Last time on D&Dxalted, a lot of things happened that don’t actually work under Exalted’s magic system, and so there’s a prophesy of something bad happening sometime soon, oh no!

We open Chapter Three with Ratcatcher engaged in pantomime to explain what he’s found regarding signs of Wren, specifically how he hasn’t.

The Prince looked at him narrowly. ‘You’re doing your best to make me regret the geis, aren’t you? I warn you, now is most emphatically not the time to test my patience.”
Ratcatcher bowed low and backed away, perturbed that his motives were so plainly transparent.

Ratcatcher is officially the dumbest character in the book.

If he’s an Abyssal, you murder him. The important part of him is the exaltation shard, which the deathlord controls. If this incarnation sucks, you can alway stuff the shard into someone who seems more competent.

If he’s not an Abyssal, you murder him. He has no important parts, he’s a mortal.

And worse, this should be such a perfect example of how your average Abyssal/deathlord is a scary monster. They tell you not to speak or they’ll kill you, then that if you don’t answer questions clearly, they’ll kill you. It’s a death sentence but you can, with a lot of effort, put it off, and with superhuman skill (and what are you doing around Exalted if you don’t want superhuman skill) you could do the otherwise impossible and put it off for the an entire year and a day.

The author is apparently incapable of not writing people bitching, so with Ratcatcher mute, one of the nemissaries takes up the torch (talking to Ratcatcher no less…evidently making an example of him didn’t work) and spends a paragraph on how this is impossible and there’s no sign of Wren.

No one considers that this is, in itself, suspicious.

Now, if Sandheart hadn’t noticed the stumps or the very recent footprint, this would work, because all they’d have to go on is the token, which wouldn’t date it reliably.

Wait, no, that doesn’t work. They have the ghosts. The ghosts would have said he was just there and given a description of the guy. Okay, so if Sandheart hadn’t noticed and if there were never any ghosts.

In that case, they’d be looking for someone they assumed was probably long gone, so turning up nothing would just be expected.

But they know he was just there. He shouldn’t be able to hide his tracks unless there’s essence involved. At this point, you drag up the local god and start mutilating it until it tells you what just happened, where Wren is, and exactly where it got the idea interfering in the underworld’s business was tolerated.

We get a reference to the fact that, being a nemissary, he’s in a dead body, but the scene proceeds as if he isn’t – he spits to express his disgust (spits…what?) and then Ratcatcher says Pandeimos was a heavyset man, well-muscled and broad of feature. His hands were huge and his beard was black when that’s just the corpse he’s wearing (and I’m not sure how long a rotting corpse would be getting referred to as well-muscled). I get the impression the chapter was written and then the dead bit was added in afterward.

Suddenly, Ratcatcher discovers a work ethic and competence. He rechecks the area Pandy just looked at.

The signs at the Howe had been too fresh for the mysterious Wren to have vanished so completely. Something else was at work here. He could feel it.

No duh. I just went over this. Find the god and start beating it up.

It’s really rough going and he’s got to hack through the undergrowth. Finally he gives up and turns to go…and the way is clear. Even of the remains of vines he just hacked through.

“Aha,” he breathed. “You’ve overplayed your hand, whatever you are.”

Ratcatcher, you know what it is. It’s the local god. Or elemental, I guess, but you get the point. Exalts punch more abstract concepts to death all the time. Murder it for its impudence!

He finds where a root is trying to grow over a footprint and finally figures out it’s a spirit jerking them around. But he can’t call the Prince over because of the whole no speaking thing.

So he goes down and tries to get their attention. Because evil doesn’t work well together, everyone assumes he’s just being annoying even though he has no reason to be. Then he has to go through some elaborate pantomime to explain he found a footprint (and not that he found one being hidden, which is the important part). And by the time he gets to the footprint it’s gone.

Ratcatcher’s used up his competence allotment and instead of explaining they’re getting jerked around by the spirit he just boggles. And then he talks out loud to say there totally was a footprint here and somehow doesn’t get instantly spitted.

The Prince, instead, is mostly livid Ratcatcher is lying, despite, as I said, there being absolutely no reason to lie about this.

Ratcatcher promptly swears on the neverborn that he’s not lying and the forest is hiding them. Of course, they both call them dead gods, which is not a very good term for them. Gods die all the time. It’s where Sidereals get their shinies from. Dead gods are nothing. The neverborn are the creators of all existence, gods included, and what wasn’t born can’t die.

The Prince explains that they don’t take oaths lightly.

If you have lied to me now to save your wretched skin, there will be a reckoning that will last ten thousand years.

Buuut that doesn’t seem likely given the goal of the neverborn. A ten thousand year reckoning requires there still be something ten thousand years from now. Assuming none of the other thousand dooms kick in and obliterate things early, the underworld itself is going to crumble into void in a few hundred years on the current timeline – and that’s if the Abyssals don’t keep destroying things once they’re done with Creation.

Creation actually has a pretty short timeline, all things considered. Fifteen hundred years ago, you have the Ursurpation and the boxing of Solars. Prior to that were about three thousand years of Solar rule, give or take a few subjective hundred due to the thing where they accidentally broke time.

Ten thousand years is, in other words, twice recorded history.

Now, I’m pretty sure there’s a yozi charm that does something like this, and I think Heaven has access to a similar punishment, but both of those powers are designed around the idea of them being eternal, whereas eternity is something the neverborn want gone.

Anyway, now’s the time for the Prince to take up the idiot ball. Apparently convinced by the oath thing…

“Get up, Ratcatcher.” The Prince’s voice was tired. “Get up, get on your horse, and get out of my sight. I’ll find you when I need you. For now, though, it is best that you are far, far away from me.”

Why? As if there are reasons for people to do things. He’s evil.

He does specify that Ratcatcher had better find Wren, so at least he’s not just sending him off to nowhere, but none of this makes sense. And it means that the local god gets away with fucking with Abyssal(s) for no reason.

And that’s the end of the chapter. So far, supernatural effects have been limited to mentions of offscreen ghosts, mentions that some people are actually animate corpses that happen to function exactly like regular people, an admittedly dramatic divination ritual, and the very low key hiding effect of the forest. Oh, and the Prince’s anima’s flared a few times, but just to look creepy.

The overall impression is that the author really doesn’t want any of the characters to actually get their hands on magic. It’s there to be a deus ex machina, not a part of anyone’s actual toolkit.

This is the traditional attitude in fantasy – the hero is the guy with the sword, and it’s his enemies who throw fireballs. And they’re all in isolated towers, so you don’t need to consider the broader effects on society when people have the ability to cast those spells. I’m not really a fan of that subgenre in general, but it’s an especially bad fit for Exalted, where everyone has flashy magic effects and are more into ruling than sitting around as hermits.

What should have happened this chapter is Ratcatcher running around doing his best to justify his continued existence and finding the half covered footprint. Then blighting the spot with the unholy essence of the abyss! With the evidence preserved due to the plants in the area being too dead to move, he returns to the Prince to report. Then they drag out the spirit involved, and we tastefully cut away from whatever they’re about to do to it. Now they know everything Wren told it.

Learning Wren is but a mortal, Ratcatcher is sent off alone to fetch him, since come on, mortal. This satisfies the Prince’s desire for revenge without tying up too many resources on the chase, and the fact Wren may be running to hide out in an Immaculate temple full of Immaculate Dragonblooded monks? Well, that’s what Ratcatcher gets for being annoying. If he succeeds, he’s forgiven. If not, maybe his replacement will suck less. This should probably be discussed in an upcoming chapter, though – this one should just end on finding the god.