Blood & Thunder: Compiled 1 (Patreon)

AN: This is a slightly tweaked version of my quest on QQ, Blood & Thunder in an Empire of Jade. It is essentially a xianxia story, where the protagonist is from a xianxia version of the Aztec Empire. This chapter contains the first two posts of the quest made to flow better.

In the frozen northlands, in a realm the locals call Midgard, men and women hunt mighty beasts, harvesting their flesh and bone so as to imbue themselves with their power. Some men stand taller than buildings, able to heal from nearly any injury. Others possess strength enough to split mountains in twain. A few have discovered the secrets of runes, able to warp reality with the written word. This story is not of this land.

Far to the south, across a vast and mighty ocean, lies the lush, fertile land of Aztlán. Mighty titans stalk the jungles, while massive temples stretch taller than the mountains. Rivers of blood are shed, both to ensure rich and bountiful harvests, and to fuel the wards keeping the titans at bay. All, from the greatest of priest-kings to the lowliest of slaves, are encouraged to cultivate their power, their teotl, to fuel the empire. This story is not of this land.

To the west, there is a land. This land has no name, for none call it home. Fissures in the earth and sky spill forth countless waves of demons. Demons that sup upon the energies of man, beast, even the land itself. The priests of Aztlán and runesages of Midgard both learned of this land, and sent armies of their greatest and most powerful to cull the demons. Relations between the men of the north and the men of the south were tense, so different they were in every way.

At first, they were able to work together, despite their differences. The demons threatening both Aztlán and Midgard proved sufficient in focusing the attention of both armies. But once the threat was ended, the demons slain and the fissures closed, a new conflict brewed. This nameless land was to become a new battleground, where armies of men wielding sufficient power to reshape the land beneath their feet would clash, blood in quantities unlike any either land had seen would be shed. This story… is not of this land.

This story, is of a different land. Where men and women meditate upon the mysteries of the world and heavens to obtain ever greater power and, eventually, immortality. It is this land that, blown off course by the machinations of fate, one of Midgard and one of Aztlán will find themselves.

Far to the east, beyond the world known to those who fought against the demons in the nameless land, an Empire stood. Having chosen the noble phoenix as the symbol of the ruling dynasty, the men and women who meditate and cultivate in this land look to the bird as a sign of rebirth, renewal, and a symbol of their eternal struggle against the corrupting influence of demons.

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Waves crashed and tossed the two ships wildly. Rain and hail battered the men fighting on the increasingly unsteady ships, as lightning cracked, briefly illuminating the scene of blood and carnage. Men, giant in stature and wielding swords and axes, clashed against a mix of men and beast, armed with knapped obsidian, garbed in feathers and pelts and wielding the power within their blood in ways the northmen had never seen before they fought together in the Seventieth Fimbulwinter.

“Valhallkallarr!” one of the giants bellowed as the two ships collided.

“Uikpa in tonatiu!” one of the pelt clad men shouted as the forces clashed.

Giants roared, their voices carrying the might and wrath of a thousand dragons. Their adversaries met their charge, wielding stone, claw, fire, and crystalized blood in a dizzying array of focused power and intent. Spectral forms of mighty beasts met unyielding might and raw elemental power.

The wood of the vessels were among the finest either group had crafted, empowered and strengthened by immeasurable power. But under the clash of the men above them, the clash of fury, wrath, blood and power, that was not enough. Wood splintered under the force of the blows between warriors, and as the storm raged, the ships broke, sending those fighting upon them to the black depths.

Most sank down, water filling their lungs and the beasts below feasting upon the power rich flesh. One, a humble sea snake, would go on to terrify the people of a far off land, its form so mighty that stories would be written down and shared of such a mighty leviathan for thousands of years. But that is a story for another time. This story is of two men who managed to cling to floating driftwood, and found themselves in a land far beyond their own.

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“Well, Brother Yan Zhi, what have you determined about the stranger that washed upon our shores last night?” the distinguished voice of Elder Jin Shui of the Indomitable Ocean Sword Sect asked his Junior.

Disciple Yan Zhi was one of the Inner Disciples, one of the few in the sect that specialized in medical formations and the study of qi’s influence upon the body. As such, when the Outer Disciples discovered the waterlogged and barely breathing body on the shore after the terrible storm, Disciple Yan Zhi was assigned to examine them.

“This Yan Zhi greets Elder Jin Shui,” Disciple Yan Zhi bowed respectfully to the elder. “As one could determine, simply by looking at him, whomever this stranger is, he is from far beyond the bounds of the Empire. His darkly tanned skin, stocky frame, and complete absence of facial hair are unlikely to be found within the Empire.”

“Indeed,” Elder Jin Shui agreed, looking over the still unconscious stranger. While their origin was a mystery, the wreckage of a ship that washed up on shore with them answered how they survived long enough to wash ashore. “What else have you learned from your observations?”

Disciple Yan Zhi hesitated. Not out of fear for how the news would be taken, but in an effort to find the proper words to convey what he’d learned. Elder Jin Shui allowed the Disciple time to ponder, and his patience was rewarded when a few moments later, Disciple Yan Zhi spoke, “They… are a cultivator, but unlike any I have ever seen or heard of. Even considering the exploits of self-taught and developed independent cultivators.”

Elder Jin Shui looked at Disciple Yan Zhi, his face not showing the surprise he was feeling at that admission. The Indomitable Ocean Sword Sect had one of the largest Archives within the Immortal Phoenix Empire, and Disciple Yan Zhi was noted for having memorized nearly the entirety of it.

“Their meridians and dantian have been altered, from how a proper cultivation develops them," Disciple Yan Zhi explained. "I had never considered anything like it, but I believe I can deduce a potential insight into their possible cultivation method. Their dantian sits within their heart, with their meridians overlaying their circulatory system. I believe they use their blood to enhance their Techniques, possibly solidifying it either internally or externally.”

Humming thoughtfully, Elder Jin Shui looked at the sleeping stranger with a thoughtful expression upon his aged face. Such a strange individual, to say nothing of the strange items that he had been discovered with. A collection of feathers, bones, tufts of fur, fangs and claws.

"We shall question them upon wakefulness, for now I will have the rest of the Disciples catalog and examine the rest of the items that were washed ashore by the storm," Elder Jin Shui declared.

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Necahual woke slowly, his bones, muscles and blood aching from having pushed his teotl to the limit surviving the storm. It was a good ache, the kind one received after a hard day of training before the Inner Sun dawned.

The sound of footsteps and pottery on wood told Necahual that he was not alone, even before he opened his eyes. The person he saw was not from Aztlán, but neither were they one of the barbarians. They appeared to have a blend of features of both, but the clothes they wore were unlike those of either.

The person noticed his open eyes and set down the platter they’d been holding (upon which were a few cups and a pot with a protrusion, meant for some kind of drink, perhaps? He could really use some cacao) and gave a bow. The depth of the bow and cut of their clothes combined were enough to tell him that they were a woman, the valley between her breasts visible through the neck of her dress, and upon rising from the bow they spoke in a tongue that you didn’t recognize before leaving the room.

Gingerly, Necahual pushed himself back in the bed he’d been provided, forcing his battered body into a sitting position against the headrest. His eyes took in the contents of the room, noting the strange choice in architecture and designs, but how it was otherwise empty. No trophies of smaller titans, no murals of momentous occasions, not even so much as something that could be considered a simple altar.

As the visual inspection of the room finished (with no sign of his gear, unfortunate but not unexpected), the door to the room opened, and a man entered. He was of moderately tall height, being taller than most in Aztlán but nothing compared to the barbarian giants, with long, straight white hair and a beard that came down to his collarbone, carefully maintained and pointed like a spearhead.

The man spoke, teotl filling the words and conveying their meaning even if the sounds themselves were absolute gibberish, “This Disciple Yang Zhi greets you, and wishes health upon you.”

Necahual blinked, unaware of any technique to impart comprehension without a shared tongue. Had the High Priest known of such a blessing of teotl, perhaps the war with the barbarians might have gone differently. Still, the man, Yang Zhi, had offered greetings, and it was clear that the group they belonged to had taken you in and tended to your injuries.

Thus, the young noble of Aztlán saluted as best as his body allowed, and returned the greeting, “I am Necahual, Tlahtohcapilli of Tenochtitlan.”

The man blinked, and his teotl filled the air, pressing lightly against Necahual. Not combatively, the flow of his teotl flowed against his injuries, a questioning note to it, similar to the priests and magicians that specialized in reading the flow of blood and teotl in the body. A medical technique most likely.

The teotl receded, and Yang Zhi gave a nod, “Your injuries are healing quickly, the Lesser Restorative Mushrooms have been well received. I shall inform the Calpulli Elders you have awakened, there will be many questions for you.”

Necahual gave him a nod, “As to be expected.”

Yang Zhi departed, pausing to speak to someone outside the room, his words lacking the flow of teotl to give them meaning. The woman from before entered, her skin pale as ash and her hair darker than an overcast night, and made her way to the tray she’d set down earlier. She picked up the pot and poured some of the contents into a cup. Picking up the cup, she spoke something that sounded like a question.

Necahual didn’t understand the words, but the context made it apparent that she was asking if he’d recovered enough to take the cup on his own. Fortunately for his pride, he had. The drink within was no cacao, but it was warm, had a pleasant taste, and the teotl infused within it did much to bolster his own.

After draining the cup, the woman took it from him. Making sure she was focused on him, Necahual pressed his hand to his chest and said his name. Repeating it once to make sure she understood.

She gave a nod, pressing her hand to her own chest and saying her name, “Yi Zhen.”

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Disciple Yang Zhi kowtowed to the Sect Elders before speaking, “This Yang Zhi has spoken with the outsider. As a precaution, I made use of the [Tongue of Sun and Moon] technique. This proved a fortuitous decision, as the words he used are unlike any from even the furthest travelers outside the bounds of the Empire.”

“Unsurprising,” Elder Yao Fen stated. “Until this point, it was thought that no lands existed beyond the Endless Azure Sea. That our guest was washed ashore from a storm in the heart of it tells us that it isn’t endless.”

“It makes one wonder,” Elder Zhao Hue mused aloud. “What manner of cultivation his people utilize. We have determined that his trinkets are from a dozen different animals, most of which we do not recognize, that have been soaked in qi rich blood.”

“So he is a demonic cultivator?” Elder Jin Shui asked. “How many qi signatures are in the blood?”

“Just one: his own,” Zhao Hue responded, surprising the rest of the Sect Elders.

“Perhaps his people utilize a manner of blood cultivation to adopt properties of animals or spirit beasts?” Elder Yao Fen speculated. “How many of us in our youth wished for the strength of a bear or the speed of a snake?”

“Even a cultivator in the Second Stage of the Mortal Realm is superior to any mundane animal, but I am unsure of what other technique it could be, based on our limited knowledge,” Elder Jin Shui admitted, far too composed to shrug.

“You may leave, Disciple Yang Zhi,” Elder Zhao Hue told the still kowtowing Inner Sect Disciple.

“Yes, Elders,” Yang Zhi said respectfully. The younger, but not young, man departed, leaving the three Elders currently present within the Indomitable Ocean Sword Sect alone in the hall.

“What have we learned from the wreckage?” Elder Zhao Hue asked.

“From the cut of the driftwood and the other debris that has washed ashore, we believe that there were two ships, one carrying our newly awoken guest, and one carrying an unknown group. The markings on the boards depict different art styles, the designs of the weapons are unlike any spoken of in the Archives, but we have seen no sign of any other survivors,” Elder Yao Fen answered. “I would be curious to meet one of the unknown group, there was an ax taller than any within the Sect or our nearest neighbors.

“Of items that belong to our guest, the items that seem the most interesting are a sealed clay jar with a liquid inside and a number of beans in a pouch tied to it and a knife made from stone, yet sharper than any our smith has made.”