Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
2
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Fantasy Terrorchild: Awakening
- Thread starter K0mori
- Start date
Tiresias the sage
Eleutheromania metathesiophobia Athazagoraphobia
3
Induct
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 2 Votes (22% - Range: 1-22)
Option 2: 5 Votes (56% - Range: 23-78)
Option 3: 2 Votes (22% - Range: 79-100)
Fae Roll: 6
"...What?" The Princess looks at you strangely, as if she isn't quite ready to believe what you just suggested. "What do you mean, 'speak' to her?" she asks. "Is it some sort of ritual? ...A prayer? Because if you would expect me to-"
You interrupt her, bleakly: "Not a prayer. Lythrefang is a sorority, and young sisters - fresh inductees seeking knowledge - are expected to follow the guidance of their elders. Syrith is the Eldest of all of us, and we walk in her eternal shadow," you recite.
"But surely she doesn't answer," Silanae replies with a dismissive smile, as if expecting you to reassure her that you've been speaking in metaphors this whole time. Instead, you can't help yourself but laugh at her and her ignorance. You remember being in her shoes, when Corrinth guided you through these same first steps. Your quiet snickering is extraordinarily off-putting, doubly so when Embryx joins in a moment later, so that Silanae's confidence begins to dwindle and drain from her, just like the color in her face. "B-but... All of you? All of you have spoken to Syrith, and all of you have..."
She can't bring herself to say it, so you'll do it instead: "If you're ready to accept her guidance, she'll come and meet you. Just be serious about it, and don't waste everyone's time," you state, expecting her to talk herself out of it. You almost didn't even humor her; your better judgement called on you to dismiss her entirely, but your fae-touched mind decided it would be more entertaining to place the princess into a dilemma, and now, you're going to twist the knife. "Do you think you can handle it? Looking up to a lowly peasant like me? Or how about my pact-brother Veralt, the former slave? ...Sister Corrinth, the barmaid's fae-brained daughter!?"
Silanae's expression moves through multiple distinct levels of disdain before settling on offense. "R-regardless of how your coven is structured, I'm still of royal blood. You should be honored to have me!"
You shake your head. "I don't have anything, yet, except a pompous brat who wants dirty work done for nothing more than vague promises of some future loyalty. Honestly... sounds a bit like the other gods, doesn't it?" You check back to Embryx, who starts to snicker at your observation. "Speaking of - your 'god,' Fallof... Has he ever availed himself to you? Or have you been praying aimlessly to an imaginary friend this whole time?"
Silanae flushes in indignation. "...Oh, you're a vain one. I'm sure if you just clapped your hands three times, Syrith would appear before us like a - a handmaiden! - if you're on such personal terms!"
"Syrith placed me in front of Count Caspan, your husband and his army, and now... you," you say with a grin, an urge growing within to demonstrate the true horror of your abilities. "I'm sure she trusts me to handle you in whatever way I see fit."
Silanae takes a step back, stricken by the intensity of your expression. But Embryx places her hand on your shoulder to calm you down, perhaps because she doesn't want you to expend your pneuma on any flashy demonstrations while you don't have the Door. The princess nods in understanding. "If- If that's the case, then..." she says, hesitation underpinning every word as she nervously tries to find solid ground amidst the fears you've stirred in her, "maybe I should be more careful with my words... But nonetheless," she adds, suddenly remembering her regal status, "your insurrection depends on catching my father by surprise, and if you do anything to me tonight, I'll scream so loud that he'll hear me, all the way in Manlaash!"
"Be honest with yourself," Embryx replies coldly. "If we even let you scream, and don't just compel you to stay your tongue, then all we'd need to do handle the locals."
Silanae cocks her head, incredulous. "The entire town?"
"Why not?" Embryx asks in reply.
The Princess looks back to you and realizes you're just as serious. "...Fuck. You really are a monster, aren't you?"
"Is that what Vallen said about me?" you ask after having another laugh at the Princess's reaction. "Oh, but I spared him though... And don't act so pious," you tease as you circle around her. "You asked me to kill your kin. You really can't expect me to keep higher standards than you."
Now, you see Silanae's righteous indignation boil over. "By blood, I have right to pass judgement, you filthy urchins!"
She lifts her hand to cast on you with her ring, but Embryx draws her wand at the same moment and overwhelms her with a blast of manipulative fear. As she freezes in place, you grab her with telekinesis and hold her in place. "Let's see it, then!" you declare, and jerk her toward the ground with so much force that her knee shatters on impact with the cobbles of the road. Her head lifts backwards in agony, but you've already compelled her to close her mouth and swallow her scream. You walk over to her, satisfied with how much damage you've inflicted with such a small amount of magic, but you're not done yet. You wait until she opens her eyes to see your finger hovering just above her forehead. You could quietly end her life with a lockbreaker strike if you wanted to, but you have no intention to.
Instead, you flick her with your tabaxi claw and watch her royal blood trickle in a bead down her nose. "...Looks like normal blood to me," you say. Embryx lets out a bit of a cackle at your antics as you take a few steps back, putting away the malice in the pit of your soul once more. "You'll join Lythrefang tonight," you say, blandly. "We'll put you in the swamp with your broken leg. We'll drag you out there behind a horse if we have to. You'll have all night to think about your royal blood and what you're entitled to. Tomorrow, I'll come back, and if you haven't spoken to Syrith in a way that convinces the Eldest to grant you a place in my circle, then I'll put you out of your misery. But I assume you'll want to live and rule this kingdom. Am I right?"
You finally look back at the woman nodding tearfully at you from the ground. You want to feel pity for her, but you know what's under the surface is as ugly as you are. "Embryx, help me get her to the horses. Afterwards, I'll wait around and you can go get Jannava and Stalna. ...Once I have the Door, I'll float her out."
One small kindness; that's all she's getting.
You can't help but snicker in your little birdy voice as you fall through the air for the thousandth time today, just bobbing up and down on an ocean of air that's all yours! Well, yours, and all the other birds in the sky, but they aren't intelligent in the same way you are - which is to say, very smart for a fae and even moreso than for a bird. But in that same thought you remind yourself that you're not so smart for a human - just very, very clever.
The canyon is narrow and deep and wide and beautiful and ugly all the same, blah, blah, blah. It's just water running through rocks, carrying fish and waste from somewhere upstream where the orcs and the humans live hand-in-hand-in-hand. Just fucking and eating and drinking and puking and pissing and shitting on the riverbanks in their stupid little tent cities and dumping all their trash and anything else they don't want to see or smell into the river to be whisked away towards the city, and yet the fish - the fish - don't even notice. They just eat whatever little thing floats their way and keep on swimming, and somehow, before they make it to the big city, elvan and dwarven and more human fisher-people and oh - goblins too, sorry, Ika, miss you, you little fuck-up - go picking those scaly all-eaters out of the river and cook 'em up all savory style over the fire or sell them in the marketplace and nobody thinks particularly hard about where they've been or what they've been doing.
Hells. You're getting sidetracked again. At least try to think like a human for ten goddamn seconds you fucking freak, I hate you. Godsdammit.
There's a flat area ahead, so you dive down toward the ground to get a better look. It's wide and flat, good enough for a camp, you figure, so you curve and circle a few times in the air, keeping an eye on Veralt and the others down below as they reach the spot. They look tired, and honestly, as much fun as it is to fly, you could use a break as well. Just before you reach it, you fold yourself out of the cloud envelope where your real body hides while you're in wildshape and skitter to a stop in front of Veralt's horse.
He yawns, silently, and you laugh because he looks like he's silently screaming into his hand. His ears twitch at your laughter - mute not deaf mute not deaf - and thankfully, he simply smiles at you before dismounting his horse. "Well, how's this?" you ask him. "All this time, all this way... might as well stop for the evening, right?"
He nods, quietly turning to unpack his things as the pact sisters ride up behind him. You look to them, unaware of the look on your face. Fiola avoids looking you in your eyes. Hate. Wag looks at you, but seems uncomfortable and nervously smiles back. Hate. Do you hate them, or do they hate you? You aren't sure anymore. Nobody seems to make sense - Agranne and Embryx definitely hate you, but they wouldn't let you die. Hate. Stalna's so quiet you don't know how she feels about anything. Hate. You hate them all, and they all hate you.
All except for Veralt.
You showed him what a fae is, and what a fae can do. You thought you were tricking him, but he wanted to be tricked. Nothing seems to scare him and he seems to want everything - even your madness, but especially, your touch, your care, and your voice. Something about him is different - he doesn't care that you're slowly going insane to the point that you probably won't be able to blend in anywhere, ever again, even if you tried, and you only have a few months before the woods are your only option. Doesn't care. Different in a way that's different from you. Makes no sense.
Time to make camp and prepare for tomorrow. Oh gods, tomorrow. All this time and all this way...
(Consecutive votes for the same option increase vote total by 1 additional vote per vote. The most unpopular option will automatically receive half of the votes of the most popular choice, added after the above arithmetic is completed. For more information, please reread this paragraph.)
1. Practice Shadowmancy - Veralt's been teaching you the good stuff - the good stuff Agranne isn't supposed to get.
2. Practice Inscription - Rowgu still owes you the technique you asked for, and if she can't help an elder sister out, you might just throw a tantrum.
3. This Option Doesn't Work - (All Votes will be given to option 3 of the next choice)
4. Go Fish - None of these ideas sound like a plan. How about some other options?
Option 2: 5 Votes (56% - Range: 23-78)
Option 3: 2 Votes (22% - Range: 79-100)
Fae Roll: 6
"...What?" The Princess looks at you strangely, as if she isn't quite ready to believe what you just suggested. "What do you mean, 'speak' to her?" she asks. "Is it some sort of ritual? ...A prayer? Because if you would expect me to-"
You interrupt her, bleakly: "Not a prayer. Lythrefang is a sorority, and young sisters - fresh inductees seeking knowledge - are expected to follow the guidance of their elders. Syrith is the Eldest of all of us, and we walk in her eternal shadow," you recite.
"But surely she doesn't answer," Silanae replies with a dismissive smile, as if expecting you to reassure her that you've been speaking in metaphors this whole time. Instead, you can't help yourself but laugh at her and her ignorance. You remember being in her shoes, when Corrinth guided you through these same first steps. Your quiet snickering is extraordinarily off-putting, doubly so when Embryx joins in a moment later, so that Silanae's confidence begins to dwindle and drain from her, just like the color in her face. "B-but... All of you? All of you have spoken to Syrith, and all of you have..."
She can't bring herself to say it, so you'll do it instead: "If you're ready to accept her guidance, she'll come and meet you. Just be serious about it, and don't waste everyone's time," you state, expecting her to talk herself out of it. You almost didn't even humor her; your better judgement called on you to dismiss her entirely, but your fae-touched mind decided it would be more entertaining to place the princess into a dilemma, and now, you're going to twist the knife. "Do you think you can handle it? Looking up to a lowly peasant like me? Or how about my pact-brother Veralt, the former slave? ...Sister Corrinth, the barmaid's fae-brained daughter!?"
Silanae's expression moves through multiple distinct levels of disdain before settling on offense. "R-regardless of how your coven is structured, I'm still of royal blood. You should be honored to have me!"
You shake your head. "I don't have anything, yet, except a pompous brat who wants dirty work done for nothing more than vague promises of some future loyalty. Honestly... sounds a bit like the other gods, doesn't it?" You check back to Embryx, who starts to snicker at your observation. "Speaking of - your 'god,' Fallof... Has he ever availed himself to you? Or have you been praying aimlessly to an imaginary friend this whole time?"
Silanae flushes in indignation. "...Oh, you're a vain one. I'm sure if you just clapped your hands three times, Syrith would appear before us like a - a handmaiden! - if you're on such personal terms!"
"Syrith placed me in front of Count Caspan, your husband and his army, and now... you," you say with a grin, an urge growing within to demonstrate the true horror of your abilities. "I'm sure she trusts me to handle you in whatever way I see fit."
Silanae takes a step back, stricken by the intensity of your expression. But Embryx places her hand on your shoulder to calm you down, perhaps because she doesn't want you to expend your pneuma on any flashy demonstrations while you don't have the Door. The princess nods in understanding. "If- If that's the case, then..." she says, hesitation underpinning every word as she nervously tries to find solid ground amidst the fears you've stirred in her, "maybe I should be more careful with my words... But nonetheless," she adds, suddenly remembering her regal status, "your insurrection depends on catching my father by surprise, and if you do anything to me tonight, I'll scream so loud that he'll hear me, all the way in Manlaash!"
"Be honest with yourself," Embryx replies coldly. "If we even let you scream, and don't just compel you to stay your tongue, then all we'd need to do handle the locals."
Silanae cocks her head, incredulous. "The entire town?"
"Why not?" Embryx asks in reply.
The Princess looks back to you and realizes you're just as serious. "...Fuck. You really are a monster, aren't you?"
"Is that what Vallen said about me?" you ask after having another laugh at the Princess's reaction. "Oh, but I spared him though... And don't act so pious," you tease as you circle around her. "You asked me to kill your kin. You really can't expect me to keep higher standards than you."
Now, you see Silanae's righteous indignation boil over. "By blood, I have right to pass judgement, you filthy urchins!"
She lifts her hand to cast on you with her ring, but Embryx draws her wand at the same moment and overwhelms her with a blast of manipulative fear. As she freezes in place, you grab her with telekinesis and hold her in place. "Let's see it, then!" you declare, and jerk her toward the ground with so much force that her knee shatters on impact with the cobbles of the road. Her head lifts backwards in agony, but you've already compelled her to close her mouth and swallow her scream. You walk over to her, satisfied with how much damage you've inflicted with such a small amount of magic, but you're not done yet. You wait until she opens her eyes to see your finger hovering just above her forehead. You could quietly end her life with a lockbreaker strike if you wanted to, but you have no intention to.
Instead, you flick her with your tabaxi claw and watch her royal blood trickle in a bead down her nose. "...Looks like normal blood to me," you say. Embryx lets out a bit of a cackle at your antics as you take a few steps back, putting away the malice in the pit of your soul once more. "You'll join Lythrefang tonight," you say, blandly. "We'll put you in the swamp with your broken leg. We'll drag you out there behind a horse if we have to. You'll have all night to think about your royal blood and what you're entitled to. Tomorrow, I'll come back, and if you haven't spoken to Syrith in a way that convinces the Eldest to grant you a place in my circle, then I'll put you out of your misery. But I assume you'll want to live and rule this kingdom. Am I right?"
You finally look back at the woman nodding tearfully at you from the ground. You want to feel pity for her, but you know what's under the surface is as ugly as you are. "Embryx, help me get her to the horses. Afterwards, I'll wait around and you can go get Jannava and Stalna. ...Once I have the Door, I'll float her out."
One small kindness; that's all she's getting.
---
Meanwhile
Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy. All this time and all this way. All this time and all this way. Everything everything everything all for this.Meanwhile
You can't help but snicker in your little birdy voice as you fall through the air for the thousandth time today, just bobbing up and down on an ocean of air that's all yours! Well, yours, and all the other birds in the sky, but they aren't intelligent in the same way you are - which is to say, very smart for a fae and even moreso than for a bird. But in that same thought you remind yourself that you're not so smart for a human - just very, very clever.
The canyon is narrow and deep and wide and beautiful and ugly all the same, blah, blah, blah. It's just water running through rocks, carrying fish and waste from somewhere upstream where the orcs and the humans live hand-in-hand-in-hand. Just fucking and eating and drinking and puking and pissing and shitting on the riverbanks in their stupid little tent cities and dumping all their trash and anything else they don't want to see or smell into the river to be whisked away towards the city, and yet the fish - the fish - don't even notice. They just eat whatever little thing floats their way and keep on swimming, and somehow, before they make it to the big city, elvan and dwarven and more human fisher-people and oh - goblins too, sorry, Ika, miss you, you little fuck-up - go picking those scaly all-eaters out of the river and cook 'em up all savory style over the fire or sell them in the marketplace and nobody thinks particularly hard about where they've been or what they've been doing.
Hells. You're getting sidetracked again. At least try to think like a human for ten goddamn seconds you fucking freak, I hate you. Godsdammit.
There's a flat area ahead, so you dive down toward the ground to get a better look. It's wide and flat, good enough for a camp, you figure, so you curve and circle a few times in the air, keeping an eye on Veralt and the others down below as they reach the spot. They look tired, and honestly, as much fun as it is to fly, you could use a break as well. Just before you reach it, you fold yourself out of the cloud envelope where your real body hides while you're in wildshape and skitter to a stop in front of Veralt's horse.
He yawns, silently, and you laugh because he looks like he's silently screaming into his hand. His ears twitch at your laughter - mute not deaf mute not deaf - and thankfully, he simply smiles at you before dismounting his horse. "Well, how's this?" you ask him. "All this time, all this way... might as well stop for the evening, right?"
He nods, quietly turning to unpack his things as the pact sisters ride up behind him. You look to them, unaware of the look on your face. Fiola avoids looking you in your eyes. Hate. Wag looks at you, but seems uncomfortable and nervously smiles back. Hate. Do you hate them, or do they hate you? You aren't sure anymore. Nobody seems to make sense - Agranne and Embryx definitely hate you, but they wouldn't let you die. Hate. Stalna's so quiet you don't know how she feels about anything. Hate. You hate them all, and they all hate you.
All except for Veralt.
You showed him what a fae is, and what a fae can do. You thought you were tricking him, but he wanted to be tricked. Nothing seems to scare him and he seems to want everything - even your madness, but especially, your touch, your care, and your voice. Something about him is different - he doesn't care that you're slowly going insane to the point that you probably won't be able to blend in anywhere, ever again, even if you tried, and you only have a few months before the woods are your only option. Doesn't care. Different in a way that's different from you. Makes no sense.
Time to make camp and prepare for tomorrow. Oh gods, tomorrow. All this time and all this way...
(Consecutive votes for the same option increase vote total by 1 additional vote per vote. The most unpopular option will automatically receive half of the votes of the most popular choice, added after the above arithmetic is completed. For more information, please reread this paragraph.)
1. Practice Shadowmancy - Veralt's been teaching you the good stuff - the good stuff Agranne isn't supposed to get.
2. Practice Inscription - Rowgu still owes you the technique you asked for, and if she can't help an elder sister out, you might just throw a tantrum.
3. This Option Doesn't Work - (All Votes will be given to option 3 of the next choice)
4. Go Fish - None of these ideas sound like a plan. How about some other options?
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
2
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
1
joshuadim
the writer
3
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
4
turtwigwins
Junior Member
3
dikdik
colossal leaf and prince of the universe
3
Tiresias the sage
Eleutheromania metathesiophobia Athazagoraphobia
1
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
2
Tanaka Lakeef
Yooo dude that was si-i-i-ick
número tres number three
bat_hacker
Junior Member
4
Go Fish
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 4.5 Votes (24% - Range: 1-24)
Option 2: 4.5 Votes (24% - Range: 25-48)
Option 3: 5 Votes (27% - Range: 49-76)
Option 4: 4.5 Votes (24% - Range: 77-100)
Fae Roll: 96
You bite your thumb and think really hard.
1. Stare at Your Reflection - Every day, staying focused on the task at hand gets harder and harder. Agranne promised that she'd prevent the persecution of your fae kin, but you're not sure how much you'll be able to enjoy the end result if you can't even remember your name, or how to tie your boots. Lately, you've found that watching your own reflection and studying your features seems to ground and restore you, for a few hours at least.
2. How About We Lighten Up? - Everyone around here seems so serious, so dour... It's hard to believe that Agranne had them partying like it was the end of the world just a few nights ago! Sure - it's cold and a bit damp, but some enchanted fires and alcohol will warm you all up and get your spirits high. Plus, since no one is keeping an eye on you, you could play around with your sisters' thoughts and see how many want to spill their secrets or confess their love for their neighbors!
3. Talk to the Pact Sisters - Seriously, what the hell are Fiola and Wag's problem? You have half a mind to just compel them to speak their minds about you.
4. Actually Go Fishing - You're not sure why, but you seem to be thinking about fish. Maybe you had been thinking about them a few minutes ago, when you were looking down at the river from the air, although you can't imagine why, other than the tasty meal they'd provide. You decide you'll try to catch something for dinner tonight, and bask in the river's crystal clear waters. You have wildshape; at least one of your forms won't mind the cold.
Option 2: 4.5 Votes (24% - Range: 25-48)
Option 3: 5 Votes (27% - Range: 49-76)
Option 4: 4.5 Votes (24% - Range: 77-100)
Fae Roll: 96
You bite your thumb and think really hard.
1. Stare at Your Reflection - Every day, staying focused on the task at hand gets harder and harder. Agranne promised that she'd prevent the persecution of your fae kin, but you're not sure how much you'll be able to enjoy the end result if you can't even remember your name, or how to tie your boots. Lately, you've found that watching your own reflection and studying your features seems to ground and restore you, for a few hours at least.
2. How About We Lighten Up? - Everyone around here seems so serious, so dour... It's hard to believe that Agranne had them partying like it was the end of the world just a few nights ago! Sure - it's cold and a bit damp, but some enchanted fires and alcohol will warm you all up and get your spirits high. Plus, since no one is keeping an eye on you, you could play around with your sisters' thoughts and see how many want to spill their secrets or confess their love for their neighbors!
3. Talk to the Pact Sisters - Seriously, what the hell are Fiola and Wag's problem? You have half a mind to just compel them to speak their minds about you.
4. Actually Go Fishing - You're not sure why, but you seem to be thinking about fish. Maybe you had been thinking about them a few minutes ago, when you were looking down at the river from the air, although you can't imagine why, other than the tasty meal they'd provide. You decide you'll try to catch something for dinner tonight, and bask in the river's crystal clear waters. You have wildshape; at least one of your forms won't mind the cold.
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
2
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
1
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
3
joshuadim
the writer
4
turtwigwins
Junior Member
4
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
1
bat_hacker
Junior Member
2
Talk to the Pact Sisters // Act III: The Life You've Chosen // Chapter 7: Closer to the Divine
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 5 Votes (26% - Range: 1-26)
Option 2: 5 Votes (26% - Range: 27-52)
Option 3: 6 Votes (32% - Range: 53-84)
Option 4: 3 Votes (16% - Range: 85-100)
Fae Roll: 61
Actually, come to think of it, it's really more like a quarter of a mind. But regardless, you snap out of your deep concentration feeling rejuvenated, having decided on such a simple and enlightening course of action. For a little while, you simply loiter while everyone begins to set up their campfires, bedrolls, and, if they've come especially prepared, a tent. You've seen a number of them since leaving Enthaan, and wish you would have grabbed one for yourself and Veralt. Unfortunately, you hadn't expected Agranne to order a retreat, and spent the entire night fooling around when you could have been gathering supplies for the road. Still, it's not like you could have carried it with you while in wildshape - it's difficult enough to hide away your body and the clothes on your back; you would have had to hitch it onto Veralt's horse...
Horses... You still don't know much about the damned things, since you don't need them very often. You know they eat oats and things - things like your apples, which you don't like sharing. You never used to care, but it's been a long time since you've been home - a long time since you've seen mom's house, mom's bar, mom's grave. Unmarked, unmarked, unmarked. Good. Rot away and let the world forget about you, just like you forgot to tell me what I am. The apples from Tashlaan are so sweet; you could tell them apart from any old apple, and you want to cry every time you wait too long to eat one that's close, and it goes bad sitting in your pocket. If you weren't a witch, you'd be a planter, and plant these trees from the Turus River eastward to the Gulf of Kagrosil. A tree for every person you meet. A tree for every person you meet. Non-fae people usually disappoint, but apple trees hold apples!
Maybe that's what you can do once you've fully lost your mind: kill the people, and plant sweet apples in the fields where their children play. Share the fruits, play games, drink wine... and never, ever be alone again.
What were you thinking about? Oh right - horses.
...Wait. No. Wag and Fiola.
It takes a little while before you get the chance to speak to either of them. The pact sisters are sitting beside the same fire that Veralt is relaxing by, and you need this to be a bit discrete - you don't want to cause a scene large enough to get you chased out of camp. While you're waiting and thinking up your plan, you're certain that you'll also want to charm them a bit with manipulation, so that they don't try to raise an alarm when you're done. The only issue is, you've never been all that good at manipulation. It seemed redundant to make people like you if you could get them to obey regardless with compulsion. Fiola's "errant whisper" plan to attack Enthaan gave you a good opportunity to practice the art, but truthfully, you barely contributed at all - and instead found other ways to ply yourself to the task of tormenting the city.
Maybe this isn't such a good idea, you think, before deciding that your second-thoughts are dumb. Holding onto a single set of thoughts is hard enough - two is just showing off. Plus, Veralt has left the fire to go take a piss or something and - oh! This is your shot. Time to get over there.
As you walk up to the fire out of the darkness, Fiola glances up from her hands, which she's warming over the licking flames. "Oh, uh... Hey, sister," she says with palpable discomfort. ...Hate. You take out your wand, and without a prior thought, you have a stroke of genius, hitting her with a compulsion:
"Help me out, here, sister," you instruct as you give the instrument a flick. Automatically, Fiola takes out her own wand and points it at Wag, who can't make sense of what's happening, but knows you're up to something... exceptionally friendly, thanks to a manipulative assist from Fiola. "Now you," you say, directing your wand at the goblin.
"Hey...!" Fiola starts to shout before a puff of shadow smoke from Wag's wand manipulates her feelings as well. Now, just like Agranne did to the royalists in Enthaan, you've turned your enemies' strengths against them. You've succeeded in manipulating both into liking and trusting you by proxy.
Is there anything compulsion can't do?
You give them a big grin, which they return with kind smiles. Finally! "So, sisters... what's new?" you ask.
But since you awakened in Enthaan from that nightmare in which you felt yourself slipping into the spiritual role of the Goddess, branding the soul of Lythrefang's inductees, you've felt an urge to fight your destiny - to shy away from acknowledging her presence. And since then, you've been forced to make a narrow escape from Duke Vallen, watched the unity of your pact begin to unravel, and felt an intense desire to return to a simpler life as your anxiety grows by the minute. At first, you tried to sleep, but soon you began to suspect that your inner resistance to Syrith's Design might lead to the unthinkable.
Veralt is a lot like you. He's incredible with compulsion, and as a shadowmancer, he has a rare talent that you covet. Based on what he's told you about that practice, he's probably also an expert necromancer - something you idiotically failed to consider when you decided to approach Thandan from two sides at once, and since Veralt certainly didn't make mention of it, nothing prevented him from being in the position he's in now... being the leader of the majority of your circle.
What if the Eldest is considering what you're contemplating at this very moment? What if She desires another of Her siblings - one who's more willing - to become Her avatar?
That artifact in the display case... What is it for? Do the residents of Manlaash think it'll keep them safe? Do they think it brings them closer to the divine?
Of course, it makes little difference; just like the gods depicted on the walls around you, the object of their faith has done nothing to change the outcome of events, which were always in the hands of the rich and the powerful. You look down at your own hands, at the Pandemonium Door you're cradling, and realize that what you hold is exactly what these errant pilgrims think they have. If the Eldest's Design placed this object in your hands, then She can also take it away, if the life you've chosen displeases Her.
You need to talk. It's been a while.
You quietly pick yourself off the floor and carry the Door with you into a small room within the temple. Inside, there's nothing but a single chair beside a wicker screen. On some level, you're aware that this room is used for the sinful to confess their acts to a cleric, but you aren't looking for an audience with a mortal. You close the door and take a seat, the chair creaking eerily in the silent booth.
"...Syrith," you say calmly. "I've done the best I can. I've gathered everyone who would answer, and we've fought hard, I've fought hard, used every trick I know... Are you still with me? Or do I need to do more? I need your answer, because I'm beginning to think that you're going to kill me and put Veralt in my place, and I'm warning you," you say, gripping the Door in your hands tighter and tighter until the corners begin to pierce the skin, dripping your blood onto the floor, "if you try it, I'll unmake everything we've built together. Now... There's a way you can prove to me that we're still on the same side. I'm going to do something I've been wanting to do for a while, but only now do I have the Door and a moment to myself to try it.
"I want to see my sister again," you say as you begin to draw in anima. Having done this all night to reanimate the corpses in the graveyard, the air is thin with the essence of life, and so some of the energy you claw out of the air is the same which was used for that grizzly purpose. You know that some of the skeletons in the yard are dropping dead, but it's of no concern. You create your construct, instill it within your body so that your breathing and heartbeat is beyond your own power, and then, with intense focus, you grip your soul from within.
"Bring us together, and don't let me fuck this up."
The feeling is indescribably painful, but your screams don't come from your corporeal mouth. You're standing, now, or rather, floating disembodied, and barely able to wield your magic in confusion. You turn, meeting your own undead eyes as your body remains seated behind you.
You've done it. Your soul is apart from your physical being, and thanks to the presence of a construct, it can remain this way for as long as you need it to! You feel your pneuma regenerated each time your ghostly hands pass through the Pandemonium Door, drawing the magic out from within like a lifeline that you can't stray from. However, nothing around you has changed; the confessional chamber is still here, and although the light is flickering from the candle sconce above the chair, the shadows don't move like they did on the night you were inducted. "...Do you hear me, Syrith?" you say, becoming agitated. "I'm going to look for her."
You reach out to the door latch and somehow surprise yourself when your hand passes through. Of course. Instead, you push your head through the wooden door and look into the space beyond, and find nothing but a blackened void. Startled, you pull your head back, but rather than emerging from the door, the darkness advances upon you, and when you turn around, you find your body as a mere afterimage, and only with considerable effort are you able to reach back to it, the room in which you conducted the ritual fading halfway into view while still awash in necrotic shadow. Your hand passes through the Door, and you feel your pneuma surge again, as you keep all of your focus on controlling your soul and keeping it from slipping away into death uncontrolled.
You feel like a kite, straining against a thin piece of twine in a buffeting wind. Stray any further from your body and the line will break.
And finally, you hear her.
"Agranne...?"
The sound of her voice brings tears to your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to look back at her out of fear that the tenuous link to the mortal world will snap from the strain you've put it under. Without taking your eyes off of your faded corpse, you reply excitedly. "Rigatte!"
"...Y-you're all grown up," she stammers, and at once you realize from the way her voice has cracked that she's crying simply from the sight of you. Finally, she comes into view from behind, coming up beside your faded body so that she can sit on the floor of the void. She looks exactly the same as she did before, but you can only imagine how much different you must seem from the last time she saw you. You wonder how much of your dream with Ika was true. Could Rigatte tell how much time had gone by, or is it all a blur to her? Does she know what you've been up to?
You start to tear up as well. "...Yeah," you reply. "Rigatte, I can... I can stay and talk for a little bit, this time, I think."
She nods, captivated by the lengths you've gone to in order to make this happen, and the strange method you've been able to achieve solely through the use of your hexed blood, since an ordinary witch wouldn't have been able to carry a wand or other implement into the land beyond death. How exactly the Door does this is a mystery to you, but not one you're willing to question for the moment.
"Whatever you want to talk about, I'm here," she says.
Dealer's Choice: Speak Freely - (Players: Respond in any way you feel is appropriate. Several will be selected and used as dialogue.)
Option 2: 5 Votes (26% - Range: 27-52)
Option 3: 6 Votes (32% - Range: 53-84)
Option 4: 3 Votes (16% - Range: 85-100)
Fae Roll: 61
Actually, come to think of it, it's really more like a quarter of a mind. But regardless, you snap out of your deep concentration feeling rejuvenated, having decided on such a simple and enlightening course of action. For a little while, you simply loiter while everyone begins to set up their campfires, bedrolls, and, if they've come especially prepared, a tent. You've seen a number of them since leaving Enthaan, and wish you would have grabbed one for yourself and Veralt. Unfortunately, you hadn't expected Agranne to order a retreat, and spent the entire night fooling around when you could have been gathering supplies for the road. Still, it's not like you could have carried it with you while in wildshape - it's difficult enough to hide away your body and the clothes on your back; you would have had to hitch it onto Veralt's horse...
Horses... You still don't know much about the damned things, since you don't need them very often. You know they eat oats and things - things like your apples, which you don't like sharing. You never used to care, but it's been a long time since you've been home - a long time since you've seen mom's house, mom's bar, mom's grave. Unmarked, unmarked, unmarked. Good. Rot away and let the world forget about you, just like you forgot to tell me what I am. The apples from Tashlaan are so sweet; you could tell them apart from any old apple, and you want to cry every time you wait too long to eat one that's close, and it goes bad sitting in your pocket. If you weren't a witch, you'd be a planter, and plant these trees from the Turus River eastward to the Gulf of Kagrosil. A tree for every person you meet. A tree for every person you meet. Non-fae people usually disappoint, but apple trees hold apples!
Maybe that's what you can do once you've fully lost your mind: kill the people, and plant sweet apples in the fields where their children play. Share the fruits, play games, drink wine... and never, ever be alone again.
What were you thinking about? Oh right - horses.
...Wait. No. Wag and Fiola.
It takes a little while before you get the chance to speak to either of them. The pact sisters are sitting beside the same fire that Veralt is relaxing by, and you need this to be a bit discrete - you don't want to cause a scene large enough to get you chased out of camp. While you're waiting and thinking up your plan, you're certain that you'll also want to charm them a bit with manipulation, so that they don't try to raise an alarm when you're done. The only issue is, you've never been all that good at manipulation. It seemed redundant to make people like you if you could get them to obey regardless with compulsion. Fiola's "errant whisper" plan to attack Enthaan gave you a good opportunity to practice the art, but truthfully, you barely contributed at all - and instead found other ways to ply yourself to the task of tormenting the city.
Maybe this isn't such a good idea, you think, before deciding that your second-thoughts are dumb. Holding onto a single set of thoughts is hard enough - two is just showing off. Plus, Veralt has left the fire to go take a piss or something and - oh! This is your shot. Time to get over there.
As you walk up to the fire out of the darkness, Fiola glances up from her hands, which she's warming over the licking flames. "Oh, uh... Hey, sister," she says with palpable discomfort. ...Hate. You take out your wand, and without a prior thought, you have a stroke of genius, hitting her with a compulsion:
"Help me out, here, sister," you instruct as you give the instrument a flick. Automatically, Fiola takes out her own wand and points it at Wag, who can't make sense of what's happening, but knows you're up to something... exceptionally friendly, thanks to a manipulative assist from Fiola. "Now you," you say, directing your wand at the goblin.
"Hey...!" Fiola starts to shout before a puff of shadow smoke from Wag's wand manipulates her feelings as well. Now, just like Agranne did to the royalists in Enthaan, you've turned your enemies' strengths against them. You've succeeded in manipulating both into liking and trusting you by proxy.
Is there anything compulsion can't do?
You give them a big grin, which they return with kind smiles. Finally! "So, sisters... what's new?" you ask.
---
END OF ACT II
---
As you lie on a bedroll spread over a temple floor once again, Embryx and a dozen exhausted necromancers at your side, and several hundred skeletons and zombies standing at the ready in the hallowed grounds outside, you find yourself gazing at some kind of "holy artifact" in a display case at the far end of the room, and you feel restless and unsafe. The closer you've gotten to Thandan, the less confident you've become in your place in the Eldest's Design. It was only days ago that you were her chosen, her voice, and her will in the mortal world. To be seen as an avatar of Syrith brought you delight, and you felt the goddess's weight behind your every action.END OF ACT II
---
But since you awakened in Enthaan from that nightmare in which you felt yourself slipping into the spiritual role of the Goddess, branding the soul of Lythrefang's inductees, you've felt an urge to fight your destiny - to shy away from acknowledging her presence. And since then, you've been forced to make a narrow escape from Duke Vallen, watched the unity of your pact begin to unravel, and felt an intense desire to return to a simpler life as your anxiety grows by the minute. At first, you tried to sleep, but soon you began to suspect that your inner resistance to Syrith's Design might lead to the unthinkable.
Veralt is a lot like you. He's incredible with compulsion, and as a shadowmancer, he has a rare talent that you covet. Based on what he's told you about that practice, he's probably also an expert necromancer - something you idiotically failed to consider when you decided to approach Thandan from two sides at once, and since Veralt certainly didn't make mention of it, nothing prevented him from being in the position he's in now... being the leader of the majority of your circle.
What if the Eldest is considering what you're contemplating at this very moment? What if She desires another of Her siblings - one who's more willing - to become Her avatar?
That artifact in the display case... What is it for? Do the residents of Manlaash think it'll keep them safe? Do they think it brings them closer to the divine?
Of course, it makes little difference; just like the gods depicted on the walls around you, the object of their faith has done nothing to change the outcome of events, which were always in the hands of the rich and the powerful. You look down at your own hands, at the Pandemonium Door you're cradling, and realize that what you hold is exactly what these errant pilgrims think they have. If the Eldest's Design placed this object in your hands, then She can also take it away, if the life you've chosen displeases Her.
You need to talk. It's been a while.
You quietly pick yourself off the floor and carry the Door with you into a small room within the temple. Inside, there's nothing but a single chair beside a wicker screen. On some level, you're aware that this room is used for the sinful to confess their acts to a cleric, but you aren't looking for an audience with a mortal. You close the door and take a seat, the chair creaking eerily in the silent booth.
"...Syrith," you say calmly. "I've done the best I can. I've gathered everyone who would answer, and we've fought hard, I've fought hard, used every trick I know... Are you still with me? Or do I need to do more? I need your answer, because I'm beginning to think that you're going to kill me and put Veralt in my place, and I'm warning you," you say, gripping the Door in your hands tighter and tighter until the corners begin to pierce the skin, dripping your blood onto the floor, "if you try it, I'll unmake everything we've built together. Now... There's a way you can prove to me that we're still on the same side. I'm going to do something I've been wanting to do for a while, but only now do I have the Door and a moment to myself to try it.
"I want to see my sister again," you say as you begin to draw in anima. Having done this all night to reanimate the corpses in the graveyard, the air is thin with the essence of life, and so some of the energy you claw out of the air is the same which was used for that grizzly purpose. You know that some of the skeletons in the yard are dropping dead, but it's of no concern. You create your construct, instill it within your body so that your breathing and heartbeat is beyond your own power, and then, with intense focus, you grip your soul from within.
"Bring us together, and don't let me fuck this up."
The feeling is indescribably painful, but your screams don't come from your corporeal mouth. You're standing, now, or rather, floating disembodied, and barely able to wield your magic in confusion. You turn, meeting your own undead eyes as your body remains seated behind you.
You've done it. Your soul is apart from your physical being, and thanks to the presence of a construct, it can remain this way for as long as you need it to! You feel your pneuma regenerated each time your ghostly hands pass through the Pandemonium Door, drawing the magic out from within like a lifeline that you can't stray from. However, nothing around you has changed; the confessional chamber is still here, and although the light is flickering from the candle sconce above the chair, the shadows don't move like they did on the night you were inducted. "...Do you hear me, Syrith?" you say, becoming agitated. "I'm going to look for her."
You reach out to the door latch and somehow surprise yourself when your hand passes through. Of course. Instead, you push your head through the wooden door and look into the space beyond, and find nothing but a blackened void. Startled, you pull your head back, but rather than emerging from the door, the darkness advances upon you, and when you turn around, you find your body as a mere afterimage, and only with considerable effort are you able to reach back to it, the room in which you conducted the ritual fading halfway into view while still awash in necrotic shadow. Your hand passes through the Door, and you feel your pneuma surge again, as you keep all of your focus on controlling your soul and keeping it from slipping away into death uncontrolled.
You feel like a kite, straining against a thin piece of twine in a buffeting wind. Stray any further from your body and the line will break.
And finally, you hear her.
"Agranne...?"
The sound of her voice brings tears to your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to look back at her out of fear that the tenuous link to the mortal world will snap from the strain you've put it under. Without taking your eyes off of your faded corpse, you reply excitedly. "Rigatte!"
"...Y-you're all grown up," she stammers, and at once you realize from the way her voice has cracked that she's crying simply from the sight of you. Finally, she comes into view from behind, coming up beside your faded body so that she can sit on the floor of the void. She looks exactly the same as she did before, but you can only imagine how much different you must seem from the last time she saw you. You wonder how much of your dream with Ika was true. Could Rigatte tell how much time had gone by, or is it all a blur to her? Does she know what you've been up to?
You start to tear up as well. "...Yeah," you reply. "Rigatte, I can... I can stay and talk for a little bit, this time, I think."
She nods, captivated by the lengths you've gone to in order to make this happen, and the strange method you've been able to achieve solely through the use of your hexed blood, since an ordinary witch wouldn't have been able to carry a wand or other implement into the land beyond death. How exactly the Door does this is a mystery to you, but not one you're willing to question for the moment.
"Whatever you want to talk about, I'm here," she says.
Dealer's Choice: Speak Freely - (Players: Respond in any way you feel is appropriate. Several will be selected and used as dialogue.)
Last edited:
joshuadim
the writer
"Am I doing the right thing? All this, I mean." you ask, spreading your arms out to emphasize everything around you. "A part of me says yes, and yet... I still feel beset by doubts."
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
“The road ahead is shaky, but I’m getting things under control and I’m ready to fight. We will be reunited soon” you then pause “but if you have any advice for me, I would love to hear it, because I’m still afraid, and I fear I am not ready to do what I need to do”.
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
"...What exactly is Syrith, and this place?" you eventually ask. "I've had two rather vivid dreams. One of a fallen goblin sister named Ika, and one of a drow named Sharyx. Ika was trapped here in the void... anchored by shackles and chains. She didn't know how much time had passed or what I had done since she died. I don't really know if you can tell either. As for Sharyx... Syrith seemed to manipulate me into marking Sharyx soul... Did I really do that? Was I marked the same way? Some invisible force comes to someone one night and... just taints their souls..."
Your voice trails off, and you grow quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Is Syrith some sort of necrotic entity? A construct? Something more... bizarre?"
Your voice trails off, and you grow quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Is Syrith some sort of necrotic entity? A construct? Something more... bizarre?"
