teach you secrets books and tutors cannot.”
He must have seen my astonishment, because he laughed then. His laughter was anything but easing to my confusion. Baron Kilim was yvestra to Baroness Sophias, so I did not understand at the time quite how he could have been owed anything - especially by Tomas Yvarai. Though, I assumed, if the debt was older than I, perhaps it was also older than their marriage. And here was Tomas Yvarai himself, in my parlor, offering to take me with him to the city and complete my education! I of course accepted his generous offer, and we were away within the fortnight. It was much, much later when I learned Tomas’ purse paid for my tutors in the country. For many years later, I wondered why. I would soon discover that some questions are best not answered.
I shall not bother with the details of my budding friendship with Tomas. Let it be said he was a true mentor to me. Without his influence, I doubt I would be the man I am today. For better or worse. I have to admit feeling a certain sort of connection to the man, for reasons I shall explain later. We were often taken for relatives while out and about, an assumption I (at the time) took great pride in. It must have been my youthful impetuousness that prompted me to ask about his sister. I kept asking to be introduced to the equally notorious Ismene Yvarai. Tomas, however, warned me away from her every time I asked. “She is a dangerous woman,” he would tell me, “You are intelligent, but that matters little. You are too innocent for the likes of her. She would seize upon your innocence and corrupt it. I would not be doing your parents any favors if I did not keep you from meeting my sister until you are ready.”
Whether he planned it that way or not–and I cannot say anything is coincidence or chance when considering the Yvarai siblings–I finally did meet Ismene Yvarai when Tomas had his now-famous duel with Lady Shara. Her elegance and beauty struck me as soundly as Shara’s Sword struck my friend. And wounded me just as deeply. Though Tomas warned us both away from each other, we could not help ourselves. She was wise and strong, and a thousand other things a man looks for in a woman. All of us have read the same poetry and pillow books. We know who she was. We shall not see a woman like her in a thousand years, no matter how hard House of the Fox may try.
I remember the day when our friendship became a Romance, and the day when our Romance became a liaison. The first step was during the long struggle in which they rose to Count and Countess. Under a tree watching the fires from their Enemy’s wine fields burn, she turned to me, her lips so close to mine. I could obey Tomas’ warnings no longer. When the siblings finally succeeded, I was so proud of them both. I felt honored to be included in their small family. It is true that Ismene was the first lover I ever had. It is also true that, our first night together, I wanted to give her the most precious gift I could. I offered to tell her my true name. I thought it would make her happy. She refused to hear it, though. “The only result of telling someone your true name is suffering,” she told me. She also swore me to secrecy regarding our liaison, though at the time refused to tell me why. This also gave me pause - after all, Ismene was anything but shy when it came to her affairs.
As I reached my nineteenth year, my parents reached a decision regarding my marriage. I had avoided the question as long as possible. At first, I was enjoying my time with Tomas too much to wish for the responsibility. Later, I did not want to leave Ismene. Finally, though, I could delay no longer. Sophias and Kilim had secured for me a good match, for which I was a dutifully grateful son. When I told Ismene, however… she was enraged. She felt betrayed. Having never been married herself, she could not understand that a marriage would not have interfered with our bond. The argument caused an emotion to stir in my heart that I had never felt before while in Ismene’s presence. I felt the terrible pangs of fear. Fear for her rage, and fear that I had lost her forever.
But as the months passed with my new wife, I found a kind of happiness I did not expect. She was as I: a child reared in the country, where matters of politics and intrigue are the stuff of literature and history. Those were happy years for me. And although I missed my adventures with Tomas and my nights with Ismene, I found the Courage to put them behind me and accept my new life.
It was only a few days later when I discovered my wife had been murdered. At the time, the violence seemed mindless, and mystified me. Senators, in this matter I admit, I was woefully blind. After reading the letters left behind by the Yvarai siblings, the truth of the matter is clear to me. I should have seen it that day. However, we are always loathe to believe those we love are capable of terrible deeds.
My wife’s murder was the beginning of a long year of tears.
One day, Ismene wrote me in a panic. She urged me to leave my own home and come to hers immediately. When I arrived, I saw her as I had never seen her before. Her hair was uncombed and her face as white as a spectre’s. She was speaking so quickly, I could barely understand her. And then she said something I could comprehend but not fully understand.
Her eyes were mad and red and ragged with tears. “Because we are lovers,” she told me.
“What?” I asked, shocked. “Why? Tomas is a dear friend! He should be glad for our happiness!” I demanded she tell me what had made her so upset, but she refused. I demanded an explanation. She collapsed in my arms then, weeping madly. It was only long minutes later that she spoke. The words still burn in my memory. I shall recount to you now what she told me as accurately as I am able to remember it.
“Ever since my first lover,” she told me, “we have made a… a Game. When I take a lover, Tomas has a Season to kill him. And I, the same for his.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. I began to wonder if true madness had befallen the woman I loved. “Ismene, I have been your lover for much longer than a Season and Tomas has not made any attempt to kill me.”
I took her in my arms. “And so I must hide from Tomas until Autumn passes?” I asked her. “That is easy enough, darling. But I will do it on one condition.”
With that, she only cried harder. I did get her to promise, though.
We were married the next day. I had not even told Sophias and Kilim, who had always severely disapproved of my friendship with Ismene. I told no-one.
It was another night of wandering and gibberish. My fears were forefront in my mind. I got no sleep that night. And the next day, Tomas came to the castle. Swathed in red and yellow.
“Your wife?” he yelled. “Your wife?” He turned his head up to the windows, yelling at Ismene. “You lying harlot! You don’t know! I told you to find out his name. You did not, I know you did not!”
“What has she not told me?” I asked him.
To any who have further doubt, I confronted Sophias Thorne at her home. I demanded she tell me the name she whispered to me at birth. After a long afternoon of questioning, she admitted she could not. She attempted to explain, but I did not need to hear it. I know now the truth about myself, that I have been nothing but a pawn in a blood-soaked game of lust, love, revenge and tears.
Game of Tears — Part 40
Friday, October 16th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
Really, Tomas.
Enough with the histrionics.
Your letter is damn near incoherent, I almost didn’t respond. I hardly know what I am responding to.
Accusing me of poisoning you? Of clouding your mind? Hardly. In case you hadn’t noticed, this revenge has been twenty years in coming. I wanted you to feel the pain with every fiber of your being. Cushioning the blow with mind-numbing poisons would have precisely the opposite effect. I’ve no idea who’s been drugging you, but my plan relied on you being sober and perfectly, completely aware of the world around you.
Even now, Tomas, you have not the slightest idea how I have suffered. You have not marked the same day every year with melancholy wondering. You are not seized with worry every time you hear of the Storm wiping out a caravan; or of youngbloods dueling to the death. You do not weep when you hold an infant… even an ork infant. Do you know, though I know a dozen recipes, I have never once taken precaution against conception? The many lovers I have enjoyed, virile men all. And not once has their seed taken root. The poisons may not have accomplished what Father hoped they would, but my womb is blighted nevertheless. There will never be another child for me.
I want to see my son so badly, it hurts. I want to see the man he has become. I want to hold him in my arms again. I want to meet his wife and play with his children. I want to find out which House he has joined (though I cannot imagine him being anything other than a Fox, just like his mother).
There is something else you do not realize. Shajar Thorne loves me. There is not a single thing you could tell him about me to change his heart. Every day I wake next to him, I am surprised again by that fact. I almost regret treating his wife the way I did. It seems so unnecessary in retrospect. Even if you bundled up all the letters I have ever sent you, even if you devised complete and utter fiction and sealed it with my name and gave it to him with a pretty ribbon wrapped round the whole sheaf… yes, Shajar would read them and believe them. And he would still love me.
So tell him, my brother. Tell him everything. Tell him our whole story. Tell him how I earned the title Mistress of Poisons. Tell him I bore a bastard when he was still in swaddling. Tell him how many deaths can be laid at my feet. Tell him just how many men (and women) have come into my bed. Tell him how I murdered our parents. Tell him all that… and he will still love me. Even if you found incontrovertible proof that mine were the hands which ended his wife’s life (an act I still categorically deny), he would still love me.
You wish a token from me, to prove that I am the mistress of my own fate? Prove I am still your sister? Prove I am still Ismene Yvarai? Shajar told me his secret name long ago, the first night we were together. The first time, it turned out, he had ever lain with a woman. He thought the gift of his secret name was appropriate for the occasion.
You don’t understand, Tomas. You never will. With all your threats and bluster. You murdered me twenty years ago, when you killed the man I was going to marry. Yes, I loved him. And was grief-stricken by his loss. But I would have gotten over it. Only I could not. Not when his death also meant the loss of the only person I have ever truly loved. Had my beloved lived, you and I could have been happy. I would have been married. But wasn’t that what we planned all along? Advantageous matches for each of us, working in concert to build up both our fortunes. Sweet Sua’ven, Tomas, I would have been the dominant partner, even!
No, Tomas. You were enraged because what happened was outside your control. You have always sought to control me. If you cannot command something, you destroy it. That is why none of my lovers were ever allowed to live. Because, while you could not control who I invited into my bed, you certainly could see to it that no one stayed very long. That is why you have dangled this name over my head for twenty long & lonely years, making me play your Game and bend to your will.
And that is why I chose Shajar. Even if you had found him, I doubt you would have possessed the nerve to kill him. Not your precious ward and protege. Not an undischarged debt. Not the symbol of your honor.
I once chose lovers by their cunning. By their hardiness. Those I thought could thwart you without killing you. I only regret the solution took so long. To choose a lover you would refuse to kill.
Well, I play the Game no longer, Tomas. Tell me what I want to know, or be forsworn. What means more to you: pride or honor?
And if I learn my son has died sometime during the past twenty years… it won’t matter how it happened. Plague, Storm, revenge or romance. If he died without ever getting to see his true mother, if he died without me ever getting to see him again… I will use every resource at my command against you, and you will wish I had stopped at Kassana.
Yours with all filial affection,
Ismene Yvarai
Blooded of the Fox
Countess Sha’av
Mistress of Poisons
P.S. I counted three times to make sure I was accurate. You’ve taken two more lovers into your bed than I have. Who’s the harlot & the slut, then?
P.P.S. Shajar has asked me to marry him.
Game of Tears — Part 36
Wednesday, October 7th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
Really, Tomas,
Your last letter was so garbled as to be nearly incoherent. Spattered with ink, the words illegible. Not to mention, the paper positively reeked of brandy. Did you uncork a bottle directly into the inkwell? Or did you simply decide to launder your clothes in alcohol?
To begin with, I am deeply shocked and hurt you would accuse me of murdering Shajar’s wife! How dare you?
I am, of course, willing to be charitable and believe you spoke through a haze of liquor. Why, I only met the woman once! I certainly had no cause to wish her dead. Especially not now, not once I have seen the effect her death has had on my poor Shajar. He is positively inconsolable. Not, I believe, because he loved her (I know he didn’t); but rather, I do believe it’s the first time someone close to him has died. You think I am jealous. But I assure you, I am anything but. To begin with, I am not a jealous woman. Shajar is a dear friend of mine, and we agreed long ago what was between us would not progress any further. Strange, I know, but I am oddly content with it. And so, you see, his marriage was certainly no threat to me.
Perhaps, dear sibling, I am being framed. I have heard rumors Lady Shara still passionately hates me, though she will not attack me up front. She is no doubt the one responsible for the vile rumours circulating about me. I would not put it past her to attempt to implicate me in another’s death.
I need nor want any of your ‘help’. You may not realize this, Tomas, but I am damn near untouchable. The Senate has tried several times to find fault with me. Tried, and failed every single time. Lady Shara has tried to assassinate me, and failed as well. Why? Because I am Ismene Yvarai. I could dance naked through the Senate, waving a blood knife in one hand and my enemy’s severed head in the other. And they would not touch me. I’m that damn good, Tomas. So, no, I don’t need your ‘help.’
And I have absolutely no idea of whom you speak when you demand me to return ‘the boy.’ Surely you do not mean Shajar Thorne, who is a grown man, a widower and free to come and go across Shan’ri as he pleases? If you want him to come to you, you’ll have to charm him away yourself. He may have started out as your ward, but take another look at him, Tomas. He has grown up, and no longer needs you as he once did. Or are you trying to take him away from me just out of spite? Poorly played, brother. If that is the case.
Also, in your drunken stupor, you are confusing my lovers. My poor Falcon died instantly, breaking his neck on the rocky ground beneath the parapet from which you tossed him. The lingering death you are thinking of is a different Falcon, not my first. Your first. Our first. Your wine has begun to affect your memory. Do take care. I have never known you drink quite this much.
Oh.
Oh, dear.
Are you grieving? I have to say, you have always seemed able to hold your liquor before. You rarely, if ever, get this drunk. Has the Green Woman’s death (by your own hand, no less!) so unmanned you that you have crawled into a brandy bottle as a result?
No.
Of course you haven’t.
Because Kassana isn’t dead.
I know she’s not dead, dear brother. Do not waste ink or breath trying to convince me otherwise. I have been keeping a close eye on her. I suspected you might attempt to trick me in hopes of preserving her life. I knew you were capable of it, but I yet hoped you would prove true to me. It seems I have been sadly disappointed. How could you, Tomas?
A clever ruse you pulled, to be sure, but I am cleverer. Far cleverer. Not only have you violated the tenets of our Game, you have LIED to me. I think the green bitch deserves to die screaming for that alone. For driving my dearest brother, the only family I have left in all the world, to betray me.
Throughout our lives, since even before we were born, we have been an inseparable pair. No matter the amount of physical distance dividing us, there were none who could come between Ismene and Tomas Yvarai. Threaten our special bond. Not our parents. Not our lovers. Not anyone. And you, Tomas, have now profoundly violated that bond. Our promises both spoken and unspoken. Had you told me the truth, that you loved Kassana, I would have been merciful. As I wrote in my last letter, I understand what it is to truly love someone. And I understand the utter agony you feel when you are separated from that person. All it would have taken was you offering me the forfeit. The one question you refuse to answer Season after Season, year after year.
But now, Tomas, you have lied to me. You have taken great steps to deceive me. And now, no matter what you offer me or how ardently you beg, Kassana will die. And she will know exactly why she is dying - that you were the one who betrayed her. Even though my hands will be the ones to brew the poison and slip it into her wine, it will be your fault when she dies. Perhaps she might even expire calling your name. I’ll let you know if her last words are of you. Just so you might know the peril of breaking your word to the Mistress of Poisons.
If you didn’t want her to die, you should never have fallen in love with her.
Yours,
Ismene Yvarai
Blooded of the Fox
Countess Sha’av
Mistress of Poisons
Game of Tears — Part 35
Thursday, October 1st, 2009 | Research | No Comments
[editor's note: the letter below is deeply stained with wine making some passages difficult to read. The damaged passages have been translated to the best of our abilities. We've taken small liberties, assuming words and phrases from context. We've marked these passages with parenthesis.]
My Sister,
It is done. She is dead.
Although, it would seem I am not the only one with blood on my hands. I received a letter from Shajar recently. He told me about his wife’s murder. He also told me it was performed with a sorcerous blade and an old, stained strangle cord. Ismene, you must be more careful.
I told him to burn the cord lest it prove sorcerous. In truth, I told him to burn the cord lest he allow one of Jonan Drax’s blasted “knights” to divine whose hands were on it last. Like I said, sister. Careless [sic]
I also told him to send the blade to me. I would deal with it. Again, I find myself covering your sloppy trail. For this, you are in my debt. Do not doubt it or contest it. The boy was ready to bring the dagger to the Senate and what kind of trouble would that make for you and I, do you think?
You even went back to the Castle and allowed these things to remain in his possession! Your wits are no longer with you. I have lost all patience with your pre-occupation with this boy. He was entrusted to me to begin with and he belongs here with me, not with you. Not after what you have done to him.
I begin to suspect your preoccupation with the boy may have more to do with your loins than your brains. Only a woman so enthralled with pleasure acts as you have. You have surrendered all your cunning and all your wisdom to a pair of pretty eyes and a dashing smile. (You must send him back) to me before you put me in the position I was in before: having to murder one of your lovers that I actually admired. And this one also a Falcon.
You have already put me in the position of having to murder outside the Game once. Do not put me in the position of having to do it again. At least the previous Falcon–who’s death occurred so long ago, the name I cannot even recall now–was a man of courage. When it came time, he did not beg or barter. He looked me straight in the eyes and told me, “Your sister loves me more.”
(As if he would know) my sister’s heart better than my own. I nearly felt pangs of regret when I learned I would have to kill him. I also nearly considered allowing you to win the Game, so great was my admiration for him. Allowing him to escape. It would have been worth it. At least, that’s what I thought.
That’s what I thought until he said, “Your sister loves me more.” And then, I had no qualms about killing him. In fact, it wasn’t until morning that he died. It wasn’t until morning that the last drop of his blood spilled and his eyes rolled back and his breath stopped. He was an honorable man. And for that crime, I murdered him.
[sic] bother [sic] child [sic] wearing the (black)
I realize now I’ve never told you that story. The wine in my head makes me remember and forget. Too much wine. Too much poison in my blood and in my brain. But, yes, that is how your Falcon died. Whatever his name was. And you! You wearing mourning colors for weeks. Never have I been so ashamed of you. Never. Not until now.
Send the boy back to me. Do it or there shall be consequences. I killed her for you. The least you can do is send the boy back.
[unsigned]
Game of Tears — Part 34
Tuesday, September 29th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
My friend Tomas,
I must needs beg your forgiveness. You have treated me far better than I deserve, and I fear I have not adequately returned your kindness. I know it has been too long since I last wrote you, and that is the primary slight I have committed. My wife and I had been quite busy establishing our new estates. I thought it prudent to simply return your letters to you, rather than risk their being lost in the hectic shuffle.
It means little now, but I must also offer you an apology for not extending either you or your delightful sister an invitation to my wedding. Ismene’s reaction to hearing that my parents had chosen a wife for me was quite… spectacular. She is a woman of rare and incredible passion. And though she has long been one of the closest friends a man could ever ask for, I feel safe in admitting to you my fear that she might have disrupted the ceremony. Having made that decision, it would have put me in a rather awkward position to have invited you and not Ismene. I hope you will forgive me, for I surely meant no Insult by it.
Though now I must confess it appeared there was little to celebrate that day. We had expected our fortunes to be tied together until Solace came upon us. Yet now I must report the sad death of my wife.
She has been murdered. Most foully and most cruelly. I cannot fathom it, my friend. Perhaps you might be able to offer some advice. I know you have a superior understanding of such things. You have cultivated an insight into the darker motivations of the ven heart than I have cared to.
My wife was the sweetest woman I have ever met, hardly the sort of woman who went about making deadly enemies. She was also quite pretty, though nowhere near as beautiful as Ismene. Ismene carries herself with a certain sort of sensual self-possession few women ever seem to master. Ah, but I am letting thoughts of her distract me!
Though my bride was quite confident herself, she lacked that smoldering inner fire so unique to your sister. I did not think she was a woman who would ever stir a great passion within me (my bride, that is), but I could certainly come to care for her. And, more importantly, we would easily be able to manage our estates together and raise strong daughters and competent sons. I was looking forward to our future prosperity. Isn’t that what a marriage is all about?
She did not deserve what has been done to her. As Ismene might have told you, part of my wife’s lands included an expanse of swamp infested with all manner of abominable ork. As I was chosen theyvestra in this marriage, the responsibility of clearing my wife’s lands of course fell to me. I assembled a group of brave Swordsmen and we ventured into the boggy terrain. We were gone for three weeks. Though we could not exterminate all the orks, we certainly made a significant dent in their population. A wary and well-armed traveler might now cross the swamp in safety.
I rode back to my castle looking forward to a soft bed, sweet brandy and the coming Summer opera Season. I was quite sad to learn that your sister had tried to visit me while I had been away. We had, in fact, just missed each other! She departed the day before I returned home. A wonder we did not meet on the road. She did leave a note for me, which lightened my heart to read. Though your sister might be a woman of rare passion, she is sensible when she has had time to cool off. She expressed happiness for my situation, and asked forgiveness for her outburst upon hearing I was to be married. She also wrote several quite nice things about my wife. Apparently, they had shared several meals during Ismene’s brief stay. I am not sure what to think about that, but Ismene can be quite discreet when she needs to be.
I was pleased to read her note, and immediately dispatched my own roadmen to come find your sister on the highway and beg her to return. If all has gone well, she is on her way here.
My happiness turned sour in my mouth, however, when I entered the chambers I shared with my wife.
She was in her nightclothes, tangled in the bed linen. I could not begin to fathom what I saw. There was blood, so much blood! It soaked her clothes, the sheets, even the mattress. Her hair was matted with the stuff. I ran to her body. There was a dagger rising from her chest. She had been stabbed through the heart. I reached to pull it out, but gasped when I touched it. It was a blood dagger, Tomas!
Who would murder my wife with a blood dagger? As I said before, she was a sweet woman. I cannot imagine her being able to incite such hatred in even the most vengeful of ven.
The entire situation is confusing. Not only was it a blood dagger, but when I examined the weapon from a safe distance, my questions only multiplied. This was not a true weapon that she had been murdered with, the edge was completely wrong. It seemed more a plaything, perhaps something someone might use whilst playing the Game of Knives. Yet someone had turned it into a blood knife, and then murdered my wife with it. Not only that, but she had also been strangled. With a length of dirty white cord. It looked quite old, and crudely made.
I cannot begin to comprehend it.
Does any of this make sense to you? There are rumors that my wife made an Enemy through her marriage to me, but I cannot find any solid proof. You have many more connections to Society than I do. What I have heard speaks of a suitor, upset at losing her to me. But if that is true, why kill her? As long as she brought us no shame, I would have been happy to look the other way when it came to her forming especially close friendships. After all, I am scarcely pure myself, in that respect.
Ismene is on her way here, I am glad to hear it. I could use the presence of a friend tonight. I intend to ask her as well what she thinks of this sad affair. I know her forte is poisons, though, so I do not think she could offer me as much insight as you might. Though, on the topic of your sister… please forgive me, I do not wish to cause offense. But I have heard some disturbing rumours about her. I cannot believe she might ever be capable of what is spoken about her. Please, my friend, reassure me that these are but rumours. They say Lady Shara is behind them, and I well know the enmity between her and Ismene. A word from my closest friend and mentor, and my heart shall be at rest.
I hope to be able to visit you soon. I remember well what you have taught me, and I have already had all my veth killed for allowing a murderer into my home.
Your friend,
Shajar Thorne
Blooded of the Falcon
Baron Teravie
A Game of Tears — Part 30
Tuesday, September 15th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
My Dearest Brother,
Words cannot describe the joy I still feel tonight, even after all our guests have departed and my veth are bleaching their hands raw scrubbing blood off the floor. Our soiree was a complete, inarguable, inimitable success! They shall speak of this night for many Seasons to come. Though we hosted but a single duel, what a duel it was! A dear friend known to write opera from time to time hinted upon leaving that just such a duel might appear in her next great work.
My red dress did not have quite the effect I was hoping for. I think most assumed my intent murderous and so avoided me, when nothing could have been further from the truth!
Poor Yoli. Correct as always, my brother. How did you describe him? “As broken as a porcelain plate dropped onto bricks.” Not too far from the truth, I will admit. But, my beloved sibling, his broken soul was precisely what I found so intoxicating about him. I have invited too many perfectly sane, boring men in my bed. A little madness always spices up an affair. I did hope to catch a taste of his insanity, to unearth what hidden drives might persuade a man to change his Blooding and catch ork babies for sport. Unfortunately, he had his grand demise somewhat too soon. A pinch of madness might be a delectable spice, but too much ruins the whole dish. I would not worry overmuch about what “he” said. Without a doubt, Yoli spoke with our vanquished foe’s voice. Though, truth be told, I do not believe what possessed Yoli to have been a real specter. Simply an echo of the old Count’s rage at his loss and defeat. I understand when our armies had at last battered down the portcullis and he could feel my handiwork burning through his veins, our erstwhile Count ended his own life in precisely the same manner Yoli did. Poor man. I remember the Count as having been quite good with horses, I would have certainly offered him a position tending our stables.
I did manage to attract one dashing young Swordsman, one Lord Oswald. Also wearing the red. Unfortunately, he has a bit of a reputation as a man with a wandering eye. I certainly don’t care about my lovers’ histories before they come to my bed, but they had damn well be faithful to me until I either tire of them or you shuffle them off the mortal coil. No matter. I shall find a new plaything soon enough. I am Ismene Yvarai.
I must admit still being a bit unclear on what precisely led up to the duel between Lord Uval Yvarai and Lord Talon Steele. A mystery for the ages, I believe. I know for truth Lady Irene was grievously wounded, as there was no disguising the copious amount of blood staining an otherwise exquisite gown in a very indiscreet location. The fellow whom she accused of wounding her (with his member!), Lord Davon Steele… well, he might have been capable of inflicting such injury. Not the largest I’ve ever seen, but certainly substantial. Then again, Lady Irene is no blushing virgin, and I doubt it was the largest she’d ever seen either (in fact, if the rumors are true, she enjoyed Lord Voxilaven far before I did, and my darling lost canary would certainly have bested this fellow in that sort of duel. And I had no difficulties with him. You see, dear brother, my habits are good for something after all!)
However, somehow, the Lady Irene was Injured. To all appearances, Lord Davon seemed the one responsible. The Lord claimed a surfeit of passion drove him to it, and deeply regretted harm done to the Lady. Unfortunately, his words came a bit too late, as he spoke before a jury already convened. His passionate defense came not from regret, but a sincere desire to keep his life. That much was obvious. But of course, that, my dear brother, you know already! Or were you simply too dazzled by the luster of your Green Woman’s gown to pay attention to Lord Davon addressing the jury? I must admit, her clothing was quite sumptuous! I shall have to win her tailor to my own estate. He’ll not have work with her for much longer anyway.
A pity I could not eavesdrop on the jury’s deliberations when they retired to the privacy of their room, I would have loved to know what the Only Honest Man in Shan’ri made of the whole thing. The jury returned a strange verdict - Injury, but no Insult. And you and I know well the limits set upon the duel. True pain inflicted, True Pain received. The Lady Irene easily found her champion in Lord Uval. Did you invite him? You must have, I know I would have done better than to be so gauche as to extend an invitation to one wearing the black. Though perhaps I ought to take credit for Lord Uval after all, seeing as he gave a stunningly good show in the duel. And I understand his wardrobe was the result of writing an unflattering opera about the Emperor. There are worse reasons to take the black.
It took Lord Davon the better part of an hour to find a man willing to stand for him in the duel. The poor dear… despite his victory against you at the Game of Knives, I could tell he probably hadn’t touched a Sword since his Blooding. But somehow, through love or bribery or the Sua’ven only know how, he procured a Wolf champion, one Lord Talon Adrente. Upon which, of course, all the duelists and their champions retired to seek comfort in prayer and perhaps wheedle a last minute gift from Ikhalu.
The duel itself was quite thrilling and bloody. Lord Uval must have received half a dozen cuts and given just as many. The Wolf’s blade slashed his lovely lacy poet’s sleeves to bloody ribbons, though our cousin managed to get in a few good nicks himself. It was quite obvious the men were matched equally in both passion and skill. I found myself on the edge of my seat! I had think hard on who I was hoping would win. It was difficult to work up overmuch sympathy for a man in all black, but his devotion and adoration to Lady Irene was nothing short of inspiring, as was his bladework. I also pitied the poor Lady for all that she had suffered that night, and wished to see justice done to the one who had wrought her ill.
And the end! Ah, dear brother, the end of the duel is what inspired my operatic friend. I have heard some of the rumors about how it ended. Let me set the record straight. No, no one stabbed themselves. And as far as I know, the blades were not poisoned (though even if they were, there would not have been time for poison to take effect). Instead, Lord Uval had pressed the fight so long and hard that he drove his opponent to the edge of the circled ven who watched the duel. And as luck would have it (or perhaps this was Lord Uval’s plan all along), Lord Davon stood but a pace from the clashing blades. As soon as he got within range, Uval whirled on his heel and plunged the blade deep into Davon’s heart!
I was close enough to see the whole thing. The Sword cut into him with such ease, it might have been slicing through butter. Lord Davon looked surprised and scared as blood leaked from between his lips, while more ran down to Uval’s hands. Davon fell to the ground slowly, sliding off Lord Uval’s Sword with the strangest rasping sound I have ever heard. Now I know what steel on bone sounds like in slow motion.
And though he had achieved his goal of vengeance on behalf of Lady Irene, victory came at a terrible cost for Lord Uval. In skewering Lord Davon, Uval had left himself open to Talon. Lord Talon immediately took the opportunity to sink his own blade into Lord Uval, killing him almost instantly. Reaching out to the crowd with a bloodied, shaking hand, Lord Davon gasped out what was either a farewell to his lover or an apology to Lady Irene before expiring. An unorthodox, yet thrilling, end to a rather unorthodox duel. So you see why, even though there was only the one, I still consider the evening to have been a smashing success. The bodies were disposed of as you ordered - Lord Uval shall be given all due honors, whereas Lord Devon was thrown onto a hastily constructed pyre, his end witnessed by only a handful of veth tending the blaze.
If this ever becomes opera, it shall be quite a stirring scene.
Oh, and a little credit, Tomas. it was ridiculously easy to pick your Green Woman, Lady Kassana, out of the throng of simpering little doves. I did not bother marking with whom you spent your time. You are too much the rake. You thrive on any sort of attention. Moving from woman to woman, looking deeply into her eyes, speaking sweetly, treating her as if she is the love of your life. Child’s play for you. No, my brother. Instead, I watched their eyes as you spoke with them - and when you spoke with others. It was too easy. I watched for the woman whose eyes never left you, even when you were done speaking with her. The woman who could easily flirt with other men, but only had fire in her gaze for you. The one whose eyes narrowed when she saw you flirting with the other women. The one who looked at me with fear. You are remarkably talented at hiding your emotions, but unfortunately, the Lady Kassana is not.
Or, rather, her fire burns so hot and so bright for you that it cannot help but shine so visibly. She feels quite passionately about you, this much was easy to determine. The Rake Breaker and the Prince of Rakes, who in all the world would have thought? I can hear the Sua’ven laughing from here. This is how legends are born, my brother. And what a story it might have been! Lady Kassana surrenders her everything to a man who is the epitome of everything she once claimed to despise in your gender. And yet she manages to contain her overwhelming feelings for you with grace and dignity. I admire her, Tomas, I quite honestly am in awe.
I haven’t yet decided how I will murder her.
Poison is my old standby, but is a bit too easy. This must needs be a special death. How many of the women you have taken into your bed could honestly claim to have loved you? Infatuation, flirtation, Romance… but what I saw in Lady Kassana’s eyes. Ah, dear brother, it was true love! I know it well, I do. And so I think Lady Kassana deserves something a little more… elegant. An epic end to an epic love story. I do have that blood knife, which is a tempting thought. But they are dangerous weapons, and I have already been toying with the idea of piercing a different woman’s heart with it (nothing for you to worry about, dear brother, just a personal conflict I find myself unavoidably enmeshed in). Perhaps I shall take a page out of your book, and sneak into her chamber in the middle of the night to put an end to her that way. Perhaps I shall strangle her with the same cord I strangled our mother with. She has a very graceful neck. I would enjoy seeing it crushed beneath my hands.
Or maybe poison is the solution. I would have to come up with the perfect formula for her, though. Something which works slowly but ever so surely. Something to draw her death out. That would be a romantic death, would it not? Her lying abed, coughing her life up in wet, ruddy gobs as her lungs slowly dissolve from poisoned blood, her begging you not to grieve and you begging her to stay strong. I should like to watch that, I think. Maybe if the pain became unbearable enough, she would stare deeply into your eyes, speak of how much she loved you and plead for you to do the merciful thing.
As if you ever had any mercy.
Though the sudden approach has its appeal, too… there one moment, and taken away in the very next heartbeat. Perhaps I might enlist the aid of your little lost lavender plaything. I know you broke her heart, quite ruthlessly. And I wasted a whole evening trying to plan the best way to put an end to her! I have decided for myself to be merciful - as far as I know, you two didn’t have time to consummate your Romance, and so she is of no concern to me and our Game. Or if you did manage consummation in the brief minutes you were not in the room, I feel even worse for the poor girl! Lady Irene gets a better showing from the men she picks.
Besides, I shall enjoy breaking the Rake Breaker. This is a rare challenge, dear brother, and I ought to thank you for it.
Yours in all devotion,
Ismene Yvarai
Blooded of the Fox
Countess Sha’av
P.S. I cannot begin to guess at Shajar’s mind. If you really want to know why he’s returning your letters unopened, go to his lands and ask him. That is, if you can peel him away from his new wife. His parents found him quite a winning match, you ought to at least congratulate him on marrying a rich woman who will no doubt bring him many strong children. He swore his marriage would not interfere with the depth of our friendship, and that he would send for me when he could. Send for me. As if I were a parcel. Or a veth. You begin to understand why I wore red that night, dear brother. Shall we not speak of Shajar again? At least for the next Season or so, as the problem should not take much longer than that to solve. And I would be ever so grateful!
“Staple” Characters
Sunday, September 13th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
There are a few characters that show up in multiple pillowbooks, plays and operas. Shara, Lady No, Count Kether, Lady Peacock and Baron Von show up all over the place. In tragedies, these characters often die, but then show up in works by other authors.
For example, one of the most popular stable characters–Lady Peacock–shows up in the plays of Talve Yvarai, operas of Joya Steele and the pillowbooks of Adaren Adrente.
Authors use these characters to communicate to the audience. For example, in A Game of Tears, Lady Peacock makes a short but important appearance. The fact that she gets murdered in Part 1 illustrates the severity of the work. “No-one is safe.”
Using a staple character in your own work–such as Shara or Lady No or Valin Burghe–is fair game. In fact, if you want to really simulate ven literature, using at least one staple character is highly suggested.
A Game of Tears, Part 29
Wednesday, September 9th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
Her name is Kassana. Kassana. Kassana Valar. “Blessed by the Moon.”
And after confronting my sister, she is still alive.
Kassana
Kassana
Kassana
Kassana
Kassana
___
My dearest sister,
We have blessed our floor with the blood of the courageous.
The Sky Galleons of Shanri, Part 1
Sunday, August 2nd, 2009 | Design, Research | 1 Comment
Recent researches reveal the ven wrote much about “sky galleons” (althenta: “air ships”). While I have been reluctant to include these in the rules (as I was reluctant to include the controversial interpretation of vadenda, or “firearms”), it seems some others have included them in their games and requested “official rules” for them.
Okay, here you go.
Sky Galleons
A sky galleon, or althenta, is a rarity in Shanri, showing up in only the most fanciful fiction (including some references of “flying to the moon” which I shall ignore in the official rules, but encourage others to explore in more experimental games).
Althenta are able to break gravity through the use of a particular kind of tree found in the most dangerous parts of Shanri. Most althena trees grow in a place called “the Wine Dark Sea,” of which you can read about in the Research forum over at www.housesoftheblooded.com. When processed a particular way–with sorcery and blood–the wood of the tree defies gravity, floating upward toward the sky. Because of the size of althea trees, making a large ship from the treated wood is incredibly expensive.
Sky galleons were primarily used by very wealthy dukes and earls, although very rarely, lesser nobles could acquire them. Because the making of such craft involves sorcery, special permissions are required from higher nobles to create them. Proof of necessity. Such paperwork can be questioned by any of the Senate’s (or Emperor’s) officials. If the paperwork is found lacking, the ship can be confiscated and the captain punished for falsifying his lord’s name.
Not a pleasant punishment, in the least.
Because of the rarity and danger of creating such vessels, the ven never undertook the task lightly. Ambition is what pushes blood through the veins and any ven with a notion to create a flying ship will not do so with modesty. These ships were always huge, always grandiose and always extravagant. Think of conspicuous consumption. “Look at what I have. I have it and you don’t.” That’s what a flying ship says. To do it any other way is an insult to yourself.
Making a Sky Galleon
To create a sky galleon, you first need Lumber, Industry and Metals. A lot of them. Lumber for the hull, Industry for the sails and Metals to bind it all together. You also need a few years of work. Specifically, you need five years to make an airship.
Like all other creative tasks, making an airship is a Beauty risk (TN 10). Make the roll and count up your wagers. Every wager cuts off one Season of time needed to create the airship.
For each Season of creation, you need one Metals, one Lumber and one Industry.
Ship Virtues
When it is all finished, you may assign ranks of Virtue to a ship. A ship is just like a character–it has all six Virtues.
Strength is the hull of the ship.
Cunning is the speed of the ship.
Courage is the crew of the ship.
Beauty is the Style of the ship.
Wisdom is the maneuverability of the ship.
Prowess is the attack force of the ship.
And in Part 2, we’ll discuss what those numbers mean and how to use them in the game!