hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
1
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Fantasy Terrorchild: Awakening
- Thread starter K0mori
- Start date
turtwigwins
Junior Member
2
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
2
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
1
dikdik
colossal leaf and prince of the universe
1
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
1
bat_hacker
New Member
11111
let's take ibuprofen together
let's take ibuprofen together
Encourage
New
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 5 Votes (63% - Range: 1-62)
Option 2: 3 Votes (38% - Range: 63-100)
Fae Roll: 23
Embryx doesn't hesitate to affirm her choice, of course - how could she? In an instant you feel as if you might have manipulated her when all you really sought to do was support her. To back down from her pledge to drink the wine would undermine her prior sincerity - and then it would be her turn to suffer the inadequacy of speech when the moment calls for action. So instead, she steels herself, smiling grimly as she promises: "...As long as I'm with you, everything will be okay."
You sense that it's not the truth. But you also sense that she doesn't care... And if you're being honest with yourself, you don't really care either. It's been years since you've allowed yourself to hope for everything to be "okay." What would that even mean? For you, it would probably mean summitting the whole mountain of obstacles between you and living peacefully, happily, and fed. For all you've done in pursuit of returning Rigatte to the world, you would need her at your side to feel peace for your actions. And if you lose Embryx... You don't even want to think about how much worse you'd be. You'll need to keep both of them safely in your life.
For Embryx, you can only assume that it means she'll be able to cope with all of the sudden and veering changes in her life, most of which you're responsible for. It settles into your bones that her life would have been a lot simpler had you never come along, and the solace of having your undivided affection is the only thing that can balance the scales. For all the wrongs you've put in the world, here is one opportunity to make things better. "...As long as I'm alive, you will be," you assure her.
She approaches you until you're standing face to face, where she can see lost in all these guilt-laden thoughts. She gently reaches out and lifts your chin up, and then gives you a kiss - not the disposable, spur-of-the-moment gesture you made this morning, but something much more delicate and intentional, like a love letter that she spent untold nights composing before delivering it to you. You feel... unworthy of all this, but also deeply, deeply thankful, and safe in a way which can't truly be quantified.
When your lips leave hers, she smiles again, more confidently, and full of pride. You're breathless. For once, you feel as if your life isn't just about you, anymore.
She reaches down and picks up the jug of water off the floor, and although it seems heavy, she lifts it with relative ease. "...How come you didn't just use your telekinesis to move this?" she suddenly asks. You break into giggling laughter, and she does the same.
A thumping against the road, however, alerts all of you. It only takes a moment to determine that it's horses coming from the west - the coven! Within seconds, you spot the dark-clad riders from around the Turus River valley, having linked up on the correct road to join you before the Kingdom's response could arrive. At the head of this newly-arrived group, and old hag of surprisingly-able body salutes you: "Hail, Terrorchild!" she shouts over the rumble of hooves against the dirt, with her fist high in the air. One after another, the witches pass you, their complexions pale and sickly, and yet their eyes burn with enthusiasm for the coming confrontation, their grins bloodthirsty.
The excitement proves infectious, and you leap into the air in celebration. "Hail, sisters!" you cry out. They begin to slow their horses and dismount onto the ground near the temple, and soon, your small circle of four is surrounded by two dozen witches and a warlock. From their expressions, you get the impression that more are on the way, and that these are only the most zealous supporters of your cause.
1. Greet the Elder - The old hag seems to be in charge of this lot already, and so you decide to pay your respects by introducing yourself to her, first.
2. Pick of the Litter - Figuring that these witches all came from different places and circles originally, they probably don't know which among them is most worthy of being your pact sister. You decide to test them and see which is most worthy of the title.
3. The Lancer - The warlock among them is quite reserved, compared to the exuberant witches all around. It's no surprise - warlocks are often treated as less authentic siblings of Syrith. You decide to investigate and see whether or not that's true.
Option 2: 3 Votes (38% - Range: 63-100)
Fae Roll: 23
Embryx doesn't hesitate to affirm her choice, of course - how could she? In an instant you feel as if you might have manipulated her when all you really sought to do was support her. To back down from her pledge to drink the wine would undermine her prior sincerity - and then it would be her turn to suffer the inadequacy of speech when the moment calls for action. So instead, she steels herself, smiling grimly as she promises: "...As long as I'm with you, everything will be okay."
You sense that it's not the truth. But you also sense that she doesn't care... And if you're being honest with yourself, you don't really care either. It's been years since you've allowed yourself to hope for everything to be "okay." What would that even mean? For you, it would probably mean summitting the whole mountain of obstacles between you and living peacefully, happily, and fed. For all you've done in pursuit of returning Rigatte to the world, you would need her at your side to feel peace for your actions. And if you lose Embryx... You don't even want to think about how much worse you'd be. You'll need to keep both of them safely in your life.
For Embryx, you can only assume that it means she'll be able to cope with all of the sudden and veering changes in her life, most of which you're responsible for. It settles into your bones that her life would have been a lot simpler had you never come along, and the solace of having your undivided affection is the only thing that can balance the scales. For all the wrongs you've put in the world, here is one opportunity to make things better. "...As long as I'm alive, you will be," you assure her.
She approaches you until you're standing face to face, where she can see lost in all these guilt-laden thoughts. She gently reaches out and lifts your chin up, and then gives you a kiss - not the disposable, spur-of-the-moment gesture you made this morning, but something much more delicate and intentional, like a love letter that she spent untold nights composing before delivering it to you. You feel... unworthy of all this, but also deeply, deeply thankful, and safe in a way which can't truly be quantified.
When your lips leave hers, she smiles again, more confidently, and full of pride. You're breathless. For once, you feel as if your life isn't just about you, anymore.
She reaches down and picks up the jug of water off the floor, and although it seems heavy, she lifts it with relative ease. "...How come you didn't just use your telekinesis to move this?" she suddenly asks. You break into giggling laughter, and she does the same.
---
The rabbit proves to be quite delicious after Jannava has finished cooking and seasoning it. Only Corrinth, lounging above in the limbs of a water oak tree, seems to have been indifferent to the taste, and has already taken another apple out of her bag. Although she seems tempted to eat it, it's probably the last she has on her, and so she sits and tosses the shiny red fruit up into the air, over and over, kicking her dangling feet in boredom.
A thumping against the road, however, alerts all of you. It only takes a moment to determine that it's horses coming from the west - the coven! Within seconds, you spot the dark-clad riders from around the Turus River valley, having linked up on the correct road to join you before the Kingdom's response could arrive. At the head of this newly-arrived group, and old hag of surprisingly-able body salutes you: "Hail, Terrorchild!" she shouts over the rumble of hooves against the dirt, with her fist high in the air. One after another, the witches pass you, their complexions pale and sickly, and yet their eyes burn with enthusiasm for the coming confrontation, their grins bloodthirsty.
The excitement proves infectious, and you leap into the air in celebration. "Hail, sisters!" you cry out. They begin to slow their horses and dismount onto the ground near the temple, and soon, your small circle of four is surrounded by two dozen witches and a warlock. From their expressions, you get the impression that more are on the way, and that these are only the most zealous supporters of your cause.
1. Greet the Elder - The old hag seems to be in charge of this lot already, and so you decide to pay your respects by introducing yourself to her, first.
2. Pick of the Litter - Figuring that these witches all came from different places and circles originally, they probably don't know which among them is most worthy of being your pact sister. You decide to test them and see which is most worthy of the title.
3. The Lancer - The warlock among them is quite reserved, compared to the exuberant witches all around. It's no surprise - warlocks are often treated as less authentic siblings of Syrith. You decide to investigate and see whether or not that's true.
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
1
joshuadim
the writer
2
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
2
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
3
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
1
turtwigwins
Junior Member
1
bat_hacker
New Member
1
Pick of the Litter
New
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 4 Votes (57% - Range: 1-57)
Option 2: 2 Votes (29% - Range: 58-86)
Option 3: 1 Vote (14% - Range: 87-100)
Fae Roll: 82
Your first impulse, as you look over this pack of dark strangers, is to lean on the experience of the most wizened witch. After all, simply surviving as a witch in this world is difficult enough that it would take one especially crafty and dangerous to survive into old age - the temptation to give into one's darkest impulses is strong, and once indulged, the exposure almost always leads to a quick death. That's why you've seen so few witches in their autumn years... But as you move to speak to her, a less-predictable notion comes over you. Your lip twists into a smile, not unlike the one Corrinth wears, as you feel almost compelled to eschew conventional reason.
"Acolytes of Syrith!" you address them, excited to finally wear the mantle of Terrorchild as a title of high esteem and authority. These people look up to you, and you'll meet or exceed their expectations in every way you can - even if it means getting a little theatrical. "I seek a pact sister. If you think yourself ready, then step forward - so that I can know your name and talents!"
The old hag bows to you as she speaks her name: "Halfiya!" she says, as the other witches look on with wide-eyed expressions, eager to see some momentous thing happen here. "...I've waited my entire life to witness the fruition of the Eldest's design. Agranne, you beautiful thing... I'm ready to offer you my insight. I possess a talent which few in the world can claim, and which Diala sought to keep all to herself until you destroyed her for her avarice. I can read the minds of others!"
Immediately, the rest of the crowd backs up in awe, aside from a tall and brutish-looking half-orc, and the warlock you spotted from afar... a fellow tabaxi. You point to them in order to test Halfiya's claim. "...Open their minds, then, sister. Tell me their secret talents!"
She eagerly takes out her wand, and with a skillful flick that traces a line of shadow through the air, she gazes deeply into the half-orc's eyes. "You... you look all brawn, but your greatest talent is with the quill. You... know ancient things! Terrible things! But more importantly, you know how to record them."
The half-orc nods, begrudgingly. "Rowgu," she introduces herself in a deep and husky voice. "I'm a darkscribe. With a quill, or a blade, anything which I can use to leave my mark, I can give myself over to the will of the Eldest and record her intent. Those who gaze upon the work are inflicted - or inspired - by Syrith's design!" she roars, eliciting a fascinated round of reactions. She takes out her weapon, a large and heavy claymore, and plants its tip against the ground. A large, onyx ring on her finger begins to smolder with dark magic as she begins to groan and weave her body back and forth, dragging the tip about. You watch in spellbound fascination as her eyes disappear within a cloud of darkness, as if she's a mere puppet in Syrith's control.
The crowd encircles this display as she carves a design into the dirt of the road, eventually regaining control as she steps away, out of breath and stamina from the apparently-taxing effort. You lean in to take a better look, and an image flashes through your mind - a potent one - the silhouette of the Eldest herself. And yet, unlike your prior visions and dreams of the figure, she somehow seems more solidified in this form, as if this vision is close to revealing her true, physical form. And just as it materializes, the image disperses, leaving you and the others who witnessed it utterly impressed.
That is, except for Corrinth, who looks down on all of you from her perch in the tree above. "Quite a trick," she says with a smirk. "All that effort for just a glimpse of Syrith's true face, but does it get us any closer to disposing of the church and its loyal stooges? And mindreading," the says, looking back to Halfiya, "as exclusive as such a thing is, thanks to Diala, I think Agranne ought to be more interested in a destructive power."
"Sticking to what you know, fae?" Halfiya says, gripping her wand as it sizzles with smoke. "Diala was a pretender, but she did right by casting you out."
"Oh?" Corrinth replies, flippantly. "Then what about Agranne? Is the Terrorchild wrong for welcoming me back?"
"That's enough, both of you," you warn before Halfiya can say anything which would sour her introduction further. "Tell me, about the warlock, Halfiya." She seems to be tiring, and so you take out the Pandemonium Door and hold it out for her to touch. The entire crowd reacts to its emergence from your pocket - a holy artifact, and you carry it in your pocket like a handkerchief - at once, they're stunned back to respect, aside from Corrinth, Embryx, and Jannava, who all snicker in amusement at their reaction. Halfiya notices their casual demeanor and, apparently emboldened, reaches out and touches the object to experience its restorative power.
"Oh, it's true..." she says quietly in amazement. Then, obediently, she turns and points her wand at the quiet warlock. "He's... He's a shadowmancer!" she says with exuberant fascination. "My... Where have you been hiding, dear boy?" she asks, but instantly, her expression turns to dismay. "You... You poor thing, you're mute!"
The tabaxi hangs his head ashamedly and nods, unable to speak his name. He instead crouches to the ground, taking his finger and writing out a few letters:
VERALT
As you speak the name out loud, he's apparently satisfied with your pronunciation and gives a nod, his expression calm and thankful for your consideration. Since he's unable to speak, Halfiya speaks for him: "He comes from Travana... in Sonnamille. Elven country? That's no place for... Oh... He was a captive... a slave!" Halfiya explains, to the anger and disapproval of all around. The old hag turns back to you and explains: "the essence of death is invisible to the eye, just like anima. But shadowmancers can bind it to darkness itself, and turn a common shadow into a construct, like a creeping, open maw into to the land beyond death."
Your ears perk up at her choice of words. Working with a mute pact brother would have its challenges, but his talents seem especially useful to your long-term goals. You want to learn all of these skills - mindreading, darkscribing, and shadowmancy, but you can't possibly make time for all three. You'll need to commit to one ally whom you can make the most use of for the short term.
1. Halfiya - Your earlier instincts were correct. No matter how enticing the tabaxi's powers are to your future goals, or how much potential the half-orc's abilities might have for charting the path ahead, you must gain the ability to see into others' minds and discern their secrets. Halfiya is also the most ardent of all of these new witches, and will do everything in her power to bring victory to the coven - since she is at life's final chapter already.
2. Rowgu - The half-orc woman's strange power reminds you of the experience of holding that accursed book you found in the Mardenaal circle's library. Perhaps a darkscribe wrote that book? In any case, the mysterious runes on the Pandemonium Door have done great wonders to unlock your destiny thus far. You wonder if maybe Rowgu's ability could reveal the next chapter.
3. Veralt - You suspect the young man hungers for vengeance in much the same way that you do. With his ability to control the essence of death, perhaps you can come closer to that all-important goal of seeking Rigatte in the afterlife. The fact that he's also a tabaxi feels like a wink from the Eldest herself. But then again, when you look at him, he seems... pathetic. You decide that he needs a mentor, much like you did when you came to Tashlaan.
Option 2: 2 Votes (29% - Range: 58-86)
Option 3: 1 Vote (14% - Range: 87-100)
Fae Roll: 82
Your first impulse, as you look over this pack of dark strangers, is to lean on the experience of the most wizened witch. After all, simply surviving as a witch in this world is difficult enough that it would take one especially crafty and dangerous to survive into old age - the temptation to give into one's darkest impulses is strong, and once indulged, the exposure almost always leads to a quick death. That's why you've seen so few witches in their autumn years... But as you move to speak to her, a less-predictable notion comes over you. Your lip twists into a smile, not unlike the one Corrinth wears, as you feel almost compelled to eschew conventional reason.
"Acolytes of Syrith!" you address them, excited to finally wear the mantle of Terrorchild as a title of high esteem and authority. These people look up to you, and you'll meet or exceed their expectations in every way you can - even if it means getting a little theatrical. "I seek a pact sister. If you think yourself ready, then step forward - so that I can know your name and talents!"
The old hag bows to you as she speaks her name: "Halfiya!" she says, as the other witches look on with wide-eyed expressions, eager to see some momentous thing happen here. "...I've waited my entire life to witness the fruition of the Eldest's design. Agranne, you beautiful thing... I'm ready to offer you my insight. I possess a talent which few in the world can claim, and which Diala sought to keep all to herself until you destroyed her for her avarice. I can read the minds of others!"
Immediately, the rest of the crowd backs up in awe, aside from a tall and brutish-looking half-orc, and the warlock you spotted from afar... a fellow tabaxi. You point to them in order to test Halfiya's claim. "...Open their minds, then, sister. Tell me their secret talents!"
She eagerly takes out her wand, and with a skillful flick that traces a line of shadow through the air, she gazes deeply into the half-orc's eyes. "You... you look all brawn, but your greatest talent is with the quill. You... know ancient things! Terrible things! But more importantly, you know how to record them."
The half-orc nods, begrudgingly. "Rowgu," she introduces herself in a deep and husky voice. "I'm a darkscribe. With a quill, or a blade, anything which I can use to leave my mark, I can give myself over to the will of the Eldest and record her intent. Those who gaze upon the work are inflicted - or inspired - by Syrith's design!" she roars, eliciting a fascinated round of reactions. She takes out her weapon, a large and heavy claymore, and plants its tip against the ground. A large, onyx ring on her finger begins to smolder with dark magic as she begins to groan and weave her body back and forth, dragging the tip about. You watch in spellbound fascination as her eyes disappear within a cloud of darkness, as if she's a mere puppet in Syrith's control.
The crowd encircles this display as she carves a design into the dirt of the road, eventually regaining control as she steps away, out of breath and stamina from the apparently-taxing effort. You lean in to take a better look, and an image flashes through your mind - a potent one - the silhouette of the Eldest herself. And yet, unlike your prior visions and dreams of the figure, she somehow seems more solidified in this form, as if this vision is close to revealing her true, physical form. And just as it materializes, the image disperses, leaving you and the others who witnessed it utterly impressed.
That is, except for Corrinth, who looks down on all of you from her perch in the tree above. "Quite a trick," she says with a smirk. "All that effort for just a glimpse of Syrith's true face, but does it get us any closer to disposing of the church and its loyal stooges? And mindreading," the says, looking back to Halfiya, "as exclusive as such a thing is, thanks to Diala, I think Agranne ought to be more interested in a destructive power."
"Sticking to what you know, fae?" Halfiya says, gripping her wand as it sizzles with smoke. "Diala was a pretender, but she did right by casting you out."
"Oh?" Corrinth replies, flippantly. "Then what about Agranne? Is the Terrorchild wrong for welcoming me back?"
"That's enough, both of you," you warn before Halfiya can say anything which would sour her introduction further. "Tell me, about the warlock, Halfiya." She seems to be tiring, and so you take out the Pandemonium Door and hold it out for her to touch. The entire crowd reacts to its emergence from your pocket - a holy artifact, and you carry it in your pocket like a handkerchief - at once, they're stunned back to respect, aside from Corrinth, Embryx, and Jannava, who all snicker in amusement at their reaction. Halfiya notices their casual demeanor and, apparently emboldened, reaches out and touches the object to experience its restorative power.
"Oh, it's true..." she says quietly in amazement. Then, obediently, she turns and points her wand at the quiet warlock. "He's... He's a shadowmancer!" she says with exuberant fascination. "My... Where have you been hiding, dear boy?" she asks, but instantly, her expression turns to dismay. "You... You poor thing, you're mute!"
The tabaxi hangs his head ashamedly and nods, unable to speak his name. He instead crouches to the ground, taking his finger and writing out a few letters:
VERALT
As you speak the name out loud, he's apparently satisfied with your pronunciation and gives a nod, his expression calm and thankful for your consideration. Since he's unable to speak, Halfiya speaks for him: "He comes from Travana... in Sonnamille. Elven country? That's no place for... Oh... He was a captive... a slave!" Halfiya explains, to the anger and disapproval of all around. The old hag turns back to you and explains: "the essence of death is invisible to the eye, just like anima. But shadowmancers can bind it to darkness itself, and turn a common shadow into a construct, like a creeping, open maw into to the land beyond death."
Your ears perk up at her choice of words. Working with a mute pact brother would have its challenges, but his talents seem especially useful to your long-term goals. You want to learn all of these skills - mindreading, darkscribing, and shadowmancy, but you can't possibly make time for all three. You'll need to commit to one ally whom you can make the most use of for the short term.
1. Halfiya - Your earlier instincts were correct. No matter how enticing the tabaxi's powers are to your future goals, or how much potential the half-orc's abilities might have for charting the path ahead, you must gain the ability to see into others' minds and discern their secrets. Halfiya is also the most ardent of all of these new witches, and will do everything in her power to bring victory to the coven - since she is at life's final chapter already.
2. Rowgu - The half-orc woman's strange power reminds you of the experience of holding that accursed book you found in the Mardenaal circle's library. Perhaps a darkscribe wrote that book? In any case, the mysterious runes on the Pandemonium Door have done great wonders to unlock your destiny thus far. You wonder if maybe Rowgu's ability could reveal the next chapter.
3. Veralt - You suspect the young man hungers for vengeance in much the same way that you do. With his ability to control the essence of death, perhaps you can come closer to that all-important goal of seeking Rigatte in the afterlife. The fact that he's also a tabaxi feels like a wink from the Eldest herself. But then again, when you look at him, he seems... pathetic. You decide that he needs a mentor, much like you did when you came to Tashlaan.
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
2
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
3
turtwigwins
Junior Member
1
joshuadim
the writer
3
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
1
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
3
dikdik
colossal leaf and prince of the universe
3
bat_hacker
New Member
2
Veralt
New
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 2 Votes (25% - Range: 1-25)
Option 2: 2 Votes (25% - Range: 26-50)
Option 3: 4 Votes (50% - Range: 51-100)
Fae Roll: 56
Yes... It must be a sign. Syrith knows how to motivate you, and isn't about to set you upon this conquest without rewarding you first with a piece of your personal puzzle. You simply know that his necrotic magic will somehow come into play. "...Veralt, my brother," you say as you crouch down to his level on the ground where he wrote his name, "please walk with me - I believe our fates are intertwined."
He nods dutifully, taking your hand so that he can rise and take the walk you requested. While Rowgu merely smiles and retreats, accepting your decision without complaint, Halfiya is obviously rattled, and possibly a little insulted. A few cautious reactions in the crowd around you suggests that your selection of a pact brother over the two sisters who volunteered is a surprise to them, as well. Others, however, are thrilled to know what an extraordinary talent has just become a leader, breaking into cheers.
"B-but sister..." Halfiya stammers, seeming a bit desperate, "how will he lead our pact circle if he cannot speak? Will we be relying on crows?"
Veralt pauses, pain visible in his eyes. You give him a quiet nod, and he turns, taking out his wand before pointing it at Corrinth. She goes wide eyed in the moment, and as a puff of black smoke drifts from the tip of his implement, she fumbles her apple and turns to the crowd. She speaks, very slowly and very clearly, and very unlike the times you've seen people compelled to speak before now:
"...Like this, sister. I will ask you - once - to not deride my silence. I keep it as a courtesy."
Veralt raises his wand, releasing her. And although a murderously-excited grin rips its way across her face from ear to ear, the mute warlock disregards her, and it's your attentive eyes she meets instead. She knows better than to retaliate when you're fully prepared to destroy her, and so she merely dismounts from the limb of the tree, snatches her apple off the ground, and stuffs it into her pocket.
"Don't worry yourself, Halfira," you say to the old hag. "The Eldest brought you to this point; you're no less a part of her design. Keep faith in your sisters - and your brother. I'll call on you, should your mindreading be needed."
Halfira nods, a bit humiliated. "I apologize to you both. You are my elders, and I will not disappoint you."
Regardless, as the sun begins to set, Jannava proposes an alternate explanation:
"They're waiting for the Royal Mages," she says, bumping into you after time spent mingling with more newcomers. "If these are soldiers, and not hunters, then they're operating on the orders of the Duchy of Mardenaal. The King has probably already been informed of what's suspected of happening here. They aren't going to charge in without mages to match us spell-for-spell," she warns, trying to hide her fears from the joyous and exuberant witches who have taken up not just the entire clearing where the temple stands, but some of the surrounding woods, hitching horses and dropping gear wherever they can.
You shrug. "They don't have anything like the door, though, and they've never seen an assembly of witches as large as ours. They'll be overwhelmed, one way or the other." You feel safe disregarding her concerns; the two dozen who joined you in the morning were doubled, and then tripled, and then quadrupled. Now, there were more than a hundred, scattered into six circles in a rough perimeter around the temple, which is reserved to you, your circle sisters, and your new pact sisters and Veralt. While the other three pact sisters lacked the incredible skills of Halfira and Rowgu, they were each competent in the common dark arts. Instead of assigning the mind-reader and the darkscribe to lead dozens of women they didn't yet know, you decided to keep them together, and make Veralt's circle the home of your most powerful followers.
"How do you know they don't have anything like the door? And also, they're trained to fight as an army, Agranne. We aren't," Jannava continues to urge you. "How do you know our hexes won't just create a chaotic mess that swallows as many of us as it does them?"
You don't like the thread that Jannava is tugging at. "What exactly would you suggest, then? It's not like we can just cut and run at this point, and scatter ourselves to the wind. You can do that if you want, if you do it alone - I won't stop you. But if you can't see that Syrith is the one who put this together then the fate awaiting you if you run away might really surprise you-"
"I'm not running away!" she replies hotly, trying very hard to control her volume and avoid drawing attention. "I just need to know that there's a plan."
Before you can answer, you hear a whistle from nearby and turn to spot Corrinth, emerging from the crowd with a big smile on her face. "My kin want to know when the celebration begins!"
You return the smile as you take the Pandemonium Door out of your pocket. You realize you never got the chance to show off your new trick, since you tried it out last night. "Well, now is as good a time as any for celebration," you declare. "Wanna see something cool?" You then set your mind on the roof of the temple, and with a committed desire to travel, you instantly teleport to the rooftop. You look back in time to see the ghostly cloud of black magic in your shape disappear into the air, and Corrinth and Jannava turning around in circles at the maneuver. "Up here!" you call out.
As the witches and warlocks take note of your prominent position, they begin to fall silent so that they can hear whatever it is you're about to say. You've never given a speech like this before. Most of your life, you were no one to admire, or even pay a dignified amount of attention to in public. Had you not killed that merchant back in Ryggander, no one would have even batted an eye at the way he physically abused you! But now look at all you've achieved with Syrith's help - this army of witches, unlike anything that's ever occurred throughout history, to your knowledge, awaits your decree. Your smile spreads to an evil grin. Kulka not only won't resist you when you come, she can't. What started only as a vague notion of destiny now feels irresistible. You'll defeat the aristocrats who hoard wealth at the expense of the weak. You'll destroy the church which preaches values its followers disregard, and you'll kill each and every hunter who dares to seek the death of your sisters and brothers!
"Tonight, we herald the coming of the Eldest's design!" you cry out to a chorus of hurrahs. "We are servants to lesser men no longer. We are queens and kings of our own right - of our own making! No more will we move for the world and hide from its judgements. We will move the world, and judge it as we see fit!" You pause to breathe and soak in the rabid excitement from the massive crowd, and feel your dark heart fill with joy and love for the coven. You will do this not just to avenge your lost childhood, but to win the future for all future witches and warlocks - to grant them a world free of the suffering which befell you and your forebearers. "...Syrith has brought us together, not just to wrest control of our destinies, but to unite worlds equally-wronged, into a force that no mortal can resist. The fae seek their own freedom, as we do. They offer their hand to Syrith's cause. Shall we take it!?"
The cheers rise into a fanatical roar as you notice the movements at the edges of the trees, the trickling-in of faeries and their ilk to mingle with the coven. The witches and warlocks knew already that this was your plan, and look on the new arrivals with fascination instead of disgust and suspicion. Sox and other faun arrive, carrying barrels and pitchers full of wine, while musicians sound their oddly harmonious horns. People of every race and background throw away their prejudices and begin to dance and sing, taking partners of both common and fae blood indiscriminately, with drinks passed around and consumed with abandon. You begin to laugh at the scene you've orchestrated, as you can hardly believe how thoroughly you've disposed of the normal order. You can hardly contain it, your laughter rising to an ugly, fae-touched note... a cackle.
Only once you've finished expelling the feverish laughter do you remember your pledge to Embryx. You still aren't sure where she is, and so you quickly teleport yourself back to the ground, appearing right in front of Corrinth and Jannava as you were before, to their shock. You ignore their reactions and proceed into the temple building to see if Embryx is inside, and sure enough, you find her waiting there.
"From all the noise outside, I guess the fae are here..." she says nervously.
You nod. "I just addressed them all... You should have been outside so you could hear it," you explain with a big, goofy grin.
She smiles, but you can tell she's afraid. You offer her your hand, bowing just like a nobleman at a ballroom dance, and you hear the slightest giggle escape her lips. "...Let's dance, just once," she says as she accepts your offer. "Just us two."
You indulge her for a bit, doing your best to keep up with her footwork, which is more practiced and refined than your own, as you turn about in the defiled temple to the sound of muffled fae merrymaking. It's been a long time since festivities like these have been so much fun for you, and hopefully, with Embryx at your side and victory in your future, you will rediscover your love for things beyond spellcasting and harming people. But just as you settle in, you accidentally trip over a piece of the chair that Embryx smashed this morning. Laughing it off, you get a vivid notion. "Hey... I've got an idea," you say as you take the Pandemonium Door out of your pocket and place your hands in hers.
And with a little focus, the two of you are teleported to the rooftop together. Embryx gasps, turning about in a near panic while you comfort her. "Relax," you tell her. "I discovered this last night. Come on, let's finish our dance!"
The worry gradually subsides in her expression as you continue, until the two of you step out over the open air of the celebration unfolding all around you, lit in golden light by dozens of enchanted campfires, and on a solid plane of telekinesis you dance above their heads. There's no more need for words of comfort, as Embryx gazes into your fiery eyes and practically melts. She trusts you with her life completely.
You gently bring the two of you down to ground level, where it isn't long until you find the drink again, and offer a cup to your dance partner. Embryx takes in the sweet and delicious wine, embracing all that this new chapter of life has to offer.
Option 2: 2 Votes (25% - Range: 26-50)
Option 3: 4 Votes (50% - Range: 51-100)
Fae Roll: 56
Yes... It must be a sign. Syrith knows how to motivate you, and isn't about to set you upon this conquest without rewarding you first with a piece of your personal puzzle. You simply know that his necrotic magic will somehow come into play. "...Veralt, my brother," you say as you crouch down to his level on the ground where he wrote his name, "please walk with me - I believe our fates are intertwined."
He nods dutifully, taking your hand so that he can rise and take the walk you requested. While Rowgu merely smiles and retreats, accepting your decision without complaint, Halfiya is obviously rattled, and possibly a little insulted. A few cautious reactions in the crowd around you suggests that your selection of a pact brother over the two sisters who volunteered is a surprise to them, as well. Others, however, are thrilled to know what an extraordinary talent has just become a leader, breaking into cheers.
"B-but sister..." Halfiya stammers, seeming a bit desperate, "how will he lead our pact circle if he cannot speak? Will we be relying on crows?"
Veralt pauses, pain visible in his eyes. You give him a quiet nod, and he turns, taking out his wand before pointing it at Corrinth. She goes wide eyed in the moment, and as a puff of black smoke drifts from the tip of his implement, she fumbles her apple and turns to the crowd. She speaks, very slowly and very clearly, and very unlike the times you've seen people compelled to speak before now:
"...Like this, sister. I will ask you - once - to not deride my silence. I keep it as a courtesy."
Veralt raises his wand, releasing her. And although a murderously-excited grin rips its way across her face from ear to ear, the mute warlock disregards her, and it's your attentive eyes she meets instead. She knows better than to retaliate when you're fully prepared to destroy her, and so she merely dismounts from the limb of the tree, snatches her apple off the ground, and stuffs it into her pocket.
"Don't worry yourself, Halfira," you say to the old hag. "The Eldest brought you to this point; you're no less a part of her design. Keep faith in your sisters - and your brother. I'll call on you, should your mindreading be needed."
Halfira nods, a bit humiliated. "I apologize to you both. You are my elders, and I will not disappoint you."
---
Over the course of several hours, the camp grows. Although the witches that arrive are less and less confident than their forerunners, the size of your camp and the overwhelming excitement brimming from it quickly lifts their spirits. They, too, begin to believe that the Eldest's design is nearing its fruition. Also during the day, a few crows dispatched to the surrounding areas report back their sighting of soldiers at the easter edges of the woods, delayed only by harassment from the fae and their general trepidation, it seems. Given that no scouts have been spotted near your encampment, you can conclude that the authorities either aren't aware of the size of this gathering, or they've somehow managed to sneak through.
Regardless, as the sun begins to set, Jannava proposes an alternate explanation:
"They're waiting for the Royal Mages," she says, bumping into you after time spent mingling with more newcomers. "If these are soldiers, and not hunters, then they're operating on the orders of the Duchy of Mardenaal. The King has probably already been informed of what's suspected of happening here. They aren't going to charge in without mages to match us spell-for-spell," she warns, trying to hide her fears from the joyous and exuberant witches who have taken up not just the entire clearing where the temple stands, but some of the surrounding woods, hitching horses and dropping gear wherever they can.
You shrug. "They don't have anything like the door, though, and they've never seen an assembly of witches as large as ours. They'll be overwhelmed, one way or the other." You feel safe disregarding her concerns; the two dozen who joined you in the morning were doubled, and then tripled, and then quadrupled. Now, there were more than a hundred, scattered into six circles in a rough perimeter around the temple, which is reserved to you, your circle sisters, and your new pact sisters and Veralt. While the other three pact sisters lacked the incredible skills of Halfira and Rowgu, they were each competent in the common dark arts. Instead of assigning the mind-reader and the darkscribe to lead dozens of women they didn't yet know, you decided to keep them together, and make Veralt's circle the home of your most powerful followers.
"How do you know they don't have anything like the door? And also, they're trained to fight as an army, Agranne. We aren't," Jannava continues to urge you. "How do you know our hexes won't just create a chaotic mess that swallows as many of us as it does them?"
You don't like the thread that Jannava is tugging at. "What exactly would you suggest, then? It's not like we can just cut and run at this point, and scatter ourselves to the wind. You can do that if you want, if you do it alone - I won't stop you. But if you can't see that Syrith is the one who put this together then the fate awaiting you if you run away might really surprise you-"
"I'm not running away!" she replies hotly, trying very hard to control her volume and avoid drawing attention. "I just need to know that there's a plan."
Before you can answer, you hear a whistle from nearby and turn to spot Corrinth, emerging from the crowd with a big smile on her face. "My kin want to know when the celebration begins!"
You return the smile as you take the Pandemonium Door out of your pocket. You realize you never got the chance to show off your new trick, since you tried it out last night. "Well, now is as good a time as any for celebration," you declare. "Wanna see something cool?" You then set your mind on the roof of the temple, and with a committed desire to travel, you instantly teleport to the rooftop. You look back in time to see the ghostly cloud of black magic in your shape disappear into the air, and Corrinth and Jannava turning around in circles at the maneuver. "Up here!" you call out.
As the witches and warlocks take note of your prominent position, they begin to fall silent so that they can hear whatever it is you're about to say. You've never given a speech like this before. Most of your life, you were no one to admire, or even pay a dignified amount of attention to in public. Had you not killed that merchant back in Ryggander, no one would have even batted an eye at the way he physically abused you! But now look at all you've achieved with Syrith's help - this army of witches, unlike anything that's ever occurred throughout history, to your knowledge, awaits your decree. Your smile spreads to an evil grin. Kulka not only won't resist you when you come, she can't. What started only as a vague notion of destiny now feels irresistible. You'll defeat the aristocrats who hoard wealth at the expense of the weak. You'll destroy the church which preaches values its followers disregard, and you'll kill each and every hunter who dares to seek the death of your sisters and brothers!
"Tonight, we herald the coming of the Eldest's design!" you cry out to a chorus of hurrahs. "We are servants to lesser men no longer. We are queens and kings of our own right - of our own making! No more will we move for the world and hide from its judgements. We will move the world, and judge it as we see fit!" You pause to breathe and soak in the rabid excitement from the massive crowd, and feel your dark heart fill with joy and love for the coven. You will do this not just to avenge your lost childhood, but to win the future for all future witches and warlocks - to grant them a world free of the suffering which befell you and your forebearers. "...Syrith has brought us together, not just to wrest control of our destinies, but to unite worlds equally-wronged, into a force that no mortal can resist. The fae seek their own freedom, as we do. They offer their hand to Syrith's cause. Shall we take it!?"
The cheers rise into a fanatical roar as you notice the movements at the edges of the trees, the trickling-in of faeries and their ilk to mingle with the coven. The witches and warlocks knew already that this was your plan, and look on the new arrivals with fascination instead of disgust and suspicion. Sox and other faun arrive, carrying barrels and pitchers full of wine, while musicians sound their oddly harmonious horns. People of every race and background throw away their prejudices and begin to dance and sing, taking partners of both common and fae blood indiscriminately, with drinks passed around and consumed with abandon. You begin to laugh at the scene you've orchestrated, as you can hardly believe how thoroughly you've disposed of the normal order. You can hardly contain it, your laughter rising to an ugly, fae-touched note... a cackle.
Only once you've finished expelling the feverish laughter do you remember your pledge to Embryx. You still aren't sure where she is, and so you quickly teleport yourself back to the ground, appearing right in front of Corrinth and Jannava as you were before, to their shock. You ignore their reactions and proceed into the temple building to see if Embryx is inside, and sure enough, you find her waiting there.
"From all the noise outside, I guess the fae are here..." she says nervously.
You nod. "I just addressed them all... You should have been outside so you could hear it," you explain with a big, goofy grin.
She smiles, but you can tell she's afraid. You offer her your hand, bowing just like a nobleman at a ballroom dance, and you hear the slightest giggle escape her lips. "...Let's dance, just once," she says as she accepts your offer. "Just us two."
You indulge her for a bit, doing your best to keep up with her footwork, which is more practiced and refined than your own, as you turn about in the defiled temple to the sound of muffled fae merrymaking. It's been a long time since festivities like these have been so much fun for you, and hopefully, with Embryx at your side and victory in your future, you will rediscover your love for things beyond spellcasting and harming people. But just as you settle in, you accidentally trip over a piece of the chair that Embryx smashed this morning. Laughing it off, you get a vivid notion. "Hey... I've got an idea," you say as you take the Pandemonium Door out of your pocket and place your hands in hers.
And with a little focus, the two of you are teleported to the rooftop together. Embryx gasps, turning about in a near panic while you comfort her. "Relax," you tell her. "I discovered this last night. Come on, let's finish our dance!"
The worry gradually subsides in her expression as you continue, until the two of you step out over the open air of the celebration unfolding all around you, lit in golden light by dozens of enchanted campfires, and on a solid plane of telekinesis you dance above their heads. There's no more need for words of comfort, as Embryx gazes into your fiery eyes and practically melts. She trusts you with her life completely.
You gently bring the two of you down to ground level, where it isn't long until you find the drink again, and offer a cup to your dance partner. Embryx takes in the sweet and delicious wine, embracing all that this new chapter of life has to offer.
END OF CHAPTER FIVE
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((Terrorchild will return in a couple of days! Stay tuned!))
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((Terrorchild will return in a couple of days! Stay tuned!))
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