[Open-ish?]

[malicing]

WHO: Jin Guangyao, Some Random Villagers/Fisher-folk + Open. (And a special shout-out to Wei Wuxian. Please don't leave his corpse to molder.)
WHEN: During a certain dragon capture.
WHERE: On a boat.
WHAT: One small man has a plan; said plan doesn't go well.
WARNINGS: Death and there might be talk of necromancy.

The one who makes prophecies can frighten the populace or unite the populace. Guangyao has had his taste of doing the former; now it is time to try his hand at the latter. His presence is remarkable for one of such diminutive stature, however he has always been a fine actor.

"Follow me and we will not fail!"

His staff is lifted and the spell is cast. He weaves pretty images into his words, sweetening the deal:

"You will be heroes! Your names will never be forgotten! Stand together on this day, my friends, and show this beast your might."

The harsh shouts are music to his ears. He boards a boat, thinking only of the power he could wield if he had a dragon within his grasp. You might see him sailing forth, his expression a strange mixture of glee and determination. He always hungers for power and he never imagines that he could fail.

But, this time, he reaches too far. Glory has teeth and claws and it is over quickly, the shouts of the fisher-folk piercing the air, turning rapidly from triumphant to horrified. The water turns red, the boat Guangyao had boarded is smashed to bits and his batter body is flung to the side.

The dragon is disinterested in having a meal on something so bitter; so full of hate. Guangyao's last breaths are agony and there is no one to comfort him. This is how he is destined to die. Every time, without fail. Broken and alone.

Some gracious soul collects his body once the dragon has moved on, bringing him back to a place where his fellows can identify him. It is fortunate that the dragon has left his face unmarred.

Comments

[aprescoup]

It is a strange commission — brokered by master Wei Wuxian, his request visceral. Macaluso Spina, for his part, acts urgently to implement the trade once offered. The necromancers in his employment are dubious in method, but swift in delivery, and the rescued body of the prophet Jin Guangyao is returned to living form within hours of his passing.

Lord Macaluso himself welcomes the returned man, as he stirs, in one of the silent, still and dimly-lit chambers of his palazzo wing. Jin Guangyao has been set to rest, relieved of his possessions, robed regally. Whatever else might hold true of Macaluso — whose earnest concern might betray his unease with necromancy — he is a generous host.

"It is good... it is good to have you back among us. I trust you are well." He pauses, shifting erratically at Jin Guangyao's bedside. "You did well to accept my arrangement. Though I should have hoped none of you would have cause to do so."

[malicing]

When breath fills his lungs again and his heart beats, Guangyao, groggily, greets the world. He is immediately aware of his surroundings, the dim lighting and the sumptuous material of his robes. Confusion is his first enemy and he thinks back to the sound of his boat splitting, of a mighty roar. There had been immense, bloody pain and then blackness.

Raising himself, he inspects his body weakly, glancing at Macaluso once he is certain he is in one piece.

"Your kindness will not be forgotten. I am in your debt." Guangyao understands how gifts of this nature work - gifts that could never be repaid with money or jewels. He is a puppet now for this man. It's good that he isn't a stranger to such a position.

[aprescoup]

If Macaluso has learned the arrogance of an easy victory, he does not show it — shows, of his noble upbringing, nearly nothing at all, rushing to soothe Jin Guangyao's hurts, to right his headrest and offer him water. As if the lord himself were but a servant.

"I believe we were all brought on this earth to improve it. And we should not leave it, until we have done so."

[malicing]

He is weak to courtesy, to sweet words. No matter how evil he has let himself become, Guangyao yearns for the light. He wants to trap bright rays in a shining palace and keep them to himself; he will bask in them until, somehow, he is cleansed of his sins.

"I must see to improving myself. You have given me another chance to do so and I am grateful." he swallows the water to soften the harsher notes of his voice, "I was right in trusting you, my lord."

[aprescoup]

"I do not know enough of righteousness to speak with certainty," he says instead, and nods to the empty chambers, their golden filigree and frills. "But I know this: we are more than our legacies and our ornaments. You are also more."