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| Your Destination | |
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| Category | Story Event |
| Type | Story |
| Data ID | 286487 |
Your Destination is a Sunless Skies Story Event.
Story description[]
"A Destination in the Empyrean(here)"
Trigger conditions[]
A Destination in the Empyrean ≥ 1
Empyrean Encounter ≤ 0,
Location: Eagle's Empyrean
Area: Limbo
Frequency: Always (100%)
Interactions[]
| Actions | Requirements | Effects | Notes |
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| Enter Boragerel Graveyard
Some of the stone tombs are as small as a locomotive's brig. Others are large as bank vaults, with walls twice as thick.
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A Candlelit Graveyard
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| Wander through the Ovoo of the Returned Sky
Here the electric lights have given way to paper lanterns. They hang from cords that zig-zag the square surrounding the central mound.
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Thrice around
You follow the lanterns, passing between the stacks of stone and wood and bone. It is built like a labyrinth. Mosaics on the walls depict the history of the Eagle's Empyrean; its fall and its rise, through the gates of the Avid Horizon to here.
You eventually find your way to the centre. A statue of a woman stands there, dressed in the ceremonial robes of an Empyreal queen. She is reaching up. The ceiling above you is a dome, painted like a starry sky. Suspended from it, reaching down for the woman's hand, is a statue of an elegant courtier. After a while, a troop of very polite guards escort you out of the Empyrean to the port. You've seen enough for today, they say.
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| Explore the market
The marvels of Empyreal technology are on display.
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A visitor's fare
There are spices in such abundance, you can taste cardamon and cloves in the air. You admire matted wool as intricate as a spider's web and as bright as sunlight. It displays figures from history – most prominent is the Great Khan who built his kingdom in the zee. Where does the wool come from? The stall-keepers will not say.
For now, you only pick up a few souvenirs. The electric lanterns, the miniature moons produced by the Empyrean are unavailable to you. Stall-keepers eye you with suspicion when you ask, and turn away. After a while, a troop of very polite guards escort you out of the Empyrean to the port. You've seen enough for today, they say.
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| Watch the games
The traditional games of wrestling, archery, and 'horseback' racing. There are no horses in the High Wilderness; the Empyrean has improvised with aggrieved miniature cantankeri.
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Pleasures won from the dark
The mah jong boards have been updated to reflect the war of midnight; polished tiles of white, black and blue do battle at rapid pace. Wrestling is as it has always been: a battle of brawn and wits between athletes in prime condition.
The vast stadium, the Arena of Slow Thunder, stands tall against the horizon. Within, the Empyrean's most daring try their skill at cantankeri-riding. You spend a few hours in the stands, cheering on the young men and women who brave these unusual mounts. After a while, a troop of very polite guards escort you out of the Empyrean to the port. You've seen enough for today, they say.
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| Spend an evening in the Ovoo
Favoured citizens and friends of the Emoyrean are welcome to stay in the Ovoo after-hours, when the visitors and celebrants have gone home.
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Beneath the boughs, where the lanterns hang
As visitors are ushered out, a sharp-eyed guard stops you. "If you wish to stay awhile, you're welcome." he says. "Some believe that spending a night here brings luck. Others stay just because they find the place restorative."
You join a group of Empyrean citizens beneath the boughs of the silver tree. Many resting there are highly placed in the court, but there are a few merchants, palace servants and dock-workers among them. You while away the night swapping stories of histories back in the world you've all left behind. In the morning, a troop of very polite guards escort you out of the Empyrean to the port. You've seen enough for now, they say.
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Advanced alteration value probably needs examination.
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| Take advantage of your connections
London has negotiated for greater access to the Empyrean's markets. Only for its diplomatic staff and a few favoured representatives, mind.
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Diplomatic niceties
A junior Empyreal diplomat was involved in an incident which would have been highly embarrassing, were it not for the forgiving nature of London's Embassy. Having averted a major diplomatic incident, the Embassy suggested that gratitude could be expressed via a more friendly reception from the Eagle Khan's finest merchants. A meagre request; London would offer the same, were the Empyrean ever desirous to open an Embassy there.
The stall-holders in the market are keenly aware of contemporary politics. The Khan's personal sommelier shows you her collection of airag; a toy-maker for the Khan's children offers you mechanical moon-lanterns. Your purchases are considered. After a while, a troop of very polite guards escort you out of the Empyrean to the port. You've seen enough for today, they say.
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| Take part in a Cantankeri race
London's Embassy is eager to have a victory to its name. Unfortunately the talents required for diplomatic service and for cantankeri-racing rarely overlap.
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Failed event | |
| Daring but not deft
The crowd is sceptical. Your cantakeri is sceptical. The whole cobalt stadium is silent as the crowd leans in to watch you mount.
Diplomats wave encouragingly from the upper stadium. The Ambassador is paying keen attention. A lady in the imperial box examines you through iridescent binoculars that sparkle in the neon light. You disappoint them all. The electric lights are blinding; the reins tangle as you thunder around the turn. The cantankeri bucks and twists: you come to a final and definite stop below the London box. Still, you've a story out of it. A troop of very polite guards are express delight at your attempt, when they escort you out of the Empyrean to the port.
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| Successful event | |||
| London's champion
The Race Master looks sceptical. "The Embassy have vouched for you. Don't die. We don't want another incident."
You are shown your mount. It is the runt of its brood; its skin prematurely grey and flaking. Flakes of shell fly up when it sneezes. The other riders laugh. You'll show them. You do not triumph. None can beat the Khan's bodyguard (and rumoured lover) on the track. But you come second: your heels digging into the cantankeri's fragmented shell; your hands chafed from the reins. You receive the runner up's reward, doubled by London's favour. A troop of very polite guards are quite congratulatory when they escort you out of the Empyrean to the port.
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Links[]
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