Book of Bone and Ebony

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a very wealthy and prosperous part of Stygia, many ruins within, such as old universities or abandoned Manses, hide ancient secrets and artifacts. The dangers of the district ensure that most of these prizes remain untouched. Though most treasure hunters vanish forever, slain by monsters or swallowed by the shifting streets, enough bring back small trinkets and prizes to fuel more stories and greed. The Palace of Falling Blossoms is one such legendary location. Books describe the library as a vast building constructed of delicate, gray granite with doorways made of artistically wrought steel. Before the fall, it was the center of knowledge within the district, and according to legend, it held every book ever written in Stygia. If true, assuming the building still stands, it would be a treasure trove of long-forgotten knowledge and ancient, necromantic secrets. Of particular interest is The Seven-Sealed Tome. Three years and three days before the Usurpation, 228 mortal servants of the Solar Deliberative committed ritual suicide at the same hour. As each fell, their dying whispers woke dark Nebthys from her Slumber and imparted to her their last wisdom. Fanatically driven by their forbidden knowledge, Nebthys frantically sought a way to purge her mind of these unpleasant truths and wrote out the tome. One page existed for each person who fell, and each is a vivid illustration of the secret one whispered to her. She sealed the volume away and stored it within the Palace of Falling Blossoms. Satisfied, and her mind now clean of the memories, she blissfully forgot the entire affair and turned her attention back to rulership. If The Seven-Sealed Tome still exists, it is likely a phenomenal key to some of the greatest mysteries of Creation. THE SAFEHOUSE Near the edge of the district lies a haven from the dangers of the District of the Whispering Streets, an oasis of stability and safety amidst the writhing, monster-infested streets. Fire-blackened timbers form the skeleton of this long-abandoned home, and sharp teeth of broken glass line its gaping windows. The ragged fingers of the roof’s remaining shingles clutch at a torn and tattered banner, depicting a faded scene of childish delight. Within, past the dust and the ashes, a single trap door opens to a winding stone staircase and into the cellar beyond. Larger than the house, the cellar is constructed of large, limestone blocks, with rounded, broken grates of rusted black iron partially blocking apertures that lead into the sewers beyond. Scraps of furniture are scattered about the floor, small stools, rocking chairs with their backs broken off and threelegged tables propped up by old crates. Makeshift weapons, such as jagged ended sticks, filed spoons and lengths of chain decorate the walls alongside a few childish drawings and paintings. Opposite the stairs and past the furniture rests an intact ebony chair raised up on a dais constructed of old crates and toy boxes and covered with a patchwork 29 CHAPTER ONE • STYGIA gray quilt. Beside the chair sits a small table where a bronze bell rests. The Safehouse is the throne room of the master of the district, the personal residence of Unwanted Whisper. Whenever the Orphan Queen is present, she opens the cellar to all and presides over her feeble court, sitting proudly atop her chair, listening to complaints and offering what help she can. Those few ghosts whose sanity and happiness have not yet been fully consumed often huddle in the cellar, perched on the tiny chairs and stools, waiting for her judgment on small disputes or her pronouncements on more urgent matters. The presence of the bell, symbol of the district, holds the worst of the district’s hatred off, and many of the ghosts that cling to the edges of Unwanted Whisper’s court do so for the temporary respite from the chaos without. Attending Unwanted Whisper and ensuring her safety is her personal honor guard, a ragtag band of orphans and street urchins. Their ghostly frames show the marks of the starvation and the beatings that killed them in life, and they have fragile bodies, large eyes and tangled hair. Despite their innocent appearance, a certain savagery surrounds them. Their teeth flash whenever they laugh and smile, and their movements are graceful and predatory. Those who underestimate them fail to grasp the fundamental nature of the dead, for the 200-year-old ghost of a child is as skilled and deadly as the 200-year-old ghost of a man. Long existence within the cursed district has honed the ghosts’ already formidable skills of survival and taught them how to kill. They wield their makeshift weapons with astonishing prowess and battle with every unfair tactic they can muster, scattering when attacked and retaliating under the cover of shadow before fading into the twisting streets they know so well. Shadowing their Orphan Queen, they are a formidable force and are directly responsible for stopping assassination attempts against her on several occasions. THE DISTRICT OF THE BONE LANTERNS Whenever a mortal dies in the flush beauty of youth, the promises of her life unfulfilled, a single cherry blossom falls in the District of the Bone Lanterns. Thus, fragile white petals rain eternally upon this beautiful Stygian sanctuary. Paper lanterns, hanging across the streets from ropes, cast a soft, white glow that paints the houses and parlors of the district with gentle hues. Intoxicating perfumes and the spice of tea leaves scent the local wind. The songs of flutes and zithers mix with the patter of fountains and artificial streams. This tranquil district is an homage to everything beautiful and desirable about the dead. The ghosts of this district seem serene, lacking the pretension of urgency that marks the ghosts of the rest of Stygia. They drift quietly along the wide boulevards with peaceful expressions upon their faces, the sounds of soft
EXALTED • THE BOOK OF BONE AND EBONY laughter, sighs and whispered conversations following in their wake. Their apparent calm, however, is only a mask worn to tempt the more troubled ghosts of Stygia, to draw them into this apparently peaceful district. In truth, the dead of the Bone Lantern District are as tormented by inner passion as any ghost. Lust and fury draw ghosts to this place as much as the desire for a cup of tea and conversation, and resentment and hunger flicker within the seemingly placid eyes of many of the courtesans and musicians that populate this part of Stygia. Despite appearances, the dead of the District of the Bone Lanterns have no true answers to the doubts and pains of the afterlife, offering instead only a momentary respite from a ghost’s troubles. This district exists to comfort and sate the passions of the dead. All cities have a place of pleasure or ill repute, but the District of Bone Lanterns appears alien to mortals who walk it. The needs of the dead are different than those of the living, for their lovemaking is futile and they eat food only out of habit. The dead need, instead, a quiet place to shed their tears and confess their tragedies, a place to unleash their abuses or sate their remembered lusts. Every street corner, lavishly decorated to be aesthetically pleasing to the dead, caters to these needs. From the laughter and tears of the dead, the district squeezes its astonishing wealth and beckons for more ghosts to join in the frivolities. PLACES OF INTEREST THE PARLOR OF UNSHED TEARS Open only at night, the Parlor of Unshed Tears is a favored refuge for the poets and artists of Stygia. It is a small, squat building located near the edges of the district. Its dark shingles sparkle like stars, and the roof angles low to the ground, the eaves curled to form elegant gutters. Silver ribbons hang along the edge of the roof, fluttering lightly in the wind. An attractive woman, her hair silver and her robes white, sits beside the door lightly playing a dulcimer and greeting those who wish to enter. The Parlor is exclusive, allowing access only to those who appreciate the arts, and it requires a small entrance fee to cover the drinks and hospitality the patron will enjoy, costing Resources •. Within, the walls and floors are painted black and lit by flickering candles with white wicks. Ghosts rest upon cushions that are scattered about the room, with the rustle of their pens against paper and the clink of their tea cups filling the room. Sheaves of paper, those poems most loved by the clientele, decorate the walls and flutter whenever someone enters or exits. The dead here speak only occasionally, breaking the silence with soft commentary or a favored verse whispered to a friend. This teahouse exists for the writing of poetry. However, the poems of the Parlor are never ones of joy and love, but of heartbreak and sorrow. Here, the dead express their passions and shed their tears over lost regrets and broken hopes. Mournful confessions written in meter and rhyme 30 decorate the walls, and ghosts find relief in the writing and the reading of these poems, their tortured, immortal hearts soothed. This pleases Lord Sibilant, the master of the Parlor. He is an aged figure that rests in the far corner of his teahouse, his hair thin and white, his skin pale and wrinkled like the parchment he sketches upon and his fingers deft and thin. His clothing is simple, humble gray robes, with his feet bare and his eyes covered with white cloth. Lord Sibilant was the finest poet of the First Age, but his masterwork remained unfinished. He resides now in the Parlor, listening to the dead whisper their poetry, savoring the pain in their hearts as he struggles to find the final words necessary to complete his work and pass on into Lethe. THE HOUSE OF DOLLS In the center of the district’s largest avenue lies the most esteemed palace of pleasure in the necropolis. The roofs of this multi-floored building are red shingled and low sloping, with lamps hanging from their corners. Soft light casts shadowy silhouettes of patrons against the gauzy curtains that shroud the large windows. Silk paneled partitions decorated in swirling and abstract patterns separate the spacious room within into small private chambers. Finely dressed ghosts kneel at low tables, filling the house with their quiet chatter and the clicks of their game tiles. The mood is surprisingly pleasant, and some of the most prestigious of Stygia’s dead visit here. The House of Dolls is the home and business of the Mistress with the White Hands. Part casino, part inn and part brothel, it is famous throughout Stygia. Fistfuls of Essence change hands as ghosts play quiet games of chance on the first floor. The House serves drinks and food of all sorts, drawn from the Mistress’ own larders. Above the gaming floor, beyond the wide, red-carpeted stairs, small rooms can be rented for a small price, whether the ghost seeks a night’s rest or a night’s entertainment. With such fine facilities, most of the dead visiting Stygia make an effort to stay at least one night in the House of Dolls. The Mistress with the White Hands’ famous courtesans attend the patrons of the House. As well known as the concubines of Sijan, the Mistress trains and shapes these beautiful ghosts with her own pale hands. The dead that enter Stygia without wealth and without hope often make their way to House of Dolls, where, if they are willing to bow their head in service to others, the Mistress reshapes each of their faces into a visage of beauty and offers them the raiment of prostitution. Though each courtesan is uniquely beautiful, they all share common features. Their white robes are slashed with patterns of striking red, and their porcelain faces are painted entirely in white except for the color of their bright eyes and lovely lips. Their training covers performance as much as intimacy, for the dead are less interested in the act of sex as they are in the drama that surrounds it. The Mistress’ courtesans, for example, will attend two conflicting patrons, attempting
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Book of Bone and Ebony

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