Exalted Essence: To Kill a Primordial

[Psychie]

Our IC thread will start up soon

 

[Psychie]

It is a dull grey day, with a low layer of clouds keeping the oppressive heat of the day down to a dull throbbing ache instead of the blazing furnace that it can be. Even so, the pale sun does pound down on your heads if you go outside, but at least it is not as bad as it could be. You might be faced with the full, unobstructed heat of Creation's sun instead of the haze of the Underworld.

Your Master, the Deliverer of Dark Dreams and Nightmares, has a fortress built into the side of a small mountain that she has named Shaddar Logoth, which means Shadow's Linger in Old Realm. Most of the small town that has sprouted up around the fortress is underground in order to protect the residents, both living and dead, from the brutal heat of the day. It is thanks to the work of a small army of zombies, digging tirelessly and with no regard for their own safety, that were able to excavate the heart of the mountain to make a space to live in and raise the fortress up.

Voice That Cries From the Heart of Darkness has recently returned from a pilgrimage to Stygia and into the heart of the Labyrinth, where she was able to kneel down and prostrate herself before the Neverborn and revel in the dark whispers that only those close to death can hear. This has helped to draw her closer to the Void, but at what cost? Only time will tell.

Prince of Bloodstained Sands has also just returned to Shaddar Logoth, but his destination was hunting down a former Dragon Blooded follower of the Dark Lady that had been speaking blasphemy against her, leading the Prince on a long chase across the Underworld as you sought to end his wicked ways. Would the Prince have tried to bring the man back to face the wrath of the Deliverer herself, or would you not wish to risk him becoming a martyr and just kill him and take his head as proof of a job well done?

The Martyred Bodhisattva Whose Blood Anoints the First and Final Altar is on her way back from a trip to Creation where she was in a small town called Breen spreading the good word of the glories of the Deliverer and the Neverborn, guiding those that would listen into the folds of the small but growing cult that the Dark Lady has in Creation. Her words have been well received by the mortals of the town, and the ranks of the Deliverer's followers have grown and the faith of the already loyal has grown even stronger.

As the three of you complete your travels through the Underworld on your way home, you are met at the front gates by one of the Nemissaries that serve the Deliverer. He bows deep to the three of you before saying, "Greetings, Noble Exalts. I have been tasked with the duty to inform you that the Deliverer has been watching your approach to the Citadel for some time, and desires for her three loyal Deathknights to attend to her in her library two hours from now." With his message delivered to you, the Nemissary once more bows deep to show his subservience to you and steps aside to allow you free access to the tunnels leading into the mountain.

jaydude Sherwood Random Word Eonivar

 

[Random Word]

The procession of the Martyred Bodhisattva Whose Blood Anoints the First and Final Altar is a marvel fit to momentarily stir even the cold dead heart of the most jaded ghost. She sits concealed amongst diaphanous white veils atop an ambulatory pagoda of obsidian, viridian flame, and bright red channels filled with the blood of the adherents prostrated on the level beneath her, rapidly exsanguinating from slit wrists. Behind the pagoda lesser shrines and shining treasuries filled with offerings for the Deliverer are carried by worshippers through the blistering heat. Those that fall rise again to continue their duties. Alongside the pagoda march ranks of fearsome warrior monks in polished armour the shining white of sun-bleached bone, koans in the blasphemous language of the neverborn inlaid in black iron, chanting hymns to the rhythm of their steps, some carrying shrines of onyx and bone on long poles, some brilliant crimson banners that stream behind them like terrible wounds in the still desert air.

The procession arrives at the gates and the monks fall prostrate as the Martyr rises smoothly and descends barefoot the polished bone steps of the pagoda, ghostly attendants shielding her from the pitiless light of the pale sun with large fans of onyx and bone, pausing to fill her goblet from a channel of blood before stepping into a waiting palanquin. As the palanquin halts before the Nemissary the palanquin is lowered, and a worshipper lies flat that the Martyr might stand atop him rather than touch the scorching sand.

She nods to the Nemissary perfunctorily, then turns to the Deathknights and smiles brilliantly, licking an errant droplet of blood from her lips, crimson eyes shining in anticipation, "Voice, Prince, how you make the tedium of life seem almost bearable." She kisses the air beside their cheeks by way of greeting. Her eyes turn to Voice hungrily, "What can you share of the revealed will of the Creators?"

 

[jaydude]

Prince of Bloodstained Sands has also just returned to Shaddar Logoth, but his destination was hunting down a former Dragon Blooded follower of the Dark Lady that had been speaking blasphemy against her, leading the Prince on a long chase across the Underworld as you sought to end his wicked ways. Would the Prince have tried to bring the man back to face the wrath of the Deliverer herself, or would you not wish to risk him becoming a martyr and just kill him and take his head as proof of a job well done?

Tracking down Hashid had been an adventure and a half for the Prince. His quarry had proven surprisingly skilled at navigating the Underworld for one of the living, and when the Day Caste finally managed to catch up with him in Chiaroscuro, he had then needed to come up with a scheme that would allow him to capture the rogue Dragon-blooded without drawing the suspicion of either the Tri-Khan's warriors or the increasing numbers of people attending Hashid's sermons. And after executing that scheme, he had to bring Hashid back across the Underworld to Shaddar Lagoth, all while keeping his captured prey from escaping and restarting the chase.

If the Prince had been given a choice, he would've simply killed Hashid in Chiaroscuro, used his mastery of Ebon Shadow Style to make the body literally vanish, before disguising himself as the late Dragon-blooded and walking out of the city, claiming to anyone curious that he was simply moving on. He could've made a bloody example of the man that would clearly illustrate why he had died - indeed, the Deliverer had had him do just that on a couple of past occasions - but while that might've discouraged some people, it would also incentivise others to act against the Deliverer. In any case, he had been tasked with bringing Hashid back to their mistress - or former mistress, in the Dragon-blooded's case - and he was nothing if not loyal to her. Hence why Hashid was currently being carried upon his shoulder, a gag over his mouth, and his wrists and ankles bound by manacles of Soulsteel loaned to the Prince by the Deliverer for this mission.

The procession of the Martyred Bodhisattva Whose Blood Anoints the First and Final Altar is a marvel fit to momentarily stir even the cold dead heart of the most jaded ghost. She sits concealed amongst diaphanous white veils atop an ambulatory pagoda of obsidian, viridian flame, and bright red channels filled with the blood of the adherents prostrated on the level beneath her, rapidly exsanguinating from slit wrists. Behind the pagoda lesser shrines and shining treasuries filled with offerings for the Deliverer are carried by worshippers through the blistering heat. Those that fall rise again to continue their duties. Alongside the pagoda march ranks of fearsome warrior monks in polished armour the shining white of sun-bleached bone, koans in the blasphemous language of the neverborn inlaid in black iron, chanting hymns to the rhythm of their steps, some carrying shrines of onyx and bone on long poles, some brilliant crimson banners that stream behind them like terrible wounds in the still desert air.

The procession arrives at the gates and the monks fall prostrate as the Martyr rises smoothly and descends barefoot the polished bone steps of the pagoda, ghostly attendants shielding her from the pitiless light of the pale sun with large fans of onyx and bone, pausing to fill her goblet from a channel of blood before stepping into a waiting palanquin. As the palanquin halts before the Nemissary the palanquin is lowered, and a worshipper lies flat that the Martyr might stand atop him rather than touch the scorching sand.

The Prince heard the Martyr's procession before he saw it. It was a ghoulishly impressive spectacle to be sure, but he'd always felt that the woman in charge was a little too focused on desires that were independent of the Deliverer's, whereas his own will was that of his mistress.

She nods to the Nemissary perfunctorily, then turns to the Deathknights and smiles brilliantly, licking an errant droplet of blood from her lips, crimson eyes shining in anticipation, "Vox, Prince, how you make the tedium of life seem almost bearable." She kisses the air beside their cheeks by way of greeting.

"Martyr," he replied, giving her a polite nod in return, before handing Hashid off to two of the war ghosts standing guard at the gates, trusting them to deliver the captive to the dungeons.

"Voice," he said in a slightly warmer tone. The Dusk and the Day both shared the distinction of being grievously wronged by people from Creation prior to their ascendancy, and were more or less equals in their loyalty to the Deliverer.

 

[Sherwood]

Throughout the ride back from the depths of the Labyrinth, Voice has been distracted by the echos of the voices of the Neverborn ringing in her mind, a strange sensation that both fills her with ecstasy and dread. She can feel herself drawing closer to the Neverborn with each trip to the dark city of Styga, the Whispers growing louder and stronger every time. Thankfully, she had the presence of mind to bring along a small escort of war ghosts with her to keep her focus on the road enough to not get lost in the Underworld as her mind is filled with the nightmare images of the Labyrinth.

Wrestling her focus away from the dry whispers inside her, she focuses on the ghost that is speaking to her. "Thank you for the message. You may inform the Deliverer that you have done your duty, and we will be in the library at the appointed hour." Dismissing him, Voice turns her attention to her fellow Abyssals. "Dear friends, the two of you are looking well. I trust that you were both successful in your endeavors?"

 

[jaydude]

Wrestling her focus away from the dry whispers inside her, she focuses on the ghost that is speaking to her. "Thank you for the message. You may inform the Deliverer that you have done your duty, and we will be in the library at the appointed hour." Dismissing him, Voice turns her attention to her fellow Abyssals. "Dear friends, the two of you are looking well. I trust that you were both successful in your endeavors?"

"Indeed," the Prince replied. "Though it was not without hardship. My captive proved canny and determined to escape his fate for a long time, even after I captured him."

 

[Random Word]

Martyr winces slightly at Voice's use of 'friends'. The Creators have sent supplicants who visit their necropoli to commune with Oblivion for less, but Voice has come and gone without visible punishment. Favoured indeed. She pouts slightly and sighs as Voice dodges her question, "One doesn't whisper if they don't intend to keep secrets, I suppose." She waves dismissively, "The village? It left me considerable time for contemplation and writing," she offers diplomatically. "Even the least soul deserves salvation from the cycle of torment." But I could reach more in Nexus.

She turns to the Prince, "Chains of fear are stronger than Soulsteel. You should let me teach you to enlighten your captives as to the futility of struggle, unless you enjoy the chase," she says with a smile that manages to make the desert feel cold.

 

[Sherwood]

Voice smiles at Martyr, saying, "Sometimes the hunt is half the fun. But I digress. Please pardon me, I am a bit . . . distracted . . . at this time. The cacophony of the Whispers are rather loud at the moment, and I find it difficult to make out any particular message from the Neverborn. I will need to take some time to meditate on the dark truths that they are showing me in order to make sense of their vision and desires. But that will have to wait. Our Mistress desires us in her library, and I am certain that she will be displeased with any that are late."

Turning to the ghosts that escorted her on her pilgrimage, she dismisses them to go on about their business while she heads further into the Citadel to make her way to her own chambers. There is plenty of time before the audience with the Dark Lady, but she still cannot dawdle in her preparations. Her Collar of Dawn's Cleansing Light keeps her clean from the dust of the road so that a bath is not needed, but she is not planning on showing up without getting changed.

Voice decides to break out one of her fine dresses. Sometimes, even a strong warrior needs to embrace her softer side, and the feel of silk on skin is a pleasure that she enjoys. The gown she chooses is a deep red, so dark it is almost black, with dark lace trim. She completes her ensemble with a leather belt on which Voice hangs her daiklave. As one of the Dark Lady's Deathknights, it wouldn't do for her to not be armed.

 

[jaydude]

She turns to the Prince, "Chains of fear are stronger than Soulsteel. You should let me teach you to enlighten your captives as to the futility of struggle, unless you enjoy the chase," she says with a smile that manages to make the desert feel cold.

The Prince gave a little shrug of his shoulders. "I would imagine it was fear of our mistress's wrath that drove him to try and escape," he replied. "In any event, once the Soulsteel manacles were in place to curb his essence, he was never able to run very fast, or far."

He followed Voice into Shaddar Logoth, before heading off towards his own chambers, where ghostly servants were on hand to draw a bath and wash his clothes of the sand, grit and blood that had gotten into them over the course of his assignment. Once cleaned and refreshed, he dressed, put his sheathed Talon Daggers back on his belt, and headed to the library to hear what the Deliverer had to say.

 

[Random Word]

The Martyr looks up at the imposing edifice carved into the cliff face, speaking with a quiet intensity, more to herself than the Prince as he escorts his prisoner away, "Ah, but there are flavours of fear. It's an emotion with depth and richness and such sublime power. My liege inspires a bold and fascinating palette, but that was a fear of a situation he felt he had the power to avert, a fate he could conceive of escaping. There are special kinds of terror, ones that seize the heart, clear the mind, and paralyze the body. Existential fears, dread inescapable realities. They are, I find, some of the more promising paths to enlightenment for those whose errant and distracting thoughts prove an obstacle to grasping the futility, perversity even, of existence."

"Honoured One." The Martyr blinks, pulled from her thoughts to turn to her majordomo, wrapped head to toe in white silks to ward off the elements. "Preparations are being made to deliver the tribute, but what shall we say when it becomes apparent Breen could not muster such a fitting tribute to her majesty?"

She turns away, smiling slightly, "There is no need to lie. The arrival of the missionaries was entropy in action. Their enthusiasm for spreading word of her greatness an unobjectionable accident. I did not leave the village, as ordered. All things yearn for the end. Oblivion cannot be diverted nor slowed."

"Yes, Honoured One," he replies reverentially and withdraws with a bow.

She steps into the palanquin and meditates in silence as she is conveyed to the library. If one must suffer the indignity of existing for millennia, she can think of few more graceful ways to while away the centuries than the curation of a library. She need not refresh herself, for she has travelled in meditative seclusion, the discomforts of the burning sands as nothing before the entropic cold of necromancy. She walks the stacks as she waits, tracing one black lacquered fingertip along the spines of ancient tomes, occasionally pausing to pull a scroll from its case to be carried by a spectral attendant. It is a meticulous archive of the decline of the world, a monument to the slow and inevitable passing of all things. So much lost, never to be rediscovered. Heights of glory this Age could never dream of attaining. All brought to inevitable ruin by the hubris and folly that wrought it. There is nothing new to discover in Creation, nothing that cannot be found in the mad whispers of the Creators, but so much remains new to her, and it remains one of the few guilty pleasures she affords herself. She smiles slightly as she thinks of another, wherever they may be, but quickly stills her heart and clears her mind. Such thoughts are dangerous. Some day she will have to cast even these aside before the Creators send her to her final communion with Oblivion, but not today.

As the appointed hour nears she returns to the centre of the library, wrapped in layers of gauzy white linens through which the ravenous darkness of her tattoos remain tantalizingly, horrifyingly legible, her shadow pooling beneath her, twisting into blasphemous scripture as she prostrates herself and meditates on the nature of non-existence.

 

[Psychie]

One by one, the three of you make your way to the Dark Lady's library where you wait for her arrival. The library is filled with books of all kinds, ranging in age from ancient texts to much more recent acquisitions within the past few years. Several comfortable seats are tucked in nicely around the room next to tables that are piled high with part-way read books. When you go inside, there is the familiar servant ghost woman named Larissa that frequently attends to the Deliverer's needs, a somewhat attractive middle-aged woman with her mouth and eyes sewn shut, to keep her from being able to spread rumors and secrets about what she encounters in the service of the Deathlord. Larissa hears you come in and bows deeply to you, and motions to a tray with several glasses of fine wine and blood on it, obviously inquiring if you would like a refreshment while you wait.

As time for the meeting draws closer, there is a noticeable chill to the room and out of one of the shadows in the corner, the Deliverer steps out into view. She glides through the room to take her place at the center of the library, and looks down at the three of you with a loving smile. "Ah, my dear ones. Shaddar Logoth has felt practically empty with all of you away, and I missed you all so. Rise, and be seated. Larissa, leave us." The ghost bows again, then quickly and silently slips out of the room, leaving the four of you alone.

Once the door has shut behind the servant, the Dark Lady looks to each of you in turn. "Tell me, my darlings. How was your travels?"

 

[jaydude]

"I was forced to travel to Chiaroscuro in order to recover our traitorous quarry," the Prince replied, speaking more like he thought himself a professional agent than a beloved asset. "I used the opportunity to scout out the city for vulnerabilities, should the time come for you to turn your attention to it in the future. As for Hashid, he was unable to frustrate my efforts to find and restrain him indefinitely. He should be awaiting your attention in the dungeons."

 

[Sherwood]

Voice would reach out to take one of the glasses of wine from the proffered tray and takes a small sip. She had long since moved past the need for food and drink, but the occasional indulgence is something Voice is not above.

"M'Lady, I am still struggling to find the proper words to describe my pilgrimage to the depths of the Labyrinth, but I do feel my connection to the Neverborn growing stronger. It is a glorious feeling. Thank you for allowing me to go." She looks up at the Deliverer with a mixture of crazed love and devotion, a peaceful smile on her face.

 

[Random Word]

The Martyr rises smoothly to sit cross legged on the floor. There is a flicker of jealousy at Voice's report, swiftly quelled. "My Lady," she bows her head, "My journey served only to reaffirm the deep love the people of Creation have for your enlightened wisdom."

 

[Psychie]

"I was forced to travel to Chiaroscuro in order to recover our traitorous quarry," the Prince replied, speaking more like he thought himself a professional agent than a beloved asset. "I used the opportunity to scout out the city for vulnerabilities, should the time come for you to turn your attention to it in the future. As for Hashid, he was unable to frustrate my efforts to find and restrain him indefinitely. He should be awaiting your attention in the dungeons."

The Dark Lady smiles, saying, "Excellent work, my Prince. Not only have you recovered our wayward Hashid, but you have gleaned some information on Chiaroscuro. I look forward to spending some quality time with Hashid, explaining the error of his ways."

"M'Lady, I am still struggling to find the proper words to describe my pilgrimage to the depths of the Labyrinth, but I do feel my connection to the Neverborn growing stronger. It is a glorious feeling. Thank you for allowing me to go." She looks up at the Deliverer with a mixture of crazed love and devotion, a peaceful smile on her face.

Turning to look at Voice, saying with a smile of her own, "Wonderful. It pleases me to hear that your pilgrimage was fulfilling."

The Martyr rises smoothly to sit cross legged on the floor. There is a flicker of jealousy at Voice's report, swiftly quelled. "My Lady," she bows her head, "My journey served only to reaffirm the deep love the people of Creation have for your enlightened wisdom."

Looking to Martyr, the Deliverer continues to smile. "More good news. Not that I had ever doubted your ability to bring the good word of our cause to the people of Breen. Know that I am well pleased with all three of you." She reaches out and takes a goblet from the tray and takes a sip of the wine before continuing. "Now, the reason I have brought you here today is that I have been in communication with the Twisted Toymaker, and he is sending his own Deathknight, Servant of the Night, here in escort with two interesting guests that I wish for you to see."

"You may have heard that there is a new military force in Creation, an invasion sweeping across the South, led by a strange new group of Exalted. Apparently, Servant of the Night came across a group of twenty of these invaders that had accidentally slipped into the Underworld with one of their Exalts. After the Exalt was defeated, the mortal soldiers were taken prisoner and were on their way to the Toymakers' workshop when they started to fall ill and rapidly die off. The symptoms of this disease were quite clear; those sick were infected by the Great Contagion. Of the twenty captured, only three survived their bout with the illness, showing that the Contagion is still as deadly as ever. The Toymaker has tried to interrogate the survivors, but he lacks a certain level of subtlety in dealing with the living, and ended up losing one of the prisoners through the course of his questioning. He then decided to place these last two survivors in my care, hoping that I can garner some information from them. They are on their way here now, and should be arriving within the hour."

She takes another sip of her drink before continuing. "I wish to have you in attendance when the Servant of the Night arrives with the two prisoners. We will treat them with courtesy, and play on their humanity by showing them sympathy for their unfortunate plight. One can gather more flies with honey than vinegar. Let us see what we can learn from our guests. Each of you bring a different perspective that I wish to tap into, so feel free to express your opinions and ask questions."

 

[jaydude]

"You may have heard that there is a new military force in Creation, an invasion sweeping across the South, led by a strange new group of Exalted. Apparently, Servant of the Night came across a group of twenty of these invaders that had accidentally slipped into the Underworld with one of their Exalts. After the Exalt was defeated, the mortal soldiers were taken prisoner and were on their way to the Toymakers' workshop when they started to fall ill and rapidly die off. The symptoms of this disease were quite clear; those sick were infected by the Great Contagion. Of the twenty captured, only three survived their bout with the illness, showing that the Contagion is still as deadly as ever. The Toymaker has tried to interrogate the survivors, but he lacks a certain level of subtlety in dealing with the living, and ended up losing one of the prisoners through the course of his questioning. He then decided to place these last two survivors in my care, hoping that I can garner some information from them. They are on their way here now, and should be arriving within the hour."

She takes another sip of her drink before continuing. "I wish to have you in attendance when the Servant of the Night arrives with the two prisoners. We will treat them with courtesy, and play on their humanity by showing them sympathy for their unfortunate plight. One can gather more flies with honey than vinegar. Let us see what we can learn from our guests. Each of you bring a different perspective that I wish to tap into, so feel free to express your opinions and ask questions."

The Prince appeared perplexed by this news. "This invasion force, what do we know about them so far?" he asked. "Do we know where they come from, and what their goals are? And what of these new Exalted?"

He was aware that he was likely slipping back into his mortal role as a future king, wanting to gather as much information about a foreign entity before having to engage with it.

 

[Random Word]

The Martyr purses her lips in thought. "Wise questions. I will add, 'How did they become infected?' The disease spirits of the contagion do not rouse themselves often in this twilight age. Did someone invite them to set upon these lost lambs?"

She pauses a moment to consider, tilting her head to one side, "More immediately, shall we 'defeat' the Servant to liberate its prisoners? I'm certain we could put on a most convincing pantomime. Something fit even to make Adame smile."

 

[Psychie]

The Deliverer leans back in her seat and steeples her fingers, marshaling her thoughts. "A few months ago, there was a sudden appearance of a previously unknown fighting force in the South of Creation. At first, I paid little attention to it, thinking that it was a Fae incursion and that they would be crushed as before. But I have recently learned that this is not a typical invasion of the Fae, instead this is something different. These are mortals, using weapons and tactics not seen in Creation since the First Age, backed up by a group of powerful beings that can use Essence like a little god or Exalt. So far, they have not made any inroads into the Underworld, and I suspect that this small group entered a Shadowland by mistake and not intentionally. I have sent some spies into the area of this invasion to garner more information, but as of now, I still have very little information. I do know that this host of mortals and strange Exalts is very large, numbering in the thousands, and so far, they are sweeping across the land heading east across the mountains towards both Gem and The Lap. From what I have learned, it is very possible that these invaders have the numbers needed to seize the territories that they are marching against."

She then looks over at Martyr, saying, "Over the years, there have been small outbreaks of the Contagion across Creation and the Underworld, but the disease has never become as virulent as it was all those years ago. I am of the opinion that since the population are descendants of survivors of the disease that there is an inherent resistance to the current form of the Contagion, hinting that these invaders might possibly be from somewhere outside of Creation where they have never been exposed, giving some credence to the idea that this invasion force is from somewhere in the Wyld, living in some previously unknown pocket of stable reality. If this is the case, there is no telling how many soldiers may be available to these invaders."

The Dark Lady pauses, then a slight smile comes across her face. "Martyr, you have a wicked mind, and I love that about you. If we were to 'rescue' the two captives, we may be able to learn more from them as their saviors than we could as their captors. This can give us some valuable information about these invaders. Tell me, how quickly can the three of you be ready to spring a daring rescue and bring these foreigners here?"

 

[Sherwood]

Voice feels a rush of excitement come over her. "M'lady, I can be ready to move out as soon as I have changed back into my armor. While that is going on, a message will need to be sent to Servant to inform him of our plan so he knows to play along with our actions and not suspect us of betraying the alliance between you and the Twisted Toymaker."

 

[jaydude]

Considering that the Twisted Toymaker was indirectly the one who had gifted him his weapons, scheming against him in such a manner didn't entirely sit well with the Prince. Still, he didn't feel it was his place to offer such criticism, and in any case, the plan was otherwise sound.

"I concur with Voice," he said. "As to my own readiness, I can set off back out as soon as you command."

 

[Psychie]

The Deliverer smiles and says, "Then you should be on your way. Gather our guests from the Servant and bring them here. Just make sure your encounter is convincing. While you prepare, I will contact the Servant and inform him of the plan. Travel quickly, my darlings, and take care of our prizes."

 

[jaydude]

The Deliverer smiles and says, "Then you should be on your way. Gather our guests from the Servant and bring them here. Just make sure your encounter is convincing. While you prepare, I will contact the Servant and inform him of the plan. Travel quickly, my darlings, and take care of our prizes."

"As you command," the Prince replied, before bowing his head and turning away. He assumed the other two would follow him.

 

[Random Word]

"We draw breath only by your your dread majesty." The Martyr prostrates herself again, then rises smoothly to glides to the Princes side. "I defer to your expertise in matters of subterfuge. How elaborate should this theatrical production be? Costumes? A set in which to host our guest stars? Or keep things minimal?"

 

[jaydude]

"I defer to your expertise in matters of subterfuge. How elaborate should this theatrical production be? Costumes? A set in which to host our guest stars? Or keep things minimal?"

"These soldiers will not know our faces, so I imagine costumes will not be necessary," the Prince answered. "And provided the Servant has not blabbed to them too much about their intended destination, we should be able to bring them here without them catching onto the ruse. That said, you may need to reassure them they have nothing to fear from this place. Wishing no disrespect to our mistress, the aesthetics of the Underworld can often be disconcerting to those new to it."

 

[Psychie]

The Deliverer looks off into the distance, then says, "Ah. More good news. The Merchant is arriving. Go quickly and gather him up, and bring him up to speed about the plan. Perhaps he can use his sorcery to transport you back here from your rescue of the two prisoners."


Crocodile

You are approaching the citadel of Shaddar Logoth after a long journey to recover a sealed chest that your Mistress had sent you to get from a old tomb hidden away in the jungles of the East. You and your entourage have been traveling on horseback for a while, and the sight of the Deliverer's base of operations is a welcome sight. The guards at the gate all recognize you and offer up their proper respect as you ride in, bowing deeply.